From the Ashes

by Bain Sidhe

Moira Cousland is a reluctant Grey Warden, torn unwillingly from her dying parents' side to fulfill an ancient obligation. Loghain Mac Tir was once the greatest living hero in Ferelden, until his betrayal of King Cailan at Ostagar sparked a civil war. Now, he is the only man who can help Moira stop the Blight... but can she learn to trust him in time?

18. In My Arms Lies Eternity

A/N: So, remember when I was going to write 50,000 words of From the Ashes in November for NaNo? Yeah, me too. I think I should probably refrain from making specific deadline promises from here on out! My sincere apologies for the two month wait for this chapter. By way of atonement, please enjoy this chapter! It is a) very long and b) very NSFW. As always, thank you all for your continued support, and I will offer a vague assurance that you will not have to wait two more months before the next update.

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Loghain heaved a weary sigh as he dipped his signet into the hot wax, pressed the seal against the parchment, and placed the letter atop a pile of several dozen similar missives, all awaiting delivery to various vassals, functionaries and assorted other persons of import. With all the chaos of the Blight, the Landsmeet, and the battles since, he'd forgotten just how Maker-forsaken tedious the business of ruling a teyrnir could be.

And for some thick-skulled reason, I actually thought I wanted to be the regent. Maker preserve me, I must have truly lost my mind to fancy a job with more paperwork.

It had been a week since Moira's spectacular rebuke of Arl Eamon, and in that week, he'd barely seen her, except briefly in passing. She was the 'Hero of Ferelden,' and – as he knew all too well – Heroes with a capital H were in high demand. She'd been hustled and bustled about to various fetes held in her honor by grateful nobles and tradesmen eager to demonstrate their appreciation of the Hero by plying her with gifts and acclaim (and, no doubt, equally eager to curry favor with the second-most influential woman in Ferelden), and Loghain had managed to excuse himself from most of those events. Not because he didn't wish to attend with her – any time spent with Moira was time well spent – but because he knew his presence would provide a measure of controversy that she did not deserve to deal with, not when all the nation accorded her its greatest Hero. His own reputation was still much damaged, though Moira's obvious favor had done much to quell most of the discontented mutterings that continued to demand his further punishment. He nevertheless saw no sense in tainting Fereldans' good opinion of her by association with the man many still regarded as a regicide and a traitor.

It was a subject on which he'd spent much thought in the past week. He loved Moira – of that he was as certain as he'd ever been of anything. He knew she loved him. And yet a nagging uncertainty whispered mutinously in the back of his mind, a voice that warned him of dire consequences for her if he should selfishly pursue his interest in her. He was a pariah – he had no illusions about what he'd done to his reputation once the wool had been stripped from his eyes after the Landsmeet. She, on the other hand – she was a true hero, a woman of courage, fortitude, and honor, who had saved her country without losing her soul in the process. If his suspicions were right, then she was even free of the taint, and, by extension, free of the Grey Wardens' chains. There was nothing she couldn't do, no heights to which she couldn't aspire. What right did he have to drag her down, an anchor of shame and disgrace pulling her down into the depths of his dishonor with him? It would be selfish and unfair to her.

His musings were interrupted by a knock at his door, and he stifled a growl of displeasure. Moira had given him a gift when she'd insisted he be reaffirmed as the Teyrn of Gwaren, and he would not disrespect her by giving the job anything less than his utmost care and attention. Assembling his face into a composed mask of calm, he bade his guest to enter.

Relief and surprise welled within him when Ser Threnn, a knight in his service, walked through the door, her stern face uncharacteristically displaying a smile.

"Teyrn Loghain," she said respectfully, straightening into a military pose and giving him a crisp salute. "I apologize for my delay, Your Grace. After the Landsmeet, most of us were conscripted into the Fereldan army, and I just received word in the barracks that you were formally reinstated as the Teyrn of Gwaren. If Your Grace will allow it, it would be my pleasure to swear my oath of fealty to you, my lord."

Loghain knew that the 'most of us' to whom Threnn referred to were the soldiers and knights sworn to his service, and he realized, to his disgrace, that he had not paused to spare much thought for their fates after the Landsmeet. They had offered their service to him without question, even in the aftermath of his decision at Ostagar, and he had repaid their loyalty with disregard. Shame filled him.

"Ser Threnn, I…" How to express his gratitude and his remorse to a woman who had no doubt suffered because of her connection to him, and who had remained stalwart and loyal even so?

"It would be my honor to accept your oath," he said. "But you are under no obligation to me. I dishonored your loyalty through my actions, and the judgment against me at the Landsmeet released you from any duties owed to me. I understand completely if you or any of your fellows should choose to seek service elsewhere."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Your Grace," Threnn said, her voice taut with anger. "You made the right call at Ostagar. I thought so then, and I do now. We were proud to stand with you, my lord, and by your leave, we'd be proud to do so again."

Loghain hardly knew what to say, and so he opted for the simplest, truest words he could find. "Thank you, Ser Threnn. I accept your oath, and I shall endeavor to ensure that my actions as teyrn merit the loyalty and respect you have shown me."

Threnn clasped a fist over her chest in a smart military salute. "Thank you, my lord. The honor is mine. I'll be certain to pass word to the others. You've more friends than you might think."

Loghain found himself oddly heartened by her words. Perhaps it was true that most of the nobility scorned him, but they had never much liked him to begin with – he, a common-born interloper who had never truly belonged to their world. But the warriors – the knights, the sergeants, the soldiers, the men and women who actually donned armor and fought and bled and died for Ferelden – their support meant more to him than the ring-kissing of any powdered and pampered aristocrat, and it always had. It was not the Eamons or the Cailans who made Ferelden great – it was the Threnns, the Cauthriens –

Loghain's stomach lurched as he realized with shattering immediacy that he'd never discovered what had happened to Cauthrien, his champion. A roiling sense of nauseous guilt filled him, and he clenched his jaw tight, gritting his teeth against the unwelcome tightness in his throat.

