A/N: Thank you to those of you who have read, reviewed, favourited or alerted this story - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Also, I meant to say this when posting chapter 1, but I want to give a shout out to Piceron, whose Loghain stories inspired me to write one of my own, and whose ceasless encouragement has kept me on track with this story and others. Thanks Pic. :)
It's been asked if this will be an ongoing story or a one-shot. The answer is somewhere between the two. I tend to think of this story as a very long one-shot split into three chapters - it's definitely not going to be an epic. I don't entirely rule out continuation stories, but I don't foresee any at present.
This chapter is darker than the first, and the third (and final) chapter will be the darkest of all.
Need
"You'll have to forgive me if I shut my eyes and think of my dead wife." He keeps his tone carefully neutral, his expression impassive, and his eyes on the witch.
He wants neither one of these young women to guess at his true thoughts.
It is not Celia he will be thinking of during the act, of that much he is certain. Nor yet Rowan, despite the reminders of her he has had these past few hours.
And it surely will not be the witch herself.
He risks a single glance over his shoulder as Morrigan leads him from the room. Kayla is watching them, and the expression on her face is a confusion of mixed feelings. There is grim satisfaction there, and relief, and even a hint of contempt. But the one that surprises him is remorse.
And is it just wishful thinking on his part, or is there the faintest trace of jealousy, as well?
oOo
Kayla remains standing in her room, her eyes on the closed door, for several minutes before she shakes her head and begins peeling off her armour.
It has been a long, troubling day.
She ought to be thinking ahead to the battle; considering strategies, planning how best to fight the archdemon.
Instead, as she lets her leathers fall to the floor, she finds her mind toying with an image of Loghain removing his own armour while Morrigan watches.
She is horrified to find that the thought of it brings a heated flush to her cheeks.
She sinks onto her bed and draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
Why would she even think about that? Bad enough that she had to persuade Loghain to take part in it, against his wishes. Whatever would he think of her visualising it?
It's just natural curiosity, she decides. Having never done the deed herself, she can't help but wonder about it.
It has nothing at all to do with the odd look in his eyes as he left the room.
Or with the memory of his hands on her arms.
She envisages Loghain pushing Morrigan down onto the bed, the way he pushed her against the wall. And then she imagines his hands in other places, and can't help wondering what that would feel like.
She crawls under the bed covers, intending to try to sleep. But shutting her eyes only intensifies the visions. Images of Loghain and Morrigan, together, flood her mind, and it's no longer solely embarrassment she feels in response to them.
It's something much more primal.
Maker knows, there have been nights – many, many nights – when she's wanted to throw all common sense aside, and find out what it would be like to lie with a man.
Alistair might have been willing to show her. Zevran would have been more than willing.
But Alistair had wanted more from her than she could give. He had wanted a love that she didn't feel, and she cared too much for him to pretend otherwise.
And Zev... His happy-go-lucky attitude was much more amenable to a casual fling. But it would have hurt Alistair, and so she couldn't do that, either.
But Alistair is gone. So what, exactly, is stopping her now?
They are on the verge of a massive battle, one that could see any or all of their lives ended. Would it be so terrible, then, to go to Zev's chamber right now, and finally satisfy her curiosity? If not now, then when?
She is deathly tired of waiting for the man of her dreams to arrive.
She tries to imagine herself with Zev, and for a moment the image is a pleasing, and arousing, one; but then his blond hair darkens and turns black, and his face morphs into someone else altogether.
Loghain.
Why can't she get the blasted man out of her thoughts?
She certainly doesn't want her first time to be with Loghain, of all people. The very idea of it is unthinkable.
And yet she can't seem to stop thinking it.
Her fantasies seem to have come full circle.
Loghain Mac Tir. There was a time when he was, quite literally, the man of her dreams. But that seems a very long time ago. She was a naïve young girl then. And he was still a hero.
He's no hero now. But then, neither is she. She's made mistakes, done things she isn't proud of, in the name of saving Ferelden from the Blight. She numbers a bard, an assassin and a murderous barbarian among her companions. She's manipulated, she's bullied, she's cajoled, to get the results she wanted.
She's done so as recently as this very night.
Perhaps we are not so unalike after all.
His words seem to mock her, now.
Is he wrong? Are they so very different?
Or is he, perhaps, exactly the man she deserves?
oOo
Loghain exits the marsh witch's room without a backward glance.
