Moira gazed out in wonder at the verdant seaside cliffs, blanketed in a gentle embrace of fog. The town below bustled with activity: the shouts of dockworkers emerged over the keening cries of seagulls as they loaded and unloaded all manner of cargo of from the trading ships moored in Gwaren's harbor, and the traders' square on the hill above the docks was filled with folk come to the village for market day to peruse the wares newly brought into town.

"It's so beautiful," Moira sighed, leaning into Loghain's broad chest. They were nestled at the crest of one such verdant cliff, their position affording them breathtaking views of both the town and Castle Gwaren, which sat atop its own mist-shrouded hill a quarter-hour's ride from the village proper. A simple picnic of preserved meats and cheeses sat forgotten in a basket.

Loghain hummed in agreement. "It took me many years to fully appreciate the beauty of Gwaren, I'm sad to say. I spent far less time here than I should have. It's a wonder the folk continued to affirm me as their teyrn. I suppose knowing that I held the favor of King Maric was enough." He sighed, and Moira turned to face him, raising a hand to trace the outline of his strong jaw. He hadn't shaved since they'd departed Denerim by sea, and Moira's fingers caressed the bristly stubble that graced his cheek.

"I need to shave," Loghain said gruffly, although he made no move to dissuade Moira's fingers. His own rough hand reached over to cup her free hand in his. Moira quirked an eyebrow at him, leaning in with a wry smile. The kiss was soft and gentle, but Moira's lips lingered too long against Loghain's for it to truly be chaste.

"I don't know," she murmured against his mouth, her other hand coming up to tangle in his hair. "I kind of like it."

The sound of Loghain's answering harrumph was swallowed by the sea breeze and his lover's kiss. But too soon, a chill wind from the sea brought a prickle of gooseflesh across Moira's arms, and she groaned in displeasure.

"The clouds are gathering. Rain coming in from the Frozen Sea. We'd better get a move on if we don't want to end up cold and wet," Loghain murmured, placing a kiss against her neck. "I hope you like the rain. There's certainly enough of it here in Gwaren."

Moira detached from her fiancé with a sigh. "I don't mind rain, but I do mind the timing," she said, gathering up the picnic blanket. "I believe you promised me a tour of the town. If we hurry, we might have a chance to shop at the market stalls before they close up. I'd love to meet some of the townsfolk."

They bundled up the picnic wares and packed them into saddlebags, mounting their horses and riding down the grassy path towards the village. Ferelden as a whole was reckoned chilly and wet by the rest of Thedas, but nowhere was that climate more pronounced than along the southern coast, where the warm trade winds that blew in from the Waking Sea were utterly nonexistent. An unexpected pang hit her heart as she recalled similarly carefree days along the coast north of Highever, stretched out on the grass overlooking the crashing surf while the warm sea breeze ruffled her hair.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Loghain asked softly as he sidled his horse next to hers.

"I'm just gathering wool," she said. "The chill breeze reminded me how different the climate is here from Highever." She sighed. "I'm going to have to go there with Fergus soon. He's sent his seneschal to strip any reminders of Howe's foul taint away from the castle and the grounds, but… I think I need to go there. To say goodbye." Moira noted with passive curiosity that she'd managed to get through the entire thought without suppressing a sudden wellspring of tears. Perhaps she'd at last entered a new stage of grief, one that would allow her to think and speak on Highever, and her parents, without fearing that she would crumble to dust from the heartache.

Loghain sighed, reaching a hand over from the reins to rest on her arm. "You should," he said quietly, after a span of some time. "After Maric's coronation… I decided it was time for me to return to Oswin. The village where I was born," he added, upon Moira's puzzled expression. "I hadn't been there since… since my father and I left. We'd had to leave at once, and I'd never had a chance to say a proper goodbye." He trailed off into silence.

"You haven't told me much about your parents, or your home," Moira prompted gently. She knew he'd been one of Maric's rebels, and she had assumed that his parents had died at some point during the occupation, but beyond that, she knew little.

"No," he said, his voice quiet. "Those memories are… painful for me, even now. Even all these years later. I only ever told Maric and Rowan, and, later, Celia. Even Anora doesn't know much." He sighed. "I will tell you, one day. But not today. Today should be a joyous day, not a solemn one."

Moira reached her hand over to where his still rested against her arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. "In your own time, my love." He was right – today should be a glad day, full of promise, as she introduced herself to the townspeople she would soon come to know and care for. It was a day for new beginnings. The ghosts of the past could wait. They would always be there – that Moira knew all too well.

