These were written right after I finished DA:O for the first time, around 2017 or so? Fell in love with Loghain as a character. Wrote some self-indulgent scenes that I originally had no intention of posting... and then posted them on AO3 a couple years ago.
Posting them here now to try and get back into the habit of using this site.
Loghain looks up at the Warden above him, who is using both arms to hoist Alistair's sword over her head. He looks into her eyes and Maker, it's like seeing the fires at Ostagar all over again; she bores into him with such furious intensity he can't look away. He has accepted his fate, however begrudgingly, however gracelessly. Standing here now, bruised and battered with his reputation and name in shambles, he takes some semblance of comfort in knowing his death will be quick, at the hands of a worthy adversary who has completely and utterly defeated him. Some part of him fears it. Another craves it.
He kneels, takes a breath, lifts his head to the Warden defiantly. Even on his knees she is barely taller than him. Her eyes are still staring into his, her nostrils flared, her lips set into a hard line. Despite all that fury in her, tears brim and spill down her cheeks, her arms shaking. Loghain swallows, bares his neck.
"Do it."
Her face contorts, teeth bared like a wardog, brows drawn low over her dark eyes. Her arms wobble dangerously, and with a shout she throws the sword to the ground and retreats.
Loghain does not hear anything of the cacophony that follows.
xxxxx
She is Ferelden to the bone.
Tonight he is sitting by the fire, trying to stave off ravenous post-Joining hunger and watching her sleep. Because she is there. Because it is warm and she is wearing little. Because she is utterly filthy, and pressed flush against the back of her Mabari as if he were a lover. The dog is huge, half on his back, looking mightily content that his master has draped her arm over his broad chest and has nestled into his neck. She is of noble blood, apparently, but acts such as this must be what cause such widespread misconceptions about Ferelden. Loghain finds it endlessly amusing.
xxxxx
It's the middle of the night, as the two of them sit on the outskirts of camp, that she finally asks him.
"Why did you do it?"
Loghain had been wondering when it would come up. It's been several weeks since he joined her and she had never broached the subject. Still, he feels it, feels the cold steel settle in his stomach as his peripheral vision catches her staring at him with those dark, probing eyes.
"I didn't have a choice."
He knows what she will say before she says it. "Yes, you did! You did! How could you just leave them to… to die?"
"They would have died anyway, would you have had me sacrifice even more?" he says. His temper flares, hot in his chest. She tenses.
"You let him… You let him go. You knew they wouldn't stand a chance, you knew they would be slaughtered."
"Yes, I did." He turns to look at her. "And?"
That fire sparks in her eyes again, coupled with disbelief. For a long moment she just stares at him in silence, and he gets the sense that she is trying her hardest to read his thoughts. "Well, why? You didn't even try to stop him."
"Don't pretend to know me," he says, turning away. "Of course I tried to stop him. I don't have to waste my time or energy justifying myself to you."
She frowns, clenches her fists. He braces himself, but she doesn't move. When she speaks again it's with measured fury quivering in her voice. "You led them… like lambs to the slaughter." She swallows audibly. "Loving Ferelden and betraying her king are mutually exclusive."
He stands, turns on her again, anger heating his chest like a furnace. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" he growls. "You could not have done anything more were you in my position. I know exactly what I lost that day at Ostagar, I know exactly what I did. Tell me, where were you when your king needed you?"
She stands as well, making up for her unimposing height with exposed arms, muscular and scarred and held ready to strike. "I was doing my fucking job... unlike some people."
She pushes him back with impressive strength and walks away.
xxxxx
Loghain does not sleep. She had not said anything he hadn't told himself, yet hearing his own thoughts spoken out loud, relayed back to him, cuts him to the quick.
He has exhausted himself justifying his actions; he believes to his core that he could not have done anything to save Cailan or the Wardens. He has attempted to force himself to feel regret for pulling his men out and he has failed every time. There had been only two options: retreat, or spill pointless blood for a fruitless plan; about that, Loghain feels nothing except regret that circumstances ever became that desperate.
