Loghain teagan
Spoilers for The Stolen Throne. Loghain/Teagan.
Three years. It had been three years since Rowan had died, and not a day passed that Loghain did not miss her.
There would be a ceremony later tonight, and all the country had gathered to mourn their lost queen.
He sat in the gardens on a bench nestled against the outer wall, opposite a beautiful bed of red carnations. The same color as her dress, he thought absently. That night still haunted him; his stupidity still gnawed at him.
Loghain often thought of what he should have done. He was a man who harbored many regrets, but chief among them were his actions with the auburn haired queen.
Loghain saw Rowan everywhere; the scent of the forest brought memories of nights in the Bannorn rallying troops, the Amaranthine ocean after a storm was a pale shadow of the color of her eyes.
Worst of all was her brother, Teagan.
The boy was an echo of Rowan— his hair, his sprit, his skin... It was hard to look at him for longer than a few moments.
The youth—no, perhaps that was not right, Teagan was nearly a man grown at nineteen—had wandered the castle for the last fortnight, looking lost and heartbreakingly lonely. His brother had had to stay in Redcliffe, leaving him at court alone.
Loghain had never talked to the boy. He had seen him at the funeral, at the ceremonies each year since, but had never approached the youngest Guerrin who was so like his sister. For years furtive glances were all he had dared.
Loghain dropped his head into his hands, letting his hair curtain around his face. His own wife was in Gwaren, alone and with child. Loghain knew he should be with her, comforting and helping his little wife, shallow and volatile though she may be, and yet he couldn't. Celia could never be Rowan, and Loghain knew that he could never love another the way he had loved her.
He had taken Celia only once, on the night of their marriage, and that had been enough to conceive a child. He had tried to hold her that night, but she had pushed him away.
Loghain had not touched her since.
The sun was reaching his zenith, and Loghain knew he needed to leave soon to ready himself for the ceremony. Maric and Cailan would need help as well. This day would be hard for all of them.
With a last glance at the carnations, Loghain left for Fort Drakon to stand at his king's side and silently mourn the woman he loved.
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At sunset, it seemed all of Denerim had gathered in the courtyard in front of the palace to grieve for the queen. Loghain stood in full armor next to Maric and Cailain, a hand on the shoulder of the boy to remind him to stay strong for his people, for his father.
Maric looked far away as the Grand Cleric read from the Chant, a bittersweet passage about standing at the Maker's side after death. The balcony was wreathed in white flowers with many more lining the street. Nobles stood in a semicircle on the balcony, looking considerably more somber than they had that morning. Bickering social climbers, the lot of them, he thought sourly. Half were here only to garner favor with the king.
Loghain's gaze flickered over to Teagan, his grey eyes filled with unshed tears. He wore armor as well, shining silver plate to emphasize his leanly muscled frame. Teagan's vibrant chestnut hair was tousled and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles, as if he had not slept in days. The young bann caught his gaze, holding it for a long moment. It was a mix of emotions; grief tinged with something Loghain could not quite place.
He broke away from the other man's stare, confused at what he had seen.
Thankfully, the remainder of the ceremony passed quickly with no tears shed from either Theirin. Loghain disappeared the moment the it was over, wanting to stay and console the king and prince, but knowing that the wall that so tightly shielded his own emotions was in danger of shattering.
Instead, he strode to his room, donned his leather trousers and white linen tunic, and downed two bottles of Antivan brandy. To forget, he tried to convince himself. The alcohol took effect quickly, but did not ease the tumult inside of him as he had hoped it would. Soon he was stumbling towards the training yard, hoping that violence would further dull the ache in his chest.
The sun had long since sunk below the horizon, and only the light of the full moon illuminated the deserted courtyard.
Loghain stalked to the weapons rack and choose the largest broadsword he could find. He stumbled over to the training dummy, a sad sack filled with straw complete with a painted head.
He took a deep breath before whirling into action. Loghain's blade flashed in the moonlight, an extension of his arm, an extension of his anger. His sword cut and slashed across the figure as sweat ran down his face, half blinding him.
Soon, what was once the training dummy lay mutilated in the dirt. It was then Loghain realized that it was not just sweat stinging his eyes, but tears.
Anger welled within him; anger at Maric for taking what Loghain coveted most, anger at Rowan for leaving him alone to his wretched life, and anger at himself for his inability to do anything about it.
Loghain fell heavily to his knees, letting the sword clatter beside him.
His body shook with silent, wracking sobs. The cacophony of emotions from the day, from the years of being so utterly alone, so afraid, was overwhelming.
He should have been with her when she died. A real man would have held her, comforted her in her last days, propriety be damned. Instead, he had drunk himself into a stupor out in the woods, cursing the Maker, fate, and himself. Loghain had loved her, cherished her, like nothing else in this life, and yet he had waited while she slipped away. A coward.
"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly to the wind.
It was then that Loghain heard the soft breathing of another human.
He turned slowly, too broken to summon the strength to stand, and faced the direction of the sound.
Teagan.
Teagan Guerrin stood bathed in moonlight, dressed in only a crimson tunic and breeches that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
Loghain laughed, the choked, halting laugh of a broken man. He looked like Rowan, that night she had almost come to him.
Teagan looked down at Loghain for a long, torturous moment. His gaze was almost…pitying. Loghain's eyes narrowed.
"She would've wanted you to move on, Loghain," he said quietly, eyes trained down.
Loghain was incensed by his words. How dare he speak for her. How would he know what Rowan would want for him? He rose quickly, towering over the beautiful, younger man.
In one angry move, he slammed Teagan into the rock wall of the tack room.
"You know nothing of her, boy," he growled, low and rumbling.
Loghain's hands were pressed against the wall on either side of Teagans's head, his chest pinning him to the wall.
Teagans's breathing was hard and his eyes were wide as he stared up at Loghain. Even through his drunken haze, Loghain could recognize the stirrings of arousal in the other man. Teagan's grey eyes were dark with fear and desire.
Without a second thought, Loghain's mouth crashed into his.
Teagan was stunned for a moment, his lips pliable but unresponsive. He was only moved to action when Loghain thrust his tongue into the younger man's mouth. Teagan did not even try to battle for dominance as the teryn claimed his mouth. He could taste the brandy, thick and bitter, on Loghain's tongue.
His mouth was hot and demanding, but Teagan was enthusiastic, if not experienced. Loghain's hands came down to Teagan's waist, exploring the youth's smooth muscled torso.
Teagan whimpered when the Teryn's hand brushed over the growing bulge in his breeches.
The sound pulled Loghain out of his drunken haze for a moment, illuminating exactly what he was doing in the cold light of the fat, full moon.
Teagan looked up into the his steely eyes with his soft grey gaze. Loghain had to bite back a strangled laugh as the boy's face suddenly flickered and became the image of the dead queen
A/N: Thanks for reading!
He hoped the boy would not push him away as Rowan had….