"My Lord?" Threnn said, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Ser Cauthrien." He recalled how, in thrall to his madness, he'd demanded Cauthrien bar the Landsmeet doors, to prevent Moira from disrupting his tirade against the imagined Orlesian invasion. He realized now he'd never asked Moira how she'd gotten past Cauthrien and her honor guard. "Is she – "

"Cauthrien?" There was a note of surprise in Threnn's voice. "I thought you'd heard, ser?"

"Heard what?" That she was dead, on his orders? "I have been a poor lord, Ser Threnn. I admit I did not inquire as to Cauthrien's fate after the Landsmeet. Is she…"

"Is she… oh! No, ser. She's not dead, if that's what you mean." A tremendous sense of relief flooded through Loghain at Threnn's words. But of course, Moira would not have killed Cauthrien if she'd at all been able to avoid it. She was nothing like him. "But you'd best go to check on her if you haven't yet, my lord. The last I'd heard, she was being held at the gaol. Some kind of tavern brawl. I'm not certain if she's gone before the magistrate yet – I only heard the chatter in the barracks about a week past."

Cauthrien, in gaol? A tavern brawl? That was entirely unlike her – the soldier he knew had always been a consummate professional, completely devoted to her duties, a serious-minded woman who barely smiled, let alone reveled in taverns. "In gaol? What on earth happened?"

Threnn shrugged. "I couldn't say, my lord. As I said, I've only just heard the soldiers' gossip. I honestly thought you knew."

The extent to which Loghain had neglected his former liegemen shamed him thoroughly, and he roused himself from behind his desk. He had failed them in his madness and in his fall from grace, but thanks to Moira, he had a second chance. A chance to do right as the Teyrn of Gwaren, and to do right by the men and women who had paid a dear price for their loyalty to him. He was not about to let Cauthrien molder in the foul Denerim gaol, not now that he had the power to do something about it.

"Thank you, Ser Threnn," he said. "For everything." A thought occurred to him. "I have a duty for you, if you wish it."

"Of course, my lord," she responded earnestly. "Anything."

"Gather up your fellows. Any who were sworn to me are welcome to return to my service. If there are any who do not choose to serve me again, leave them be – they are free to go their own way. Take all those who wish to join you and return to Gwaren. I am afraid I have been gone too long, and the land has suffered in my absence. Do what you can for the folk there. Whatever they need – resources, labor, defenses, anything. I entrust the teyrnir to your capable hands until I am able to return there myself. Does that suit you?"

Threnn's face flushed with pride. "It shall be done as you command, Your Grace."

"Excellent," he said. "And Threnn," he said, as the knight turned to leave, "thank you."

Once Threnn had departed, Loghain snatched his cloak from the wall and threw it over his shoulders. He'd been unable to stop thinking of Cauthrien languishing in gaol. How long had she been there? Days? Weeks? Had she been there since the Landsmeet? Again he was shamed by the lack of concern he'd shown for his loyal knights. Moira would never have forgotten someone sworn to her service. Once again, he was reminded of his deficit of honor. Moira surely deserved better than a man who could forget about the fate of his most trusted and loyal lieutenant.

He strode purposefully through the streets, hooded and cloaked, keeping his head low and hoping he would not be recognized. The city still bore the scars of battle, but the resiliency of Ferelden was evident on every corner – in the sawdust of newly-constructed buildings, in the plaster of a repainted facade, and in the bustle of its people, hard at work as they rebuilt their lives brick by brick.

The gaol was guarded by two men at arms, who brusquely straightened up as he approached the door. "Move along," one of them, a stout, mustachioed man, barked. "No one's permitted in the gaol except on official business."

Loghain removed his hood and fixed the guard with his most withering scowl. "The Teyrn of Gwaren is on official business. I need to speak with the gaoler."

The guard paled as he recognized Loghain. "Yes, ser! Of course, ser. Sorry, ser." He fumbled at his belt for the keys and swiftly unlocked the door. Loghain pushed his way into the dimly lit entryway and descended the stairs.

"Aye, what'll it be, then?" The gaoler called out as he entered the antechamber. A squat, fat man with a bulging key ring attached to his belt reclined perilously in a creaky old chair that looked barely able to support his weight. Loghain wondered if some enchantment served to keep it in service.

"Ser Cauthrien," Loghain said without prelude. "I'm told she's been locked up here after a tavern brawl. I'll take her into my custody now, if you please."

"If I please?" The gaoler cackled. "And if I don't please? There's laws what got to be followed. Yer prisoner clubbed one poor fella over the head with a tankard, sent another through a window, and knocked a third bastard's teeth clean outta his mouth. Can't have her disrupting the king's peace, can we?"

Loghain scowled ferociously – so the gaoler was one of those men who fancied himself the master of his little fiefdom. Such men gave up their precious power begrudgingly, if at all. Moreover, the notion of Cauthrien engaging in an all-out bar brawl confused and alarmed him – it was entirely out of character for her. What could have possibly prompted her to lose her temper so thoroughly that she ended up in a cell?

"And no doubt you've derived endless pleasure from lording your power over a woman whose sword you're not fit to polish," he scoffed. "Cauthrien is my liege, and as such, I am responsible for her conduct under the king's law. But, of course, you knew that – any gaoler should be well-versed in the king's law, after all."

