AN: So the feedback I got for Firelight was just WONDERFUL, so I thought I'd make just a couple more of these little looks into the whole Tabris/Loghain relationship as they begin living in Orlais. Current projects being as they are, it is unlikely that there will be a full length fic - but maybe in the future? Until then, here's another little look into the lives of these two heroes!
~Voi
Orlais was precisely as Rowyn had imagined it, beautiful. Despite been forced to ride in a carriage as opposed to horseback she had enjoyed the many picturesque views the ride had afforded. They had, at least for a time being, distracted her from her lingering irritation towards her traveling companion.
Hand gently smoothing the fabric over her middle, Rowyn sighed. She didn't doubt that Loghain had her best interests in mind, but to be reminded of the limitations of her pregnant body hadn't made her happy, an emotional imbalance which of course also had to be chalked up the pregnancy. She had been moody ever since they had left, and it was only recently that she had managed to gain a handle on them.
Out her window she could see the impressive stone fortress that would serve as their home indefinitely. Unlike anything she had seen before, it was a masterpiece of dwarven make, with great vaulted arches and powerful support columns seemingly dominating the landscape on which it sat. And yet, for its entire sturdy make, it was uniquely delicate, the twisting figures of slender maidens providing a lightness of structure that became the sparkling white stones.
"We'll be coming up to the entrance soon, my lady." The coachman's pleasant voice filtered through the brisk afternoon air.
Rowyn felt a wave of impatience crash over her in the next moment, forcing the woman to her feet despite the way her ride jostled on the cobblestone road.
Not waiting for the carriage to come to a stop, Rowyn timed herself carefully and stepped off the slowing carriage without problem. Smiling at her still present physical prowess, she paused to watch the modest wooden carriage round the corner, following Loghain on his great black stallion.
There was still a sharp climb to the fortress entrance, but it seemed short enough to be managed even in her ungainly state.
She knew Loghain would be displeased when he found her gone from the carriage, but maybe by then she would be far enough into the fortress that he would lapse into his customary silence. For all of his tactical abilities, the Hero of River Dane had still not mastered his daughter's ability to 'move' people, choosing instead to observe.
"Ah, bonjour mademoiselle!"
The guards at the entrance of the gardens were surprisingly amiable as they met her, their eyes alight as they tracked her progress towards them.
It was only when a large hand came around her middle, possessively splaying across her distended belly that her smile vanished as she gasped in surprise. The smile on both guards did also similarly disappear, though not in concern, rather it was disappointment.
"Rowyn."
Loghain's voice rumbled in her ear, the familiar sound sending shivers down her spine. "You should not have come out of the carriage; Orlesian men have a particular fascination with seeing pregnant women."
A light cloak settled over her shoulders, covering her from neck to ankles, swathing her in impenetrable grey. Looking up at him in confusion, she caught only the briefest glimpse of his blue eyes as he turned. Hands still on her, he straightened and allowed them to fall away, motioning towards the wrought iron gate that awaited them.
"There are some cultural prompts which I believe you have yet to understand." His voice was soft as they walked through the garden, "You would be wise to remember that."
As if to prove his point, a pair of Chevaliers crossed the path a few feet ahead of them, marked by their unique coat of arms and the lavish armor they wore. Both men, they sported identical looks of arrogant ease which sharpened into something entirely different when they spied the young woman at Loghain's side.
Rowyn felt rather than saw as Loghain had stiffened almost imperceptibly, and though she didn't understand why, it put her on edge.
The first to arrive was the larger of the two Chevaliers, a solid man with his wavy hair pulled into a stylish cue at the back of his neck.
"Hello, you must be the two Wardens from Ferelden."
He offered a large callused hand, and Rowyn automatically took, gasping suddenly when she was jerked forward, his lips touching the inside of her hand, her palm.
Rigid with anger, Rowyn yanked her hand backward with enough force that she slapped the man across the face, her expression a mix of outrage and fearfulness.
The other chevalier chucked as his friend stumbled backward, "You should know the Ferelden ladies are more shy than our own Orlesian birds, Jacques."
"This one hits harder too," Came the muted answer, "And she's smart enough to go for the vitals." The larger man, Jacques, looked up with a grin, revealing the angry red marks on the side of his face.
"I do so apologize for my companion's…insensitive behavior, my lady."
The other man, Marcel as he introduced himself, was as courtly as his companion, but showed a restraint that Rowyn found she immediately appreciated. Still, it came as a great relief when Loghain stepped in suddenly, providing the excuse that would allow them to depart.
Once inside, they were shown their new living quarters, with the promise of receiving a meeting the following day. As it was, the reminder of the day was spent moving in, a task to which Rowyn found herself relegated only the most minor of jobs.
"Loghain?"
It was evening by the time she had finished the last of the formal paperwork, the only stress Loghain had allowed her. His dark look, paired with her numerous bouts of nausea that day had been enough to prevent serious complaint.
Still, that did not mean she had forgiven him for his highhandedness.
Rowyn walked through the large arch that separated their rooms, her hands careful with the delicate velum in her hand. Around her waist hung the tapered dagger that had been hidden in the grey cloak Loghain had given her earlier that day. It now was tied around her waist with a braided cord.
She found him on the balcony dressed in a simple white linen shirt and leathers, his dark hair dancing in the sharp Orlesian wind. Strange, but he looked so much younger there without his armor, his blue eyes distant as he looked over the landscape.
