The anniversary of the Battle of the River Dane was always a day of great celebration for the soldiers in Maric's Shield. A day of tournaments always was followed by a raucous night of drink, song and other forms of merriment. It always struck Cauthrien as odd that Loghain rarely attended the festivities. He might make an appearance, poke his head into the great hall so that all might toast to his heroism, but he would always disappear soon after into the privacy of his rooms. Fraternization was not something that he engaged in often, if at all.
A messenger arrived in the midst of the celebration. Messages from the King, he had said. Cauthrien was pulled aside, a request made that she bring the letters to Loghain. It was not uncommon for her to act as an intermediary between messengers and Loghain now that she was his second in command. And so she found herself at his door. Her hand curled into a small fist and lightly rapped at the heavy wooden door.
The man that opened the door was foreign to her. Dark hair hung loose and unkempt, braids undone. Loghain's linen shirt gaped open, string enclosures untied. "Cauthrien," he rasped, his voice cracking. Cauthrien could not quite be sure, but it almost appeared as if moisture coated his cheeks, flesh glistening slightly, wet. There was also the faint aroma of brandy lingering in the air.
Her eyes widened slightly at the display. She had never seen Loghain so disheveled before let alone intoxicated. "I..I have messages for you from the King, your Grace." She shifted her stance, a nervous bit of movement. She offered the letters to Loghain.
But he did not reach for the letters and instead stared down at her, blue eyes glazing glacial. It seemed like he might send her away letters still in hand, instead, he swept a hand in gesture and said, "Come in."
Apprehension mixed with a flash of excitement as she treaded into Loghain's rooms. She had been in the sitting room before, but only in the company of other officers and always in an official capacity. Something about this invitation felt odd, as if she was intruding on a very private moment that he had never intended another to witness.
Loghain shut the door after Cauthrien and moved towards his desk and the half consumed glass of brown liquid, most probably the brandy she had smelled earlier, awaiting him. "Place the letters on the desk. Whatever Cailan wants, I'm sure it can wait until later." The glass was snatched up and quickly upended, the remaining contents swallowed down efficiently. "Come, have a drink."
Cauthrien's teeth dug at the inside of her cheek as she walked to his desk and set the letters atop it. "Your Grace, I really should not." Hands clasped together in front of her if for no other reason than to keep her from fidgeting. "I have the tournament tomorrow," she added, feeling the need to explain.
It didn't matter, though. Loghain had already begun to pour her a glass and pushed it toward her with a single nudge of the finger. "It wasn't a request."
Cauthrien took the drink as ordered, wrapping her fingers about the glass. A small draught of brandy filled her mouth in tiny sip.
Loghain's mouth twisted in frown, displeasure painting across his features. "I said drink, not take dainty sips as if you were at some tea party at the palace." Loghain's impatience was running thin. He made no effort to disguise it.
Cauthrien took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. There were battles to fight and times to back down so that you might fight another day. "To the Hero of the River Dane," she toasted. Her white flag raised in the air, the glass upended and the contents swallowed down sloppily, a tiny bit of brandy dripping down her chin. With her free hand, she swiped across the flesh, wiping away the moisture.
Bitterness bit at Loghain's tone as he mockingly raised his glass in salute, "To me." More brandy consumed, more poured into his glass. "More." Whether it is wanted or not Loghain refilled Cauthrien's glass anew.
He is not...
She wasn't quite sure what to make of Loghain's actions. Did he not wish to drink alone? Had she done something to upset him? Should she have had someone else deliver the letters instead? A myriad of questions filled her mind as more alcohol flooded her glass. "Have I offended you in some way, your grace?"
A sardonic incline overtook Loghain's mouth momentarily. "No, Cauthrien. No more than anyone else on this special day." He tone snapped, seething bitter upon 'special'. "Drink."
A shiver rattled Cauthrien's spine. What had started as exciting was broaching on the intimidating. She had never seen such an intensity of emotion in Loghain before. Something simmered at the surface, a boiling point neared by not quite reached and caused the space between them to fill heavily and stifling.
Slowly, she raised the glass to her lips and drank, throat near rebelling against the warmth of the liquid as she swallowed. "I have infringed on your hospitality for far too long, your grace." Fear of the unknown, fear of the potent gaze affixed upon her, fear she may say or do the wrong thing all prodded at Cauthrien, screaming for her to leave and stay simultaneously. It was a personal moment; a boundary they had yet to cross. Everything could change if she stayed.
Hands grabbed at Cauthrien's arms, fingers digging into the cotton of her tunic. Surprise and the quick tug of Loghain's fingers brought her against his chest and caused the glass in her hand to tumble to the ground and shatter at her feet. "I disagree."
