Act 4: The part of the story where she has it all figured out.
Celia takes far longer to recover than she would like, the labor was intense and left her body fragile for weeks. The midwife had informed her that she'd had a back labor, likely a result of her being bedridden for a sizable percentage of her pregnancy. However, she'd managed to remain intact, the recovery would mostly be that of her body returning to normal.
Loghain became her most attentive attendant in those following weeks, the man had seen her decimated. Their daughter's first feeding nearly drained all of the life out of Celia, he had to hold both his wife and the baby upright in order to do so. As the days passed, he let a softness finally emerge, and he has since fallen absolutely in love with their baby girl.
"We need to give her a name." Celia says one morning, still in bed as she watches Loghain coo at the little one.
"Is it too soon?" He asks.
"I thought we weren't going to lose her." Celia retaliates, the two share a look and he practically breaks under her gaze.
"I didn't think your labor would be so intense." He says, "I'm more aware of the dangers now, and I'd like to wait."
"I like Anora." Celia says, not paying him any heed, "It's a beautiful name and she's worthy of it."
He gives a tight smile and promises. "If she lives to her sixth month, we can call her Anora."
Celia tries not to be annoyed by his words, and instead lets her eyes fall to the child in his arms. It is easier to look at the man when he's got the baby in his arms. This way at the very least she can remember that he's yet to make a mess of fatherhood.
They stay in Denerim well into the spring despite Celia insisting she'd prefer to leave, and that yes, she's feeling much better. Maric sees them off, he has come every so often to visit since Anora's birth, for obvious reasons the queen chooses to stay behind during these visits. The day of their departure is warm and bordering on summerlike discomfort, it's Anora's first time outside and she squirms in her mother's arms at the bright sun.
Celia spends the entirety of the trip back to Gwaren tending to her daughter, not a moment spared towards her husband. He seems immensely bothered by the fact that she is deliberately ignoring him, yet he does nothing to rectify the issue. Perhaps he's finally returning to his senses, if he ever had any at all.
The ultimate shock comes when they arrive in Gwaren, her family is waiting outside of the castle for them, and Celia feels a type of anxiety swell inside of her at the sight. They had of course done this previously, when she had first returned from Denerim; then she had been impossibly grateful for the sure comfort of her family surrounding her once more. Now she hesitates as the carriage halts, but only for a moment before looking at her daughter and filling with pride. This is her family's first grandchild, their first niece, they should be thrilled no matter what the circumstance.
Loghain is out of the carriage in a hurry before helping his wife climb out after him. She is cautious at first before she feels the gazes of her family fall on the baby in her arms, and she smiles at them despite herself.
Her father is the first to approach, puts one large hand on Anora's head and chuckles. "Look at that… a beautiful baby if I've ever seen one." He takes Celia's head and kisses her hairline. She starts passing the baby to her father, and soon Katherine and her mother are by her side, absolutely smitten with her.
There are a few blissful moments of gentle congratulations and excitement, Katherine gripping Celia's shoulders and Martha cooing at her first grandchild. However, no one is surprised at how quickly that joy falls away, when Dillion speaks up.
"So, was your own home not good enough to birth your child." Celia sighs at her brother but expects the blow nevertheless.
"Dillion hush your mouth." Martha says without sparing him a glance, as the baby is passed into her arms.
"What are we to expect from the man who detests his own Teryn?" Matthias says.
"She came with me because it was the best thing for her." Loghain says in response.
"Keeping her away from her family is the best thing for you, indeed." Celia feels Katherine's hands grasp at her shoulders as Matthias says this. She swears there comes a reprimand from her sister-in-law, but Celia's decided that she isn't going to listen any further. Instead turning her attention to her husband, Loghain is not about to back down against her brother, he looks severe and ready to put up arms against him.
There's an exchange too heated for Celia to follow, she merely listens to the rising matching tones.
Celia barks at her husband in sudden burst of anger. "Loghain, you will not speak to him like that."
He turns to her sharply, "I will not let him speak ill of you."
"Is he speaking ill of myself or of you? Do not hide your insecurity behind the false protection of your wife, when I need none."
"Go inside, Celia."
"You'll not be telling me what to do." She retorts sharply.
The couple stares one another down, and it isn't until Martha passes Anora back into Celia's arms that they break eye contact. Loghain briskly turns and walks inside the castle, Celia does not follow instead she remains with her family.
At first it is the reunion she would have wanted, Katherine declaring she absolutely must keep little Anora forever. Matthias looks nervous at the way his wife holds the baby, and Martha is smitten with her granddaughter. It isn't until Samuel speaks up that Celia even entertains the idea of going inside to confront her husband.
"Celia," he says, "I believe you should go speak with your husband about this… situation." She desperately wants to contest him, wants to give him every single reason why he's wrong; but her brothers begin to do so for her. When she became the woman for whom others speak is beyond her recognition. Instead she stands in silence as her father reminds her brothers that she is a married woman now.
Samuel is the one to force the others to leave, Celia still having not spoken a word, watches as her family walks further and further from the castle. Anora stirs in her mother's arms making little sounds of delight, and Celia isn't sure she's ever felt so trapped in her life.
Rather than going to speak with her husband she decides to introduce Anora to the nursery. Gives her a bath and new clothes, not saying a word as she does these few tasks. She's afraid of what will fall out of her mouth were she to open it.
Loghain walks in just as she's about to lie the babe down for a nap, he's still scowling and she isn't having any of it. "Celia."
"Hold her for a minute." She places the baby in his arms and walks over to the crib to grab a blanket.
"So, you're going to ignore what happened this morning?"
