Loghain brought his goblet to his lips, drinking deeply of his wine. His mouth curled bitterly as he tasted the wild berries that Sabia had mentioned at Ostagar. He had no idea if she lived or not. He knew she had lit the beacon, but it had been far too late. He also knew what some would think- he'd seen the look on Cauthrien's face- when he called the retreat. He wouldn't lose his men to the futile fight against the darkspawn. He would have left Ferelden without defenses, and he'd be damned if he'd leave his country with no army to defend her so that the Orlesians could come in and take everything he and Maric had worked so hard for. His heart had ached at seeing the beacon, lit far too late, and it ached even more as he turned away, following his men and leaving Cailan and Sabia to their fates. There had been no saving her.
He shook his head, shaking the thoughts from his head as he poured over his map, mentally tallying all the bannorns and arlings that would come to his aid- and those who would fight him. Teagan was one of them, and he knew his brother Eamon would follow suit. Having Redcliffe against him would be a heavy blow. He put a marker on Redcliffe, narrowing his eyes. His mouth twitched unhappily as he looked over the map, his eyes falling on Highever. Howe's new teyrnir. As if summoned by the thought, Howe seemingly materialized from shadow, his thin weasel-like face curled in a simpering smile. Loghain grunted at him and turned back to his map, drinking another long draught from his goblet. Howe folded his hands behind him and cleared his throat. Loghain turned to look at him.
"What is it, Howe?" He asked. Howe winced at the grating tone.
"My Liege, there is a problem. One of my men returned from Lothering," he began cautiously. Loghain lifted a brow.
"And?" He asked plainly, suspicion rising in his chest. Howe unfolded his hands gestured carelessly, but worry was written on his shrewd face.
"He brought back a report that two of Wardens have survived Ostagar," he said, backing up slightly as Loghain moved forward, his face unreadable.
"And did he bring them in? Where are they? WHO were they?" He demanded. Howe pulled at the collar of the padding under his armor.
"It was Maric's bastard, my Liege."
Loghain drew in a sharp intake of breath. Maric's bastard had been sent into the tower. How by the Maker had he survived? His heart caught, then started again. Did that mean that Sabia had survived? He almost didn't want to ask, but Howe began again, answering the unspoken question.
"There was a woman with him. It's unconfirmed, as the man was delirious from blood loss- the woman sliced open the back of his leg, and slaughtered the other soldiers that he had been with," Howe said, narrowing his eyes. "However, he was adamant that he tell me a message that the woman had given him. This woman said she would wear my spine as a belt, and Maric's bastard said he'd kill you, my Liege."
Loghain closed his eyes, feigning intense thought of the situation, but he was reeling. That could only be Sabia. The rage she'd shown in front of him at Ostagar was matched by the fury of the threat that had been delivered to Howe. It could only be her. He opened his eyes and looked at Howe wryly.
"Was it a promise, Howe?" He asked. Howe blanched.
"He said it was, my Liege."
Loghain chuckled darkly. Only a Cousland would make such a promise. If she was anything like her parents- and he knew she was- she'd keep that promise. Howe cleared his throat again. Loghain turned to look at him, lifting a brow.
"Did the man have any other messages?" He asked. Surely Sabia would not have let the man go without giving him a message to take to the man she'd implored for help. There was a flicker of something in Howe's eyes, something Loghain didn't like, but it was gone before he could analyze it, and he shook his head.
"No, my Liege, but the man was grievously injured. He died after choking out his message to me. The soldier had a festering wound on his leg, it was a marvel he was able to make it back to Denerim at all."
Loghain resisted the urge to curl his lip in disbelief, and let the matter slide. He doubted any message Sabia would have given the man would have been anything than something vague. Howe moved a bit closer, his face etched with urgency.
"They will move against you, my Liege. The Grey Wardens. Many of the nobles still believe them to be good for Ferelden, and will support them if matters are not handled carefully. It will not look good for you in the eyes of the Landsmeet. With your leave, I have arranged for a solution," he said carefully, beckoning.