They rode into town as the grey clouds gathered overheard, the merchants in the market square beginning to pack up their wares in anticipation of the afternoon rain. For a few moments, no one seemed to pay them much heed – they were alone, without armor or heraldry of office, and with no courtiers or liegemen to announce their way. But soon enough a sharp-eyed merchant spied Loghain, and he hastened out from behind his stall to sweep into a bow.

"Teyrn Loghain, ser! It is good to see you returned to Gwaren, Your Grace!" At the merchant's greeting, other townsfolk turned their way, the murmurings growing through the crowd as the return of their liege lord spread through the masses.

"Good day, Barnard," Loghain said, greeting the merchant by name. "It is good to be back."

The milling crowd around Loghain and Moira grew as the townsfolk came to get a look at their returned teyrn. Many townsfolk seemed happy to see their lord, and greeted him with cheers; others seemed more circumspect. But then, Loghain had not visited Gwaren at all since Ostagar. No doubt many of his subjects were restless. Rebuilding trust and reassuring the folk of the teyrnir that he had no intentions of being an absentee lord would be vital work for the next several months.

It did not take long for one of the more astute villagers to notice Moira beside Loghain. "Is that her?" a voice cried out. "Is that the Hero of Ferelden?"

Moira had truthfully seen this moment coming, and, deciding it would be better to get in front of the rumors, smiled and raised her hand to the crowd.

"I bid you welcome, good folk of Gwaren," she said. "I am Lady Moira Cousland, and it is an honor to meet you all. I could not have defeated the Blight without the invaluable aid of your lord Teyrn Loghain, and together he and I shall restore Gwaren to the prosperity it enjoyed before the Blight threatened our land."

Loghain was forgotten at once as the news blazed through the crowd like wildfire.

"It is her!"

"Maker preserve us!"

"Did she say together with Teyrn Loghain? Is she moving to Gwaren?"

"She's prettier than I imagined."

Moira was overwhelmed with the raucous cheers and well-wishes that greeted her from all sides, and she did her best to appreciate each of the townsfolk who bowed before her, offering their eternal gratitude for her incredible victory, before a clatter of hooves against the cobblestones and a shouted voice dispelled the crowd.

"Make way! Give the teyrn and lady some room! Make way!"

Ser Cauthrien rode through the market square at the head of a small contingent of Gwaren men-at-arms, doing her best to gently but firmly send the flocks of people on their way. At last she cantered her horse up to Loghain and Moira, greeting her liege with a fist against her chest.

"My lord teyrn, it is good to see you," she said. "And you, Lady Cousland. I apologize for not meeting you at the docks. I only just received word that your ship came in today."

"It is no trouble, Cauthrien, and it is good to see you as well," Loghain said warmly. "I wanted to take Moira to the cliffs while the sun was out – it's not often we see picnic weather in Gwaren." A low peal of distant thunder rumbled through the air, as if in response to Loghain's statement. "But I think it's time we headed back to the castle before that changes."

Cauthrien and the honor guard escorted Loghain and Moira along the path to the castle, though news of Moira's presence in Gwaren seemed to have already spread; well-wishers lined the path sporadically, waving and cheering as the Hero of Ferelden and their teyrn rode by. By the time the party arrived at the castle grounds and stabled the horses, Moira was feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

"I appreciate the kindness, I really do," she said to Loghain as she accepted a cup of steaming tea, procured from the kitchens. The cook, too, had been awestruck upon meeting the Hero of Ferelden, and had insisted upon kissing Moira's knuckles in teary-eyed gratitude. "But it feels a bit much to not even be able to step outside the castle walls without everyone in my path falling over themselves to bless me."

Loghain gave her a knowing harrumph. "Welcome to life as a living legend," he said. "It gets better with time, as people move on and the memory of your triumph recedes into history. But it will always be an indelible part of your identity, whether you welcome it or not. People expect much from their heroes. It is more a burden than a blessing."

"It is a burden I'll happily bear if it means the Blight is over," she said. "But I do hope in time to be able to greet folk without any tears or ring-kissing."

Loghain chuckled and placed a hand on his fiancée's knee. "The Archdemon's only been dead for a few months. Let the people have their hero-worship for a while longer, at least."

She patted his hand. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't be a churl."

Loghain gave her a wry grin. "No, you shouldn't. That's my job."

After they'd finished taking their tea, Loghain took Moira on a tour of the castle. It was modest and sparsely furnished compared to Highever, but then again, it hadn't seen significant occupancy since Loghain had lived there with Celia and Anora.