The Warden enters his thoughts, not unusually, though this time something deep in his stomach twists as he remembers those pitch-dark eyes.
Weeks ago, after the Joining, she had told him he would have nightmares, but he has had nightmares constantly since Ostagar.
xxxxx
More than once he has caught her watching him, most of the time from across the fire. She has never looked away when he's met her gaze, though he can never guess as to her thoughts. Her features are always hard and cold when she looks at him, even if a moment later she turns to another companion and the mask dissolves completely.
He assumes she hates him, but privately he wonders as to why she would spare his life if that were so. Does she intend to sacrifice him as bait, or play out an elaborate revenge plot? Is he here merely to fill the space Maric's bastard left? Perhaps he is just her trophy, kept around only to remind him that she had bested him.
He looks up and meets her eyes yet again. This time she looks away.
xxxxx
Loghain watches her fall to the dirt as blood sprays from her leg, her cry piercing loud among the noise of battle. The Genlock who had just injured her goes down almost immediately, as she plunges one of her daggers deep into his neck. Her other companions - Wynne and Leliana - are farther back, and a ball of fire explodes behind him, so large and powerful he can feel the heat ten yards away.
"Is the Warden okay?" Wynne calls. Loghain turns back. Twenty or so Darkspawn are closing in on them, nothing they can't handle. Wynne frowns. "Is the Warden okay?" she calls again, louder.
Loghain turns back to the Warden. She stands, tries to put weight on her injured leg, and topples over again. A dozen Darkspawn enter the fringes of the clearing and run towards her.
"Hey!" Leliana's voice is a commanding bark. "Get over there! Go!"
He runs. The Warden is holding her leg, blood flowing between her fingers into the grass. Her expression is a mix of anger and panic, though when she looks up at him she actually smiles, and Loghain - damn him - feels his heart stutter. He reaches her before the Darkspawn and grabs her outstretched hand, hoisting her up.
"Can you stand?"
"A little." She tightens her grip on his hand, using him as balance while they effortlessly down the first ranks of Darkspawn that reach them. Farther back, Leliana and Wynne have finished their own group and have joined them; Leliana's arrows in particular pierce the skulls of closing Hurlocks with wholly satisfying thunks.
It seems a short battle, and maybe it is, but by the time they've finished the Warden is on the ground again. With only trace amounts of adrenaline left in her she's now starting to really feel her wound; her hands are shaking as she holds them over her torn and bloody boot.
"Let me see," Leliana says, kneeling down beside her. The Warden hisses as Leliana pulls her boot off, revealing a clean but disturbingly large and deep chunk taken out of her leg. Wynne groans, her hand on her forehead.
"You'll need stitches and poultices. And healing magic," she says, waving a glowing hand over the Warden's leg. The Warden hisses again, but the bleeding slows. "The quicker the better. We shouldn't be too far from camp now, and then I can take care of you properly."
Leliana rummages in her bag for a strip of clean bandage, wrapping it around the Warden's leg and tying it off tightly. The Warden is very pale, even a little green.
"Can you walk?" Leliana asks.
"I-I-I don't know. I don't think so," the Warden replies, very quietly, but lets Leliana pull her to her feet anyway. She puts weight on her leg and gasps, and Loghain thinks it's the closest thing to a whine he's heard from her. Both Leliana and Wynne turn to look at him, and he knows what they want without them even speaking. He sighs heavily, sheathing his sword and securing his shield to his back.
"Come." He puts an arm out, and she looks up at him. Again he is struck by how small she is, now made to look even smaller as she hunches over in pain and weariness. She looks unconvinced, and sets her hand on his chest as if to push him away. "Would you rather walk?" he asks teasingly.
She takes a deep breath and decides against a retort, instead just shaking her head. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and he lifts her up, careful to avoid her wound as he slides an arm under her knees. Leliana, ever the mother hen, sets an arm on her friend's shoulder.
"Are you alright?" she asks.