A svelte figure moved from the shadows, and amber eyes glittered from a tanned face. A smooth smile met the Teyrn's eyes, and Loghain took in the sight of glinting daggers, form fitting leather and heard the clink of vials in the elven man's pouch. He turned his gaze back to Howe, looking at him in disbelief.
"An assassin?" He asked incredulously. Howe looked at him bluntly.
"It will prevent the Wardens from moving against you," he said cautiously. Loghain glared at Howe.
"You remember I want the woman alive, Howe?" he said nastily. A shadow flitted across Howe's face, but he recovered his composure. The elf, however, spoke for him.
"Is the woman that beautiful, my Lord?" He asked curiously, almost leering as he ran a thoughtful hand over his chin.
Loghain glared at his Antivan accent. An Antivan Crow, was it? Foreigners. Dirty foreigners. This was a horrible idea, but he didn't have much choice. The whelp and Sabia had survived the tower, somehow, which could be attributed to the fabled tenacity of the Grey Wardens that was always spoken of in stories. This would require a force that could match their strength, and he couldn't keep tossing able bodied soldiers at them. Never mind that losing squadrons of men to two Wardens was just embarrassing on his part. He glared at the Antivan, his steely blue eyes dangerous.
"She is important. Kill her, or lay a finger on her and you will beg for death, Antivan," he said quietly. "I don't give a whit for the whelp. Just bring the red haired lass to me alive."
The Antivan didn't look impressed by Loghain's threat, and Loghain snorted to himself. If the assassin was a Crow like he suspected, one of the feared shadows from Antiva City, promises of torture were nothing to the man. The elf still had the decency to show respect as he bowed and disappeared from view. Sensing Loghain's foul mood, Howe departed as well, leaving Loghain to his brooding- which was centered around his political problems, Howe, and Sabia. Mostly Howe.
He still didn't know if he could fully trust the man's intentions and methods, but he was still reeling from Howe's accusations- that the Couslands had been traitors to the Crown, in league with Orlais, and had welcomed Duncan into their home, allowing open recruitment for the Order. It didn't seem right to Loghain. The Couslands hated the Wardens as much as he did. Were mistrustful of them as he was. Her father had kept an informal, but cordial relationship with Orlesian nobles, but Loghain had seen the benefit of keeping trade open- it opened a line that extended from Orlais all the way to Gwaren. Gwaren could stand on its own- it had during the occupation of Ferelden and the war against Orlais- but the teyrnir benefited from trade just as well as any other teyrnir or arling would. He knew Howe had raged against Bryce for it, but Loghain had been apathetic to it- Bryce maintained his distance from the nobles he kept contacts with, and his children were raised with a wary opinion of Orlais. Still, to slaughter the Couslands... Sabia's cry floated to the surface of his mind again.
"... my sister-in-law and my little nephew. Even Lady Landra and her son Daerrin. All slaughtered!"
Loghain shook his head, gritting his teeth at the conflict. He should have had Howe executed, but the man was powerful, and would keep the nobles from turning on him. He was a general, no politician, and needed all the support he could get. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning as a headache threatened to rise in his forehead. He couldn't trust Howe to keep her alive. He knew the man would say the assassin got out of control, or that his men fought to stay alive. Darkspawn, bandits. So many excuses he could give if Sabia was killed. He set down his goblet and moved to the door, calling over one of his soldiers. The man snapped to attention and strode over to him.
"Yes, my Liege?" He asked. Loghain set his mouth in a firm line.
"The Wardens. You know I have a bounty on their heads," he began. The man nodded, and Loghain struggled to remember his name. Sergeant Mathers, he recalled. One of Cauthrien's favorite sergeants. He could trust this man to actually follow orders.
"The male Warden, I could give a whit about. The woman is the one I want. She's shoulder height, slender. Blood red hair. Emerald eyes, and every inch of her is dangerous. If any of your men see her in the countryside, in a town, or here in Denerim, I want her brought here, unharmed. If you can talk her into coming here, fine. If you have to subdue her to get her here, so be it, but do so with minimal damage. I don't want her harmed," he ordered. The man nodded and saluted Loghain.
