TRIGGER WARNING: Please scroll to the bottom for details about potentially triggering content in this chapter.

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8 Solace, 9:29 Dragon
Highever Castle

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Loghain couldn't sleep.

Even though it was well after midnight, his mind was filled with snatches of conversation and images of an alarmingly eventful day. Given what happened at the beach, and later in the forest, Loghain would be lucky to sleep at all tonight.

Some of the memories he wanted to savor: how beautiful Rhianna looked at the beach, singing her ghost song; the feel of her body beneath his as they lay in the sand; his pride at the way she spoke, unflinching, to the poachers. And there were memories he would rather not dwell upon: the dread he felt before the battle; Rhianna retching in the forest; the sight of her clothes soaked through with blood.

That had been a sight her parents, too, would likely not soon forget. When Rhianna and Loghain arrived back at the castle, a wounded poacher in tow, there were several minutes of chaos as Rhianna worked to reassure Bryce and Eleanor she wasn't injured at all, that the blood had come from a poacher.

Of course, the knowledge their daughter had stabbed the man to death didn't do much to improve their moods.

The prisoner, once she realized she wasn't in imminent danger of having her throat slit, had been surprisingly forthcoming with information about the little band of poachers working the Teyrn's Forest. They'd arrived in the Coastlands less than a month ago, after a run-in with angry villagers in the Bannorn, hoping to find a quiet place to do some trapping and then sell the furs, enough to see them through the winter. In addition to the seven in the clearing, there were four others, but they were likely to have cleared out long before Rhianna could return with a party of Regulars to roust them.

Bryce and Eleanor both balked, at first, at Rhianna's request to lead a party back to the forest the next day. She made a good case for herself, though: she knew where to start looking, and she would have plenty of protection. She intended to take eight of the Regulars in her unit, in addition to Loghain, who had agreed to be "conscripted." Considering they weren't likely to encounter any poachers at all, based on the prisoner's account, Bryce relented, and agreed Rhianna could lead the party.

Of course, all this excitement had forced Loghain to postpone the tentative plan he had formed back at the beach. To speak to Rhianna after supper, and depending on what she said, approach her parents. About an arrangement.

As the evening progressed, Loghain believed it was for the best the subject hadn't come up. Bryce seemed to hold Loghain responsible for the trouble they had in the forest. Not that he said as much, but Loghain could see it in the man's eyes. It didn't make any logical sense, but it was understandable to a certain degree. After all, Loghain had failed to protect Rhianna from going into combat. Whether or not she had trained for this for years and years, it was still not something any father wanted his child to face.

And perhaps all this - the trouble with the poachers - was some sort of a sign from the Maker, a sign he wasn't supposed to marry the girl.

Then again, when he remembered how panicked he felt at the possibility of Rhianna being hurt, how hard he fought to protect her . . .

Perhaps it meant just the opposite. Something had burned inside him, so much he had sworn an oath to the Maker and Andraste and any other gods who cared to listen. An oath he would never allow harm to come to her, not if it was in his power to stop. If that wasn't an indication of his true feelings . . .

Annoyed, he pushed those thoughts aside. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Far too exhausted to ponder questions like this in the middle of the night. He sat at the desk in his bedchamber, rubbing an itch on the bridge of his nose. Just how long would it take the nervousness and excitement in his blood to run down down, and allow him to feel sleepy?

He poured himself a glass of brandy, and threw it back. Then, he blew out the candle, leaving only a faint glow from the moon outside to illuminate the room.

Just as he was about to kick off his slippers and slide under the bedclothes, a knock sounded at the door to his room.

Five soft taps, so quiet he barely heard them. He crossed the room and pulled open the door.

Rhianna stood in the hallway, wearing a white nightgown reaching almost to the ground, her face so pale it seemed to glow. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and her feet were bare, which was ridiculous on the cold stone floors of the castle. Her eyes looked black in the dimly lit hall, and for a moment he was reminded of the "ghost" in her song that afternoon.

I dreamt it last night, that my true love came in.

This was no ghost, however, but a flesh and blood woman.

"May I come in?"

Loghain stepped back, holding open the door to allow her to enter. After closing it behind her, he turned to see her eyes taking in his attire: a bed shirt that hung just below his knees, and a pair of leather house shoes on his feet.

She bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I . . . I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I wasn't sleeping."

Before he could suggest she feel free to sit down, she crossed the room and settled herself on the bench in the alcove in front of the window. With her back against the window, she brought her legs up, wrapping her arms around them so only her toes stuck out from beneath her gown.