"Stings like a bitch, but otherwise yes," the Warden replies, laughing wryly, though she is still very pale and her forehead is damp with sweat. Leliana lifts an eyebrow and looks at Loghain.
"And you? It's still an hour's walk to camp."
"I will be fine, assuming we don't run into anymore ambushes," he says. "Let's go."
Leliana nods and takes the lead.
xxxxx
The Warden is heavier than her size would suggest, but nothing Loghain cannot handle. They have been walking in relative silence for a half-hour, with the Warden staring resolutely at her fists, which rest in her lap bunched up in a spare piece of cloth. Now safe, though, exhaustion is setting in. Her head lulls, and her whole body gradually relaxes against him.
"Are you feeling well?" he asks. She opens her eyes and fixes him with a rather comical frown.
"No."
He rolls his eyes. "Besides the leg."
She looks pensive for a moment, and then wriggles, as if trying to get comfortable. "I suppose. It feels… strange. I want to walk."
"You should rest."
She gives him a sardonic grin. "I was not about to argue that you should let me down, only bemoaning my fate." Suddenly she winces and closes her eyes, and then shakes her head. "It's times like this I'm thankful for immunity from the taint." It is, perhaps, a somewhat grim thing to say, but she says it lightheartedly.
"Indeed. This would be quite an unfortunate change of conversation if we were not."
Her expression softens as she looks up at him, and - damn him, again - his heart stutters once more. He swallows and looks up, to the path ahead and Leliana's back. The Warden shifts, letting her head rest against his breastplate.
He is thankful they are near camp, if only for the chance to clear his thoughts.
xxxxx
Days pass. The Warden's leg heals nicely, relatively quickly thanks to Wynne's talents with healing magic and her other companions' protectiveness. Still, the inaction makes her restless, especially as increased news of the ever-encroaching Blight reaches them. She practices archery with Leliana and duals Zevran to keep herself sharp, and despite the slowed pace they do make progress.
Something has changed in her. She does not watch him over the fire anymore. He doesn't catch her eyeing him while on the field as if he would turn on her. She banters with him, almost to the point he would call it friendly. Even though her companions are not so agreeable, the Warden seems to have reassessed him.
Tonight Loghain lays on his bedroll and stares up at the stars. It is late. Most of the others are asleep, though Morrigan's fire still burns strong as she pores over Flemeth's Grimoire. For the first time, through their shared taint, Loghain can feel the Warden nearby, still awake but trying to pretend otherwise. It's a strange, abstract feeling that he cannot put into words. She had told him it would come eventually, but it is still unnerving to sense Darkspawn, and to know that they sense him as well. Given this connection, he knows she is walking towards him before he sees her, and she seems much closer than she is. When she eventually stops beside him, some part of him feels like she is sitting right on his lap.
"I can finally feel you," she says, sounding amused. He looks up at her.
"And I you."
She sits down gingerly, careful of her leg, and leans back on her arms. "I know it's strange. You'll get used to it. It's useful, even if sometimes you ignore it and get ambushed." She is referring to herself, with some amount of self-consciousness. She looks at him over her shoulder and gestures to the ground. "Can I?"
He nods. She lays down, her arms behind her head. For a long minute there is silence save for the crackles of dying embers at their feet. Loghain watches her, thankful that she is concentrated on the sky. Barring even their shared connection, she is bodily close to him, and he can feel the heat coming off her. Something in his stomach twists, pleasant and worrying at the same time. He looks at the sky.
The Warden sighs heavily, moving her arms to cross them over her ribs. "Does it get any easier?" she asks.
He frowns. "I'm unsure what you're talking about."
"Just... " She shrugs. "Everything. Leading people. Trying to be everything people expect you to be."
"Ah." He grins despite himself. "In some ways. You will grow into it."
"Do you think so?" It's almost a whisper, small and unsure. He turns his head to look at her, finding her already watching him.
"I believe so, yes. You are very capable, brave, popular and liked by the people you lead-"
"Does that include you?"
He pauses, raises an eyebrow. She stares unblinkingly, her eyes fixed on him, looking more vulnerable than he can ever remember seeing her. His stomach twinges again. Maker help him, those eyes will be the death of him. "Yes."
