AN: So I've had this on my mind for a very long time, and a part of me wants to make this longer than just this one shot. There's just something about Loghain Mac Tir that has me totally enthralled and so I desperately needed to write this. As it is I'm just curious to see what people think and get some feedback. I might end up adding more is there's demand, but really this is just written because I needed to get it out :)
Any and all comments are much loved - constructive criticism is not bad either!
Please enjoy, and as always I don't own anything you recognize!
He was silent as he watched her hum softly, her hands on the gentle swell of her stomach, rubbing gently at the life within. Before her, the flickering glow of the hearth kept the small room warm despite the bitter chill outside. Denerim had been unseasonably cold, and it was only luck that had given them such lodging.
"What will you do now?"
His voice was rough as he called for her attention.
Slowly she turned to him, but her slender fingers continued drawing abstract designs on the soft material of her shirt, caressing and loving the child she carried. Her hair, usually kept back in a neat coil at the top of her head had long since unraveled, allowing the cascade of silky curls to flow over her shoulder, down her back.
She looked so much more feminine like this, appeared more the young woman rather than hardened Commander of the Grey Wardens. That she was so fine boned only made the point that much more stark, a result of her elven heritage.
"You speak of the child?"
"It is the King's bastard." He said, the word delivered without heat, without much emotion at all.
Her fingers splayed across her abdomen as her eyes met his, pinning him in place.
"It is. Or did you think that fact had escaped me?" She dared him to look away, her dark eyes so deceptively old that when he looked at them he felt as if he had gazed at eternity itself. "I would have thought you would appreciate the fact I had not mentioned such a thing to either His Majesty or his wife."
He didn't respond, merely watched as she slowly rose from her chair, readjusting the blanket around her shoulders before settling once more.
It was hard to believe that this was the woman responsible for saving his beloved Ferelden, an elf from the Denerim Alienage. Of those who could have come to the aid of the kingdom, the dwarven princes or Arls of the Bannorn, it was instead one small elven woman who had united them all.
She had not done it on her own, but it was to her that the others had deferred, to her judgment her strength, her insight.
He should have known, she would be the catalyst to Ferelden's recovery. He had spoken to her once, that night, at Ostagar when she had come to his tent on accident. She had been unlike anything he had expected from a Grey Warden, from any woman since Ferelden had been wrested from the hands of Orlesian Empire.
"Rowyn."
He spoke her name softly, silently wondering at the similarity of her name and the one which reminded him so much of his most beloved queen.
"You know that I was named after her, don't you?" The young elf spoke from her small curled up position on the couch, "My mother, for all of her hatred of human beings, even loved the queen for a time."
She sounded miles away as she continued to speak in her low, rich voice, "Of course to have named her daughter Rowan after a human queen would have been impossible. But my mother would have my name as close as she could get." Rowyn scoffed softly, "It still caused too much trouble as it was. Mother always did have a penchant for finding danger."
"You appear to have a similar skill."
"What else would you have me do?" She spoke distantly, "The King and Queen have asked that I travel to Amaranthine and do what I can."
"You are three months pregnant." He sounded uncharacteristically appalled despite the considerate volume with which he spoke.
"You suggest that I put aside my duty for the remaining six months?" She didn't look at him, "And what, pray tell, would be my excuse? The King may not see it, but your daughter is not without resources."
At her feet, her large mabari got to its feet and barked, pressing his large head to one of her hands, offering comfort.
Her lips were pressed tight, her cheeks pale but dry, not moist with tears.
"I'll figure out what to do the closer I travel to Amaranthine. The alternative is not…necessary."
Her dark eyes caught his blue ones, "The Order has offered to send a Commander from Orlais if I am, unable, to do my duty."
His lips twisted into a grimace, "That is…"
"…not what I had in mind." She finished for him, smiling faintly, "I know you Loghain Mac Tir. If you were in my position then even you would have tried to find some way to be in Amaranthine."
"If I ever find myself in your position, I do believe I would be suitably more disturbed than that." He commented dryly, referring to her pregnancy.
"Loghain Mac Tir, did you actually just tell a joke?" The small woman had crawled to her knees on the couch to stare at him wide eyed and amused, "Be still my heart, I do believe the Maker has actually granted me a miracle."
