The new Wardens, Elissa learns as she hurries down the flight of stairs in a fairly graceless and undignified way – her heart still beating hard and heavy beneath her ribcage that feels a bit too tight - are made up of two tall, bulky men, one wiry elven boy and a female surface dwarf. She lets her gaze sweep over them in an attempt at anchoring their faces in her memory.
Everyone is looking back at her, expectantly.
"Welcome to Gwaren." Elissa clears her throat and notices that Loghain has followed her downstairs, positioning himself beside the group of knights who live with them and seem to move in one symbiotic cloud wherever they go. Loghain claims they are scared of her.
"I'm Elissa," she continues, rather needlessly.
The dwarf is the first one to step forward and does so with a broad grin, which makes her face light up. It's difficult to tell her age, there's a kind of ageless maturity to her, Elissa thinks as they shake hands.
"I'm Iera, Commander. It's an honour to serve you."
"My name is Nidahl, from the alienage in Denerim," the elf greets her, and Elissa can't help but notice that he looks at Loghain who stands there, stone-faced as ever. For a moment her mind wanders back to the stinking, filthy streets of those parts of the city where she had felt her own upbringing like a stitch in her heart, blended with an unwillingness to let go of the rose-tinted images passed on among those who had no reason and little care to ever set foot inside an alienage.
"The Order is glad to have you both," she says, rather stiffly. She does not perform well tonight, that is the one thing she knows for certain.
One of the men, the one with pale blond hair and freckles, blushes as soon as she looks at him and Elissa realises he is much younger than she first thought. It vaguely amuses her that he seems so utterly terrified. Perhaps she does have that mean streak Fergus always claims runs through her.
"Elric, s-ser." The Warden bows. "Commander."
"Aedan," the other man says, in a much more jaded tone. The way he meets her gaze suggests he thinks she ought to recognise him but Elissa doesn't, she recognises no more than the faint idea of his appearance seeming to belong to some lesser nobleman's bloodline. "At your service."
Oh Maker, that wheedling smirk. Elissa hopes she manages to sufficiently stifle the wince and wonders for a second how Duncan endured this part, the merging of the new Wardens with their airs of either hero worship or self-importance with an Order where there's nothing but blood to be shed and ignoble, painful deaths to be shared. The previous recruits currently in Denerim were never like this, the only thing she remembers about them is that they rarely spoke at all, minded their own business and fought well.
"There is food left from supper," Elissa says, hoping she is right – they usually have a great deal of leftovers as the townspeople still show their respect and gratitude in fish, meat and vegetables. "We will see to finding beds for you and if you have any questions, ask me or Loghain."
A long, tiring session of unexpected social gathering later, Elissa finds herself alone with Loghain at an almost empty table.
"Aedan seems a handful," she mutters into her goblet, feeling aged beyond her years. She must have been very much like him, mere years ago: young, arrogant, eager to challenge all authority for the sake of it. Perhaps, she thinks with a little groan, she still is.
"He was eager to impress you." Loghain shrugs, his fingers curled around the foot of his goblet. His wine seems – as usual – mostly untouched. Yes, she thinks irritably to herself, perish the thought of losing some of that self-control. "They all were."
"Right." She sighs. "I should probably get used to this."
"Yes."
He sits like a statue in front of her, his expression carved out from stone, the way she remembers it from far back in her recollection, back when they were barely enduring each other's company. Since then it has been altered - until now, apparently, when he seems to shift again, tilting himself away from her and making himself untouchable.
Elissa looks down on her hands where they rest on the tabletop, lit by the dancing light from the candles around them. They look hard and rough, calloused in new ways from this summer's unfamiliar duties. One of her thumbs is still missing its nail, since one of the soldiers recently knocked over a pile of timber that fell on her hand; it had hurt like poisoned daggers through her flesh and in the end she tore off the dead, grey-blue mockery of a nail instead of waiting for it to come off. A new one is slowly reappearing, growing back over the strangely bumpy surface. It fascinates her to watch it from day to day, a quiet, reassuring process of her body mending itself. But it is also as slow as watching a mountain move, and she has forgotten how bloody long it takes without healing magic. Not that she can imagine Wynne being terribly eager to tend to Elissa's nails, but still.