The corners of her mouth turn up in an uncharacteristically shy smile. She looks back up at the sky. She is silent for so long he wonders if she's fallen asleep, though when he chances another look at her he finds her still focused upwards.
"Can I tell you something?" she asks quietly.
"Yes."
She hesitates, kneading her hands together. Over the dim, dying fire he hears her swallow. "I'm scared." It is not what he had expected her to say, and he is unsure how to respond, or if he even should. She shifts, brushes her hair away from her face and secures her hands behind her head in a casual position that her shaking voice betrays. "If we win, what happens then? Where am I supposed to go? Wander the earth for thirty years until I go crazy from the taint?" She breathes deeply; it's a watery, weak sound.
He thinks carefully, grateful that her emotions have not devolved further. He has never been good at comforting the emotionally distressed, least of all a former enemy whose said distress has been, in large part, caused by him.
"There will always be injustice, Warden," he says, because it's true. Because it seems a safe compromise between a cheap answer and a bitterly self-implicating one. Because this is about her, and not his own self-loathing. "You are talented at sniffing it out. I do not think you will want for things to keep you occupied."
She laughs gently, wiping her face. For some unfathomable, silly, sentimental reason Loghain reaches out and touches her shoulder, and is suddenly assaulted by thoughts of pulling her into his arms or brushing her hair away from her delicate throat to drag his fingers along her jaw. He pulls away, feeling like a foolish teenager, but not before she turns to wonder at the sensation, following his hand up to his face. For the first time in a very long time, Loghain Mac Tir can find nothing to say in his defense.
He almost thanks the Maker out loud when the Warden chooses not to address it directly, instead flipping onto her side and pushing her hair behind her ear with a sniffle.
"What will you do?" she asks.
"What?"
Her brow furrows. "After this is done. What will you do? Have you thought about it?"
"I…" He scratches his forehead. "No, I haven't." It's a lie, but the truth is that he does not expect to live through the final battle, wherever and whenever that might be. A part of him does not want to. He doubts she wants to hear that, though. "I would say I would like to go back to Denerim, and Anora… but that might as well be suicide, considering the circumstances."
She nods thoughtfully, rolls onto her stomach, now fully inside his personal bubble. Whether she's done it on purpose is unclear, though he suspects at least some of it must be; she would have to be either completely stupid or completely exhausted not to notice their sides pressed up together, and she is neither of those things. Perhaps it is revenge for his lapse in judgement just moments ago.
"We'll be some of the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden," she says. Her weight and heat against him is a comforting and maddeningly distracting sensation. He watches the muscles in her arms shift as she idly picks at the grass. "It feels lonely."
"Yes," he says, "it does."
She purses her lips. There is nothing to say, and she is smart enough to realize it. Now that she is so close to him, he notices for the first time how very, very tired she looks - not only physically, but emotionally, mentally. She knows how to keep herself guarded, how to push her insecurities aside and show only her bravery and capability as a leader. But up close he can see it, leaking through the cracks. It reminds him of Maric.
She sighs. Against his better judgement, he stretches out an arm, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, presses close to him like she's starving for human contact. She is warm, smelling of the herbal poultice that had been applied to her wounds earlier, and her hair tickles his cheek. He wonders if he has made a mistake, but as she relaxes against him with a guardedly contented sigh and drapes an arm over his chest, he cannot find it in himself to care.
xxxxx
Riordan's words echo in his mind. He cannot sleep, his body buzzing and restless. He had decided in an instant to take the killing blow and forfeit his life - a fitting, ultimate atonement for his crimes. He is at peace with the decision, and with knowing that Ferelden will be safe under Anora and Alistair. Still, adrenaline floods him. He paces in his room, stares into the fire, drinks a bit more alcohol than is probably wise.
The knock at his door comes as a relief. Before he can speak the door opens and the Warden enters his room. Her eyes are wild and she's breathing heavily, like she's just run miles. He is immediately on the alert, hand going to his hip only to remember he is not in his armor.