The gaoler paled at Loghain's implied threat, and, with considerable struggle, righted his chair and waddled towards the cells. "Awright, awright, keep your britches on," he grumbled. "I'll bring her out straight away, yer mighty lordship."

He returned minutes later, and had Loghain not been aware that he was retrieving Cauthrien, he would not have recognized the woman who struggled in the gaoler's grip. Her clothing was filthy and her hair was matted, and she looked as though she hadn't bathed in days. She bore no resemblance to the proud, stern warrior who had steadfastly served at his side for years. When her gaze lighted upon him, she cast her head down in shame, refusing to meet his eyes.

"She's all yours, for whatever use that'll do you," the gaoler grumbled. Loghain found himself loathing the little tyrant and his petty power games, but he could not bear the sight of Cauthrien, covered in her own filth, spending one second longer in such misery, and so he merely gave the gaoler a curt nod and motioned for Cauthrien to follow him up the stairs.

They said nothing as they ascended the stairs, and Loghain, mindful of her state, flagged down a passing carriage on the street above, and paid the driver to take them to the gates of the royal palace. Easing them inside, Loghain shut the carriage door, and noticed that Cauthrien still refused to meet his gaze.

"Cauthrien," he said gently. "What happened to you?"

"I'm sorry." Her voice was a hoarse, cracked whisper. "I failed you. Everything that happened to you was my fault. I deserve whatever punishment you see fit. If you –" Her voice broke, and he noticed a rivulet of moisture sliding down her cheek. "If you decide to execute me, I only ask that I die by the sword, not like a beggar at the gallows."

Loghain stared at her, horrified. "Maker's breath, Cauthrien, I'm not going to execute you! Why on earth would you think such a thing?"

"Because I abandoned you! I allowed the Grey Warden to challenge you at the Landsmeet, and you… they could have killed you, and it would have been my fault! I disobeyed a direct order and abandoned my lord when he most needed me. I hated myself for doing it, but…" Her voice trailed off into silence, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight against the tears that slipped free.

"Cauthrien. Hey." He reached out, and gently took her wrist in his hand. "You did the right thing. When I told you to stop Moira… I was caught in the grips of a madness that I'm only now beginning to understand. You were right to see that I was not of sound mind. You were right to allow Moira to confront me. She was right all along. I was blinded, a fool. I couldn't see that until she opened my eyes. And I couldn't have done that if you'd blindly followed me to your own ruin. You didn't fail me – you saved me from my own madness."

She shuddered as she released the sobs she'd been holding in, and her body quaked with wracking grief. Loghain wanted to comfort her, but he did not know how – it didn't seem quite appropriate to hold her, and yet his hand on her wrist felt woefully inadequate. He settled instead for taking both her hands in his, awkwardly patting his fingers against hers.

"You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that," she whispered, sniffling loudly around her tears. "When I let the Grey Warden enter the Landsmeet, I felt… empty. I betrayed you. I spent my entire life serving you proudly and loyally, and I betrayed you. I didn't know what to do. I fought the darkspawn, and when the army came to Denerim, I heard you'd ended up as a Grey Warden too. I couldn't forgive myself for letting that happen to you. After the battle, I ended up at the Pearl. I couldn't bear the thought of your disappointment at my betrayal, so I hid like a coward, drowning my sorrows in ale." She sniffled again. "One night, a rowdy band of soldiers came in, looking to spend their silver on ale and girls. They started talking about the battle, and about… you. They called you a traitor and a disgrace." Her voice grew hard, and for the first time, Cauthrien sounded like her old self again. "I had already let you down once, and I was not about to allow those blackguards to insult your honor."

"And that's how you ended up in a gaol cell," he said wryly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Cauthrien, you shouldn't have fought them. I wasn't – I'm not worth going to gaol for."

She looked up at him sharply. "Not worth – ser, you are my lord! I am honor-bound to defend you!"

"And you felt especially compelled to do so after the Landsmeet," he observed ruefully. "Cauthrien… believe me when I say you have done more than enough for me. If my honor is stained, it is my own doing. If I am to regain it, I must do so through my own actions."

"You didn't hear them! The things they said about you!" she challenged. "They said – they called you a traitor for what happened at Ostagar, and then they – " Her face darkened. "They said the Grey Warden took you as her trophy for defeating you at the Landsmeet, but you took her as your whore in return."

Loghain's blood ran hot with rage. "They called Moira a whore? Those pox-pricked bastards!" He flushed as he realized he'd just undermined his entire attempt at convincing Cauthrien she'd been wrong to start a tavern brawl in his defense. Well, when it had been a mere matter of his honor, that had been one thing, but Moira's…

"It's true, then?" He barely heard Cauthrien's words through the haze of his fury. "You love her."

"What?" he snarled, still burning with the heat of the weeks-past insult against Moira's honor. The weight of Cauthrien's words settled onto him slowly, and he felt his anger dissipating as Cauthrien's face took on an odd, almost melancholy expression. He opened his mouth to deny her – but then shut it just as abruptly. Why would he deny loving Moira? He did love Moira. That she deserved better than him was a different matter altogether.

"I do," he said. "She is a fine woman – the finest I've ever known. She deserves better than to be made sport of by crude men not fit to shine her boots." She deserves better than me.

At his words, Cauthrien closed her eyes again, and Loghain felt his confusion mounting as she sat there silently for several moments, as if holding back a wave of grief through sheer force of will. Was she still feeling as though she'd failed him? He found himself floundering, wondering how to console her, when she opened her eyes and fixed him with a sad but determined expression.