"I have spent too much time away from this place," Loghain said ruefully, as he escorted Moira through the study, where tasteful paintings and tapestries hung on the wall. Above the writing desk hung an oil portrait on canvas: a much younger Loghain seated next to a smiling, radiant blonde woman, with a serious-looking young girl of about ten years seated next to her mother.

"This is lovely," Moira said. "Celia was a gorgeous woman. Anora certainly inherited her mother's beauty."

"Yes, she really was," Loghain said, his voice quiet as he contemplated the picture of his happy family. "Decorating the castle was Celia's labor of love. Everything here – all the tapestries, the paintings, the carpets, all of it – bears her mark in some way. After she passed, I spent less and less time here. Everything reminded me of what I'd lost, and it was just easier to throw myself into politics in Denerim." He paused, his eyes meeting Moira's in concern. "Does it bother you, to have so many reminders of her about? This will soon be your home, and I don't want you to feel as though you have to share it with a ghost."

Moira came up to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Loghain, no, of course not! She was your wife and Anora's mother! You loved her! I would never feel as though I had to compete for your affections. I don't want you to feel as though you can't talk about her with me. She meant more to you than anyone in your life except for Anora, or perhaps Maric."

Loghain snorted. "She frequently accused me of being more married to Maric than to her, as much time as I spent in Denerim." He sighed. "I did spend too much time away from her. Every political crisis and bit of statecraft that came up always seemed so much more important at the time than it really was, and before I knew it, she was gone and I'd missed so much of our marriage." He returned her embrace, nestling his face into her sweet-smelling hair. "I won't repeat that mistake with you, Moira. I failed to trust Anora enough after Ostagar, and look where that got me. She doesn't need me hovering over her like a nervous mother hen."

Moira chuckled, pulling back to place a kiss on the tip of his hawkish nose. "Good – I'd rather have you all to myself here."

Loghain growled and slid his hands down her waist, giving her a playful swat on the bum. "You'll have me all to yourself, all right, as soon as I finish giving you the grand tour. It ends in the bedroom, you'll be pleased to know."

"Does it?" She cocked her eyebrow suggestively. "Well then, by all means, ser, lead on."

As simple and no-frills as the castle furnishings generally were, Moira found herself utterly unprepared for the vastness and splendor of the library. It was easily the biggest of the living chamber rooms Loghain had shown her thus far, and each wall was packed, floor to ceiling, with shelves and shelves of books.

"Maker, Loghain, this is incredible," she breathed. "I didn't know you had so many books! Oh, I can't wait to spend hours in here!"

He chuckled deeply. "I'm glad you approve," he said. Moira had already flitted over to the shelves and begun poring over the titles.

"A Historie of the True Kings of Nevarra, Being the Line of Pentaghast," she mused, trailing her fingers along spine after spine. "The Spires of Minrathous: A True and Accurate Accounting of the Author's Journey to the Heart of the Tevinter Imperium. These sound riveting!"

"You know, coming from anyone else, such words would be an obvious jest, and yet you are entirely serious." Loghain's voice was filled with wry mirth.

"Of course I'm serious!" she said, turning to him, eyes alight with anticipation. "I had no idea you had such an extensive library! Where did you get all these books? Maker!"

"I've had many of them for years," he said, plucking a book off the shelf and experimentally flipping through the pages. A loud peal of thunder cracked through the air outside, and heavy splatters of rain began to patter against the large bay window, creating a staccato drumbeat against the glass pane. "I began investing in a library shortly after Maric gave me the teyrnir. History, politics, culture, religion – I read as much as I could." He slid the book back onto the shelf, and Moira sensed that there was more to the story.

"You wanted to prepare yourself to be a teyrn," she said.

"Yes, that is part of it," he said. "Unlike the rest of the nobles of the Landsmeet, I was not born to privilege, with a tutor schooling me in the finer points of Thedosian history and lore. I didn't want to get caught out in my ignorance, and so I set about educating myself as quickly as I could." He paused, tracing a finger along the spine of a book.

"When Maric ennobled me, I was still a peasant, in most ways, despite my years with the rebel army at his and Rowan's side," he said. "I could read, but… only as a farm lad can read. A bill of sale, a merchant's list of goods, and so forth… I could manage that much, but books? Literature? I recall my parents having a handful of books, mostly folk tales and the like, at our home, but I was still a boy when we… were forced to leave. And there aren't many opportunities for book learning when you're constantly on the move, staying one step ahead of the Orlesians. I never actually read a book from cover to cover until after Maric had given me the teyrnir. Once I had begun the renovations to the castle, I acquired as many books as I could, and set about teaching myself. I wasn't about to allow Maric to be shamed for raising an unlettered country bumpkin to the peerage."