Returning to his chair at the desk, he sat. Perhaps he should relight the candle . . . but no. Her mood seemed troubled, and if she wanted to talk about what happened earlier in the day, she might have an easier time confessing her feelings in the darkness.

"I couldn't sleep." She turned her head to look out the window. "I tried, but every time I close my eyes, I see his face."

Ah. This was about the poacher.

She put her face in her hands, and for a moment he thought she had begun to cry, but when she looked up again, clasping her hands atop her knees, her eyes were dry. Loghain remained silent, giving her time to say what she needed to say.

"He's dead now. He's dead, and it's because of me. Because I . . . killed him. And I know I did the right thing," she nodded as if trying to convince herself. "I know that. Even so, he was alive this morning, and now he isn't. Surely, someone, somewhere cared about him. His mother, his friends. And now he's dead. And I'm the one who took his life. That's a . . . strange feeling."

She glanced at Loghain, and then shrugged, as though she knew she hadn't said anything requiring a response, but she wasn't sure what else to say. "Anyway, I thought I'd come here. To you. To talk to you. I figured you would understand."

Her eyes searched his face, but for what, he wasn't sure. Absolution? Understanding? Forgiveness? Of the three, there was only one he could offer. And the other two she had no need for.

"I do understand. I still remember the first person I ever killed."

"Do you? Was he Orlesian?"

"No. He was Fereldan. The son of a minor noble who had thrown in his lot with the Usurper. When my father and I came to them seeking aid - we were on the run, because my father had 'murdered' a chevalier commander - the boy was going to run and betray us. We'd have been captured and hanged. He couldn't have been more than a year older than I was, but I killed him. With a dagger. Much like your poacher today."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"And you still remember him?"

"Yes."

"Does that . . ." Rhianna began, "does that mean the man I killed today . . . does that mean I'll always remember his face? Always be able to imagine the way he looked as he was dying? The way his eyes got so big, and he spit out blood and he looked up at me as though he couldn't believe what I'd done? He wasn't the only one." She looked down at her hands. "I could hardly believe it myself."

"Yes. You will always remember." He said it simply, casually, as though it were nothing about which to be concerned. And in truth, it wasn't. "What you did today, Rhianna . . . it isn't something to be taken lightly. And I hope you are never forced to take another life. But now you know you can truly defend yourself. And once you grow accustomed to the way this feels, once you get through the . . . shock of it . . . just remember, you did what you had to do, and you did it well. That is not something of which you should be ashamed."

Rhianna caught his gaze, seeming to search his face again as though there were some answer there that was eluding her. Finally, she nodded, slowly.

"I just want to be able to close my eyes and see something other than him." There was a spark of anger in her voice. Good. Better anger than guilt or shame.

"You will, soon enough, I promise. You just need to give it some time."

Picking up the decanter, he poured another glass of brandy, drank it quickly, and refilled the glass. He crossed the room and offered her the glass. She took it from his hand, putting it to her lips for a tentative sip. She coughed once, her nose wrinkling in displeasure, but then she threw her head back to drink the rest in one swallow.

When she handed the glass back to him, her eyes were watering, but she looked satisfied. Calmer. He set down the glass, and then sat across from her on the window seat. There was more she wanted to say; he could sense thoughts just beneath the surface. But for some reason she was hesitating. Just as he opened his mouth to reassure her, she spoke.

"There's something else. Something I don't think anyone else will understand. I don't know if you'll understand, but I thought . . . oh, I don't know. Perhaps I should just go back to my room and . . ."

"What it is Rhianna?" He put a hand on her knee. "You know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, just say it."

"Well, it's just that I can't stop thinking about . . ." She closed her eyes, and chewed on her lower lip. "Oh, I don't know how to say this. It's . . ." She glanced at him and laughed, a harsh humorless sound. "Andraste's arse! I really don't know how to say it. Please, just give me a minute to explain what I mean."

"Take all the time you need."

She put a hand over her mouth and sobbed, just once, her eyes filling with tears she blinked away. "Oh, Maker. I . . ." She sniffled, breathing heavily through her mouth. "I just never expected to kill somebody. Not ever. Not really. The Occupation is over. We live in a time of peace, because of what you did when you were my age. You, and Father, and King Maric and everyone else.