"She is a lucky woman," Cauthrien said. "I hope she appreciates her fortune. Your esteem is difficult to earn, but more priceless than gold. That she has so earned it speaks well of her. I am glad now that I did not fight her."

Loghain shook his head, still puzzled by Cauthrien's odd shift in mood. "It is I who am the lucky one. Moira deserves better than a broken down war horse with damaged honor."

Cauthrien shook her head, and seemed near tears again. "I don't think you understand," she said. "You are – " She shook her head, and whatever she was about to say remained unsaid. "I am glad that you have found happiness at last, my lord," she continued, after a long pause. "If I may overstep my boundaries, you've been alone for so long, ever since Teyrna Celia passed on. It pleases me to see you finding love again, and with a woman who deserves you. You have given so much to Ferelden, and never spared a thought for yourself. It's high time you allowed yourself to be happy." She sniffed, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Loghain stared at her, puzzlement warring with incredulity at Cauthrien's unexpected declaration. He'd never thought her to be so invested in his personal happiness. His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of crunching gravel and the lurching of the carriage as it pulled to a halt – they must have reached the palace. He realized he'd never actually extended an offer of service to her during the ride.

"Cauthrien, there is a place for you in my house if you would have it," he said. "Ser Threnn came to me today, to pledge her oath of fealty. As far as I am concerned, you are my lieutenant for as long as you choose to be. If you would like to return to Gwaren with Threnn and the others, you are welcome to do so. I will need people I can trust to attend to the teyrnir in my absence."

"I – you mean it?" Cauthrien's voice was disbelieving. "I – yes, my lord. It would be my honor!"

"Of course I mean it," he said with gruff amusement. "Go on and get yourself cleaned up, and then find Threnn. There's always a place for you at my side."

An odd, strangled look passed across her face, and again Loghain wondered at her queer mood; but then the moment passed, and Cauthrien snapped her fist to her breast in a sharp salute, her military precision incongruous with the rest of her appearance. "I am honored, my lord. You won't regret it."

Loghain paid the driver and watched the carriage trundle down the street, alone with his muddled thoughts for the first time since the gaol. Cauthrien's words gnawed at him, though he could not say exactly why. He had not realized that she'd known about Moira and him – did everyone in Denerim know, despite their efforts to be discreet? Again he wondered why it bothered him – he was certainly not ashamed of Moira, and so why should he feel so uncomfortable when others realized the truth of his feelings for her?

He continued to stew as he made his way into the palace, entering through the kitchens and taking the least-trafficked path back to the family wing, unwilling to entertain the thought of idle conversation. He reached the door to his chambers and slipped inside, collapsing into a large squashy chair beside the fireplace and resting his head wearily in his hands. He came to the unpleasant realization that he had been avoiding Moira not merely out of concern for her reputation, but because he knew that cementing their 'relationship' in the public eye would only make what he needed to do even harder.

She was everything he was not: gentle, kind, passionate, generous. She was a true hero; a woman who had sacrificed everything for Ferelden, and lived to tell the tale only through the grace of the Maker. And now she was free at last – free of the taint, and free of the Grey Wardens' bondage. She was free to do whatever she pleased, with whomever she pleased. She should not feel obligated to waste her freedom on him out of a lingering sense of kindness or commitment. He needed to let her go.

Heaving a weary sigh, he reluctantly roused himself from the chair. The sooner he had this conversation, the better – it was not fair to Moira otherwise. Let her not spend another day feeling a sense of duty to a man who could offer her nothing.

A painful stab of irony pierced him as he stood before the door to her chambers, hesitating. Had she felt this nervous when she'd knocked on his door in Redcliffe, seeking his company? Had she stood there for minutes, doubting and second-guessing and fretting? He pushed the memory forcefully from his mind before he lost all resolve, and pounded firmly on the door. No – it would not be fair to her if he wavered now, best it get it done and over with –

She opened the door, and his heart nearly failed him. She stood there, clad in a fashionable but loose-fitting dress, and the smile that blossomed on her face when she saw who stood at her door nearly did him in.

"Loghain!" She wrapped him in an embrace before he could respond, and the feel of her body against him, warm and soft through the thin fabric of her dress, ignited his blood and roused his passion. He enfolded her in his arms and nestled his face into her hair, the sweet floral scent of her bath filling his nose. A crushing pressure filled his chest, and he thought he might burst of love for her. He squeezed her tight against him, knowing what had to be done and hating himself for it already.

She pulled away from his embrace just enough to look at him, her hazel eyes warm with affection. "Where have you been? I've barely seen you at all since the day I awoke! Maker, how I've missed you!" She moved closer, as though to kiss him, and, with all the fortitude he could muster, he placed his hands gently but firmly on her shoulders.

Maker, how beautiful she was! She'd never been a woman for unnecessary frippery, and even in her fine dress, she was simply adorned, her dark auburn hair drawn back in a simple plait, her fair skin unblemished by the excessive amounts of rouge favored by most of her noble peers. His throat tightened as he knew the time for postponing what he needed to say had come to an end; he told himself again that she deserved so much more than what he could give her. Knowing that she would be better off without him was the only thing that made his hateful duty bearable.

"Moira," he began, immediately frustrated with how tremulous his voice sounded. He cleared his throat loudly, and he saw the change in her eyes at once – her joy at seeing him was fading slowly, replaced by wariness and concern.

"Loghain, what's wrong? What's happened?" She placed her hands over his, and the cool touch of her soft skin sent an electric jolt through his blood. He closed his eyes and sighed, and knew that tarrying would only make things infinitely worse.