"Yes, actually." She says lifting Anora out of his arms and taking a seat to swaddle her.
"Infuriating woman." He shakes his head.
"I wasn't the one who made an idiot of myself. You do enough of that on your own."
"He was insulting our marriage."
"Like you don't do so by yourself? You certainly treat our marriage as if it's a joke." Her voice is even and exhausted.
He closes his eyes at her words, she takes the moment of blissful silence to kiss her daughter's head and lay her down in her crib. The moment the baby is settled Loghain's hand is on her arm, and he is pulling her towards their bedroom.
She tries at first to wrangle her way out of his grasp but his hand tightens around her arm. She feels limp and powerless as he throws open their bedroom door. Closing it immediately behind them he turns to her, she half expects him to yell at her, what she doesn't expect is the volley of kisses he assaults her with.
She manages to push him off of her, and his body forces the door to shutter in its frame. "What the ever-living fuck is wrong with you?"
He looks at her with eyes so angry she feels them burning in her very soul. "This will be easier than yelling at one another and getting nothing done."
"Maybe if you'd listen every once and a while something would get done." She said, "But why should I even suggest listening to someone like you?"
His gaze turns from liquid steel to solid stone in an instant. "And you're no better."
She laughs at him when the words are out of his mouth. "How? How am I like you in anyway?"
"You know how much alike we are, Celia, do not deny this."
"How could I deny you anything dear husband? You get everything you could possibly want and still it is not enough."
"You don't know what you're talking about, woman."
"You think I don't? Are you really so blind as to not be able to see what our marriage is? It is me, giving you everything I have, everything I am. And still it is not enough for you."
"Don't say that, you're wrong and you know it." He says gripping her shoulders desperation and fury so thoroughly combined in one they can no longer exist without the other.
"Don't you see what you've made me? I am nothing without you, yet you are content to have dalliances with other women-"
"Celia-"
"And live your damned life however you so please. How much of a fool have you made me Loghain!?"
He tries to kiss her again but she refuses once more, a growl rises in his throat. "I would never lie with anyone I did not treasure-"
"And if I am so treasured by you, I must see the wrath your acquaintances endure!"
"Shut up and let me speak!" She does not want to, she wants to struggle and writhe against his grasp. Even so he says, "I did not think it was possible for me to love again, when I came here. I have always and will always love Rowan, but that doesn't mean I can't love you."
She looks at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend that he could actually believe the words he's saying. Loghain is not the type of man to just say anything, but she is truly in shock at what he thinks is mending his marriage. So much so that her response is, "What is wrong with you?"
"I'm not going to lie to you, Celia, I love her. But I love you too."
"Stop-"
"No! You're not listening to me-"
"Do you know how much you hurt me? Not to mention Maric and Rowan herself? Continuing a fantasy that was doomed to end the moment it began?"
"You don't know what we went through together."
"I suppose I don't."
"I still love you, I am happy we're married, I love our daughter."
"Do you have no concept of how you are perceived by others? Do you even care?"
"Why should anyone else matter?"
"Is that what you said to her?" Celia takes a minute to breathe, to reassess the path she is going down but she can't exactly give up now. "Did you tell her you loved her and not to worry about the rest?"
"Damnit woman-"
"Do not call me woman. I am your wife, whether you like it or not."
"Are you even listening to me? I am proud to call you my wife, but I'm only human, I am allowed to make mistakes."
"Some men die for this very mistake, and if our child didn't need a father, I can't say I wouldn't like to see that."
"You don't mean that." He says viciously, forcing another kiss on her.
"Would you stop that!" She says only able to move her face to the side, his breath still harsh on her cheek.
"Fuck me Celia, what is it going to take for you to forgive me?"
"Time!" She shouts, an answer he can hopefully swallow enough to release her, and he does. "Just… give me time."
"It's been months, Celia."
"I'm sorry, but you ripped my heart out. I think I'm entitled to something, and all I am asking for is time." The two of them stare at one another, neither really certain of the outcome they want from this exchange. Still neither willing to relent, until Celia sighs, "Please."
"Alright."
Part of Celia wishes she could burry herself into his chest, hide away from the pain in his embrace. But she knows that's not possible, she hasn't let him touch her since Anora's birth, and with what she's just asked of him it would render her practically insane.
He lets her go, finally allowing her exit, and from that moment she takes up her silence once more. He grows impatient, but does keep his distance, even when she elects to sleep in her own quarters. She is surprised, nearly shocked really, by the amount of restrain he shows, whether or not that is a good thing she isn't certain.
Before either of them knows it, it's nearly time for him to return to Denerim, and she hadn't recalled he was even leaving until he mentions it briefly over dinner. She does not know how he wants her to react, part of her is scared that she even wonders such a thing. When did she become the woman who is constantly wondering how her husband will react to any given thing?
When she sees him off, some days later, she watches him shower their daughter in kisses and adoration. Despite everything he does love their daughter, Celia has seen fear behind his eyes from time to time, when he scares himself with how much he loves her. He passes the babe into Celia's arms, and she, in response, leans up to kiss his cheek.
Both of them are shocked at the contact, but Celia remains firm in her action. "Come home soon." She says gently, stepping back from him. He looks at her, forlorn and desperate, but he merely nods.
"Say bye-bye to your father, darling." Celia says bouncing her daughter, though the child does not acknowledge her mother, aside from a loll of the head.
He leaves without a word, and Celia feels a sudden relief at his parting. She takes her baby girl inside and lives her life as if nothing is happening. But even nothing can be a heavy weight to bear alone, so yes, she would admit to missing her husband. Even if it's not his absence that irks her so much as what he's doing now left to his own devices.