It had seemed to give her a perverse pleasure to inform him that the ritual was complete, and that he had performed his part adequately.
He had simply nodded, relieved that the ordeal was over, and stopped only to pull on his underclothes and gather up his armour before making for the door.
His performance might have been 'adequate', but he has never felt less satisfied in his life.
He had hoped to make the experience more bearable with thoughts of Kayla, but while they had certainly helped to inflame his desire, the witch's precise demands had kept his head firmly in the reality of it all.
And now he's left with a still-burning desire, and no palatable means of quenching it.
The walk back to his own room takes him past hers, and his steps falter. For a brief moment he considers just going in and...
No, he dare not. There is a shadow lurking in him tonight, a darkness that the witch's ritual has only fuelled. He feels as if he is standing at the brink of his sanity, and it would take so very little to push him over the edge.
If he lets his desires overtake him, and she does not want that from him...
He has never done violence to a woman outside of combat, and he doesn't mean to start now.
With a wordless growl he picks up his pace and hurries past her door, to his own chamber.
He slams the door open, not caring if he wakes anyone, and hurls his armour to the floor, releasing some of his frustration in the process.
A tiny gasp startles him, and it is only then that he sees her, huddled in the chair in the corner, her eyes wide and dark in the firelight.
oOo
Kayla knows she has made a mistake as soon as the door crashes open.
Loghain doesn't even see her at first, but his anger at having been made to perform the ritual with Morrigan is plain to see, and she can't help but flinch when he casts his armour aside with a force that shocks her.
Her intake of breath draws his attention, and she flinches again as his gaze falls on her. The firelight casts odd shadows across his face, making his expression near impossible to read. But the look in his eyes seems positively murderous.
And he stands between her and the door.
She must have lost her senses, to come here.
He stares at her silently for a long minute, like a hawk sizing up its prey. And then he slowly closes the door behind him, never taking his eyes off her. She tries, and fails, to suppress an involuntary shiver.
"Why are you here?" he demands in a low, dangerous voice.
How can she answer that, when she barely understands it herself?
All she knows is that there is an aching need in her that is demanding fulfilment. But she seems to have chosen the wrong man to fulfil it.
He closes the gap between them in a smooth movement. "Why are you here?" he repeats coldly. "Come to gloat, perhaps, at your achievement?" His lips pull into a mirthless, mocking smile. "Well, I am your puppet, it seems. Does my lady wish me to dance for her some more?"
"No!" She stares at him in horror. Is that what he thinks, that she is just using him for her own ends?
Well, aren't you? a dark voice inside her whispers.
Small wonder he is angry.
"I'm not here to gloat," she insists, doing her best to swallow down her fear. "And I don't think you're anyone's puppet, Loghain. Certainly not mine."
He leans down and grips the arms of the chair, his own arms and body forming a temporary prison around her.
"Then. Why. Are. You. Here?" Each word is forced out between gritted teeth.
"I don't know!" she cries, looking up at him. With the fire now behind him, only the moonlight from the window falls on his face, and his eyes sparkle like ice in its cold light.
He's truly scaring her now.
And she has never felt more alive.
He suddenly shifts his weight and grabs her arms, pulling her roughly to her feet
At the Landsmeet, she bested him handily. But that was in armed combat, and she came to his room with neither weapon nor armour.
Stupid, stupid.
In an unarmed brawl, he has the advantage of size and strength over her; there is no way she can fight him and win. But she refuses to give in to her fear and cower before him.
So she wrenches one arm free of his grip and slaps him, hard, across one cheek.
He draws in a rapid, surprised breath, and then lets it out again in a hiss. His free hand comes up to rub his jaw, and his eyes glint dangerously as he turns his gaze back on her.
His mouth contorts into an icy smile.
With no warning, his hand darts out and seizes her by the throat. He catches her off-balance, and before she can react, he is spinning her around and she finds herself, once again, pinned against the wall.
Her heart pounding, she beats and pulls ineffectually at his arm, waiting for him to tighten his grip and squeeze the breath out of her.
But he doesn't. He simply holds her there, applying just enough pressure to keep her from escaping or calling out for help. There is a calculating, almost feral look in his eyes.
Abruptly he lunges towards her, and his hand slides around to the back of her neck as his mouth presses down on hers in a rough, hungry kiss.
Her heart races, and her body feels like it is on fire.