"Is everything alright?"
She blinks, pauses. "Yes, yes-" She scans him quickly, and then her head perks up like a dog catching a scent. "Have you been drinking?"
"Only a little," he says, relaxing. It's not a complete lie.
"Before the battle tomorrow?" Before he can reply, her face lights up again. "Oh, wait! That's why I came here! Loghain-" She steps towards him, grabs his arms. He can feel her shaking. "Neither of us has to die tomorrow."
It takes a moment to register her words, though when he does, they still don't make sense. "What? That's not..."
"Morrigan." Her eyes are wild again - her whole face is, like she's itching to jump out of her very skin. "Morrigan can save us. I-I-I… She, and you-if you-"
"Slow down." He shifts, tilts his arms so that he can grasp her elbows. She lets out her breath in a huff, and then takes a step back to run her hands through her hair and collect herself.
"Okay." She wrings her hands in front of her, then stretches them out to crack her knuckles before resuming the nervous tic. "Morrigan knows of… Well, she called it a Dark Ritual. I think it's blood magic but it can save us." She steps forward again. "Both of us."
He knits his brow. "I don't understand." Her face turns a light shade of pink and she averts her eyes, and he feels his stomach turn. "Warden…"
"Um… The… Ritual would involve you and Morrigan… You need to have sex with Morrigan."
Whatever he had expected her to say, this is on the very bottom of the list. His stomach turns again, not totally unpleasantly, though it's mixed with a fair amount of grim curiosity. "Sex? With the witch?"
"Yes."
"There are easier ways to get me into bed, she doesn't need to resort to calling it a Ritual." He smirks. The Warden glances at him and turns a deeper shade of pink, though she shakes it off with a nervous laugh.
"No-I mean. Sorry-"
"I don't think I've ever seen you this flustered, Warden," he teases. Again, her flush deepens. She waves her hands in front of her face.
"Look, fighting is easy!" she says. "I've never had to be a… a weird, blood magic, sex ritual matchmaker before!" She points an accusatory finger at him. "And you don't have to be all smug and cocky, ser. Is this what alcohol does to you? Do you turn into a cuddly drunk?"
"I am far from drunk."
She gives him a goofy smile before suddenly becoming serious again. "Listen-this is important." She straightens herself. "The Ritual. If Morrigan is pregnant with a baby who… has the taint - a Grey Warden's baby - the Old God soul will go to it instead of either of us."
Loghain's stomach twists yet again, this time almost all uneasiness. "A baby?"
"Yes."
"Hm."
"Morrigan… wants the baby for herself," the Warden interrupts his thoughts before they can get away from him. "She says she wants to raise the baby by herself. That was her only condition."
"And both the baby and the… Morrigan… will be unharmed?"
The Warden nods.
"And neither you nor I will die tomorrow?"
"Right."
Silence descends on them like a choking fog. Loghain takes a step back, conflicted. He paces again, and the Warden watches, her arms wrapped around herself.
He had been prepared to give his life tomorrow. Why wouldn't he? There is nothing for him now. He has wronged too many people. Even if he lives, those crimes will haunt him for the rest of his life. What had she said she would do? Wander the earth until she went crazy from the blight? Loghain knows she will flourish with responsibility, but that fate seems likely for him.
The Warden enters his vision, drawing very close to him. Her sudden proximity brings him to the present, and he focuses on her face.
"We don't have much time," she says. "It has to be tonight."
"Why would she do this? It all seems very convenient."
The Warden shrugs. "She wants the baby."
At that Loghain laughs, deep in his chest. "And she wants me to father it?"
The Warden is not as amused. She looks down, boldly reaching out to brush her fingertips over his knuckles. He bristles, heat blooming in his chest.
"Say yes," she says. "Please?"
He becomes aware of just how very close she is. He lets her pull his hand into hers; her fingers seem so small as they wrap around his, her skin calloused from the leather grips of her daggers. Heat rolls off her, caught in the tiny space between their bodies, making it hard to breathe. He swallows thickly.