Why should she care anyway? The king will ensure that not a single soul will ever know of the infidelity he and his bride so readily submit themselves to.
Loghain returns more swiftly than Celia would have expected, his two-month absence feels like mere moments of harrowing solitude.
But he smiles like a new man, lifting his daughter high above his head and kissing her rosy cheeks with vigor. Part of Celia hates that he has the makings of a good father, hates that Anora may too succumb to his wiles.
"And of course, we can't neglect your mother." He chuckles, leaning over to kiss his wife. Celia accepts the gesture despite her unease. She has found herself caught in the middle of her own life; between yearning for the love of a man who does not deserve love, and a hate that feels very nearly hollow.
She isn't totally certain how they end up abed that night, not even totally certain the act happens at all. Yet there they are, lying in one another's arm him trailing kisses up and down the lengths of her neck. Vaguely aware of the stinging soreness and leaking between her legs, she means to let out a breath but her body has other plans.
"You make me feel like I'm nothing." She says, in the darkness, the room suddenly feels as cold as the new year just outside their window.
His gaze intensifies. "No Celia, don't, you're the mother of my child." He takes to kissing her again as if to fill her up with something. And he does fill her up with something, something she isn't certain how to name. Maker is she tired of being uncertain.
How is she supposed to respond? That she fears this is all she has become? That this is all she will ever be? The mother of this man's child and no more? That she will have lost all that she fought so long for?
His skin still lights a fire inside of her, as empty as she feels something always stirs at his touch, once she would have called it love. Now she doesn't know, but she hopes it isn't love; if it is love she's more confused than she once thought.
For now, she settles into him, allows the warmth of his skin and calloused touch bring her closure. A silent resolve to give him as many parts of her she can still bear to lose, so that perhaps they can fall in love again.
If he ever loved her to begin with. She realizes just how messy and callous love can be, how empty and demanding it is to have a man like Loghain be her husband.
"Celia?" He asks, fingers knotted in her hair.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"I know." You think so. What do we really know?
"You and Anora are my world."
"I know." You've convinced yourself at least.
"I will spend the rest of our lives trying to deserve you." And it is this moment that leaves her so aching for silence that she says the only thing that will satisfy him.
"I'm yours."
As much as she loathes to call this life coping, that is what she names the feeling. Going day to day, giving herself away to her husband with every kiss and word she parts with. And for a while she is content to do so.
Anora grows into a beautiful smart girl, Celia sees flashes of Loghain within their daughter; she wishes that she could ignore these things, but her mind is a ruthless beast.
Just before Anora's third birthday, Loghain receives word that Rowan is with child. He does not speak to Celia on the matter, she finds the letter on his desk after more than a week of his silence. The unease slips out of her and instead finds herself enraged at him.
Typically not one to pry, Celia has half a mind to ignore it all, but she doesn't. So, consumed by his blatant inability to let Rowan go, she swipes the letter and storms up to their bedroom where he is sat dejectedly staring into the fireplace.
Her entrance does not even bother him, except to adjust the book he'd left on his knee, long forgotten by the look of it.
"You're a sick man, you know that?" She says stiffly.
He looks at her, glances at the parchment in her hand and responds, "I know."
"You know." She chuckles heavily. "Of course, you do… You have so little regard for anything else in the world… how foolish of me to assume you remained ignorant to this too."
"I don't want to feel this way."
"Neither do I, but we hardly have any choice as it were."
"Celia, please…"
"What more could you possibly want from me?"
"How many times must I say it? I am so sorry, I wish… I wish none of this had ever happened, but this is my reality, love."
He's made no move towards her, not even a change in inflection, so Celia moves towards the fireplace and burns the missive. She watches the paper curl with the flame, the feeling of pure anguish slipping in between the two of them. The crackling of the paper coupled with a heavy sigh from Loghain makes her feel useless. But that feeling is no longer new.
"I will always regret what I've done, Celia." He says the words with such dejected passion that Celia wonder's if he even knows he's speaking. She doesn't know how to forgive him anymore, she's taken to having the words drown out her fears.
And she is afraid, mostly of this life she is living, and knowing that this is a result of her own choices. She did this to herself, married the only man in the world who does not understand the concept of his own fault.
Fuck it, she thinks bitterly as she turns to face Loghain, takes in his tiredness and withered appearance. She swallows her indifference and approaches him, the man who makes her weak in all of the worst ways.
And as always, she falls to her knees before him, "This isn't who you are."
"How would you know?" He does not meet her gaze, so she forces him to, hands on either side of his face.
"Because we are two sides of the same coin, passionate and brutal. Yet when we fall, we are truly one in the same. You cannot bring yourself to give up Rowan, and I cannot bring myself to give you up. Try as I might."
He has tears in his eyes now, a sight that once may have been staggering; but not to Celia, not anymore.
"You are my husband, we swore before the Maker and his bride… many things and some of which we haven't kept. I don't always have to love you, but I am always with you, Loghain… Darling. I can resent you all I want, but for some reason I can't let you go."
He slides down to meet her eyes, and on his knees for the first time he truly begs for her forgiveness. Pushes her up with his body and kisses her; it feels like he is stealing the life from her body, but she gives it away so willingly there is no difference between them.
"I am unworthy of you." He says, mouth pressed so firmly to her neck she wonders how he can breathe.
"How will you rectify that?" She asks, the blush and heat in her face must be palpable on his tongue as he chuckles against her. He doesn't say anything, merely guides her to the floor and makes love to her there; for the first time since this mess began, she feels like this is love.
Maybe in this perfect moment all can be forgiven, they cry and moan and kiss, until the rest of the world is obsolete. Something new is now theirs, formed between the touch of his hand and the silk of her hair. There is still a sadness between them, something like grief hanging over their heads, but it is enough that their love rests on their shoulders.