"Yes, my Liege. I will inform Ser Cauthrien and the rest of my men immediately."
Loghain watched the man walk off, his hope that Howe's men didn't find her before his did. He also had a wild hope that she'd come to him without having to be apprehended by any soldiers, but he doubted that would happen with the whelp in tow. He just wanted to take her back to Highever, have Anora appoint her as Teyrna, and set things back to a semblance of how things should be. She might be a Warden now, but even with the shortened lifespan, surely she could at least govern her family's teyrnir until Fergus was found. That mean having to deal with Howe, but were he to deal with Howe, it would show he truly did have the best interests of Ferelden on his mind, and he'd garner support. He faltered in his thoughts as he thought about Howe's little web in Amaranthine. Would it make things worse?
Another twinge stabbed in his temple, feeling like a jolt of electricity, and he rubbed his forehead, turning and striding back into the war room. He found himself wondering if an excursion away from Denerim might be a good idea while he sorted his head. Things were a whirlwind here. He needed space to think- to BREATHE. He looked over his map and lifted a brow as his eyes fell on the uncertain area of the Bannorn. He needed to get support from the Bannorn nobles anyway. Perhaps a trip to Lake Calenhad would be a good idea.
..
Sabia panted, her chest heaving, her side slick with blood, hair matted against her neck, her dagger and sword dripping with gore. The older woman raced to the other side of the room, to the side of an elderly man that could only be First Enchanter Irving. Sabia sheathed her weapons and strode over, forcing herself not to wince at the gash in her side. Alistair looked uneasy, and Morrigan was making herself as unapproachable as possible, hiding in the shadows. Sten looked pleased with the outcome of the battle, and Leliana moved to Sabia's side, her blue eyes worried. Avariel echoed her sentiment, whining as he scented his mistress' blood.
"You're hurt, Sabia!" She said, upset. Sabia shrugged.
"The First Enchanter must be seen to first. I'll live."
Wynne turned her eyes to Sabia, noticing her wound. Irving made a face, despite his weakened state, and motioned for Wynne to heal her. Wynne came close and moved her fingers over the gash the pride demon's claws had rent in her flesh. Sabia's face crinkled as the odd feeling of magic knitting her skin washed over her. Wynne looked her wound over, made a satisfied sound, then she and Alistair helped Irving up.
"Are you alright, Irving?" Wynne asked, worry etched in her already wrinkled face. Irving grunted, half in pain, half in exhaustion.
"I'll be fine. Rest is what I need. Thank you, Wynne."
Wynne shook her head.
"I would not have done this without the Wardens' help, Irving. This is Sabia and Alistair, Grey Wardens. They helped, and we cleared the Tower of all the abominations," she said warmly.
Morrigan seemed pleased that she had not been mentioned, and she continued to pace in the shadows. Sabia knew she was longing to change to a raven and flee the Tower. She nodded at her discreetly, giving her permission to do so once the opportunity presented itself. Morrigan smiled gratefully and slunk out into the hall. Sabia turned back to Irving, looking worried. The man looked like he might expire on the way down the stairs.
"Let's get you downstairs, First Enchanter," she said gently. The man laughed dryly.
"Curse whoever decided on placing the Circle in a Tower," he said as they headed downstairs.
Greagoir immediately swooped on them as they made it downstairs. Despite the man's obvious hatred and mistrust of mages, he saw something of a friend in Irving, and was relieved to see him alive. Sabia fixed the Knight Commander with a piercing look.
"Call off the order, Greagoir," she said. "There are no more abominations, and we spared those who weren't. There were CHILDREN in there," she said heatedly.
The templar they'd seen in the cage, Cullen, made a cry of outraged protest.
"No! There are abominations still about the tower! They may seem normal now, but we should still Annul the entire tower!" He roared. Sabia looked at the man with obvious distaste, and Greagoir looked at him in annoyance.