"So, I never expected to kill anyone. But even if I had thought someday I might, if I ended up defending Highever from bandits, or if chevaliers ever do cross our borders, I never expected it would happen now. Like this." She paused again, sniffling once. "I know I'm not making any sense. It's just . . . I'm not the same now as when I woke up this morning. This morning, I wouldn't have called myself a child, exactly. I'm a bit old for that. But I wasn't a woman, either. And today I took someone's life. How can I think of myself as a child ever again?

"And . . . well, I always thought the thing that would happen, the moment when I knew I was no longer a child . . ." She pushed her hair back from her face. "I always thought that moment would happen the first time I lay with a man." She began to cry now, quiet tears, just a few of them. She sobbed gently into her hand, and he had an urge to take her into his arms, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right. But this, perhaps, was something that couldn't be soothed away with soft words.

"This isn't what I wanted," she said, her voice small and unhappy. "I don't want this to be the way I became a woman, with blood on my hands. But it's too late now for anything else. I've never even kissed someone. Not really kissed. More than just on the cheek." She laughed, a harsh, self-deprecating sound. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? To think of it this way? Is it so incredibly stupid?"

"It isn't stupid at all, Rhianna," he murmured. "It was the same for me. I hadn't kissed anyone yet, either, when I killed that noble's son."

Rhianna swallowed, and then opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. She just looked at him in the near darkness, searching his face with her eyes. Then she smiled, letting out a single sound of laughter. "Maker's breath," she swore gently. "You really do understand."

"Yes."

"Thank you," she whispered, hugging her knees more tightly to her chest. Her toes peeked out from underneath her nightgown, and in the moonlight they looked completely white. It was cold in here; her bare feet must be nearly frozen, and he had an urge to warm them between his hands.

"I suppose, though, all this means my plan won't work after all."

Loghain raised a brow. "Your plan?"

She laughed once, and then looked away from him, into a dark corner of the bedroom. "I had thought . . . well . . ." She glanced at him, and then looked away again. "I . . . came here tonight intending to ask you to make love to me." A breath caught in his chest. "I had thought putting a new memory in my head, a beautiful memory, would erase his face, somehow. But that's not how it works, is it?"

A beautiful memory? She thought making love to him would create a "beautiful" memory? Something ached inside him, but he forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

"No," he replied. "That's not how it works." If anything, it might merge the two things together in her memory.

He fell silent. Surely, there was something else he should say, but he didn't know what. He wanted to comfort her, wanted to hold her, but after what she'd just said, he didn't know how to reach across the distance.

Then his hands clenched into fists, as another breath caught in his chest. He was angry. Furious, at those Maker-damned poachers. Furious they had taken Rhianna's innocence, even though she defended herself from the rape they threatened. Furious her childhood had spilled away as that worthless man's blood poured over her hands.

He turned away, not trusting himself to look into her face without letting her see the emotions he was battling. He didn't want to turn the focus onto him, He wanted to let her have her feelings and share them and let them slip away again where they wouldn't hurt her anymore.

"Is it bad that I was afraid?" she asked. "Before the battle, I mean? I wasn't as scared as I would have been if you and Dane hadn't been there with me, but I was scared. More scared, I think, of what they intended to do with me if I lived, than the thought of actually dying."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid." He looked into her face again. "I was afraid today. More afraid than I've been in . . . years." He hadn't felt so scared since . . . since Rhianna had been missing, locked away in the guard tower, and afterwards, when she was ill with the plague.

"You were afraid? Afraid you might die?"

"Yes. I was afraid I might die before I'd stopped them from hurting you."

Her forehead creased, and her lower lip quivered, slightly, but she said nothing.

Overwhelmed, feeling as though something in his chest might explode, Loghain looked out the window into the darkness, a memory flooding into his mind. Not the memory of what had happened in the clearing that day, but something else. Something from long ago.

A farmhouse, so vivid, perfectly clear.

"When I was thirteen years old, chevaliers came to my family's farm. They accused us of not paying our taxes, which we couldn't pay because they'd been raised to double what they were the year before. It would have taken everything we had, and we still couldn't have come up with enough money to satisfy the local bann. So, the chevaliers came. And told us we needed to be taught a lesson. The chevalier commander ordered my father and I to be restrained."

Loghain closed his eyes, and the memory of that night burst into his vision.

"Father and I were forced to watch while the commander raped my mother."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, but didn't dare look at Rhianna. Not now.

"After he was . . . finished, he slit her throat." Heat rose behind his eyes. "And then he laughed. Said that next year, perhaps we would remember to pay our taxes. That's why we were on the run later, why we had to leave our farm. The man my father was wanted for 'murdering' was that chevalier commander."