Rowan delivers a son, Calian is his name and he will marry Anora. Celia isn't certain how to feel about this and so she elects to ignore it for now. Loghain and Celia don't speak of it after the initial conversation, and she's content to leave it that way.
Loghain takes Anora with him to Denerim for Calian's coronation, and she is terribly lonely while they are away. Even with Dillion getting married, Katherine having a child of her own, and the general workload of running a Teryn. She finds time to be alone, and she counts the days it takes for her husband to come back to her.
Part of her knows that trips to Denerim will become regular occurrences for Anora, but three seems a little young to start such a practice. Loghain disagrees, reminds Celia that their daughter will marry the prince and become a queen; she must be groomed and trained in Denerim for such a task.
She wonders when Loghain became a man who cares about grooming or pedigree, but she concedes to his wishes. Afraid he might put the pieces together of her true fear; the fear that maybe he's doing this to be closer to Rowan. The darkest part of her wonders whose child Calian is, but refrains from asking the question.
Her worries are quelled in the worst possible way, when Rowan dies before Calian's second birthday. Celia goes to Denerim with her husband and daughter, despite everything she worries for the fate of her country as anyone else would.
Loghain has a bite to his tone that makes Celia feel as though nothing has changed; he has always been an intense man, she isn't surprised by the way his grief weaves itself.
Denerim is uncomfortably hot in the summer, Celia would go as far to say it's nearly grotesque. Not just the weather, but the stench of city and… Well she'd admit her bias, that this city only harbors terrible memories. But that girl, the one she was when she'd first come to Denerim, is long gone; grown into someone nearly unrecognizable.
"We're going to the palace, go get washed up, Anora." Loghain says the moment they've arrived; the little girl runs into the arms of her governess once she is released.
"Will you be back tonight?" Celia asks him.
"You're coming too." He says.
"Are you certain you want me to?" She asks.
"Don't question my decisions Celia." He responds harshly.
"Watch your temper, I was merely uncertain if this is an occasion you would want my presence, after everything that has happened."
"I don't need a reminder."
"Then what do you need?" She retaliates, feeling a sense of challenge rise inside of her. He glares at her with such a ferocity, she wonders if the heat in the city merely radiates off of him. "Well?"
"Do not test me this trip, Celia."
"Then perhaps you should get a hold of yourself before you lose your temper in front of someone important."
"Damn you, woman."
"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"
He very nearly snarls at her, for a second, she wonders what a spectacle they must be; thankfully the staff has retreated back into the estate, leaving only the carriage driver to witness their argument.
"How many times must I remind you that you are my wife-"
"Oh, is that right?" She can't help but jest, he's nearly vicious with her.
"You unreasonable, apprehensive, callous, petty wench."
"So, we've reduced ourselves to name calling now?" She does not rise to his bait in the way he wanted her to and it shows all over his face. "Do you want to press this further now? Or would you prefer to let your irrationality simmer?"
His silence confirms the latter and so they wait for Anora to return, bouncing into the carriage with a joyful spring in her step. She informs her mother of all the playing she and Calian do around the castle, and Loghain broods all the while.
Their arrival to the palace is met with frantic servants and a very relieved head of house. Apparently, Maric has not come out of the room in which Rowan passed, the staff fear he too may have contracted the illness that took the Queen. Blight, Rowan died of the blight and Celia feels as if the Maker is taunting her.
You wanted her to die, didn't you? She suffered greatly, she's gone from this world, just as you wanted.
"My ladyship," one of the servants approaches her, "I will take you to see the young prince now. His lordship said you would look after him until…" She smiles courteously and follows the servant, Anora jumping and skipping beside her.
Celia meets the prince and is taken aback by the striking resemblance he holds to Maric. Calian is a charming little toddler, bearing every last one of his teeth and holding out his chubby hands to Anora. The two fair haired children play enough for five children, and Celia tries to keep herself composed for them.
"Mama is gone now Anora," He says at one point so plainly Celia's chest is tight with wonder. "I think she got too tired."
His smile does not falter, so Celia asks him, "Do you miss, your mama, Calian?"
"Not really, I have lots of mama's." He responds, "But you're my favorite mama." He wraps his arms around Celia's waist and chuckles as he does so. Celia wonders if her own daughter will feel so detached from her someday. If Anora will even remember or want to remember her mother.
The sun has been setting for some hours now, Celia decides to read the children a story in the hopes that they'll get to sleep at a decent hour. Anora falls asleep against her mother's shoulder, Calian has climbed into her lap and nestled into her chest.
She takes to playing with the ends of his hair, trying to decipher how she should feel in this moment. There are so many parts of her in so many different directions with so many different feelings she's practically pulled a part. She misses the decisiveness of the old days, when she knew who she was and what she felt. When death meant tragedy, not whatever this feeling inside of her is.
The door opens, Maric and Loghain walk in, the king tries to muster a smile at Celia but can't manage that feat. Instead she guides his son into his arms and watches him crush the boy to his chest.
Loghain takes Anora and holds her just as fiercely, the two of them have a moment without words with their children. Crying and attempting to grasp onto something normal.
Celia stands up, whispers a short blessing to the king and nudges him in the direction of Calian's bed.
"How is he handling this?" Maric asks looking at her from over Calian's head.
"He's taking it well." She nearly whispers.
"Good… That's good." Part of her is stunned to see the king is such a state, not surprised, just taken aback. This is quite possibly the most unreal experience she's had since becoming a noble. To see such a great man so human before her, is both humbling and horrifying.
