Title: Alouette
Rating: M
Mood: romantic, erotic, a little sad, maybe
Words: ~6600 of ?
Author: sleepyowlet
Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare, and I'm not making any profit.
Summary: Loghain goes on a diplomatic mission to Orlais with Maric. Stuff happens.
Babblerama: Is it just me or is this a bit different from the rest of my stuff style-wise? I find it pretty strange, but the story wanted to be written that way. Epilogue is in the works ;)
My thanks to Morwen33 for helping me sort out the horsey bits. I don't know much about horses.
Alouette – Chapter 2: In which the lark finally sings
"Ahi Amours com dure departie
Me convendra faire de la meillour
Qui onques fust amee ne servie
Deus me ramaint a li par sa doucour
Si voirement que m'en part a dolour
Las! qu'ai je dit? Ja ne m'en part je mie
Se li cors vait servir nostre Seignour
Li cuers remaint du tout en sa baillie."
Conon de Bethune, ca. 1190
("Ah, love! How hard it will be to part,
As I must, from the finest woman
Who was ever loved and served.
May God in his goodness bring me back to her
As surely as I part in sorrow.
But what have I said? This is no parting
Though my body goes off to serve our Lord,
My heart remains here, ruled by her."
translation by Rosenberg)
The negotiations started in earnest the next day, the last of the guild-masters, and the most influential merchants and nobles finally having arrived. The Orlesians had always been very interested in the superior timber that came from his own Teyrnir, as well as the salt mined in that region. Also, Orzammar's portal to the surface was on Ferelden soil, and many a merchant would love tax-free trade with the dwarves – but these taxes were one of Ferelden's most important sources of income, a fact of which Maric was well aware too; so he gave them sunny smiles and not an inch on that particular point. He did, however, offer them access to Ferelden ports at a much reduced cost, an offer the merchants gladly accepted. Loghain hid a grin, little did they know that this offer had also been extended to the Antivans – the free cities, especially Kirkwall, would lose quite a bit of profit, if the plan worked, with Amaranthine and Denerim becoming the major trade-hubs. They did, however draw the line at trading slaves – Kirkwall was welcome to keep the monopoly for that distasteful business.
So the mornings were filled with haggling with Orlesians, and the evenings were spent in entertainment with the Empress, so Loghain had no opportunity to meet with Alouette again. It was a shame too, her company had been so wonderfully different than that of the masked and painted lords of this land.
...
Loghain almost opened her throat with the dagger he kept beneath his pillow when she crept into his room in the middle of the night.
He removed the blade from where it touched her skin and put it back to where it had been before, waiting for her to speak. She didn't, just let her wrapper and shift fall to the floor and stood in the moonlight for a moment, her skin strangely luminous. Her hair seemed almost black in the darkness, and he realized that he had never seen it down before. It was long, very long, and made her seem very vulnerable and fragile.
Alouette joined him on the bed and bent down to kiss him, her hair falling around them like a curtain. A fragrant oil had made her skin incredibly soft, and he couldn't get enough of touching it, touching her in all those places he remembered that made her sigh and press herself close to him. He knelt and she straddled him; then they bucked and writhed together in the cool quiet of the night.
When Loghain woke in the next morning she was gone like a dream, the only thing left was her scent. It had been quite some time since he'd had a lover; he'd almost forgotten how nice it was to wake up feeling languid and relaxed after making love the night before.
He smiled to himself. What would Maric say if he knew that a beautiful Orlesian nymph had danced into his room on a moonbeam and had brought him so much pleasure?
He dressed, had some breakfast, and went to endure another day of endless haggling over taxes, and fees, and exchange rates, trying to put the night before out of his mind.
And so it continued; he spend the days negotiating, and the nights in the arms of his lover. She never complained that he didn't have more time for her, they both relished in every minute they had together. It was as if they understood each other without words sometimes; their language consisting only of mouths and fingers trailing over flushed skin. In other nights they lay in each others arms, whispering, telling each other about all those small inconsequential things that made up a life.
It did occur to him that she might be a spy or a bard, but she never asked any suspicious questions, only about life in Ferelden sometimes. It didn't make sense, and he couldn't help but wonder why she came to him again and again.
...