"Don't pick," Loghain says suddenly and it's not until then Elissa realises she's been tearing at the thin layers of nail and skin. There's a tiny hint of warm amusement seeping into his words. You have the patience of a hungry mabari, he has told her once and seems to say it again, without words this time. "It will only get worse."
"It itches," Elissa grunts but gives it a rest all the same, wondering where a man who ignores open chest wounds in the middle of battle gets the authority to lecture her about injuries.
She points it out and he smiles a little, and for a moment nothing is wrong or difficult.
Then she holds his gaze longer than she normally would, and there is it again, the shiver of longing playing in her, fluttering in and out of sight when they speak. Followed by the awkward notion that he has seen it, too. That he saw it before when something passed between them, something that still sits here; a sharp-edged little thing wedging itself in between his pride and her own – and Maker knows they've both got pride in abundance - and now it is here, no matter how deftly she tries to reason with herself.
Elissa reaches for her goblet – the second, perhaps even the third, she's lost count - and empties it in one dragged-out swallow. She can feel fire under her skin when she's done, a swirling sensation of drowning tugging at her mind. And in the silence caused by gritted teeth, she gives her thoughts free rein momentarily, until they threaten to slip out of her mouth.
"We should test their abilities tomorrow, I suppose," she says, getting to her feet, which proves unexpectedly difficult. After two wobbly steps to the side, however, she regains her balance. Loghain looks like he is expecting her to fall down despite this, giving her sidelong glances as they begin to walk upstairs.
"I agree," he says simply.
It might be the wine or the way he is stoic where she is falling apart. Regardless, this nudges what has been poorly repressed all evening and Elissa takes a deep breath as she walks one step behind him up the narrow stairs to their bedchambers. He says nothing and she bites back all her words, deeming them inappropriate or pathetic or both.
"I'm sorry," she says, finally, when he is already at his door.
Loghain doesn't turn around at first, he stands with his back to her for a long time, before he finally looks at her again. "Whatever for?"
"I made you uncomfortable before. I stepped out of line." The words form a torrent in her mouth and she must force herself to not look away; she notices that he is watching her with a confounded expression in his face, as though he is trying to understand something far beyond what she is saying. It makes her feel observed in a very unnerving fashion and so she gives in, finds a spot behind him to fasten her eyes on. "My apologies."
Uncertain whether Loghain's silence is caused by the fact that she apologises or that she mentions in words what had not happened, Elissa decides she can't stand to wait for the response. There's a limit to the amount of wounds her pride can suffer, after all.
The door closes behind her, between them, with a dull sound.
.
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.
.
Solis – solace, Nan says in her head, the season of comfort - is the warmest month Elissa can remember.
They have an endless string of unbroken summer days this year, a heat that seems almost oppressive, even by the sea where the air usually carries hints of cold undercurrents. And, as though orchestrated by the weather, their routines remain the same, too: a pattern of mundane daily tasks occasionally interrupted by riding into town to raise the interest for joining the Order.
A few days after the newcomers' arrival, they are already falling into the habits and routines without much trouble. Led by Fabien, a man in Sighard's service who seems to possess the most knowledge of building houses, they begin to lay the groundwork for the stables as well as a separate building that will serve as dormitory for future Wardens.
Elissa learns that she likes to build. She has never done it before in her life and she is aware that her work leads to a few grimaces as well as irritated muttering about how she'd be ushered away if she wasn't the commander. When they think she isn't watching they alter and redo some of her most appalling workmanship but she finds that it doesn't matter, that she likes constructing all the same. There's a simple logic to it. It keeps her hands warm and moving; it keeps her thoughts in line and her heart light and it's such a nourishing thing, seeing their progress measured in the number of lengths accomplished in a day's work. No more, no less.