He says nothing else, just takes his son towards the bed, while Loghain leads her from the room.
The Mac Tir's go home, Anora still sleeping against her father, and Celia more at a loss than ever before.
"When's the funeral?" She asks once they are in their room preparing for bed.
"Tomorrow night." His voice is rough and tired. "I… I owe you an apology for earlier."
"You have called me worse things without such words, take that for what you will." She says, voice so soft that her words could be mistaken for forgiveness. Which is how Loghain takes them by the way he stands to hold her.
"I love you, my patient wife."
"Patient?" She asks.
"Yes." He says, kissing the side of her head, "And many other things."
Celia can't recall a time when she was ever patient with anyone let alone her husband; he starts to advance, hands creeping towards her arms. She can hardly believe he wants to have sex with her at a time like this, while at the same time is completely unsurprised.
She only allows him to bed her out of the partial guilt simmering inside of her; her relief at Rowan's passing forces her into complacency. And she does revel in every breath and touch between them, but that doesn't stamp out her terror.
The funeral is somehow worse than the day previous, every noble from across Ferelden and beyond is in attendance. Celia holds the prince and her daughter close as she watches a nation mourn around her. And it's not that she isn't saddened by the passing of the queen, it is the guilt inside of her that makes her feel so heavy.
Despite everything, Rowan was deserving and good, but no one is all good; Celia has to wonder how different she would feel if she were naïve. Would she be as tearful and disheartened as those around her?
She allows her mind to go blank, surely empty thoughts are much calmer than evil ones. So that night when Maric stays in the Mac Tir estate Celia quietly puts the children to bed and tries to avoid her husband's study.
Around midnight she can no longer help herself, so she approaches the door only halting at the sound of her drunk husband's low chuckle.
"Yes, I remember." He says.
"Those were… not particularly happy times, but they were ours." Maric says, voice full of something like sadness.
"Where did the time go?" Loghain's once light and happy tone goes dark.
Maric lets out a snort, "To our country, to our children."
"And our wives."
"Yes… I suppose you're right about that." After a brief pause Maric speaks again, "Loghain, can I ask you something personal?"
"You usually do without my permission, what's on your mind?"
"Why did you marry Celia?"
She feels now would be an opportune moment to leave, to pretend she never heard a sentence of this conversation. It would be easier in the long run, for her to never know what comes from his mouth next. She does not budge.
"Because… she has a heart of pure lyrium." He says, "It's bewitching and beautiful, more so than it has any right to be. She is meant to be treasured… coveted even, and loving her feels like I'm getting as close to magic as I will come without dying by its hand. I don't think I deserve her, even so I'd never let her go."
She is so angry then she can hardly contain herself, he knows what he's doing to her. Yet he continues to destroy her, calls her perfect and magical, while retaining a selfish desire of her. As if she is his Maker damned property. What kind of Maker sits by and allows this to happen?
Fuck anyone who thinks me human and then demands perfect loyalty and complacency. She thinks bitterly, fighting the tears that threaten to pour down her face. Everyone else is allowed to sin, but don't you dare Celia, don't even think about it. You are perfect lyrium, the power behind life giving water and destructive fire. Do not ruin yourself, that life was not meant for you.
Maric seems to take Loghain's words and swallow them well enough, their drunken conversation continues; but Celia cannot move on. Of course, her infuriating husband would think such a way, part of her wishes she were less furious at the notion. Wishes that fire within her would cease its stifling blaze so that she can finally breathe once again.
Even so she wills this rage to continue, to keep her alive as it always has. What Loghain forgot to mention about her lyrium heart is that lyrium is dangerous, that it drives men mad and kills them. Lyrium that is used by others until is it empty and useless; Lyrium which is coveted and abused, a necessary evil.
Women like Celia are only a means to an end, meant to be held on a pedestal until they are no longer of any use. She never wanted to be remembered, all she had ever wanted was to work in her father's shop unwed and happy for the rest of her days.
Now she has everything any sane woman would want, a husband who adores her in his own way, a beautiful daughter, wealth, a title, and an impeccable hatred for her life. She can hardly imagine that this life was hand crafted by any god, Maker, or higher being.
If it were, she decides, they must be evil in a cruel unknown way. Her lyrium heart threatens to explode; to give out and end it all here. But she does not budge beyond reaching up to clutch her heart, keeping it together and in its place.
Her husband is merely a mouth piece and a fool, never noticing that his character is nothing more than a subtext. That he is just as powerless as she is and this thought brings her great comfort; to blame the author of this tragedy instead of him. To say it's their fault, no more no less.
At least this way she can shut her eyes, swallow his infidelity, and give herself away to him without hating him for it. It will be much easier to give him what he wants if she can take all of his sins away from him and put them on another.
She hopes the conversation has melted into something new as she opens the door, her ears having gone deaf to every word expressed by the two men.
"Celia." Loghain covers his mouth, as if to hide the stench of alcohol on his breath.
"I think it'd be best for you to get some rest." She says resolutely, "I can lead you to your chambers for the night, Maric."
"No… Thank you, Celia." He says standing, with only a slight stumble, "Loghain showed me earlier this afternoon." He starts to leave, and Celia tries to ignore the heartbreak in his eyes, knowing her own pain pales in comparison.
The king kisses her cheek before walking past her and down the hall.
"Are you coming, husband?" She asks.
"I… I am not in the best state, Celia."
"You rarely are." She responds coolly. "Come to bed." Waiting by the door, she stares at her husband hoping he'll relent and follow after her. However, all he does is stare at her, intent, calculating. "Loghain?"
"Why are you here?" He asks.
"What do you mean?"
