Title: In A Week
Author: Daisy
Fandom: Dragon Age
Setting: Outside Denerim
Pairing: Loghain Mac Tir/Maric Theirin
Characters: Loghain Mac Tir, Maric Theirin, Rowan Guierren
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 709
Type of Work: One-shot
Status: Complete
Warnings: Mentions of death, Gay/Slash/Yaoi, fluff
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary Maric is truly full of surprises.
AN: I've been reading The Stolen Throne, and I can't seem to not ship this? Like, wow, it's almost kind of sad how much I like them together. This story is loosely based on In A Week by Hozier. This is also my first entry in the FeatureEveryone group (on DeviantArt)'s contest. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!
In A Week ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There was no peace like what he felt as the damp grass gave him as he leaned into it, feeling it yield beneath him. The wood was thin, here, just a few spatterings of trees shading the fields that spread from Denerim's gates like a flood of gold and green. A late-night storm had rolled in, leaving everything dripping even after it had passed, and the gentle droplets in the grass here soaked into his armor, though he could hardly feel anything more than the man pressed in tight against his arm. Nobody would see them here hiding beneath the canopy, pressed into the corner of the wheat, so he allowed something so simple as to wrap his arm around the tight line of the other man's shoulders, feeling them relax against his touch.
"We should stay here forever." Maric whispered, his breath hot on his dark-haired lover's neck. The sun could never meet the same intensity embedded in that soft tone.
"You know damn well that we can't." Loghain replied softly, his voice gentle despite the scolding tone. Hissing softly as a fledgling beard rubbed against his neck, his head turned enough to capture impossibly soft lips, the thought of Maric's inherent beauty slipping across his mind once more. It was often he considered the sheer perfection in his lover's appearance, how pretty he had been the night that they met, how even now, with war laden worries on his brow and the creases along his nose from smiling, he was gorgeous. The sun played on his hair like spun gold, and those remarkably blue eyes swam with the depths of the Waking Sea. While the inky-locked man would never claim the other was 'wise' or 'clever', he knew there was more emotion in him than there was wind in a hurricane; and it drew him in despite himself.
"What if we layed here, wrapped up together, until we became the flowers?" The questioned was low, pressed into armor instead of an ear, and barely heard. Shocked into silence by the morbid undertone used by such a chipper man, the elder just sighed as their fingers somehow became entwined, and his body became a pillow.
"I doubt that your vassals would let us be for longer than an hour. Soon, the entire city will be canvassed to find you so that you may solve every little problem the kingdom can scrounge together." It seemed like the right thing to say, add some wry humor in to awaken the usual joy in the other's voice.
"I'd rather stay here, with you." Came the soft chuckle of a reply, "We could stay here forever, and they would find us in a week, after we'd left for the Fade. It would be better, that way. We could be home, together, and not have to worry anymore about if they found us…" A yawn broke his words, and those dark lashes dusted his cheekbones as he sighed. The hand on his shoulder slowly rubbed against the muscle there, a thumb working the fine fabric of Maric's tunic into the skin.
Like this, the two laid out for a good portion of the morning until the sun was high in the sky. Neither moved more than an inch, cuddled in close and happily asleep, and even when she'd found them, Rowan kept quiet. She understood their need for closeness, had almost always understood it, and she couldn't bare to let their time together be diminished for something as base as a fire in a field to their west. When the pair finally woke, they were alone, and it was well past dinner time. It was amazing that nobody had woken them.
Joints creaked and moaned their disapproval of pulling from such a comfortable position as they rose and dusted themselves off, Maric brushing flowers from his long, golden hair and Loghain's eyes seared to the spot. They walked hand in hand until the city's walls drew too near, and then put some space before them. They were given the usual rundown of news by one of the pages running around, and split their paths towards their own goals, lingering glances leaving them both distant from their duties, focused on what could have been.
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