It also gives her aches in muscles she had no idea existed and in the evenings she lies flat on her back in the cooling grass, in the garden at the back of the main building.
Everything that grows here, every flower and bush, seems to do it in spite of themselves, like it should not ordinarily belong here or with the others. There's sage and clover, roses and various wildflowers Elissa has no names for growing in chaotic formations; there is rosemary and mint and buckthorn shrubs and to someone with a passion for gardening or an eye for what goes well together, she presumes, this would not be called beautiful.
But it is quite magnificent.
When Loghain finds her this evening she is half-asleep, arms tucked in under her head as a pillow and her mind full of the sweet, intoxicating scents of the nature around them. She has closed her eyes and it's the stirring traces of him in her body that announce his arrival, as efficiently as any eyesight.
"The hunting went well?" she asks as he wordlessly sits down, a bit further away.
Previously today, Loghain had taken pity on Dog's restless soul and brought Elric and Iera with him to the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest to hunt, hoping to find some darkspawn as well.
"Iera rescued Elric from being eaten by a bear," Loghain says dryly and with so much sarcasm that Elissa chuckles, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him.
"He is that useless?"
"He is a bundle of badly handled nerves." Loghain rubs the bridge of his nose. He looks tired, Elissa thinks, hoping he at least made certain to have a proper supper after they returned from the hunt. "I caught him displaying fine swordmanship when he was forced to."
"You ran into darkspawn, I take it?" She rolls over to her side, supporting her head with one hand.
"A few, yes. Just a scattered group of genlocks."
"Nobody spoke?" It has become habit by now, asking this. And it's disheartening that they seem to find no more of those who do speak because that suggests that they are aware of being discovered and possibly hiding from the Wardens, biding their time.
Loghain catches her gaze when he replies. "Nobody spoke."
He leans back on his hands in the impossibly high grass – they are meant to do something about that, surely – and looks up at the stars, like she has been doing for quite some time now.
"As usual, then." She yawns a little, trying to stifle it by sighing. "So there's hope for Elric?"
"Perhaps. As long as you don't shout at him."
Elissa laughs. "You tried that, didn't you?"
Loghain's snort is all the answer she needs. She relents a little where she lies, thinking she has been so wound-up lately, so tense around him that she has forgotten how simple it can be, too – how simple it is, unless she brings inane prospects and her own idiocy into their interaction.
"Can you sleep in this heat?" she asks conversationally.
"Not well," Loghain says, raking a hand through his hair. "Judging by the snoring I hear through my wall, others do not share this problem."
"Sorry about that." Shifting position somewhat on the ground, Elissa gives him a little apologetic grimace. While she has a bedchamber far from the others, Loghain is not that fortunate.
"It is hardly your fault." He throws her a quick glance.
They are quiet for a long time, listening to the muffled noise of the house and all its inhabitants coming to rest after a day's work. There's a certain domesticity to it, and she feels like an old matriarch who watches it all with a curt nod or a benevolent smile.
She begins to feel restless, tugging at her lower lip and tapping her fingers against her side, which leaves soft thudding sound in the silence. Loghain seems to observe her hand very intently, she notices and gives a little smile; for a second she thinks she has unintentionally breached some defence in him, because his gaze softens slightly, and just as she is about to say something – anything - he looks away.
"It is getting late." As quietly as he arrived, he is getting to his feet, she realises. Like he is merely a passing figure in the long chain of events making up her day. It leaves a strange, hollow feeling.
"Loghain?" she calls for him as he has begun to walk away.
"Yes?"
"I... hope you can sleep," she says, feeling the idiocy burn in her as soon as the words leave her mouth. "If you can't... I mean, I have some potions left."
He is silent for a while, and she's grateful he is standing behind her so she doesn't have to look at him.