The Empress had a headache about a week later and needed to retire, so he had the rest of the day to himself. Not feeling like braving the training grounds in the middle of the day, he retreated to his room and settled in a spindly armchair with a book. It was in Orlesian, of course, but his knowledge of the tongue was sufficient enough, even though he absolutely refused to utter as much as one word in it.
A knock on the door drew his mind away from reading about Chevalier traditions, and he closed the book with a sigh.
"Yes," he called out, his voice terse.
Alouette slipped into his room, her wide mouth drawn into a conspirational grin.
"I just heard that the rest of today's meeting has been called off. How about we go hunting? In a real forest?"
"Came prepared, did you?" he teased, and held out a hand to her.
Alouette put aside her pack and the bow and quiver she was carrying, and went to him to sit in his lap.
"Of course. Isn't that that a good thing?"
"A very good thing," he purred and drew her in for a kiss.
She laughed and extracted herself from him.
"If we continue like that, we'll never make it to the forest!"
And as much as he would have liked to simply throw her onto his bed to have his wicked way with her, the thought of escaping the palace and the city for a while was too much of a temptation.
"That would be a shame. Show me that bow."
It was a simple weapon, but well made and well kept. The string that was wrapped about the shaft was quite new, but showed some signs of use, as did the bow itself. He unwrapped the string and put it into place, then drew it back. The bow creaked quietly and curved, and though it took less force to draw it than his own, it was a bow that needed regular practice to handle. He nodded to himself and loosened the string again.
"Good quality. How did you come by it?" he asked, handing it back to her.
"My grandfather again. He spoiled me terribly, or I would never have been allowed to even touch a weapon. He had a bow made that I could use as long as I was a child, but this one was for when I was grown up. When the news arrived that he had died, I took it and hid it among my clothes. They wouldn't have given it to me. And it wasn't really stealing, no? The bow was meant to be mine."
Loghain smirked at the mulish look on her face and shook his head.
"Have a seat, My Lady, while I get dressed."
He got out of the finery that Maric had made him wear, and dressed in a simple shirt and leather jerkin, breeches and boots. He had brought his own bow with him; he sometimes liked to join the men hunting when travelling.
"Shall we take some hounds?" Alouette asked when they left his quarters and made their way to the stable.
"No need. I know the insipid creatures you Orlesians call hounds – we're better off without them," he said, waving her off.
"Have it your way," Alouette replied, sounding slightly miffed.
Loghain chuckled and shot her an unrepentant grin.
"Everyone knows that our dogs are far superior. So superior, in fact, that they absolutely refuse to breed with yours," he said, his voice and smile grim as he thought of his beloved Adalla.
Alouette just looked at him pensively.
"There is a story there."
"Yes," Loghain said with a nod, "There is. And it's not a happy one."
"It's not?" Alouette asked.
"No. There are Orlesians in it. Now where did they put my charger..."
His horse turned up soon enough and looked quite content, its chestnut coat gleaming.
"Hello, Avenger," he greeted it and ran his hand along its nose, then checked all the straps holding the saddle, before methodically undoing and redoing them all himself under the worried gaze of the nervous stable-boy. He didn't trust the Orlesians to get anything right, besides, Avenger had a way of holding his breath when the girth was fastened, and if this particular strap wasn't correctly done, the saddle would come loose.
"Avenger?" Alouette chortled, pausing in checking the tack of her own horse.
"Maric gave him to me, and he also named him," he grumbled. He thought the name extremely silly as well, and he suspected that was why Maric had given the horse that particular name.
The stable-boy bowed and hurried off, leaving them to mount their horses.
Alouette rode a delicate palfrey, a mount much better suited to hunting than his own charger; but he didn't want to ride a horse he didn't know in a land he didn't trust the stable-hands as far as he could throw them.
"You call your king by his name?"
"In private, yes. He's my friend. Doesn't anyone call your Empress Celene?"
"No, no one. Perhaps someone should," Alouette replied thoughtfully.
"I say. That would perhaps help to keep the woman grounded."
Alouette didn't reply, only shook her head with a bemused expression.
They made their way through the bustling city following the promenade; and it took about an hour to reach the woods once they had left Val Royeaux behind. The clean, fragrant air of the forest was a balm on Loghain's soul, and he closed his eyes for a moment and imagined himself back home.