A moment later she is returning the kiss with a fervour easily the equal of his.
oOo
Loghain feels his self-control, what precious little he has left, slipping as her lips part willingly beneath his, and her lithe body presses towards him instead of trying to to pull away.
He is losing himself.
He tangles a hand into her hair and tugs, forcing her head back as he breaks the kiss. As she looks up at him with a whimper of pain and disappointment he locks his gaze onto hers.
"If you ever mean to stop me, woman, then for both our sakes, do it now," he growls. "If this is not what you want, then leave, and leave now." He tightens his grip on her arm briefly, to illustrate his point, and then releases her and steps back. "Do you understand me?"
Her breaths are short and fast, and her face is flushed. She bites her lip, seemingly unaware that she is doing so.
"And what if this is what I want?" she asks slowly, taking a small step toward him and looking directly into his eyes. "What then?"
It's all the permission Loghain needs.
"Then," he says, reaching out and pulling her the rest of the way to him, eliciting a gasp from her, "I think we are done talking."
He reaches down and grasps the hem of her nightshirt, tugging it upwards. She doesn't resist as he pushes her arms above her head and pulls the garment all the way off, tossing it aside.
She is wearing nothing else, and he swallows tightly as his gaze roves up and down her body, appreciating her naked form.
He runs a calloused hand across the soft skin of her breasts, and she shivers and moans at his touch, her eyes half-closed.
He moves his hand lower, down across her belly, and then lower still, pushing between her legs. She gasps and her eyes fly wide open as his fingers probe. She arches towards him, wanting more.
His lust overpowers him, and he spins her around, keeping her off-balance; something he hadn't managed to do at the Landsmeet. He propels her backwards and roughly pushes her, almost throws her, onto the bed.
She watches him silently, her breaths coming shallow and fast, as he swiftly sheds his shirt and smallclothes, and then advances towards her.
He is far less gentle than he should be, but she doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, she is not so gentle herself, as her fingers dig into his back. He is fortunate that she has a fighter's hands, and not a lady's – her fingernails are too short to do any serious harm.
There are no displays of affection, no whispered endearments, no soft caresses. There is only the shared urgency of lust and passion.
It is only when she lets out a sharp cry of pain that he recalls her earlier hint that she had never lain with a man before.
Damn him, he should have remembered that.
He tries to rein in his ardour, but she whimpers a protest and claws at his back, urging him on with wordless little moans. The tenuous hold he has on conscious thought unravels, and he lets go, answering her need with his own.
oOo
Kayla lies back and stares at the silken canopy above, sweat already cooling on her body, muscles aching from unfamiliar uses.
Is that how it's supposed to be?
She is a little underwhelmed by the experience. From the way people talk, she had expected... more.
Her disappointment must be writ clear on her face, for Loghain suddenly speaks, his voice low and bitter. "You could have chosen better for your first lover than an old man driven half mad with lust."
She turns her head to see him watching her, his expression unreadable.
"Only half?" she teases, covering the awkwardness with humour – a bad habit she has picked up from Alistair.
His mouth twitches into a faint hint of a smile. "You have not yet robbed me of all self-control." The almost-smile fades. "But close enough, it seems."
"Does it...?" She hesitates, and then blurts out, "Does it always hurt like that?"
He does smile then, a gentler smile than she would have imagined possible on his face. "No. The first time can be... unpleasant for the woman, I'm told. It should not be so again. You will find your next encounter to be more enjoyable, I think."
She stares at him for a long moment, considering his words. Then she makes a decision. "Show me."
He arches a brow at her. "You would have me perform on demand? I am indeed your puppet, then." He does not seem amused.
"No, that's not what I..." She lets out a little growl of frustration, and then takes a breath. "Please, Loghain... will you show me?"
oOo
Her request catches him unawares. It is not the question itself that surprises him, but the fact that she is asking at all. Not telling, not demanding, not manipulating, not fighting him for the upper hand – but simply asking.
She seems oddly vulnerable because of it, and he finds that disconcerting; not least because his instinctual response to it is to give her exactly what she wants, simply because she wants it.
He tells himself it's because he wants it. What man his age wouldn't? For that matter, what man half his age wouldn't be aroused by a pretty, young, naked girl in his bed, begging him to please her?
It's an intoxicating combination.
And there is probably little he can do about it.
He barks a bitter laugh. "I am no virile young stud, woman. You must forgive me if I cannot rise to the occasion again so soon."