But her teasing came too late, as the older man had once more retreated to his usual aloofness. It was a state to which Rowyn had quickly come to be acquainted. They had traveled and fought together long enough
She had spared him at the Landsmeet because of the man the history books had portrayed, because she could not bring herself to kill him in front of his daughter. Because at the end of the day she understood why he had done what he had.
"I have a duty to Ferelden," she spoke softly to him silhouetted in the golden firelight, "You of all people should know the cost of such things, Loghain Mac Tir."
He turned piercing blue eyes to look at her, "You think you know?"
Crossing the room, his impressive height made her look up when at last he stood before her.
"Do not think you know me, Rowyn." He chastised, "Many have tried and failed. Do not believe me so easy a mark."
"I killed the Archdemon and survived," her smile was small, and a little self mocking, "What are you compared to that, Loghain?"
He turned to leave, but found her small hand clamped tight on his wrist.
"I speak from experience, one I know you share." her voice was suddenly pained, her expression a fractured image of what it could have, should have been. "The price of loyalty, Loghain Mac Tir, is your heart."
"That is nothing but a fool's notion." He whispered, "A hopelessly romantic and tragic view that does nothing but emphasize how very young and inexperienced you are."
"It doesn't break it," Rowyn continued softly raising a hand to his cheek, watched as he flinched away and moved to lean against the fireplace. "It steals your heart away, as if you never had one to begin with."
It was silent for a long while afterwards, the only noise coming from the sharp crackling and hissing of the fire.
"Don't go to Amaranthine." He said finally, "You'll get yourself killed."
"And that makes you sad, does it?" She asked him quietly, her expression serious.
His dark eyes bore into her own, impenetrable, "It would be a waste."
"For who?" She challenged.
"Ferelden."
"Is that why you did what you did that night before the final battle?" She whispered amidst the firelight. "Because it would be a waste for me to die? For Ferelden to lose me?" Rowyn didn't look at him, "Was not my duty to die atop that fort?"
"Our duty is never to die, it is to serve." He looked at her through darkened eyes, "To give of ourselves until there is nothing left."
"And what happens when we've done that?" She wanted to know, "What will you do now that you're a Grey Warden?"
"I've been summoned to Orlais." His voice filled with distaste as he met her surprised look, "It appears the Order believes I may not be as impartial as they would like. I am to report to Montsimmard within a month."
"What?" Rowyn rose in her seat, "So then I am to go to Amaranthine on my own?"
She swore softly, creatively as she slowly walked towards the small window that overlooked the capital. Following the celebration of Ferelden's victory over the Blight she had disappeared as quietly as she could. Loghain had followed her and they had remained companionably living in the small suite of rooms for a month before the Order had sent them news of their next assignments.
Touching the paper in her pocket, Rowyn made a soft sound of discomfort as a wave of dizziness overcame her, her hand shooting out to clutch at the window sill for balance.
Warm hands settled on her shoulders a moment later, coaxing her upwards as they gently helped keep her on her feet.
Hating that she had to rely on him, Rowyn resisted for a moment before he fixed her with a particularly annoyed look, his hands tightened as he very nearly dragged her to the couch. Loghain was very fit for his age, stronger than even she despite the hardships she had endured.
Still, she recognized the exasperation with which he settled down next to her, his still booted feet propped up on the sturdy wooden bench they had been using as a table. The pointed look his face her only made her frown.
"I will be able to do my duty in Amaranthine."
He said nothing, merely folded his hands over his middle and waited.
"You cannot tell me what to do." She said angrily, trying to get up, only to surrender when once more a wave of nausea crashed over her.
Groaning, she caught herself on her knees and closed her eyes, willing the feeling to pass. Beside her, Loghain watched silently but did nothing, his expression growing more distant by the second.
She turned to look at him when at last the world ceased swimming before her eyes,
"What is it that so occupies your mind, Loghain?"
He looked grave for a moment, as though he would refuse to answer. It was only at her soft insistence that he finally spoke.
"Travel with me."
Rowyn didn't know what to say, what to think.
"You want me to come with you?"
He didn't smile as he looked down at her but nodded slowly.
And though the roaring hearth cast shadows on them both, there was a flicker in his eye that had nothing to do with the firelight.
END