"I am the Knight-Commander here, not you, Cullen. I will go on the Warden's word. We will comb the Tower for survivors. Send the men in," he commanded, supporting Irving's weight. Irving offered Sabia a weak smile.
"I know why you're here, Warden, and you shall have the aid you seek. The magi will come to the call of the Grey once we are rebuilt," he said softly. Greagoir nodded.
"You will have the support of the Templars as well, Warden, as it will take both Magi and Templar to rebuild the Tower. We also can't have the magi running into a fight without us there, now can we, Irving?" He said, his voice turning wry. Irving laughed weakly.
"No, we can't. I imagine we'll be at each other's throats again soon enough."
..
Sabia sighed as Wynne and Morrigan bickered again. The two had been at each other's throats since Wynne discovered Morrigan was an apostate. Morrigan replied to Wynne's patronizing comments with her barbed tongue, and Wynne would be silent, then start anew. Eventually, Sabia had Sten and Leliana stand between them. Wynne kept her thoughts to herself and instead turned her conversation to Alistair. Sabia welcomed this change of pace, keeping quiet herself as they made their way to Redcliffe. She had wanted to simply sail across the lake, but no crafts were coming near the Tower until there was proof it was under control. Sabia had scowled and muttered to herself about the foolish superstition of sailors, but hadn't wasted any time, shouldering her pack and gathering her companions, setting out to make the trek along the lake.
She had worried about Wynne, but the elderly woman had more strength in her than her appearance gave her credit for. Morrigan had been upset at having the healer join them, but Sabia pointed out that a healer would be greatly beneficial, seeing as Morrigan's talents simply didn't lie in the healing arts. Morrigan had snorted, but she reluctantly agreed. Alistair wasn't thrilled about having another mage, but he liked Wynne for all her motherly banter towards him. Sten made a comment about another beast that ought to be collared, but said no more on the subject. Leliana, as ever, was welcoming and warm. Sabia found that despite herself, Leliana was growing on her- especially the woman's singing and stories- the woman had a beautiful voice and wove stories like intricate tapestries, making for a soothing setting at night when the woman would tell stories or sing, her cultured voice warm and comforting.
The spring was unusually warm this time of year, and Sabia felt she would melt under the heat of the sun baking her leather armor. She called the group to a halt and they made an early camp without much argument- even though Sten grunted in disapproval. Sabia slid into the woods with Avariel and Leliana to hunt. Sabia was excellent in tracking, especially with Avariel finding scents that led her to game trails, and Leliana was an excellent shot with her bow. Together they were usually successful in bringing down game for dinner. Tonight, they would be incredibly lucky.
Sabia motioned to Avariel and Leliana to be quiet. Ahead, a young buck was stripping bark from a tree, munching on it happily, sporting a five point rack of antlers. Avariel was quiet, but his body was tense, ready to spring, should the buck flee when the hunt began. Sabia melted into the shadows, moving into the buck's predicted path of escape, laying down a snaring trap. She signaled Leliana as she slid back to their side, and the bard aimed her bow quietly. The buck heard the sinew creak, and he turned his head, ears swiveling. Leliana waited, a true archer, as the buck listened. Detecting no threat, he went back to eating, and the arrow flew. Leliana's aim was true, and hit the buck in the neck. The strong animal still tried to flee, and stumbled blindly into the trap. Avariel lunged and seized the buck's neck in his jaws, giving one good shake, snapping the animal's neck cleanly.
"Excellent, you two. We're a good team!" Sabia exulted, bounding over to the buck. Her eyes were already taking inventory of the deer- armor and weapons could be made from the hide, antlers and bone, the meat could be dried and preserved, sinew could be used as replacement strings for Leliana's bow. An excellent kill. She and Leliana picked up the buck, Avariel supporting the bulk of it on his strong back, his jaws lolling open happily. Leliana patted the Mabari's head, smiling.