"Why did you follow me here?"
"Because it is what you asked of me." She says, keeping her voice firm. He seems confused, he opens his mouth several times but closes it every time. He follows dutifully after her, as if this is the least he owes her.
The last night they are in Denerim, with the hot air stuck in their bed, they take their lovemaking into a cool bath. She revels in the way he falls apart before her, finds power in how easily this supposedly great man falls apart before the touch of a woman. Sex with him is the easiest way to silence, she has realized, and the silence is what she really craves.
So, she gives him what he wants, every touch and word placed ever so carefully; so that when it's all over, there is an indescribable reverence in the sloshing water and nighttime buzzing outside. She watches his head floating in the water beneath her, how relaxed and lidded his eyes are.
His hand is running through her hair making every strand bead with water. "I love you."
"I'm yours."
They return to Gwaren after that, and soon it is time for her husband to depart for Denerim once more. The loneliness hanging in the castle is interrupted by Celia's discovery of her pregnancy. Even knowing it is a futile effort, she writes her husband to tell him the news; she is not surprised to hear back with nothing.
Despite the life inside of her, she can't help the lonely feeling left inside of her day in and day out. Her pregnancy progresses and still no word comes from her husband; she wants to be surprised. Wills herself indefinitely to be hurt by his indifference, but she can't.
She delivers the baby at the end of the winter, far too early for anyone's liking; she writes to her husband to inform him that their son will not live past his first year and receives no word. Still, she loves the baby boy who looks too much like his father for her taste. When spring finally comes, it is particularly wet, the world is cold and damp, too nervous to wake up from a sleepy winter.
Celia names her son Hayden, she watches the little boy struggle through his first few weeks of life. Doesn't even notice when his father returns home unannounced with Maric by his side. She pays neither of them any mind, instead she stays with her son, watches his every breath until he is no longer breathing.
Loghain is with her when Hayden passes, the child still held in her arms, she turns into her husband's chest and weeps. She can't say this brings her any comfort, being held in the arms of this man this way, but having a presence as sorrowful as her own is. And her grief is only matched by that of her husband, who cries openly and unabashedly, looking to his wife for the same comfort he offers her.
That doesn't stop him from returning to Denerim some months later, but he does start coming home more often than he used to. In their grief, the couple grows back together, as if it takes a tragedy to rebuild something beautiful. For the first time in a long time, there's a kind of love between them that is untouchable, intangible to most without a storybook.
And she thinks that they have finally surpassed all of their difficulties. Perhaps, they needed this, needed to rise above all of the struggles of initial marriage to become one. Despite their tragedies they smile, they raise their daughter, and they are in love once again.
But the turning tables of tragedy do not let up so easily, and it was oh so promising in the beginning.
"Eamon is getting married, in Harvestmere, it would be rude of us not to attend." Loghain says to her one night.
"Eamon's getting married? Who in the name of the Maker would marry that?" She asks, the words flying out of her mouth without a heartbeat of silence passing between them.
Loghain laughs for a genuine moment before composing himself. "Some Orlesian woman, apparently they met in Redcliff."
"I suppose that makes sense, if you've met the man." She says shaking her head. "And he is aging, perhaps he paid the woman to give him an heir."
"Oh, you are a cruel woman." Loghain laughs at his wife.
"Have you seen the man I married?" She asks draping herself on his shoulders.
"He's no better." He smiles softly before kissing her.
"What of Anora?"
"I think she'll do fine in Denerim, she's nearly sixteen."
"You're not worried about her and Calian?"
"I've no reason to, he knows what I'll do to him should he treat her poorly." Loghain has made up his mind, and Celia is content to follow.
They leave not long after that night, and Redcliff is an underwhelming sight for Celia. She thinks back to Eamon's disgust of Gwaren and thinks he did not have much to speak of himself. However, she shoves away these thoughts in favor of civility; she has not held many events in the past few years nor has she been back to Denerim since the Queen's funeral. All of which to say, her manners will fail her should she allow the slightest breech in civility.
The wedding is audacious in its blending of Orlesian and Ferelden cultures; in the middle of the ceremony she catches out of the corner of her eye, Loghain physically cringing. She stifles a laugh and squeezes his hand as the sister continues in her obnoxiously accented drawl.
By the time the festivities are under way, Celia has noticed every noble Ferelden and Orlesian giving the couple discreet snide glances.
"The only thing we are all in agreement on." Celia comments to her husband during the first dance, Eamon and his bride seem to embody the tension in the ballroom despite the smiles on their faces.
Loghain laughs, "Now if only we could agree on a boarder."
"You could try your luck tonight, perhaps they'll want to be so far from all of this, the deal will be done."
"Don't hold your breath, unless of course you see a griffon around here and have yet to inform me." Celia laughs at her husband, applauding the end of a most awkward turn around the dance floor. "Would you dance with me, wife?"
She looks at him intently, "We haven't danced together since our wedding night, why now?"
He laughs, "Perhaps we can do better."
"Really?"
"If you must have a reason, Maric is about to be swarmed by every woman in the nation and beyond."
"So, I am but a distraction from the chaos?" She chuckles.
"Less a distraction and more a reminder how lucky I am to have you."
"As opposed to being alone?"
"As opposed to any other kind of being."
Still smirking at her husband, Celia takes his hand and for the first time in nearly twenty years, she feels a connection to her husband that she had thought to be long gone. The laughter she hears bubble out of him is nervous and awkward, like they are young once more. So, when she kisses him, it is genuine and so real her chest aches at the way that he feels the same against her. Like despite everything, they are two people who have always been the same, simply trying to endure a life together.