They left the horses in the shade of some weeping willows at the edge of a pond and went into the forest. Loghain didn't expect them to actually make a catch, but it was fun to teach the skills his father had taught him to someone who appreciated them. It was terribly obvious that Alouette didn't know much about the wilds or hunting; so he showed her what to look for, how to recognize the footprints animals left, where they had nibbled at the bushes or rubbed against tree bark, where they come more than once and left a trail.
They did see a doe and her half-grown fawn, but neither of them felt like shooting it; so they simply crouched in the bushes and watched them.
They returned to the horses soon after and shared the meal Alouette had brought. She fed him bits and pieces of various delicacies, and he found that the soft, white cream-cheese tasted best if licked off Alouette's skin. They made love lazily in the sun-dappled grass, the forest peaceful and sleepy around them.
"How do you know so much about surviving in the wilds?" she asked him when they had uncurled from each other and shared a drink afterwards.
Loghain snorted.
"What do you think? The Rebel Army had to live off the land more often than not, so these skills were necessary. Before that... how much do you actually know about me?"
Alouette shrugged.
"That you are a commoner who was elevated to noble rank for leading the Rebel Army. The Chevalier and many nobles still curse your name, and if you listen to their wives, you'd get the impression that you had Orlesian children for breakfast."
Loghain snorted and clapped his hand in front of his mouth to prevent himself from spewing watered down wine everywhere.
"What?" he barked, laughter in his voice.
"Oh yes. You can rest assured that you are quite feared and hated. So, how much is the truth?"
"Oh, you've been right about most things, they are common knowledge. Apart from my dietary habits; I found Orlesian children much too bland for my taste," Loghain drawled, and ducked when she threw a piece of bread at him.
"My father taught me," he finally answered her original question, his mood changing. "We were driven off our lands, and we ... lost mother in the process. So it was the two of us for a while, until others joined us. We lived as outlaws for years, always moving from one part of Ferelden to another."
"What happened then?"
Loghain smirked wryly.
"Maric happened. He stumbled right into my arms, so to speak, and after a while I eventually joined the rebels. And then ... I did everything I could to one day see my Ferelden as a free country once more. And now it is."
Alouette sighed, and stared into space with a wistful expression.
"I wish I could see it. Just once."
"Come with me, then," Loghain said impulsively.
"I can't," she replied quietly, lowering her head.
"Why not? You're not married, are you?", he asked, realizing how little he knew about her present life.
"No, I'm not."
"What is keeping you here, then? A guardian?"
Alouette shook her head.
"No, not one of those either. Duty. Duty keeps me here." she said and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, this is such a mess. When I decided to seduce you I was just curious; I didn't expect to actually like you."
Loghain didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow at her.
"And now you're asking me to come with you ... and I can't think of anything I'd love to do more. But I can't," Alouette cried, throwing her hands up, her accent becoming more pronounced in her agitation.
"Why?" Loghain asked quietly.
Alouette took a deep breath and faced him, her green cats-eyes meeting his unflinchingly.
"I have told you many things about me. They're all true, I only lied about one thing, and that is my name. Well, I actually didn't, I told you that Alouette is only a nickname ... and you didn't ask for my real name."
"Tell me then, what is your real name?" Loghain demanded.
"Celene. My name is Celene. I'm the Empress of Orlais," she answered flatly.
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place in Loghain's mind. Of course... he had only ever seen one of the two, and when he'd been with Alouette, Her Majesty had been indisposed, and nobody else had seen her either. It had been easy to miss, because of the court being so busy, but when he thought about it now...
"To think that I'd been concerned about you being a bard," he hissed.
"I am sorry, Loghain. I never meant for this to go this far. But I couldn't resist, I had to see you again," Celene said sadly, her head bent.
Loghain found himself unable to speak, his fury choking anything he might have said, so he reached for his clothes and got dressed.
"Loghain, please! I'm the same woman I was before. I'm forced to wear a mask every minute of every day; and with you I could be myself again. I had almost forgotten what that feels like," she begged, scrambling to get into her own clothes.
Loghain didn't reply, and she fell silent too. They made their way back to the City without uttering one word, and as they parted ways he still didn't say anything, unable to even look at her.
...
Now that he knew, Loghain noticed traces of Alouette in the Empress. The way she tilted her head when she enquired something, the minuscule twitch of the right corner of her mouth when she found something amusing and tried not to show it, the tone of her voice when she tried to convince someone to see things her way.