"I appreciate your concern," he says eventually. "I'll let you know if I need one of those."
And then he is gone.
.
.
.
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When they don't build, they train.
Loghain has nearly forgotten how he used to enjoy just that – lead and supervise a group of warriors in their quest for improving themselves. He had never thought much of the brawling, boisterous groups in any other way, always avoided their gatherings, but he had indeed found it rewarding to train them.
Today it's Elissa's turn on the training grounds, leading the new Wardens as well as a few of the recruits who have volunteered to partake in the next Joining in an re-enactment of an exhausting and never-ending battle. Loghain observes it from the side of the field where he is seated, going through the last few volumes of Warden chronicles they had managed to get out of Soldier's Peek.
Once the battle is over, he hears her urge them to continue and her disapproving tone makes the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.
"No rest, Aedan! You shouldn't be out of breath already! Elric, honestly! If you drop your sword like that in a fight against the darkspawn you will die and I will not help you!"
Looking up, Loghain notices that she is placing them in two lines opposite each other, instructing them to duel each other for practice, something that causes an approving mutter to rise from the crowd of fighters.
"Go on, I said no pause! Elric - at least try to parry, will you? Andraste's arse!"
"I thought you said no pause?" Loghain asks as she's approaching him, her swords sheathed and her hands visibly dirty from the field.
"Well, I killed the sodding Archdemon, didn't I? If I want to rest, I can rest." She shoots him a bright smile.
Loghain puts the book down. "I see."
Her hair is damp and there's sweat running along the sides of her face as she slumps down on a mound of stones beside him, reaching for a flask of water on the ground. She drinks greedily before letting a rivulet from the flask run over her hands as well, washing them hurriedly.
"This is fun," she concludes and he has to smile at that. "But they're weak."
"Not everyone has your strength." Loghain purposely avoids looking anywhere below her neck because it's a scorching hot day and like the rest of them, she is only wearing a thin shirt and breeches and the unbridled foolishness of his mind seems to have outgrown his defences lately. Either the men on the training ground don't share his taste in women or else they are not easily perturbed.
Or perhaps they have some kind of dignity and self-control? Maric suggests in his head. Maker's breath, man, you need to do something about this.
"They are merely lazy." She seems amused. "Will you help me with the duels?"
A moment later they are side by side on that field, with the sun burning away everything but that very scene: the metal, the movements, the well-rehearsed dance that is so challenging to teach someone else because it is part of your blood, written on your bones. Loghain loses track of how long they tutor and how many fighters he instructs, how many mistakes they see repeated over and over again. They pause for a meal at midday but pick it up again quickly, intent on not wasting any time.
Eventually they proceed to duelling in pairs, while the others are watching, getting some much-needed rest. Loghain sees Elric bested by Iera, then by Aedan, but at the last minute, facing Nidahl, he seems to pick up on something Elissa has told him over the course of the day and manages to hit the sword out of the elf's hands. Not impressive by any means, but a victory.
"I would like to duel you, Commander." Iera's request comes with a gust of appreciated wind, giving them a moment's release from the unabating sunlight. "If you would give me the honour?"
Elissa does – she even grants the other woman a brief respite before she defeats her, Loghain notices. He can tell when she holds back. As Iera leaves the centre of the field, Aedan steps forward, followed by Nidahl; Elissa duels them all, one by one, narrating her moves as she makes them, which is quite impressive. She seems to have genuine trouble with the fast and hard-striking elf, who knows all the tricks for how to outmanoeuvre a larger opponent, but wears him out in the end, with a forceful flurry.
Just as Loghain assumes the duelling is done, he is called back by the drawling voice of Aedan who is suggesting a re-enactment of another battle, one that is not very far back in Loghain's mind and he thinks – as he glances sidelong at Elissa – is remembered well by his opponent, too.
"Everybody is still talking of your little show at the Landsmeet," Aedan says. "Those who were not present have regretted it since. I am certain we could... learn a thing or two?"