She rolls on to her side and nestles close to him, her body brushing against his in interesting ways, and tentatively reaches out. In spite of his assertions, his own body begins to respond under her hand, and he lets out a groan of desire.
"Are you certain of that?" she almost purrs, a wicked gleam in her eye. "It does not seem to be a problem, from what I can see."
The throaty tone in her voice is enticing, her touch more so, and he feels himself growing hard once more. With a swift movement he flips her onto her back, catching her wrists in his hands as he straddles her.
She gasps, her eyes wide, and he smiles crookedly down at her. "Unhand me, woman, unless you want this to be over as quickly as the last time."
This time, he makes certain her needs are as well attended to as his own, and the way she responds leaves no doubt that she is, indeed, finding the second time far more pleasurable than the first.
oOo
When Kayla wakes, her head is on Loghain's shoulder, and his arm is curled possessively around her waist. She looks up to find him silently watching her. She wonders if he's slept at all.
A faint smile plays around his lips. "I trust my lady was more... satisfied... with her second experience?"
She smiles contentedly. "You could say that, yes." Then she frowns at him. "Don't call me that. The life of a noblewoman is far behind me; I'm no lady."
He reaches out with his other hand, and trails it up her thigh. "After this night, I would have to agree." His eyes glint with dark humour.
"Hey!" She feigns indignation, and punches a fist towards him playfully. "You weren't such a gentleman yourself."
He captures her wrist easily in his hand, deflecting the intended blow, and acknowledges the comment with a slight incline of his head. "I confess," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "now I really am curious. What became of those high standards you held all men to and found them all wanting? Surely I am not the man you were waiting for all this time."
She feels herself flush, and looks down, unable to meet his eyes.
There is a moment's silence, and then he lets out his breath in a rush. "Ah." She feels him nod. "I remember a young girl," he says slowly, "who came to court on occasion with her father. And while most girls her age swooned over the handsome young prince, I would catch this one girl's eyes following me, instead." She closes her eyes in embarrassment; she had no idea she had ever been so obvious, nor that he had noticed.
His tone grows sober. "I thought it a harmless crush, one I had all but forgotten. And I had forgotten that it was you, Kayla Cousland." He sighs heavily. "Had I remembered..." He shakes his head, and a bitter note creeps into his voice. "So how does the reality fare against your fantasy, girl? Was it all you dreamed of?" He barks a laugh, and the bitterness in it is marked now.
"It's not like that," she mutters. Reluctantly, she meets his gaze, and recoils from the unexpected anger she sees there. "I didn't come here looking for a fantasy. I'm not some lovestruck idiot. I just... I wanted to..." She blushes, suddenly embarrassed by her own boldness in coming to his room.
His mouth pulls into a sneer. "I'm happy I could oblige, then. And I do thank you for a most pleasant tumble." His tone is ice cold, and she stares at him in shock. He turns away, pulling his arm free, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting with his back towards her. "You had best return to your own chamber, before everyone rises and awkward questions are asked."
Her cheeks flaming with shame and anger, she gets out of his bed and looks for her nightshirt, inwardly berating herself for her naivety.
For a moment there, she had thought she'd seen some real tenderness beneath that cold exterior. But his brusque dismissal makes it all too clear that he had simply taken what was freely offered, and leaves her feeling little better than a cheap whore.
oOo
Loghain walks to the window and stands there, looking out across the lake, waiting for her to leave.
His keen ears hear every sound she makes, as she pads softly across the floor in her bare feet. He hears her pick up the nightshirt from the corner he'd thrown it into, and put it on. He hears her footsteps receding towards the door, and then they stop, and there is silence.
He feels her eyes boring into his back, but he doesn't turn around. A moment later, he hears the door open, and she is gone.
He lets out the breath that he was holding, and sinks wearily into the chair by the window.
He should not have allowed this to happen.
True, she was the one who came to his room, the one who said it was what she wanted. But she is a young fool, and he old enough to know better.
He should have recalled the crush she once had on him. If he had remembered that, he would have turned her away, no matter how much he wanted her.
A one-off liaison, a single casual encounter: that was one thing. But this?
Perhaps she even believes that her heart is not involved, that she came to him for sex alone. But he saw it in her eyes, the moment he playfully asked about being the man she had been waiting for.
There is some part of her that believes he is that man. And that he cannot allow.
That way lies only disaster, and fatal distraction.