"Moira, there is no easy way to say this, so I'll just out with it." He opened his eyes, beholding her now-anxious face, and became idly aware, for the first time that night, that he could not feel her presence in the taint. "The Sacred Ashes have brought you back to us, for which I am profoundly grateful. I was happy to undertake the pilgrimage, and I would do it again, a thousand times if I must. It seems they have also cured you of the taint. You understand what that means, don't you? You're free, Moira. Free of the Grey Wardens. Free to be the woman you were born to be – a noblewoman of import, a Cousland, a warrior. Free to make the future you've always dreamed of."

She squeezed his hands, and dared a soft smile. "I haven't felt the corruption since I awoke," she whispered. "I'm still not even sure I believe it. I hated being a Grey Warden so much, and I hated that the taint took my future away. It seems too much to hope that it could really be gone."

"I cannot feel you through the taint any longer, Moira," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "The corruption is gone. You are well and whole again. And I want you to make a life for yourself – the life you deserve." He sighed, and willed himself not to falter now. "What you deserve is far more than a broken, dishonored traitor can possibly offer, a Grey Warden with tainted blood who faces what are likely to be his final years. I cannot in good conscience expect you to remain tied in any way to me, not when any such association will sully your reputation. You deserve a man of honor, a man who will not shame you with the weight of his sins. I won't drag you down into the mire with me for my own selfish desires. I want you to be happy, Moira, and you'll be far happier without me."

She stared at him wildly, her eyes wide with shock. He'd expected the confession to feel liberating, final – Maker knew he'd never hesitated to make difficult, painful decisions before. In the past, when he'd made such choices, he'd always felt a sense of relief afterwards, as of a weight lifting from his shoulders. Why was this so different? Why did he feel so much more wretched, so much worse than before?

"You don't want to be with me?" Her voice was smaller and more fearful than he'd ever heard from her, and again a keen sense of misery knifed through him. The pain in her face was unbearable, and he hastened to correct her – of course he wanted to be with her, but he knew she needed more than he could offer her. Why didn't she understand?

"Moira, that is not – of course I want to be with you!" he said urgently. "That is the entire point – what I want is not important! You matter to me, Moira, more than anything else in this world, and I won't see you harmed on my behalf! If that means I must let you go, then so be it."

She stared at him, the anguish in her eyes slamming into his resolve like a battering ram. Maker, he hadn't meant to upset her so – surely she should agree that a relationship with him was untenable?

"You won't see me harmed?" she said, and this time, her voice was edged with anger. "You won't see me harmed, and so you'll end things with me to – what, Loghain? How is breaking my heart supposed to keep from 'harming me'?"

"Don't you see what I am?" he said, his own voice emphatic. "You saw how well I am regarded when you attended Eamon's hearing – I am a pariah, and deservedly so! I know now that what I did has ruined my reputation and stained my honor, perhaps irreparably so! I am willing to pay the price for my sins, but I am not willing to see you pay the price along with me! You deserve far better than that! You deserve a man who will not shame you!"

"Is that what you think?" she challenged hotly, the anguish and shock on her features transforming into ire. "You think I am ashamed of you? You think I give two bits what Eamon or his ilk think of you, or me? I have never cared about any of that rot, Loghain! Not before the Blight, and not now! Do you know what I always wanted? A family! A life, with someone I love! I love you, Loghain. I love you." Tears slipped down her face, and she swiped angrily at her eyes, brushing them away with brusque indignance.

"You wanted a life," he said gently, feeling oddly heartened by her anger. He could bear her anger far easier than he could bear her anguish. "You wanted a family, a husband, children. You can have those things now, Moira, don't you see? But not with me. You told me once that the taint prevents Wardens from bearing children, or from fathering them. I cannot give you what you want. I'm an old man, and a Grey Warden. The taint will claim me, and you will have lost your chance at what you want most. Why would you shackle yourself to me, knowing what my future holds?"

A strange expression crossed her face, and she looked at him with a sudden, wild rapture that confused him. "Loghain – Maker, I've been a fool! Do you see what this means?"

He had to admit that he did not. "What what means, Moira?"

"All I have to do is go back to Haven – if the ashes cure the darkspawn taint, then they will cure you as well!" She smiled at him brightly, wildly, her anger forgotten in the light of her epiphany. "I'll go. I'll leave tomorrow – I've had enough of bloody balls for a lifetime, anyway. I'll go get another pinch of the ashes, and I'll cure you! Then nothing will keep us apart!"

Oh, Maker bless her. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against an impossible surge of emotion. Of course that was what she'd thought of – that she should share her fortune with him. A rebellious voice at the back of his mind whispered that her idea was not so farfetched, and presented a perfect solution to their dilemma – but no, this was missing the point, which was that he was not at all suited for her.

"Moira, you can't – what if they are no longer there? I won't see you go on a fool's errand on my behalf –"

"Loghain." Her voice carried the aura of command that she'd so often invoked during the Blight, and it cut through his musings. He opened his eyes to find her utterly transformed – no longer anguished, aggrieved, or indignant, she stood before him, her eyes blazing with the fire that had reignited his cold, dormant heart all those months ago. His throat tightened with emotion, and he gazed in awe at her, his brazen woman, his best and only friend, his companion, his fellow warrior, his lover.

"I'm going to find the ashes again." Her voice brooked no argument. "I'm going to cure you of the taint, as you cured me. I know now that it can be done, and I will do it. I am not going to let anything come between us – not the taint, not the Grey Wardens, not the nobility, nothing. You are mine, and I love you, and I won't let you go without a fight, Maker damn you." Her voice wavered and broke at the last, though her eyes burned with the same determination he'd seen on the battlements of Fort Drakon, when she'd stood against Hell itself and prevailed. It was that gaze – full of fire, full of resolution, and full of unbridled, undisguised love – that destroyed the last of his crumbling defenses.