He recognized Alouette's face beneath Celene's mask of cosmetics; where the paint corrected the wide mouth, and how the fake lashes disguised any expression in her green eyes. How her soft hair was rigorously forced into shape and weighted down with oils and gold-dust.
It made him sad.
Their manner of interaction didn't change, she treated him with cool courtesy, he treated her with barely concealed contempt.
His nights were lonely without her, and the days dragged on endlessly without her company to look forward to. He missed her body next to his, but he missed her wit and curiosity even more. He should have turned her away the very first day on the practice-grounds, he thought. He should have never let her get under his skin.
But he had let her, and under his skin she still resided; precariously close to his heart, he found.
He also discovered that what she did made sense in context of what she had told him. She was concerned about her people, but she didn't wish any ill on Ferelden either. What he had thought capricious and foolish was actually her trying to keep the more hostile elements of her court in check, disguising her machinations as female whims. And somehow the nobles of Orlais found it easier to comply with wishes when they thought she was just being whimsical. This was expected of a woman, after all. Sometimes she tittered, then snapped at some poor fellow the next moment, all part of the game she played. A game she had said she was utterly sick of.
He held out another week, but the day before the scheduled departure of Maric's entourage he felt like there were still some things unsaid that shouldn't be.
He requested a private audience with the Empress in the morning, and he busied himself with preparing for travel to take his mind of the fact that she didn't send a reply.
He was actually preparing for bed when she finally sent for him, and he had a few choice words for her running through his mind as he hastily dressed in the garments he had discarded moments ago.
He was led through a maze of corridors to a gilded door, which immediately opened to allow him entrance.
The Empress sat on an elegantly curved chair in front of an elaborate vanity with several mirrors, surrounded by several ladies. The jewel-encrusted dress she had worn that day was on a mannequin nearby, and she was clothed in a robe that covered her stays and petticoats. As soon as she noticed him, she sent the ladies away with an impatient wave of her hand.
One of them, a shapely blonde, had the nerve to giggle when she passed him, but sobered quickly (blanching) when he shot her an icy glare.
"Won't they talk?" he asked tersely when they were finally alone.
The Empress shrugged.
"They know better. But even if, the people at court would only assume that I tried to seduce Ferelden's Watchdog for my own ends. When it comes to Orlesian politics these things are expected."
She still wore the elaborate coiffure and her make-up; the mask was still in place. But now she reached for a cloth and dipped it into a jar which contained some sort of grease. As she dragged the cloth over her face, wiping away the thick layer of paint, he wondered if she had called him into her chambers at this hour so he would be witness to her transformation from Empress to woman.
"You asked to see me," she said flatly, her voice interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes. I came to tell you that I do understand why you thought the deception was necessary. And perhaps it was. I came to tell you that you have my forgiveness. And I ask for yours."
The Empress wiped the cloth over her face a last time, her face now free of cosmetics.
"You have it. I do understand why you were angry at me. To be quite honest, I didn't expect to see you again."
Loghain smiled ruefully and shook his head.
"Alouette came to mean too much to me. She is more than the Empress."
Reaching for another cloth and some soap the monarch in question washed the grease off her face with water from a golden basin standing on the vanity.
"And you are more than Ferelden's Watchdog. I will always remember that; I hope you will too."
They were both silent for a while, and Celene dried her face and moved on to her hair. It was obvious that this was a task she usually left to others, she had difficulties taking the elaborate up-do apart. So Loghain took a few steps closer, gently batted her hands away, and helped her. It was easier for him, since he could actually see what he was doing. His fingers moved through her hair methodically, and the pile of bejewelled ornaments grew on the vanity.
Finally her hair was down, and he reached for a brush to comb the gold-dust out. It already covered his hands, and he wondered for a moment what it would look like, glittering on the pale skin of her breasts and stomach.
They both knew that he wouldn't spend the night, but it was nice to pretend for a moment. She stood and led him to a couch where he pulled her into his arms and finally told her the story of Adalla, the Mabari he once had, and who was taken away from him by an Orlesian lord. How she had finally returned, only to die in his arms. She told him how the last emperor had treated her when he had chosen her as his successor, how he had had her best friend killed to teach her that she could never become attached to another person.
They shared one last kiss that was in equal parts sweet and sad, and Loghain whispered one last sentence against her lips, before going back to his quarters.
"Good bye, Celene."