"We are lucky to have your Avariel with us. He is a magnificent animal," she said, earning a happy bark from the mabari as they headed back to camp. Sabia squirmed a bit uncomfortably as she sensed Alistair- the blood that bound them as brothers in arms was hard to ignore, a crooning throb in her veins whenever she was near him. It had been the same around Duncan, too, after her Joining. Sten looked up and Sabia swore she saw the flicker of a smile of approval as he saw the deer they brought back. Alistair blinked from where he was setting up the fire, and Morrigan was eyeing the deer's antlers. Wynne emerged from her tent and clapped her hands together.
"Marvelous! I can make something fantastic with venison, and we'll have plenty to dry for our travels!" She said appreciatively. Morrigan let out a bark of laughter.
"It won't be much, what with the appetite of the two Wardens," she said, causing both Alistair and Sabia to grin sheepishly. Both had appetites like starved wolves, and Sabia hated to admit it, but if they weren't careful, the entire buck would be eaten between all of them, most going into her and Alistair's bottomless stomachs. The blood that coursed through their veins was a never ending roar of hunger and fire, and their metabolism made their appetites never ending.
Sten offered to clean and gut the deer, and Sabia offered him her skinning knife gladly- Sten was quick and efficient at cleaning kills. As he set to his task, Morrigan bent over the kill, telling Sten she wanted one of the antlers for her staff. He grunted and nodded in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Morrigan strode back over to her makeshift shelter- she preferred shelters made of foliage and branches compared to tents. Sabia gathered her soaps and her shift.
"Going to take a bath," she announced to no one in particular, striding off. Leliana normally would scramble after her, wanting to gossip as they washed, but she was busy helping Sten pull the arrow from the buck's throat- arrows couldn't be wasted.
Sabia didn't mind the solitude- she relished it. Sliding into the woods and heading for the lake, she hummed to herself, admiring the color of the sunset that had just begun. She slowly peeled her armor off, leaving her daggers in easy reach as she waded into the water. It was still cold from the winter, raising goose flesh over her skin. She submerged herself quickly to get used to the temperature, wading in up to her chest to hide the fact that the cold was affecting her body, still unsure if anyone had followed her. Once she was satisfied by the distance of the thrum in her veins that meant Alistair hadn't followed, she lathered herself up, scrubbing the dirt blood and gore from the day off her skin. She resumed her humming, even growing bold enough to sing out loud. A bath by herself, even if it was in a cold lake instead of a hot bath, was a luxury, and she enjoyed it. She even took the time to wash her hair, submerging herself to rinse off before surfacing and flicking her head back, hair flying in an arc above her, sending water flying in a spray of droplets. Fully clean, she was now used to the chill, and she decided a bit of indulgent swimming wouldn't hurt. There was no one out here to see her, after all.
..
What a HORRIBLE day. The Bannorn had all but attacked him, swearing fealty to Eamon, and he had left before things got out of hand. He should have known he wasn't going to be welcomed. He reigned Mercy to a stop, sighting the water's edge. The black stallion snorted, wanting to keep going, having been denied a good gallop all day, but the Teyrn's heels in his flanks made him hold his temper with a reluctant whicker. Loghain wiped the sweat off his brow, eyeing the water almost hungrily. A quick dip would be welcomed before he made the long trek back to Denerim- with a stop at Gwaren planned along the way. His soldiers were waiting a few leagues ahead, having been told to wait so he wouldn't look imposing to the Bannorn. He was glad the Bannorn hadn't attacked with his men not there.
He slid off Mercy's back and tied him loosely to a tree, giving the ill tempered horse some room to graze. He patted the sleek black neck, smirking as Mercy snorted at him. Foul tempered beast, and Loghain was the only man who could reign him in enough to ride him. Suiting steed for him and his own temper. He moved to take his armor off, finding it was a bit cumbersome by himself, but he managed. His armor was soon in a silver pile near his steed, and he made his way to the water, shedding his braise at the shoreline before walking in. The water was cold, and he cursed slightly, but he got used to it quickly enough. He submerged himself, and froze after surfacing, hearing a soft sound a slight distance away. He peered around, and saw a flash of red. His eyes narrowed and he swam a bit closer, trying to keep himself out of sight- not a hard feat with the sun setting, the light in his favor as it was at his back, shining in the eyes of the figure he approached. He blinked as he saw a flash of bare flesh, then his eyes widened as he saw the red hair. His throat tightened. It couldn't be her. Not here.