The emotion he'd kept at bay broke free at last, and he sagged against the weight of his overwhelming relief in sweet surrender. He did not know if he reached out to her, or she to him, but at once they were wrapped in each other's arms, both trembling with months of unexpressed need.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly into her sweet-smelling hair. "I would never hurt you, Moira, never. I love you more than words can possibly say. I only want you to be happy. I want you to have everything, and I know I can't give you –"

She shushed him fiercely, pressing her face into his neck, the hot moisture of her tears dampening his skin. "You still don't understand, you thick-headed, impossibly stubborn man! There is nothing I want that you can't give me. What I want is you. That's all – just you, in all your obstinate, scowling, sullen ways. You're a grumpy, pig-headed, surly bear of a man, but you're my surly grumpy bear. And the Grey Wardens cannot have you." She pulled back, her eyes bright with emotion, and leaned in to place an impossibly soft kiss against his lips. "The darkspawn cannot have you." She kissed him again. "Because you're mine." He found, as he held her tight, his hands digging into her soft curves and molding her against him as though they were one, that he could not argue.

"As you are mine," he replied, his voice husky with emotion, his hands sliding lower to grasp her firm rear and pull her even closer against him. "Maker, Moira, I'm a fool. Forgive me. I only wanted to do right by you. I can't bear to think of you suffering because of me."

"Oh, Loghain," she whispered, and pulled away, her hands traveling to his face to cup his cheeks, her soft fingertips tracing the sharp contours of his cheekbones. "I would suffer so much more without you, you stupid, sweet, silly man. We fought the Blight together, for the Maker's sake – whatever else life throws at us, we'll fight that together, too."

The passion of her declaration, the memory of her soft lips against his, the feel of her, warm and pliant in his arms, her soft curves pressed flush against him – all of it stirred in him a heady, overpowering desire, and he was reminded at once that he had not made love to her in months. The last time they'd been together had been in an army tent, before the battle of Denerim, and it had been a quick, frantic coupling, driven by desperation and marred by preoccupation with the dreadful fate that awaited them. He'd feared, in the months afterward, that perhaps he had just been a momentary distraction for her; someone to take her mind from the fear and terror of her impending doom, a body with which to find physical release, a convenient and willing partner to allow her to experience sexual intimacy before she died a hallowed but virginal hero.

Now, he knew that was not true – she loved him, truly loved him, as he did her, against all the odds, against all logic and sense. She had no reason in the world to wish to be with him, and every reason to disassociate herself from their entanglement; and yet she stayed, and proclaimed her love. Maker, what had he ever done to deserve her? What could he possibly do to show her the extent of his affection?

Well. He had some ideas on that front, at least.

His desire now a constant, aching throb in his belly, he roved his hungry gaze over her body, drinking in every detail. Her auburn hair was coming loose from its plait, and a soft strand tickled tantalizingly against her right ear. With a deliberate finger, he tucked it behind her ear, his touch lingering against the shell of her earlobe, ghosting across the delicate skin. He watched in pleasure as she closed her eyes and shivered involuntarily at his touch, her full eyelashes fluttering shut in bliss, her eyebrows creasing together in a furrow. Her full lips were only just parted, and he longed to press his against them, to devour her until she surrendered to him, her mouth opening to admit his plundering tongue. But not just yet. His eyes drifted down, taking in her trim form, every curve visible beneath the silken fabric of her dark green dress. It was a flattering color, and suited her; he would have to be certain to tell her later. Much later. He found that he cared very little about her garments right now.

"You don't know how beautiful you are," he breathed. It was a compliment, but also a truth; he did not think she truly understood how lovely she was to him. "Let me show you."

She gasped, a little breathy "oh," and her eyes opened to meet his. Maker, he could die looking into those eyes – greenish brown, afire with undisguised passion and love. He loved how open and unguarded she was, how plain her desires were writ across her face. He had always been a reticent man, reluctant to show emotion, but she was, as in all things, his opposite – and in her face, he saw plainly her love and her desire for him. Did she know how fervently he shared her feelings? If not, she soon would.

He drew her close again, and this time allowed his lips to claim hers as his hands ventured across her back, finding the clasps of her satiny dress. Her mouth was sweet and eager, and she opened to him at once, his tongue gently but assertively exploring her depths, tracing every contour and valley. His fingers found what they sought, and he untied the lacing along the back of her dress and pulled it apart, swallowing her whimper of pleasure against his mouth as the dress slid free of her shoulders. He eased his tongue from her mouth, allowing his lips to linger against hers for a moment longer than necessary before departing with a final, heated kiss, and pulled back to look at her. A throb of painful desire lanced through him as he took in the sight of her, fair skin flushed and pink, lips swollen, bare alabaster shoulders exposed in her state of half-dishabille, the neckline of her dress fallen perilously low, revealing the tops of her breasts.

"If only you could see yourself with my eyes, Moira," he breathed. "You would never again doubt that I am the most fortunate man in Thedas."

She looked at him with an expression of such intense longing that he felt a pang in his heart; but then she was against him, her hands tangling through his hair and scrabbling down the hard plane of his back.

"And if you could see yourself through my eyes, Loghain Mac Tir," she breathed, her hands hitching the hem of his shirt from his trousers, "you would understand why I cannot ever let you go." With a quick, assertive tug, she brought his shirt up and over his head, and he raised his arms compliantly to allow her to remove it entirely. She sighed blissfully as he stood before her bare-chested, and she pressed her face against him, running her fingers lightly through the dark hair that dusted his chest and belly.