"I can take the blow," he says.
"Why? Why would you, when there's another way?" She looks up at him, and his resolve falters.
"Because-" He closes his eyes because it's easier than looking into hers. "It's the right thing to do. I've done so many things wrong in my life, but I can do this."
"But you don't have to!" Her hands on his face startle him, and he looks into her wet, pleading eyes. It chips at him. "Don't do this-don't throw your life away now because of things that happened in the past."
"Warden, they were terrible things. They were not just petty crimes, you and I both know-"
"Please, I don't wanna be alone, I don't wanna lose you-" She crumbles, tears spilling down her cheeks, trying and failing to choke back a sob. "Shit. Sorry." She steps back to wipe her cheeks but Loghain follows her, slides his arms around her back and pulls her in as tightly as he can. She digs her hands into the front of his shirt, pushes her face into his shoulder. He can feel her heart beating and her body shaking, and he slips a hand into her hair and lets his cheek rest against her temple. She is silent except for sniffling, kneading her hands in his shirt, her wet eyelashes tickling his skin. It isn't until several seconds pass that he realizes he is whispering to her, aimless empty words like, "it's okay," even if he has no fucking clue whether or not that's true. But Maker it feels good to hold her, and in this moment he is weak - lets himself be weak - because tomorrow it could all be over.
"I will go and meet with Morrigan," he says at length. He strokes her hairline, reveling in the softness under his fingers for one more second before he lets her go. Her face is flushed, her cheeks wet. She nods. He has to resist reaching out to stroke her cheek as he passes, instead choosing to squeeze her shoulder. "Buck up, Warden." His voice is not without affection. "The worst is still yet to come. You should get some rest while you can."
xxxxx
When Loghain returns he finds the Warden on his bed, on top of the covers, still fully clothed. She is dead asleep, curled into a ball. He sits next to her, watches her breathe, and then sets his hand on her shoulder and nudges her awake.
She rubs her eyes. "Wh…?"
"Why are you here?" he asks, amused. "You have your own room, don't you?"
"You and Morrigan were in my room," she says, words slurred. He feels a pang of guilt, and then laughs.
"You should have told me."
"I didn't think about it until you left." She stretches and rubs her eyes again. "I did come by but… you had already started." She has the decency to blush, at least, and Loghain actually feels his own cheeks warm.
"Ah," is all he says. He stands up and goes over to his bottle of whiskey from earlier, pouring himself a glass. He joins her on the bed again, this time leaned back against the headboard, legs crossed, staring at the dying fire on the opposite wall. The Warden sits up, her hair mussed. She straightens it, and watching her do so brings the memory of that sensation back to Loghain's fingertips.
"So… Mm…" She hunches her shoulders. "It's done?"
"Yes."
"What did Morrigan say?"
"She believes we are safe. She said to rest."
The Warden nods thoughtfully, one hand on the back of her neck. It seems she has more she wants to say, but she refrains for whatever reason. He takes another sip of his whiskey, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as it burns his throat. Her weight shifting the bed makes him look up. Her expression is a little amused but mostly unreadable.
"Was it good?" she asks teasingly. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.
"That's not really any of your business, now, is it?"
She grins toothily, her nose wrinkling. It isn't a face she wears normally. "It sounded good, from what I heard when I came by."
He looks down into the last of his whiskey, shaking his head. "You are a child," he says. She laughs, flopping down onto the bed and stretching. Those legs of hers are definitely not of a child. Pushing his thoughts away, he downs his last gulp of whiskey and sets his glass on the floor. She is staring at the ceiling, still half-grinning.
"Warden," he says, somewhat loathe to spoil the mood, "I… would still like to take the final blow tomorrow." She looks at him, her grin vanishing. So she hadn't been thinking about it. He can't blame her too much. "Just in case the Ritual does not work. You are young and smart and capable, and you should be the one who lives if the worst case scenario comes to pass."
She is full-on frowning now, but she doesn't look away. "It will work," she says, maybe just to convince herself.