"Oh, Loghain," Rhianna whispered. "I had . . . I had no idea. I am so, so sorry."

Now, he looked at her, her eyes shining in the dim light, tears glistening on her cheeks. He forced himself to breath slowly, deeply, to stay calm and not let himself be overcome by all the things he was feeling.

"Today," he murmured, "when I realized we were outnumbered, and not wearing armor, I was scared. Scared we wouldn't be able to win that fight. And the thought of them hurting you, the way they had hurt my mother . . ."

He had to stop, and breathe.

"Yes, Rhianna. I was afraid."

Then, she was at his side, slipping her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, grateful when she burrowed herself close to his body and rested her forehead against his neck. She shivered through the thin fabric of her gown, and he held her closer, wanting to share his warmth with her.

With Rhianna beside him, he allowed the memory of that night so long ago to play through his mind again. To confront those images, rather than shy away from them. One ragged breath after another, he forced himself to remember, to face what had surely been the single moment in his life that defined him, the moment that shaped him into the person he had become.

A breath.

His mother, her face bloody from being struck, the gleam of torchlight off the bare skin of her legs as she struggled beneath the chevalier commander. The commander's harsh laughter filling the air as Loghain fought against the men who held him, powerless to do anything but watch. His father's rage, until one of the soldiers clubbed him over the head with the end of a sword.

Another breath.

The chevalier commander's face morphed into that of the poacher in the forest, a sneer in his voice as he thrust his hips lewdly at Rhianna.

Another breath.

Thank you, Andraste. Thank you for protecting her from the tragedy that might have taken place today. Thank you.

Thank you.

Rhianna clung to him, crying silently, her tears dampening the skin of his neck, each of her breaths matching his own. He pulled her closer.

When his breathing had slowed, returned to normal, when he was no longer consumed by thoughts of what happened in the past, what might have happened today, he lifted a hand to stroke her hair, enjoying the silken feel of it in his fingers. He breathed in her scent, surrendering himself to the sensations of being close to her, of being wrapped around her, of being cradled in her arms.

She had come to him of her own free will. Somehow, unbelievably, she wanted to be here. With him.

A beautiful memory.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her hair, and for a while - he had no idea how long they sat together - he allowed himself to enjoy the tangible pleasure of Rhianna's company.

When she finally sat up, untangling herself from his arms, she smiled up at him. A tentative smile, shy, almost.

It was possible her face was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

For the second time that day he yearned to lower his face to hers and kiss her lips. Not from lust, but for the sheer joy of being closer to her, of immersing himself in her. Of loving her.

Instead, he cradled her face in the palm of his hand. He wanted to kiss her, but he would wait. Until the time was right, until he could do this properly.

For a moment, she pressed her face into his hand. Then, she got to her feet, leaving the space beside him cold and empty without her.

"I should go back to my room," she whispered. "Let you get your sleep. Perhaps I'll be able to sleep now, as well."

He stood, and followed her to the door.

As she reached for the handle, she stopped, and turned back to him.

"If I had decided I wanted you to make love to me tonight . . . if I had asked? What would you have said?"

He didn't hesitate in giving his answer. "Yes."

If that had been what she wanted, he would have made love to her. He would have done anything in his power to ease her suffering, to drive from her head the memory of that afternoon. He would have made love to her tonight, and in the morning convinced her parents to let her marry him if that, too, was what she wanted. He would have held her and kissed her and touched her with as much tenderness as he had to offer, and whispered soft words in her ear to make her forget whatever was causing her pain, even for just a few minutes.

"Yes," he repeated. "I would have made love to you."

She smiled then, a smile he sensed was not meant for him, but for herself. A quiet, subtle smile, of happiness or satisfaction. She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. When she released the breath and opened her eyes, she smiled again, more brightly, and this time it was for him.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she reached up - no longer on tippy toes - to kiss him, briefly, on the lips.

"Thank you, Loghain," she murmured, and slipped silently out of his room.

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A big thank-you to my marvelous beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as too all my lovely reviewers: Hugs4Every1, KrystylSky, Serena R. Snape, Tyrannosaurustex, DjinniGenie, GLCW2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, SecretWriter8910, Artwo.D2 and a Guest. There is a dollmaker image of Rhianna for this chapter, which can be found by following the "Extras" link on my profile.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Description and memories of a rape and murder that happened in the past.