"Oh, Loghain." Moira crossed the span of distance to him, a lump of emotion lodged firmly in her throat as she took him in her arms. She was ashamed that such a thought had never occurred to her, that she'd never paused to think on how difficult entering a world full of wealthy, educated elites must have been for a young man who had been a simple farmer's son. Her hands canvassed the broad expanse of his back, feeling his taut muscles beneath his well-tailored tunic. "I should have realized… it must have been trying for you, those first few years."

He harrumphed softly, returning her embrace. "Oh, come, it wasn't as bad as all that. After driving out the Orlesians, reading a few dry history tomes was a stroll through the park."

The feel of Loghain's strong, muscular body beneath her arms began to have an affect on Moira. She looked up to meet his gaze, his blue eyes crinkled in amusement as he regarded her with an expression of love and more than a little lust. Unconsciously, Moira pressed herself flush against him, a twinge of desire pulsing through her core as the feel of his hardening cock through his trousers exerted a firm pressure against her belly. A low rumble of thunder sounded from outside the window again, and a flash of lightning briefly cast the room into a vivid chiaroscuro.

"Are you sure you want to give me the full tour?" she said huskily, pressing her hips against his and eliciting a growl of desire from her lover. "I don't know if I can wait to have you until we reach the bedroom." Boldly, she slid a hand from his shoulder down his chest, coming to a rest just above the bulge in his breeches.

"My, you've become quite the libertine," Loghain growled, his hands roughly shifting down her waist to grasp her arse firmly. "Sucking my cock in the ship's hold. Letting me take you against the wall of a filthy inn in Kirkwall. Now you want me to fuck you in the library? I never would have guessed that the noble Lady Cousland was hiding such debauchery under her prim and proper manners."

"I hope you're not disappointed with my lechery, Your Grace," she purred, leaning in to boldly trail her tongue across his throat, applying just the barest suction to his Adam's apple before leaning back to regard him with lust-dimmed eyes. "It seems your mere presence turns my thoughts wicked and my desires shameless."

"Does it now?" Loghain rumbled, circling his arms beneath her arse and lifting her with ease. Moira instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her across the room to the massive oak table in the middle of the library, where he sat her down with care. Perched on the edge of the table, Moira slid her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a breathless, heated kiss.

"See for yourself," she gasped as soon as they broke apart. She leaned back against the table, her eyes never leaving his as she spread her legs apart in open invitation.

Loghain's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. Teasing aside, he truly was amazed by how comfortable and bold Moira was with him, especially in matters of sex; it both warmed his heart and aroused his desire to know that she trusted him so intimately and deeply. It certainly did wonders for his cock, too.

With firm, sure hands, he swiftly unlaced her tunic, pulling it open to bare her breasts to his hungry eyes. Palming rough hands over her soft skin, he enjoyed her whimpered moans of delight as his thumbs caressed her already-pert nipples. He leaned in to capture her lips in a fiery kiss, hands squeezing and kneading her pliant breasts as he swallowed her gasps of pleasure with a bold and questing tongue. He felt a cool breeze against his skin as he belatedly realized Moira had yanked his own tunic from the waistband of his pants and was attempting to tug it over his head. With a chuckle, he separated from her and raised his arms compliantly, allowing her to toss the garment unneeded to the floor.

"You know, I can fuck you with my shirt on, Moira," he quipped, though he could not deny the shiver of pleasure that coursed through his blood as she raked her nails softly through the coarse dusting of hair along his chest and belly.

"You can also fuck me without my tits out, but where's the fun in that?" she said, leaning forward to press against him. The feel of her soft breasts pressed against his bare skin sent a throb of molten desire straight to her cunt, and she moaned deeply into his mouth as he claimed her in another savage kiss.

"Point taken," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. Breaking their kiss, he slid down the length of her body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, his coarsening stubble enflaming her skin like sandpaper. Kneeling before her, he reached the brim of her waistband and hastily unlaced her traveling breeches, pulling them down until they caught against her boots. With a snarl, he grasped each boot and flung it across the library before finally tugging the cumbersome pants away, leaving her exposed before him. He slid his hands up the creamy expanse of her legs until his palms came to rest against her hips, situating himself at the juncture of her thighs where her cunt glistened, dripping and ready for him. The heady scent of her assaulted his nose, and he flicked his tongue against his lips in anticipation.