Yet it was. Leaning back in the water, red hair trailing out behind her as she floated, was Sabia, singing softly to herself- and she was quite unclothed. Loghain's face flushed as he saw her body exposed, the cold evident by the state of her body. He wanted to turn his eyes away, he shouldn't be gazing at the daughter of Bryce Cousland like that, but he found it hard to tear his gaze from her. He had thought the girl was lovely when she was in a dark green gown, but unclothed, she was all soft curves, supple muscle and slender limbs, her pale skin ruddy from the chill of the water, her eyes closed and lips spread in a smile as she enjoyed the moment of perceived solitude.
He waged war inside his head. Should he call out to her? Should he go to her? He wanted nothing more than to crush her against his chest, tell her he was sorry, take her back to Denerim or Gwaren, and shelter her from what she had been pulled into. He couldn't. He had heard from some of the common folk she had taken to traveling with the whelp, an archer, a Chasind woman and a Qunari, of all things. The mabari was a given, and Loghain had been relieved to hear that her faithful hound had survived the attack on Highever. He held his tongue, biting back her name. Her companions would come, and he knew Maric's bastard wouldn't hesitate to strike down a naked man- and him being naked in the water the same time as she was would not make things look any better. He wasn't sure she'd appreciate him stumbling on her while she was nude and had assumed herself alone. He shook his head. No, this was not the time to reach out to her and try to bring her home. If his soldiers were here... he cursed to himself, wishing he'd had his soldiers meet him sooner. He would have been able to bring her back with him then.
Instead, he watched, partially obscured by the gnarled roots of an ancient tree that dipped into the lake over the high bank ages ago to take a drink, as Sabia left the water, dried herself off and pulled on her armor, wringing out her tangled hair. He was torn. He wanted to ensure she was safe, but he'd only get himself killed if he called out to her. He did know he couldn't let Howe know where she was. That was a given. Howe would not know. With that thought, he begrudgingly pulled himself from the water, drying himself off as he watched her disappear into the woods. He pulled his armor back on and hoisted himself back into Mercy's saddle. The stallion snorted, and Loghain heeled him hard, letting the horse rear in excitement before exploding willingly into a gallop, the beast tossing his head exuberantly at being allowed to fly like a black dart down the road. Loghain was quiet, a single thought racing through his head. She was safe. For now. Maker help him, that she stayed that way.
..
Sabia turned just past the edges of the trees, hearing the faint clink of armor. Her hackles rose, and she slunk into the shadows, approaching the water again. Again, she wondered at the extent of her hearing, but Alistair had no answer for her. Being a Warden affects everyone differently, he said, save the appetite- everyone got that. She shook the thought from her head, her eyes catching the glint of silver, and her breath caught in her throat.
It was HIM.
"Loghain...," She murmured, sliding out of her stealth, her eyes mournful and conflicted. His hair was wet. Had he just been in the same water she'd just been floating nude in? Her face turned red at the thought. Had he seen her naked in the water like some lewd water sprite? Her blood slowed and came to a sluggish halt as a painful flush crept into her neck as she imagined him looking over her naked curves.
"Maker's breath," she whimpered, trying to subdue the painful heat in her cheeks as she watched him get on his horse. The animal tossed its head and reared, pawing the air with its front hooves before tearing into a gallop, swiftly carrying Loghain away. She felt a pang as she watched him leave, torn between wanting to cry as the man she wanted nothing more than to run to sped away, and admiring the way he looked as he rode expertly on his steed.
"Was he looking for me?" She asked out loud to herself. She slumped to her knees. "What if he was?"