Rowyn wondered what he saw when he looked over this land, this empire that was once the enemy. She had been educated enough to know the events that had put Maric Theirin on the throne, read books enough and listened to the songs of the bards to gather much.
And yet, for all of her knowledge, Loghain continued to evade complete understanding. Remaining where she was at the door, Rowyn leaned a little against the frame, waiting for him to come back from his thoughts. Despite her message, the elven woman found herself humming softly as she savored the brush of wind against her face, her belly, the way it felt through the chemise she wore.
It was only when the familiar weight of the grey cloak settled around her shoulders that she realized she had temporarily dozed off. Looking up at Loghain, she accepted the offering with a smile; hand brushing his own as she pulled the material higher around her neck.
When he didn't leave, Rowyn took a moment to draw the message out from her pocket.
"I received a letter from the Queen." She held out the scroll and smiled when he took it without question.
"There was a letter from the King too," she admitted after a long minute, watching him peruse both letters. "He asked how I was, though he suspects nothing." Watching him carefully, Rowyn smiled faintly, "Your daughter, on the other hand, has written us a letter in which she thanks us for our 'exemplary discretion'."
Loghain remained silent.
"She truly is her father's daughter." The elven woman said, moving quietly to sit on the largest of the plush Orlesian pillows that littered the balcony floor. Head tilted upwards toward the stars, she waited for the wind to blow anew, hair dancing as the loose coil unraveled.
Remaining where he was, Loghain finished the letters before turning to watch her as she reveled in the evening windstorm.
"Would you not hope your child act like its parent?"
His question lingered in the air between them until she turned back to look at him.
"My child shares a bloodline that dates back to the very beginning of Ferelden, at the very heart of the kingdom. For it so share the mannerisms of the Queen Moira, Maric or Alistair - would it not perhaps be fitting to inherit the traits of such a tradition?"
"You speak very much of the paternal line and little of yourself." Loghain frowned, his blue eyes meeting her own dark eyes with leveled intensity. That she looked so genuinely surprised shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did.
"Myself?" Rowyn couldn't stop the disbelieving smile on her lips, "Would I wish the child to act like me?" The young elven woman pushed the hair behind her ears before leaning back on her palms, "What great benefit would come from having a child with a similar disposition as my own? I am neither a charismatic lady of the court nor in possession of any great skill. I am compelled by duty to fight for my country, but should I fall there will be others."
She spoke with great candor, seemingly unaware of the growing disbelief of her lone audience member. Indeed, it wasn't until he had swept back into his room that she sensed the ripple of anger beneath the surface.
"Loghain?"
He was seated on his bed, longbow on his lap head bent, his dark hair obscuring the expression on his face.
"Have I offended you?" She asked, sitting beside him on the bed, watching as his long masculine fingers smoothed over the weapon in his grasp.
"I fail to see how you could have done so." He spoke after a long while, blue eyes suddenly upon her through the darkness.
"Then why are you upset?" Her dark eyes were serious, her lips set in a grim line, "I can see it plainly, Loghain Mac Tir. Your attempts to avoid the subject hardly become a man of your stature."
"You continue to believe you can read me." His laugh was entirely lacking in humor, "How very naïve of you."
"It frightens you, doesn't it?"
Ice filled those blue eyes, unreadable though he refused to look away. Rowyn met his glare readily, her own expression stubborn.
"What is it about me that so bothers you?" She pressed him, "The fact that I really do understand you, or that I look so much like her?"
His response was immediate, his voice cutting sneer, "You look nothing like Rowan."
And yet, in many ways his words were a lie. Loghain could see the similarity in the riot of curls, and challenging look in her eye. Rowan had been the only woman to meet him as an equal both on the battlefield and in private; the only woman, until now.
"Then why is it that you can't stand the idea that my duty is all that defines me? Was that not exactly what you asked of her for the greater good of Ferelden?"
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, forcing her backwards until she landed on the pillows behind her.
"They were the King and Queen that Ferelden needed." His voice was rough, eyes hard, "Rowan did her duty, but she grew to love Maric."
"She didn't love him the way she cared for you, Loghain." Rowyn smiled sadly, "You know that as well as I."
"You speak of something of which you know nothing." His hands released her, but he remained where he was, leaning over her, large body straddling her own.
"I was taught my history by Sister Ailis, Loghain. You cannot deny she knew you well."
"She knew me no better than anyone else."
He was unable to look at her as he spoke, his dark hair like a veil between them.
"And still, you avoid my questions," despite her position beneath him Rowyn laughed, "You truly are a master tactician, Loghain Mac Tir." She tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ear; fingers lingering on the soft top curve so unlike her own pointed ones.
She watched as his eyes flickered with too many emotions, observed the swirl that occurred only in the depths of those cold blue eyes.
"Why are you upset with me Loghain?" She repeated her earlier question; though this time she touched the sharp corner of his jaw.
The darkness hid a lot, but there was a trembling that she felt as she waited for his answer, feeling the texture of his skin beneath her hands. Strange that he could remain silent though his own touch across her body had her gasping.
"Rowyn."
His voice was soft as he whispered in her ear, hand moving to caress the child growing in her womb. And when at last he moved, it was to capture her lips with his own, meeting in the middle as she leaned up to meet him.
In the darkness of this room, between the tangled in the bed sheets, with the starlight reflecting in their eyes, it was perfect.