Moira, her breath coming in eager, anticipatory gasps, wrapped her legs obligingly around his neck, her cunt throbbing in time to the beat of her heart. "Maker, Loghain, don't tease me," she panted, voice strained and desperate. "Taste me."

He didn't need to be told twice. Burying his face between her legs, Loghain dragged his tongue along her wet slit, eliciting a long, low moan of pleasure from his lover. The sweet taste of her nectar drove him mad with lust, and he dipped his tongue into her heat again and again, lapping up her juices with abandon. Moira gripped his head tight in a vise grip, her legs draped over his back and trapping his head against her cunt as he devoured her. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the folds of her nether lips with a delicate, feathery touch, before flicking against her sensitive nub. With a scream, she came against him, her thighs quaking around his head as she thrust her hips wildly against his questing mouth. He stilled her quavering legs with a firm caress before he stood on shaking legs, the taste and feel of her nectar still wet against his lips.

"Oh, fuck me," Moira exhaled breathlessly, her body prone and trembling on the sturdy table.

"I plan to," he growled, wasting no time before grabbing her thighs and pulling her roughly against him, her legs still straddling his waist. He slid one hand over to the thoroughly damp thatch of curls between her legs, massaging a thumb against her sodden folds, while he deftly unlaced his trousers with the other. He pulled them down only as far as needed to free his throbbing cock, which sprang into his hand, rock hard and straining with need. He gripped his prick in hand, guiding it to Moira's ready and waiting cunt. Before he entered her, he paused to admire the tableau before him: his beautiful woman, sweat-slick and sex-sated, sprawled before him, auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, hazel eyes heavy-lidded with lust, tunic rakishly unlaced and baring her tits to his ravenous gaze, wholly naked beneath the hem of her shirt, legs spread wantonly in invitation, exposing her perfect, glistening quim. Maker, it was a perfect scene, and one that seared itself into his mind like a brand, certain to bring him comfort on a cold night should he ever be temporarily parted from her by circumstance.

"Loghain, please," she begged, squirming with need, her arse wriggling as she thrust her dripping cunt towards his waiting shaft. Unable to resist such a delectable invitation, he entered her with a smooth, effortless motion, her slick corridor wet and ready for him. An animal cry ripped from his throat as he filled her, his cock thrusting in her with a rhythm that already felt as natural to him as breathing. He became aware of her guttural, sobbing cries of pleasure as he moved, her hips matching his motions as they moved together. He leaned over her, arms braced on either side of her as he balanced his weight against the table, the leverage changing the angle of his thrusts, his cock hitting inside her at a new angle and drawing a wail of ecstasy from his lover's lips. For some time he was lost in a haze of delirious desire, the sound of their bodies coming together interspersed with frantic, ardent gasps and moans. He felt himself drawing close to the edge, and, determined to bring her with him, he leaned further against her, the prickles of his chest hair brushing against her bouncing tits, moving his hand between them to snake down to her juncture, finding her pleasure nub with his thumb.

"Come for me now," he whispered, his voice harsh and hot against her neck as he brushed his stubble against her soft skin, pressing down on her clit as he slammed his hips against her. Her climax ripped through her like a quake, her scream of rapture deafening in his ear as he felt her shatter to pieces around him. With a roar, he spent himself deep inside her, squeezing his eyes shut tight as his own pleasure sent shockwave after shockwave through his blood, his seed spilling in her womb.

Time came back to them, slowly, as the world reasserted itself in the wake of their lovemaking. With a groan, Loghain braced himself on his arms and lifted his weight off of her. His cock slipped out of her as he stood, eliciting a whimper of protest from Moira, who lay boneless and limp against the table. With trembling hands, Loghain laced up his trousers and replaced his errant shirt before turning to his love, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead as he helped her slide off the table. Despite having just spent himself in climax, he felt a pang of hot desire as he beheld her, standing in the middle of his library in an unlaced tunic and nothing else, thoroughly debauched, her hair wild and disheveled, her skin flushed and sweat-damp.

Moira seemed unable to speak as she reassembled her clothing, turning to Loghain with open arms once she was fully dressed. He took her in a gentle embrace, both of them leaning against the other as their muscles found strength again after such exhilarating passion.

"Welcome to Gwaren," he said, his face nestled against the top of her head. He felt an answering laugh muffled into his shirt, as Moira pulled back and regarded him with an expression of deep and abiding love.

"And what a welcome it was," she said, her voice still husky from lovemaking. She fixed him with a mischievous glance. "So… how many rooms are there in the castle altogether? I hope to get to… explore them, too."

Loghain's laugh was quickly swallowed by Moira's lips, finding his own.