The sensation of her fingers against his bare skin sent a jolt of molten desire straight to his groin, and he felt his cock grow harder at her touch. With a growl, he pushed her gently but firmly away, and busied his own hands behind her, taking her loose dress and pulling it down past her hips until it pooled in a green puddle at her feet. She stood before him now clad in nothing but a corset and smallclothes, and he was suddenly very tired of standing.

"Come," he said, sweeping her up into his arms. She yelped in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her over to the bed, supporting her weight with one arm as he impatiently tugged the blankets down. He lay her tenderly across the bed, her lithe body unfurling beneath him, smooth legs spreading open in unconscious desire. She was the most erotic vision he'd ever beheld, and he thought he might burst from wanting her. Maker, how he needed to bury his cock inside her, to dive into her sleek wet center until he released all his months-worth of longing and agony and pent-up desire. How he longed to sheath himself in her, to come inside her after months of imagining her beneath him while he took himself in hand, her name a prayer on his lips as he spilled his seed inside her –

But not yet. He would wait, even if it killed him – tonight, he was going to show her how much he loved her.

"You are a vision," he murmured, his roughened hands roving over her soft, creamy skin. "A vision from the Maker." He descended on her, his lips claiming hers in a passionate kiss before he pulled away. He smiled wickedly against the skin of her neck at her whimper of disappointment before placing a slow, languorous kiss against her pulse, beating a wild tattoo beneath his lips. With tender deliberation, he sucked the soft skin of her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, making his way slowly downward in a trail of kisses, before he reached the top of her breast. Her breasts were held firmly in place by the corset, and Loghain growled in consternation at the offending garment. With surprisingly deft hands, he unlaced the front of the corset and spread it open, revealing her small, firm breasts to him.

"Maker's breath," he whispered, tugging the corset away and flinging it carelessly to the floor behind him. How long it had been since he'd seen her so, naked and trembling beneath him. He traced a reverent path along her bare torso until his large hands engulfed her breasts, cupping them gently. Her nipples peaked into his palms and he slid them between his fingers, a wry, self-satisfied smile tugging at his mouth as he heard her frantic gasps of pleasure beneath him. He rolled his thumbs across the rosy buds, enjoying her ragged moans, before descending to her breast and flitting his tongue against her. He thrilled at the sharp cry of pleasure his lips elicited as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, nipping gently with his teeth as he rolled the other peak between his thumb and finger. She groaned in frantic desperation, and he took pity on her for a brief moment as he released her nipple with a final, smacking kiss before trailing his tongue across the plane of her chest between her breasts to deliver the same treatment to its counterpart. He sucked and nipped at her until she clutched at his hair with tugging, beseeching hands.

"Maker, Loghain, stop tormenting me," she moaned. "You're driving me mad. I need you now."

Her plea sent a throb of desire straight to his cock, but he still needed to pleasure her before he indulged himself. "Patience, my love," he whispered against her slick breast. "I'm not done with you yet." He placed a soft trail of kisses beneath her breasts and down her belly, pausing to swirl his tongue inside the tiny button of her navel, before coming to a rest at the band of her smallclothes.

Maker, she was already wet for him – her smallclothes clung to her folds, damp and sticky with desire. He could smell her arousal even through the garment, and he felt his cock twitch in response. Without further ado, he slipped his hands beneath the band and slid her smallclothes down her hips and tugged them off; if he didn't move things along, he wouldn't last long enough to enjoy sinking himself into her. She whimpered in need as he removed her last barrier, and then she moaned in pleasure when his fingers tangled in the damp coppery hair between her legs.

When he leaned in to nuzzle his nose into her nest of curls, she gasped, her fingers raking across his scalp. "What are you doing?" she whispered in a strangled voice which managed to be both curious and pleading at once.

He glanced up from between her legs, surveying the curves of her body from his rather delightful vantage point. His eyes met hers, and in hers he saw anticipation and desire. He could not resist a wicked grin as he turned to place a soft, languid kiss against the heated skin of her inner thigh.

"I'm going to make you come," he said, and lowered his mouth to her wet center to place a hot, slow kiss against her slick folds.

Her nails raked a painful path along his scalp, but her cry of pure pleasure was entirely worth whatever discomfort he suffered. He dragged his tongue lazily across her slit, his hands sliding purposefully across her thighs to rest at her hips, holding her in place as she bucked against his mouth. He dipped his tongue into her cunt again and again, tasting her sweet nectar, drinking his fill of her sweet desire. She trembled against him, her thighs shaking as her muscles turned to jelly beneath his onslaught. He quickened the pace of his tongue as she gasped raggedly above him, her breathy, frantic voice crying out his name interspersed with little blasphemies and exhortations to the Maker. He knew she was close, and he sucked hard against her center, moving his hand from her thigh to slide a pair of fingers into her slick, ready folds. She moaned in pleasure, and he knew she was close, so close…

Moving his fingers rhythmically inside her, he sucked and kissed his way up her slit until he reached her small nub of desire. Brushing against it with his lips, he sucked it into his mouth at once, hard. Her body convulsed violently beneath him, and she snatched at his head with clawing hands as a cry of ecstasy ripped from her throat. He held her hips tight as she rode out her release, her body quaking and shuddering as the waves of pure pleasure crashed over her, and, when she finally collapsed back onto the bed, he placed a soft, final kiss against her center before climbing back up the bed above her.

She started at him with wild, lust-clouded eyes. "Maker… Loghain. That was incredible." Her voice was weak and spent, and he chuckled, leaning in to place a kiss against her mouth. He wondered if she could taste herself on his lips.