"Go on, ser," one of the braver potential recruits insists. She's got a round, red face and looks expectantly at him. "Duel her!"
"I have the disadvantage of having duelled already," Elissa points out, her voice low and private, intended only for his ears. It is also tauntingly calm behind that smirk. "And my sword is chipped and all."
"Surely you ought to have more important matters to tend to?" he retorts, under his breath.
She just laughs softly, knowing him well enough by now to realise that he will not be shown up in front of this crowd. And despite being too old, despite the sensation of being thrown back through the layers of time, Loghain lets his pride get the better of him once more. Shrugging, he unsheathes his sword and walks out to meet her on the field.
There's an exciting sound rippling through the lines of spectators.
Elissa had started out tentatively enough at the Landsmeet, playing the ill-suited part of the combatant focused on wearing down and tiring out the larger opponent's defences, before tapping into her own strength. He had thought it unimpressive to begin with and then, mid-duel, she had seemed to regret her previous stance and suddenly she was matching his strength instead of countering it, rushing forth instead of holding her own.
Loghain has watched her skill and progress for a year, has seen her shed the very last remains of coy manners and now there truly is nothing left of it, he witnesses as she goes in for the first blow. He parries, catching her gaze. Elissa stares back at him.
"No games," she says. It's a strangely worded statement but he knows exactly what she means, the words sinking low below the surface.
He nods, taking advantage of her momentarily lapse of focus by thrusting into her defences with his sword, which leaves her sidestepping to get away, hold her ground. Grunting, Elissa hits back and her blow is massive, fuelled by irritation and Loghain is the one who has to take several steps back. It seems to trigger her energy that he adjusts his grip of the blade because she is pressing him hard, putting up unrelenting pressure to her attacks and keeping a distance, rarely allowing him to draw her closer to take advantage of his size. Not that this would necessarily help, Loghain thinks, ducking her sword again. She's too big to be easily overpowered, too broad and heavy, rooted firmly in the ground. It makes it all the more fulfilling to send her into a stumble, of course, driving her back and into a brief run as he continues to push against her.
She counters, he parries and so the dance continues.
He has no idea how time passes during their duel – if they are at it for minutes or hours, how they fare, what their positions are, who has gained or lost the most ground. What he does know is that he is sweaty and that the warm air rages in his lungs and when he looks at Elissa she is hastily wiping her face with the back of her arm, her chest heaving visibly under the soaked tunic.
Within seconds, she is at his throat again, and this time he is unprepared, too exhausted to carry out the swift movements he envisions and she is so much younger and with that streak of ferocious pride so easily attainable behind her posture.
Loghain is forced back, with Elissa pressing on harder than before despite her heavy breathing; she is using feints to block all his attempts at moving to the side and then, finally, she spins him around so he loses his balance for a fraction of a second and feels her sword clash against his own, unrelenting and powerful, forcing him to drop to his knees.
He hears her strained breaths in his ear as she closes in on him, the length of her body keeping his own in place in a stance reminding him a little too much of other things, especially when he feels the skin on his neck dampen as her warm puffs of breath heat it up. Stifling a sound caught somewhere between pleasure and defeat, he struggles against her. It proves to be difficult. She's forceful but not violent, her arms embracing him from behind as she tries to still him, seeking to give herself an opportunity to disarm him. Loghain turns, spinning her around so she's momentarily on her back and sprawled under him – that moment does not last long, however, as Elissa's sword finds a weak spot in his forced stance and he has to relent, giving up his advantage.
With a groan, she heaves herself up and there's a glint in her eyes he can't remember he has ever seen before: something guarded and at the same time raw, its honesty digging into him.
And then it's over.
Her free hand, swift and strong, closes around his wrist as he tries to roll over to push himself back to all fours and not long after that, before he has time for any other attempt she has wrestled him back down on the ground. The intense, increasing pain from her fingertips over his joints and sinews forces him to flex his hand and, as she slams his slackened hand down, to drop the sword. With her heel, Elissa kicks the blade several feet away.