Maric eventually steals a dance, naming her sanctuary when the hordes of women are too overwhelming. This world, for all the good and bad it has been over the years, still holds happiness's Celia would not have known without her husband. There is a way that he smiles at her, so effortlessly and absolute she cannot doubt that there is love between them.
But love is merely a creature akin to evil; as soon as one learns its face, it has already changed.
"You're having fun, darling." Celia chuckles at her husband, his breath bated from dancing.
"Is that what this is?" He smirks at her.
"I should say so." She reaches a hand to his cheek.
"Let's get a bit of fresh air, I think the Orlesian's are closing in."
"And we can't have them ruining your one good mood."
"Absolutely not." He grasps her from behind and kisses her neck, eliciting a bright laugh out of her. The autumn air is crisp against their skin, there is a stillness all around them despite the muffled voices and music. Redcliff is a wet place, and at night it nearly resembles a painting; slick and textured in an unrealistic type of fashion.
Loghain hovers behind her, hands on her shoulders, and lips on the back of her head. In their older age, they have found a comfort in the silences, or maybe it is quiet that has saved their marriage. Their way of letting forgiveness melt between them when all they can manage is to succumb to the stillness of the world.
The servants bustle about even in the gardens, quick with their platters and linens, reminiscent of the night Loghain proposed all those years ago. Her hands light over his as gentle as possible, she coils up all of her grief and hides it way for this last brief moment of tranquility.
"Might I steal you away for a moment?" Maric asks Loghain, her husband walks away with one last kiss to her hairline.
Taking her skirts up in her hands Celia walks down the steps to a nearby bench, looking out into the court yard with a reverence she cannot name. When she sees a boy so strikingly familiar, she nearly collapses on sight. A youthful roundness still hangs in his face, but his features are undeniably Maric's; while Calian has a bit of Rowen in him, there is no such thing in this boy.
At first Celia thinks it's merely the evening mist, or a trick of the moonlight, an image contrived of her own imagination. But this little boy, he's real enough that one of the serving girls stops to give him a sweet cake and instructions. The longer she stares at the boy, the more certain she becomes, this is Maric's son; as old as her Hayden would be now.
Once she has rifled through her confusion, she feels a sadness well up inside of her; for Rowen, for herself, for this boy who has also now fallen victim to the game nobles so carelessly play. She realizes that Ferelden's are no better than Orlais, their secrets are merely closeted in nature, never so blatant as a display or show.
Part of her wants to approach the boy, to be kind and gentle with him, as he's clearly grown up a serving boy. Then once she registers fully that Maric has allowed Eamon of all people to raise him, she grows enraged. Eamon who only cares for blood, station, and convenience raising the king's bastard boy.
Celia gets up from her spot and storms back into Castle Redcliff, she rushes up to her room and tries to calm herself. To think through what she knows and what she doesn't; there is no way Loghain doesn't know about the boy, but if he does know…
She dresses swiftly and quietly, holding herself together with aimless thoughts and soft anger. She even attempts to lay down, but finds her mind so muddy with thoughts that she gets up to wait for her husband to arrive.
Which he does, late and happy, he hardly notices that she is sitting up for him until he too is dressed for bed, "There you are, love."
"Yes?" Celia asks.
"Why did you come to bed so soon, without telling me? Are you well?"
"I am." She says folding her arms, "May I ask you something?"
"Yes, dear."
"Maric has a son." She says plainly, watching his face pale before he gives a weak laugh.
"Of course, he does, our daughter is marrying him."
"You know what I mean, he has a son here. Why? How?"
"Celia, you're just… overthinking." Loghain claims weakly.
"I saw the boy, why in the name of the void did Maric give his son to Eamon?"
"He did no such thing." Loghain begins to raise his voice, clearly losing his cool.
"Why are you being short with me?"
"Because that brat is not Maric's." He says harshly.
"I'm not stupid, Loghain, I know he's a bastard, I don't care that-"
"We are not discussing this!"
"I want to know if you knew." She says keeping her own composure.
"Of course, I knew." He says lowly.
"Then why did you not offer to take that boy in?" She knows the answer, at this point she's trying to rile him up.
"We had just lost Hayden-"
"Admit that you did not want anything to remind you of Rowen, you and I both know that's your reason."
"Fuck you." He says plainly.
She narrows her gaze and shakes her head, "Hit me with something harsher, I know you want to."
"You infuriating bitch."
"And you are a pig with no idea how to live in a world where you are not above all else. You are a disgusting selfish fool." It is beyond childish to name call, but it feels good; to scream and accuse him of all the vile things she's been holding in.
He starts screaming at her, calling her curses and damning her to the void; she is no better, raising her own voice and curses his name in equal measure. There is a long string of back and forth rage, before she lays out a truth so dark, her mind had never touched the thought
"I wish we'd never married!" She shouts at him so angry she feels her vison falter.
"I am the best thing that has ever happened to you!"
"You are the biggest shame that I carry!" She retorts, the words are cruel, but she feels powerful finally voicing the hate which has built a silent home in her heart. "You are a despicable hateful man that hasn't a clue how to care for others that do not benefit you!"
His anger is raw as he curses her name, "You think you benefit me?!"
He is angrier, but her words are sharper, backed by years of buried emotion, "I am the only reason that anyone could be blind enough not to see that you are an adulterous whore!"
"You are nothing but a common wench who's only claim to greatness is that I fucked you!"
"Not all of us want to be great! It is that exact fucking need to be great that has turned you into a monster!"
"Then you are the one who married a monster in the making! I did not force you to say yes!"
