The cold stone of the castle told no tales. It hushed all sounds, buried the revelation of screams. And behind the double oak doors of the innermost chambers of his fortress, Loghain was in heaven. She was waiting for him again to warm his cold chambers.
Her slight form was inviting and pliable as she shifted her weight above the white sheets, motioning for him to join her. He sank to her side, his long, dark hair like a shadow crossing her pale skin. Her fingers traced the long, sallow curve of his cheek, down to the silver chain around his neck, touching upon the crystal charm. She smiled. He rubbed the feathered cloak about her shoulders, ran his hands down the creamy plumage, felt her young body fluttering beneath.
"Do you love me?" She asked.
"Of course I love you."
She looked at him, amazingly happy, her girl-child eyes opened wide, and her lips inviting.
"Kiss kiss," she puckered.
He leaned over to kiss her, circling her cheeks. His scarred, war-wrought hands desecrated the pale whiteness of her face as he took her by the chin and made his desire felt against her skin. His hands crawled down the curve between her waist and thighs, feeling the heat of her body, and she turned her eyes to meet him, lids veiled, and opened her mouth to let his tongue in.
"Come here." He said, and she rolled over to straddle him. She leaned down to kiss him again, pressing him into the pillows in their bed of desire, but he resisted. Instead, he rose, the passion of his manhood pressing against her body, warring with his desire to savor the moment, to indulge first in tasting her skin, her thighs, her flavor. He buried his face in her bosom and she turned her head away as if unbelieving or unwilling to accept his supplication; even as she pressed her firm flesh closer and closer into his mouth, feeding herself to him with heaving breaths and little gasps.
The white, feathered cloak flew off her shoulders, revealing the tight-fitting, scant blue fabric that wrapped like an "X" around her supple body. He fingered the shimmery, otherworldy fabric and watched as the threads pulsed, then contracted under the insistent thrust of his fingers. His hands were large and ugly next to her ethereal light, but he enjoyed watching the gnarled joints clenching and pulling on the elastic material. He knew that she watched, too, all whites-of-eyes and child-like stare, equal in his fascination.
"I don't even know your name," he told her hair.
"Call me Lady," she giggled.