There's a sound from behind them - or around them, he corrects himself, blinking sweat from his eyes - indicating that he has lost.
And there is Elissa's face that suddenly seems to be floating above him like a cloud of badly repressed delight. She has a bloody scratch at the bridge of her nose, a bruise in the making on her chin and Loghain frowns, feeling a hot flash of guilt before he realises he is hardly walking away unmarked from this either.
No games.
She sinks down over him, dishevelled and triumphant and he cannot seem to take his eyes off her, even if it quickly becomes a rather awkward physical presence in him, the way her face is flushed and sweaty and the way strands of hair dance around her broadening grin. He feels his own mind caving in around this image of her, feels his body steadily gain ground, moving forward with the same force as Elissa on the battlefield until he is acutely aware of every part of himself. Every part, indeed, he thinks with a inward sigh, doing his best to balance the pleasure of her exactly like this and the efforts required to control the effects of it. Still breathing heavily she holds the sword to his throat in a perfect imitation of the Landsmeet duel, except this time her gaze is warm in a distressing manner, her victory almost tender and Loghain surrenders once more, in a different yet oddly similar fashion.
You must admit you have rather specific preferences, Loghain, Maric remarks in his head, amused as ever.
And you didn't?
Maric merely sniggers at that. Snide bastard.
Loghain snaps out of the trail of thought and back into present where, he notices with an involuntary grimace, Elissa is straddling him. Even without the image of it all – he keeps his gaze against hers, as locked as their bodies – he can feel her thighs around his waist and the heat from her -
No.
Her hand rests on his chest for support, her fingers spread out and digging into his soaked tunic and as she shifts position slightly Loghain prays silently to the Maker that she has the good sense not to slide further down. It's pathetic, but there it is. There is a limit to what he can be expected to endure, after all, and this, he thinks half-desperately, this has got to be well past reason. He is so tired, so weary of these ridiculous bloody battles of the mind that he considers, almost seriously for a second, to pull her down over him, to have her warm and smiling and heavy on top of him –
Yes.
He is defeated, in every sense of the word, he might just as well admit that, too.
Elissa arches an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. He wonders how long he has been silent and if that little trace of apprehension in her smile is meant for him or for herself.
"You win," he says hoarsely.
"You have learned my moves now," she replies. The calm assertion makes him smile, helplessly, because it is so typical of her – no flush of victory until she has made a proper evaluation. It's one of those small, banal things about her that has wormed its way into him and made him care, beyond reason.
"I have. Yet you best me," Loghain points out, attempting to shake her off his chest by placing his hands on her hips to yank her away. Which, he realises, is one of the worst moves thus far since he suddenly gets his hands full of the undeniable roundness of those curves. And a smile lights on her face, a smile followed by a very conscious movement of her body above his, reminding him that of all the things she are, innocent most definitely is not one of them. What he normally considers a blessing – for a man his age and with his past, innocence is distasteful, if anything – becomes a curse as he meets her gaze that is unabashedly observing him while he finds himself struggling not arch up against her.
"Barely," she says. She tilts her head, as though she's trying to look inside his thoughts. As though his thoughts could possibly be a mystery to her at this point.
He is surely reading too much into her tone, but she sounds genuinely pleased with this discovery. Or – Maker help him – with the fact that Loghain has to draw a sharp breath as she is sliding down his body, gracelessly struggling to get to her feet.
"I must thank you for a good battle," she says, reaching out a hand, while looking over her shoulder at the recruits and Wardens. "I hope you lot watched and learned. You are dismissed. Go get yourselves cleaned up and find something to eat."
Loghain, standing again, shakes her hand, listening to the noise of the clapping, cheering recruits and – scrambling for the remains of his control and momentum – he announces her the winner.