"You think I could just say no to you!? I said no once-"
"I am no damned Orlesian, you cunt-"
"You may not be one, but you are no better than them-"
His eyes are wild with rage, his fists clenching as he shouts, "Say it one more time! Try me Celia I swear to the Maker and his bride-"
"You'll what!? Kill me!? Hurt me!? Show me the monster that you have become then! Show me the monster who would dare to hit his bride!"
He grips her shoulders and she attempts to shove him away, his grip is an unknown unbreakable alloy as he shakes her. "You revel in testing me! In giving me reason to kill you! No man would blame me!"
"No man indeed, but what of the Maker himself?! I will relish in whatever becomes of you in the next life!"
They start to shout incomprehensively at one another for a moment or two until suddenly, Celia is being pulled in one direction and Loghain in another. Celia hardly registers Eleanor's cool hands ushering her away, her eyes only see red hot anger.
Vaguely she hears her husband yelling over Bryce and Maric's voices, to leave well enough alone. The tears that fall down Celia's cheeks are boiling in degree, there is so much anger inside of her she does not acknowledge the embarrassment she should feel.
"Fetch her some water and bring it to my chambers." Eleanor tells the nearest shocked maid as Celia is guided into a neighboring room.
Once sat before a fire, Celia feels the burning in her cheeks intensify, "Andraste help me." She says ever so softly; her throat is raw from her argument.
"What did he do?" Eleanor asks.
"He did nothing, I suppose. I'm the idiot who married him." Celia responds blandly.
"Maker's Breath, Celia, what happened?"
The Teyrna doesn't know how to respond to Eleanor, how is she supposed to admit that this was a long time coming? That her whole marriage has been leading up to this moment? That whoever her Maker is, has a cruel and unforgiving heart?
There is a part of Celia that has begun to wonder if all people have different Makers, if she and her husband were crafted by different hands. This night has done nothing but prove her theory, Loghain was built to never understand, to be stagnant and infuriating. It has never been clearer, the man she married is a tyrant. A monster in the body of a man, and his disguise is wearing thin before her very eyes.
Celia's Maker, whoever they may be, did not craft the two of them in mind for one another; instead she was a mere after thought, given to the man whom no other could love. The twist of this tale? Even she could not love the man so determined to remain as he is, and the process of this lesson has left her a wasteland.
"Celia, please speak with me."
"I have no words, I'm afraid… I must have used them all." She says taking the glass of water that is offered to her.
The two high ladies sit together for some time, listening to the scrabbling terse argument next door. If their nearly normal tones are easily overheard, Celia wonders how much of their conversation the Couslands and Maric had heard.
Then a knock on the door comes, Celia remains where she sits, face over heated from the fire, but too drained to move.
"Darling, Maric would like a moment with Celia." Bryce says lowly.
"Are you alright with this?" Eleanor asks the comatose Teyrna, the question is met with a nod. Eleanor leaves reluctantly, kissing Celia's head as she walks away, Maric passes into the room like a ghost.
"Celia?" She doesn't respond merely adjust herself to make space for him. "Will you look at me?"
"No." She says.
"I am sorry that I have caused so much pain in your life."
"It is not your doing, do not blame yourself for Loghain's transgressions, we have spoken of this before."
"I feel as though I am to blame."
"You did nothing to my marriage, that weight rests on mine and my husband's shoulders."
"Without me-"
"Without me none of this would have ever happened either. We will never know a world in which we do not live."
"I am incredibly sorry, Celia."
"As am I, but this is not your mess to fix."
"If there's anything I can do."
"There is nothing anyone can do at this point, Maric, you of all people should know that." Celia's voice would sound broken, were there anything left inside of her to be broken.
"He's-"
"A grown man who should be able to fix his own mistakes, but he can't."
"He's a deeply emotional man… Deeply being the key word." Celia says nothing else, so Maric asks, "Do you fear him?"
"Oh yes, in many ways, in every way."
"He won't harm you."
"Once I would have agreed."
"I don't know what to say."
"That means that silence is the only safe option then." She responds, silence and loneliness are her only real companions; she does not know what she would do without them.
What must be an hour passes before Loghain comes to collect her, she has never feared her husband until now. One look at him and she closes her eyes, he is altogether too much for her to handle, he does not try to touch her until they are back in their chambers. She sits on the bed, tired with a heavy heart and he stands before her.
"I didn't mean it." He claims, "I didn't mean any of it."
She continues to look at the floor, too afraid to say, I did. Too afraid that the man before her truly is a monster and she is the only one who sees it; someday the world will see it too, when it is far too late to stop him.
He kisses her then and she allows herself the thoughts that she has so long buried inside of her. Loghain seems to think his cock has divine providence; that if he fucks her enough it will fix all of their problems. She hates it, but more than that she hates that her actions have allowed him to believe this for so long.
She hates that he believes it because it does work, he sticks it to her and she realizes how exhausted she is, how therapeutic his touch is. Celia hates that she still loves this man, hates that love can do this to a person, and hates that love has made her the kind of woman who lets her husband fuck her into forgiveness.
She lies there afterwards, feeling dirty and wrong, like her body has once again been used by him. Instead of sleeping, she gets up and watches the cool autumn scene outside of her window. Wishing that she too were like the crisp leaves, the most beautiful just before their death. Once she would have said that she were the spring, growth despite cold and adversity.
Life has its way of destroying everyone, in due time and with a special cruel kind of torture for each person. Somehow, Celia has been its victim time and time again, she feels like a mabari's favorite bone, torn apart and left in ruin.
The Mac Tir's go home, holding hands in a quiet reverence. Which is to say, they don't talk about the incident outside of the silences that threaten to eat them alive. They go on living, never once mentioning the druffolo in the room for fear of causing a stampede.