The silence that followed was far less uncomfortable than Loghain anticipated. He expected more questions or accusations even, for his uncharacteristic foray into over-emotional sentiment. But Kya didn't say a word. She simply sat beside him, unflinching and staring into the slowly dying flames. Likely her mind wandered the same never ending labyrinth of what if and what might have been that he'd walked in his mind for more years than he cared to count.
It wasn't until the big, stoic Qunari woke to relieve their watch that she finally looked at him again. He expected pity. Instead, her expression was again a confused jumble of compassion and surprise and understanding, or at least that's what he could make out. Loghain had never been wise in the ways of women; which was sincerely from a simple lack of experience.
As he made his way to his tent, he pondered the sad fact of that. Nearing sixty, and in a position that he frankly could have had any woman he desired, he never took advantage of it. Rowan. His long suffering, and never really appreciated wife. And no others beyond that.
He fell asleep with a pang of regret that he thought he'd moved past. Thirty years is long time to build a wall. It should be as strong as any ancient castle; thick blocks of stone that if they had weight would take a dozen strong men with levers just to angle into place. Yet it felt as if one conversation, shrouded in forgiving darkness, cracked the mortar he'd invested a lifetime into.
Sleep was an incredibly poor idea. Loghain's only solace when he woke in a panic, covered in cold sweat, was that he managed to not scream aloud.
She warned him. Of course, more conceit on his part to think that he'd be too strong to be bothered by a mere dream. Loghain couldn't recall the last time he even remembered a dream. But like was proving to be true, she was right. And he should trust her; which in and of itself was an incredibly foreign concept to him. He'd learned that trust was weakness. The only one he could trust was himself.
Loghain attempted to compose himself, and wiped away the remnants of his stale sweat with his discarded shirt. Through the canvas of the tent, he could hear the astonishingly pleasant and familiar sounds of the camp. He had thought he was done with skulking through the wilds, living under canvas. Despite his body reminding him that sleeping on the ground was going to take some getting used to again, and even with his heart just slowing as the nightmare images faded, there was comfort in that sound. Loghain had never really felt at home behind the stone wall of his estate and the royal palace. They were just a prison of sorts, with bars made of duty, responsibility and regret.
There was a freedom here he'd almost forgotten.
The sunlight was grey, but bright and he blinked at it. He realized he was hoping to see Kya standing outside. The thought concerned him for a moment, but he wasn't given time to debate it with himself. Instead, the old mage, Wynne was glaring at him as if he might leap out in a murderous rampage at any minute. Any amiable, half reminiscent feelings he had evaporated under those accusatory eyes.
Immediately irritable, he snapped at her, "You can stop scowling at me, madam."
"Did I need your permission?" she replied scathingly. "I see."
Loghain growled, but refused to dignify her with a proper response. Maker help him, but he wasn't going to get caught up in more petty bickering. Mastering the urge to throttle her, he squared his shoulders and walked into the trees towards the stream he could hear trickling in the distance. He could feel her eyes burning holes into the skin between his shoulder blades.
He sighed. Trying to keep his temper in check, he walked slower than he wanted to. Now was not the time for any indignation on his part. He wasn't particularly keen on the idea of any of this, but he had never shirked in any duty in his life. He'd only tried to walk away from responsibility once, and perhaps he regretted that he had not. But the never-ending obligations had made him who he was, and there was no changing that.
It had been a rather pathetic existence.
He discovered Kya crouched down by the stream, cleaning blood from the breastplate of her armor. It did peak his curiosity that a mage wore plate to rival his own, but he hadn't asked. Kya was silent at first, her hand dipping water onto a cloth and then rubbing it against the plate smoothly and efficiently as if she'd done this a thousand times before. A branch broke beneath his foot and she stopped.
"I hear you," she said, without looking back. For moment, he was thrown back into his own memories. Another formidable woman had once said the same thing to him, when he slipped up on her while she washed blood from her armor. It was in the Deep Roads, true, not in a bright forest, but the coincidence could not be denied. He was young then, and she . . . he felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his chest.
Kya turned around. He must have looked stricken, because her brow furrowed. Leaving her armor on the ground, she stood and stared at him.
"Are you alright?" she asked, and he immediately crossed his arms over his chest. She frowned.
"Of course," Loghain said testily. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
She pursed her lips. "Well then," she said, picking the pieces of her armor up, stacking them over her arm. The dragonbone plates made a dull click when they touched each other. She took a few steps toward him and paused, still frowning. It was clear that whatever emotional sense he lacked, she had. Loghain felt like he was completely transparent under the gaze of those eyes.