She was alarmed to discover tears were rolling down her face, hot after the cold water she'd swam in. She wiped them off hastily, but she didn't bother explaining to herself the reasons behind her tears. Alistair wasn't here to make excuses to. She could cry if she wanted to, but she hadn't expected seeing Loghain to stir such an emotional response in her. She shook her head. Of course it would. If Fergus was... she refused to finish the thought. Loghain and Fergus were the only ones left who knew her for who she was.
The child who had been scared of thunder when she was eight and spending the week at Gwaren with Anora. The chubby ten year old who had gotten herself stuck in a tree and required Loghain's help getting down. The girl who had smiled brightly as she tried to garner Nathaniel Howe's attention during the holidays before becoming appalled at him for not liking Avariel- who was then a puppy- at age twelve. The young teenager who had flushed, played coy little games and watched a Landsmeet with genuine interest at the age of thirteen. The young woman, almost of age, caught being tutored by Oriana in the art of fighting with swords and daggers at the age of seventeen. The young woman of twenty who threw a snowball in Loghain's face after chasing her family with snowballs, who would later make him laugh as she stood in a vision of indignant silk as she refuted any attraction for Howe's sons. The twenty-two year old, who had been scorned at one of Anora's salons about still being unmarried at her age, looking at Loghain with pleading eyes that begged for rescue as he passed the parlour- the twenty-two year old who had, unbeknownst to her, been suggested as a political marriage for the widower Teyrn of Gwaren- a child bride he had refused, because he believed she could do better. The twenty-five year old who flung herself into her hero's arms, weeping the loss of her family and life as she knew it.
Everyone she had with her now knew her as a Warden, as the orphan and sole survivor of the Couslands. They didn't know who she was before that. They didn't know she'd laughed as Anora commanded the thunder to stop that night before both of them went tearing down the hall in utter terror to the room of Anora's parents, climbing into bed between them, shaking like leaves, Celia and Loghain grumbling good naturedly, then laughing when Anora tattled on the thunder's disobedience. They didn't know how she'd cried when Anora was moved to the palace, meaning that they wouldn't be able to spend as much time together as she spent more time with Cailan. They didn't know that she became more detached from other girls as she and Anora grew apart, delving deeper into sword fighting, and falling in love with war and politics.
Sabia moved to go back to camp and heard Alistair complaining angrily to Wynne about Loghain, and she stopped short of the clearing, crumbling to her knees, stifling her cries as that damned song started in her veins again- the croon of their shared taint calling each other. She wept silently into her hands, wishing she could have called to him, reached out to him and been spirited away on the back of his horse to safety and maybe even normalcy. They didn't know that despite everything, she was faithful to the Hero of River Dane, and that she would give anything to go back to the life she had. They just saw the Warden who had too much thrown on her shoulders. They saw Duncan's last recruit and expected too much of her. They knew her as the leader of the Wardens of Ferelden.
She just wanted to be the ten year old who was teased by Nathaniel. The thirteen year old whose biggest concern was her father embarrassing her in front of Bann Loren by mentioning she was jealous of Daerrin's longsword. The eighteen year old who got caught sneaking brandy into her mother's salon to deal with the boredom. More than anything else though, she wanted to be the twenty year old with burning cheeks, staring at Loghain in horror as he wiped snow off his face, her parents alive, and laughing with bright smiling faces.
She cried, her ribs shaking, and a soft touch made her look up. Morrigan had slunk up behind her, and looked at her curiously. Sabia wiped her eyes, but couldn't stop her silent sobs. Morrigan tilted her head, but said nothing, offering her a handkerchief before moving back into camp, announcing Sabia was fine, and Alistair could quit being a whiny child. Sabia almost stopped crying then, grateful for Morrigan's distraction. She rocked a bit, trying to gather herself, wishing she were home. Wishing she wasn't a Warden. This wasn't what she wanted.
She just wanted to be Sabia Cousland again.
AN:Thanks so much for the reviews and comments, guys. -Loves- You guys are amazing.
Also, any mistakes are mine. I posted this on 2 hours of sleep.