"I've wanted to do that for ages," he murmured, bracing himself above her with one hand while the other trailed lazily down her sweat-slick skin. "You taste divine."

"Then let me return the favor," she offered boldly. Loghain stared at her, shocked and more than a little aroused – he hadn't expected her to want to…

"Not now," he said roughly, her words reminding him of the perilous condition of his poor, neglected cock. "One day, certainly, but not now. Tonight, I'm going to have you." He rocked back onto his knees, and with shaking hands unlaced his trousers. Moira propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes greedily staring at his hands as he finished unlacing his trousers and slipped them down his thighs to reveal his rock hard cock.

If her boldness had surprised him before, he should have at least been prepared for it by now; but even so, he was startled when her hand darted out to wrap around his rigid member, her soft pliant fingers stroking him firmly. He very nearly came then and there, and with a strangled gasp he seized her wrist and gently but firmly pried her hand away from his cock.

"Not if you don't want this to end right now," he managed. Her eyes glimmered with mirth, and she chuckled as she relented, sliding her hands up his muscular arms to rest against his shoulders.

"I certainly don't want that," she murmured, leaning in to seize his mouth with hers. Pulling away, she paused to look meaningfully into his eyes, her mirth replaced by a solemn, tender look of love and longing.

"I love you, Loghain," she whispered. "I was so scared to lose you before, but I was certain that the Blight – and the taint – would never truly let us be together, or be happy. But we survived the Blight, and we can be free of the Grey Wardens – free to be together. I want nothing more."

He returned her gentle gaze, willing himself to let down his guard utterly and completely, to make his boundless love for her evident in his own eyes. "And I love you, Moira," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "I've been a great fool – I only wanted to spare you pain and heartache, but I didn't imagine – I didn't dare hope – that you returned my affection so thoroughly. Whatever the future holds, I don't intend to let you go."

There was nothing more that could be said – not at that moment, at least – and so Loghain placed his lips against hers gently and tenderly as he lowered her to the bed. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he wrapped her in his arms and rolled her over so that they lay on their sides.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered, his face inches from hers.

She frowned. "You know I trust you with my life."

He smiled, a faint ghost of a wry half-smile. "Then follow my lead." Gathering her into his arms, he rolled them over again, but this time he was on his back, and she lay atop him.

He felt the stiffness of his cock poking into her belly, and placed his hands on her hips so that she shifted down his body, his cock now brushing against the thatch of curls at her juncture.

"I want to watch you while you fuck me," he said, and her eyes widened.

"Loghain, I – I'm not sure how to move –"

He laughed, her endearing combination of boldness and innocence never failing to enchant him. "You'll figure it out," he said, his hands coming to a rest against her hips as he positioned her above his cock. "Move with me. I want to feel you on top of me, taking my cock."

Her remaining hesitation melted away with his words, and she fixed him with dark, lust-filled eyes.

"Maker, Loghain, what you do to me –" She braced her hands against him, her palms flush against the broad expanse of his chest, as she lowered herself slowly onto him. She gasped as he filled her, the months of their separation keenly felt by them both as Loghain threw his head back against the pillow and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, calling upon every fiber of his willpower not to spill himself in her right then and there. Maker's balls, he'd forgotten how snug and wet she was, and it had been so long, so long since he'd been wrapped in her sweet heat –

"Loghain," she gasped more than spoke his name, and her own eyes fluttered closed in bliss as she impaled herself on his manhood, sinking down until her thighs rested against his. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he reveled in the feel of being surrounded by her, filling her velvet center with his manhood. Then she slowly, experimentally, began to move, and he was lost.

His fists grabbed bunches of blankets and clenched them in a white-knuckled grip as she rocked against him, at first slowly, hesitantly, but then with increasing rhythm and confidence. He thought he might explode – no – he thought he might die – she felt so good, so Maker-damned good, and it was all he could do not to come, but no, he needed to last, to make their reunion worthy of the name –

Moira leaned forward and rocked her hips against his, and then, with a jubilant cry, she threw her head back and began to move faster. Loghain dared to open his eyes, and when he looked upon her, he beheld his very own goddess – her legs straddling him, riding him hard, her creamy skin flushed and sweat-slick, pert breasts bouncing with the rhythm of her thrusts, her head thrown back, her face a mask of pure bliss, her auburn hair streaming behind her. She was the most beautiful, the most radiant, the most wonderful woman he'd ever seen. His heart burst open and he knew he could never spend his life apart from her, come what may.

His release came upon him at once, and he pressed into her, his arms wrapping around her as he buried his face between her breasts, hips thrusting violently up from the bed and into her as he spilled himself inside her with a strangled cry. His hand slid down her sweat-soaked back to grasp her arse, and he pressed her hard against him as he thrust wildly into her. With a shuddering gasp, her own release broke across her, and she clung to him tremulously as the waves subsumed her. They remained like that for some time: entwined, spent, slick and sated, their limbs a tangled jumble, their breath mingling as they gasped in exhaustion. At last, boneless, they collapsed to the bed together in a heap, and Moira nestled her head against his chest, her arm draped across him, fingers linked with his.

His eyelids drooped heavily as the weight of the day's events pressed down on him. Still, he did not want to drift into sleep without reminding Moira that he loved her dearly, that she need not worry about his ridiculous notion of leaving her for her own good, that he'd been a fool to imagine that she would want him to leave her. He turned his head to regard her, and placed a soft kiss against the crown of her head.

"Moira," he began, but a soft grunted snore interrupted his soliloquy. He smiled, and nestled his face against her hair again as he allowed the fatigue to overcome him.

"Good night, Moira," he murmured, as he drifted into a deep, contented sleep.