Gingerly, she touched the bare skin on his forearm. Loghain felt the urge to flinch away, but he held his ground.
"Don't be too long," she said. "We have a long way to go today."
With that, she slid her hand back to the top of the stack of armor and walked away. Loghain glanced at her over his shoulder, almost expecting her to look back at him and say something irritatingly female. But she didn't.
Dignity. It radiated from her like heat.
Loghain was certain he had no idea how to feel about it.
They took the North Road out of Denerim, and it took everything Loghain had not to comment. Taking the West Road would be a far more efficient route to Redcliffe. But there was an undeniable finality to the way Kya walked, so he held his tongue.
The complete lack of conversation as they walked seemed forced and uncomfortable. On occasion, he could hear half muffled snippets of conversation behind him. The soft lilt of the Antivan and the grating tone of the bard's voice. Her Orlesian accent nearly gave him fits.
His head was throbbing like dwarven smiths had taken up residence inside his skull.
He walked behind Kya and the witch. They walked rather close together, speaking rarely but communicating nonetheless. Loghain had often wondered at that singularly female ability to speak without words. Kya wore her plate, and the witch wore next to nothing. It was indecent, but everything about her seemed glaringly indecent. She moved like a wild animal, all sinew and grace, and it appalled him. Even more so because there was no denying her beauty.
He was still a man after all, as Kya had reminded him.
He didn't realize the witch had slowed her pace, until she spoke and he found she was walking beside him.
"You are much taller than I expected," she said simply.
Loghain scowled at her. "Am I? You expected me to be short?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "You are also younger than I imagined. Great generals are supposed to be old men who sit far from the battlefield."
"I have never been, nor hope to be, a great general then," he snapped in reply.
She laughed. "No? I suppose that explains your loss at Ostagar, then."
Loghain gaped at her. Before he could devise a suitable reply, Kya spoke.
"Morrigan," she said. Her voice was sharp as a sword.
The witch gave a half hearted titter, and sighed. "Yes, yes," she said. "Tis inappropriate conversation, I am sure."
Kya glared at her.
"Not at all," Loghain growled. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to how we could have bested them? I am sure that your extensive tactical abilities far outweigh my own."
"Stop," Kya said. "Please. This isn't helping anyone."
"Oh, I don't know," Wynne's voice came from behind him. "I certainly would like to know Loghain's reasoning for his fortuitous retreat. And his negligence that led to the death of his own son-in-law."
"Would you suggest that I sacrifice all of Ferelden's armies for that sake of one man?" he spat at her.
"He was your king!" Wynne said, the volume of her voice rising sharply.
"What you forget is that your king was beyond saving!" Loghain shouted. "The darkspawn would either have had him or have had us all. Do you really believe we would have been so much better off had I chosen otherwise?"
Wynne's face flushed. "And what of all the soldiers who died with their king? Their lives were worth nothing to you!"
"You think so, do you?" Loghain replied between gritted teeth. The pounding in his head was as loud as a drum. "I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families.
I do not know how you mages determine the value of things, but they were my men. I know exactly how much I lost that day!"
Wynne opened her mouth to speak, anger suffusing her lined face.
"Enough!" Kya shouted. Wynne scowled at her, but fell silent. Loghain felt vindicated for a moment, but she grabbed his elbow, and dragged him away from the rest as if he was a petulant child. If his head hadn't hurt as much as it did, he would never had let her. She could be the senior Grey Warden here, but there was a level of indignation he was not willing to stand for.
As it was, he discovered he was having a hard time keeping his feet under him.
Once she'd moved them sufficiently away from the others to not be overheard, she spun to face him. She looked as if she might explode, but the anger drained in a flash.
"Maker's breath," she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. He lifted his hand to push her questing fingers away, but found he didn't have the strength to stop her. The tips of her fingers felt like ice. "Andraste's ass," she swore. "You're burning."
Loghain felt the sweep of her magic wash over him for the second time in as many days. The throbbing in his head fled. Cautiously, he took her hand and moved it away from his face. Her fingers weren't cold. He looked down for a moment, shocked by the strange sensation of her skin against his. He dropped her hand abruptly and looked up at her.
"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.
Loghain grunted. "Stubbornness?"
"Pride," she sighed. "It'll be the death of you yet, I suspect."
"It is likely," he agreed. "But since it hasn't done the job today, perhaps we should move on?"
She shook her head at him. Normally, he expected he would be incensed by such a display; as if he was a child who didn't knew enough to come in out of the rain. Instead he felt amply chastised.
Kya gave him a crooked half smile. "Yes, let's."