There was such strength in his grasp. She knew she should have trembled, that she should have tried to run, but yet, her limbs felt unable to make such rebellious movements. Her body sung at his touch, beckoning her to stay. It would have been a lie to say she had not imagined what it would be like to be held so close by the man. Ever since that day he took her from her family's farm, she had wondered, had hoped. But this what not at all what she had imagined.
Foolish, girlish dreams had filled her mind with romantic ideals. Nothing romantic, gentle or tender would come from the way in which he looked down at her, blue eyes roving aggressive over the shock-touched features of her face. She recognized the look – a feral tilt to the eyes filled with need and want.
There had been others in her life, fellow recruits, and other officers. Secret dalliances were had within stables, empty barracks, larders and whatever small spaces of privacy could be found. But the man clutching her fiercely was unlike any of the other men from her past. He was a hero. He was the one person that could leave her completely disarmed with but a glance. He was her weakness and strength. From him she drew her courage and built her hopes and dreams. He was everything she knew she desired – strong, intense, imposing – and he was going to kiss her and it would not be feather soft, endearing or sensitive and she would have it no other way.
His lips found hers in a bestial embrace, firm and adjuring. Everything else melted away – responsibilities, ethical ramifications, pain. His mouth was upon hers and that was all that mattered. A desire fulfilled; a girlish crush of a dream realized. His hungered movements were met in kind with her own – teeth tugging at lips, tongues tasting of each other, hands investigating and probing.
Loghain pushed her against the desk, her bottom colliding with the wooden furnishing. Lips moved against hers in brief speech. Orders given. "Sit." Requests tinged in politesse had no place between the pair. He asked and she would do.
She edged herself atop the desk. Papers, quills and other sundry items nudged aside with a quick sweep of the arm. Legs parted as Loghain leaned into her, pushing her back into the desk. Her tunic lifted to her waist, a rough hand roved commanding beneath the folds of fabric. An arch came to her back as fingers pinched hot along a nipple. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she would not care, she would welcome it.
Loghain's free hand made quick work her leggings and small clothes; both pushed down to dangle along a single leg. There was to be no cuddling, snuggling or further fondling. The weight of Loghain's body pressed into Cauthrien's, hips pushing him forcefully into her and she reveled in it. Her throat burst in moan, sound muffled into the slope of Loghain's shoulder.
Each thrust brought Cauthrien closer to the edge. Words tickled at her lips, begging to be spoken but were bitten down in pleasure rich cry. An arm scooped about her leg, hooking beneath a knee and bringing the leg up further. She surrendered completely letting the tides of pleasure, need and want near-drown her.
His body crashed into hers in the fevered crescendo preceding the calm. Low, guttural, Loghain's own mouth allowed a groan to pass. The tight and taut gave way to the lax and spent. He collapsed atop her– the rise and fall of their chests heavy with breath.
Her fingers entwined in the mass of Loghain's unbraided hair, a tendril twisted about the length of a single digit. It felt much as she imagined it would, soft and luxurious. Her lips lingered along the nape of his neck, savoring the feel of his flesh against her own. Her mouth moved, words formed but not spoken: I love you Loghain Mac Tir. A silly admission volunteered in unspoken mouthing brought on by the afterglow but meant all the same. She had loved him from afar, her knight upon the pedestal of unobtainable fantasy.
She felt his mouth brush against the top of her head in what she supposed was a kiss. Warmth gave way to cool as Loghain pushed away from the desk and righted himself. He put himself together; pants tied closed, hair pushed behind his ears. He turned his back to Cauthrien and began to walk towards the hearth. "You're dismissed," he said, formally.
Her chest hollowed. Happiness faded to confusion. A high fell to a low. Smile touched lips grew in frown. You're dismissed. Had she expected proclamations of love? No. Did she expect to be so summarily excused? No. The soldier in her rose to attention, however, as she slid of the desk and awkwardly resituated herself.
Hands smoothed her hair back against her head, her ponytail tightened with the simple tug of fingers. Inside emotions raged – confused, happy, sad, angry. Outwardly, though, she had an image to project regardless of what may have just happened. The teacher's finest student she had liked to think herself. His teachings she drew upon, tucking her emotions away, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
As she walked to the door, she turned one last time to look at Loghain. His gaze remained steadfast upon the fire of the hearth. No more words spoken to her; no more glances bestowed. She had been dismissed and that was that. Whatever had happened between them was done. It was a taste of possibility, an amuse-bouche that left her wishing for more.
She closed the door behind her and leaned her weight against it. A deep sigh rose within her chest. Would things change between them now? Would he view her differently? Less of a soldier? Less of a woman? She did not know. She did, however, know she would never be able to look at that desk the same way again.