"Please." He is firm, firmer than he feels. "Let me do this." He watches the skin of her throat shift as she swallows, but she nods reluctantly. All he can offer her then is a beaten, "Thank you."
He slides down the bed, closing his eyes, crossing his hands behind his head. The bed is barely long enough to fit him but it does, and even if it didn't he is too grateful to be off the dirt to care. He sighs; it feels nice to let his lungs expand so fully. Despite perhaps ruining the Warden's night, he is at peace.
Her weight shifts beside him again, and by the time he addresses her she is very close, her face only a handsbreadth away from his. She swallows.
"What?" he asks.
She kisses him.
Warmth flares in his chest and stomach, spurred by the movement of her chapped lips catching against his, the warmth and wetness of her mouth, her teeth and tongue grazing his bottom lip just so.
And then it passes, as matter-of-factly as it had started.
"Warden-" He hadn't meant to come across so accusatory, but he does. She is not taken aback.
"If, like you said, the worst case scenario happens tomorrow… I just… didn't want to regret never doing that," she says. He half-expects her to apologize and is glad when she does not. He searches for something to say, but is distracted by the little smile that spreads across those pretty lips. "I want you to know," she says, "that whatever happens tomorrow, it has been an honor fighting alongside you." She pauses, takes a shallow breath. "I count you among my closest friends."
His chest tightens at that, his throat constricting and many, many emotions roiling together inside of him. He brushes her hair away from her face.
"And I you."
She grins, wrapping her arms around herself when he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. It is an amusing time for her to be bashful, but if sentimentality is what gets her he cannot blame her. It's easy for them, as warriors, to bathe in passion and fleeting fancy, but quiet, domestic stuff? Feelings? Being vulnerable - allowing oneself to be vulnerable - is harder sometimes than any battle, and he knows it from experience. But he's had many years now to practice, and she is special. He won't deny himself that truth. He knows that they will never be in romantic love, or be married, or live to be old together, and he does not want that from her, either. She is a kindred spirit, a dear friend, an invaluable confidante and comrade; he loves her as he loved Maric, as he has loved few people in his life.
He pulls the heavy wool blanket up enough that he can slip underneath it; it's far from the most luxurious place he's slept, but it's also far from the worst, especially considering the past several months of his life. The Warden remains on top of the covers, and his movement seems to bring her out of her thoughts.
"Are you frightened?" she asks, drawing her knees up to her chest, and then adds, "About tomorrow?"
"Of course," he says. "Are you?"
"Yes."
She says it with the tone he recognizes, a fear he used to feel when he was her age and unused to battle, a fear that makes one feel very small and incapable. For some reason, it makes him smile.
"But you were at Ostagar, were you not? And ready to fight," he says.
"Yes, well…" She sighs. "Circumstances were different. I was angry and confused and… Duncan had just saved me. I don't think I was even really thinking of the battle at the time."
"So find something to be angry about again," he says, watching with quiet amusement as she climbs under the blanket with him; he does not mind. "Be angry at me, Maker knows I deserve it." She doesn't respond, but her lip does quirk upward. He sets a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. "It's okay to be frightened. Being brave and being frightened are not mutually exclusive. But if we fail, countless lives will be lost."
She nods. "I know," she says, caught somewhere between determined and terrified, and with no small amount of wistfulness. "It's just hard." Finally, her demeanor changes, her features lightening and shoulders squaring up. "We won't fail."
"Indeed not."
She sleeps in his bed, and they dream of the archdemon.
xxxxx
She leaves him at Denerim's gates.
She does not meet his eyes when he asks her why. The only answer she gives is a purposefully cryptic, "Live," and Loghain understands even though he disagrees, even though he wants to insist that he go with her and take the final blow.
He kisses her forehead in foolishness, and watches in indignation as she leaves for Fort Drakon with Leliana, Sten, and Morrigan, leaving him to lead the defense of the city gates. Before she disappears around the corner she peers over her shoulder at him, and even at a distance he can see the apology in her eyes.