When Lake Calenhad came into view, Loghain realized why they had taken the North Road. The Circle tower loomed in the distance, silhouetted by the setting sun. They finally reached the docks, just as the ferryman was tying up his boat for the night. Kya tried to talk him into taking them across the lake, but he wouldn't be swayed. She also tried to acquire rooms for them at the dingy little inn perched on the shore, but the door was barred and no one responded to her knocking. Instead, they set up camp at the lake's edge.
Loghain was impressed by the quiet efficiency with which they set up the camp. He supposed it wasn't that unlikely, considering they had much practice, but somehow he realized he still thought of them as a ragtag band, undeserving of respect. That sentiment seemed to be equally abundant on their behalf.
After his earlier outburst, no one had deigned to speak with him. And of that he was pleased. If they would leave it, so could he. He had entirely enough rehashing to last for the next thirty years.
The air was cold, but not as cold as the water. Loghain's head felt clear, but he was still angry. There was a part of him, that part now tempered by years of trying to survive at all costs, or perhaps it was that same part, that wished he had walked away from duty long ago. How much indignity could one man stand? He was irritated. And it was entirely too familiar.
He cupped the cold water in his hands and spilled it over his head. The droplets soaked through his hair and ran down, soaking into the neck of his shirt. It was a completely unpleasant sensation, but he did it again, as if physical discomfort might blunt his other frustrations.
"I hate this lake," he heard Kya say behind him. He turned to face her, water dripping from the braids on either side of his face onto the bare skin of his neck. He resisted the urge to shiver.
"Then why, might I ask, are we here?" he said, with more irritation than he intended.
Kya didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were riveted on the faint shadow of the tower in the distance.
"Because some things won't wait for the Blight to be over," she said. "And there is something I need to do before I go rushing off to my death."
"Such as?" he prodded.
Kya sighed. "I need to attend an execution," she said. She looked at him pointedly. "And I think you should attend as well, since his blood is on your hands, as much as mine."
Loghain frowned, but didn't reply.
"Perhaps you remember Jowan? The blood mage you sent to poison Arl Eamon?" she asked. Her tone was amazingly flat. "Greagoir stayed his execution until I could be there. Which is possibly the kindest and most horrific thing he's ever done."
"Yes, that," Loghain said, looking away from her. "I take it you knew him?"
"Yes," she replied. "He was my best friend."
"Ah," he said. "More crimes I've committed."
"Not this time," she said. "Jowan brought this on himself. It would have ended this way for him eventually. And for me as well, had I not become a Grey Warden."
Loghain sat down hard against the stone. He had nothing to say to that. Maker knows, he had no right to judge her for her choice of magic. But the Chantry and the Circle thought themselves judge and executioner for maleficarum. Their justice was harsh, even by his standards.
"But yet you go willingly back into the tower, although if they knew what you are, your head would be on the block next to him, Grey Warden or no?" he asked.
"I owe him that much," she said, settling down beside him. "He was my friend. Perhaps a poor friend, but a friend nonetheless."
"Such is friendship," Loghain replied. "I know that feeling well enough."
Kya looked over at him. Their eyes met and Loghain again had the distinct sensation that she could see right through him. He wondered what she saw, because he had no idea. It had been a long time since he'd looked.
She reached out a hand towards him and he pulled back abruptly. She seemed unperturbed by it, and grabbed one of his damp braids. She frowned at it, deftly untied the threads at it's end and began to unwind the strands of hair.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She kept her eyes on her fingers, a strange wistful look on her face. "If you leave them like this," she said, "All wet and such, I'll have to heal you again in the morning. Besides, they are probably half the cause of the headache as it is. Well, that and your temper."
Loghain almost smiled. Almost.
Once the first braid was unraveled, she reached for the second one. Her knuckles grazed his cheek. She looked intent as her fingers moved. She seemed entranced. The second braid fell apart faster than the first. She reached up and raked her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes. He honestly couldn't remember the last time a woman had touched him like this. He wasn't sure if one ever had.
He opened his eyes. Kya was staring at him and her face was very close. The faint moonlight reflected on her pale skin, in her eyes. He blinked. She gave him a sad smile and pulled away, getting to her feet.
Loghain looked up at her. "Thank you," he said quietly, completely unsure of how to react.
She turned away and took a few steps. "You're welcome," she said, without turning back. He watched her go. He ran his fingers through the loose strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ears.
Loghain had no idea what had just happened.
Perhaps he had finally gone mad after all. For a moment, she was beautiful. For a moment, she looked at him and saw a man he thought was dead.