While the field empties around them, Loghain walks up to his scattered belongings on the ground and gathers them. His shoulders ache. Last time he gave into such a childish display of pride and unattended desires they had healers around. This time they will wear their bruises like reminders and he is fairly certain he will not catch any sleep tonight.
Allowing Dog to lick a wound on her arm, Elissa crouches at the edge of the training ground, her tunic plastered to her back.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, as though remaining at this distance from her would close the gap between what he wants and what he can possibly allow himself. It doesn't, by far.
"Oh, yes." She pushes herself to her full height, looking fixedly at him. "About as much as I hurt you, I suppose?"
He nods, curtly. "I will see you back at the house."
"Loghain, I-"
"We can talk later," he interrupts, aware that if he made up for the most obvious awkwardness by remaining rather than leaving with the recruits, he balances that scale now, by marching off.
Elissa doesn't say anything else and she doesn't hurry to his side, so he strides quickly over the grass until the soft, steady flow of her in his blood can no longer be felt.
A female knight is sitting in the great hall as Loghain enters the house. There's a hurried, impatient air about her and the way she constantly pushes dark hair out of her face and lets her gaze flicker from one spot to another. At the sight of him she practically jumps to her feet.
"Good evening, ser," she says, offering him polite greetings despite the touch of urgency in her tone. "I am here for the Commander."
"She is right behind me," Loghain says, eyeing the guest. "And you are?"
"My name is Mhairi. I am a knight in the king's service and a Grey Warden recruit from Denerim, here on behalf of the King and the Wardens to escort the Commander to Amaranthine."
"What's the situation there?" he asks, sharply.
The woman looks at him. "Unfortunaly, I do not know any details, ser. But it is said to be dire. Overrun by darkspawn. I would suggest we leave at daybreak."
.
.
.
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She must pack.
She really, definitely ought to pack.
After the long evening spent with Mhairi and Loghain, questioning and calculating risks and weighing pros and cons for everything, Elissa had sworn to herself to go upstairs, have a bath and prepare for the imminent departure. It had been a sound plan.
I am honoured to serve you, Commander, Mhairi had said, seemingly impressed with Elissa's readiness to handle the situation and prepare the horses for an unexpected journey.
Mhairi will probably be less honoured to serve Elissa if she learns that Elissa has spent the better part of tonight neither getting ready nor giving herself a few hours' of sleep, but instead pacing the floor of her bedchamber and thinking of excuses to slip into Loghain's room. Yet this is precisely what she has been doing, with the sole interruption of having that bath and carrying out the rest of the duel in her head and with her hand, soaked in warm water and biting hard at the bend of her arm.
Not that it had helped. Well, not much at any rate. She braces herself against the lingering remains of the fantasy - one of her best, she has to admit - and returns to the bags.
Right.
Packing.
Right before dawn, just as she has finally finished sorting out her belongings and the suitable supplies, leaving the rest for Loghain to use and bring with him when he eventually follows to Amaranthine, she closes the door to her own chamber and pads across the corridor down to Loghain's room.
The door, she notices to her surprise, is still ajar. She opens it enough to peek inside, spotting him fully dressed and at work, buried half-way in a massive map, by the look of it.
"Are you already up or did you never go to bed?"
Loghain looks at her from behind the large, high table where he keeps his maps when he studies them. She remains in the doorway, waiting for an invitation. When he doesn't offer one, she enters anyway, closing the door behind her.
"I was on my way to check on the supplies," he says. "You are still leaving come daybreak?"
Elissa nods. She should tell him to carry out the task he had intended. He ought to insist on doing so. But instead she steps further inside and he remains where he is. She feels her her body tense; squaring her shoulders as though preparing for battle, she walks up to the table, leaning over it from the opposite side.
"I have already double-checked the packing," she informs him.
The room is rather cold, which strikes her a strange. Through the open windows there's a chilly and damp morning air leaking in, flooding them and she's leaving. Loghain continues to keep himself occupied by rolling up a map, fidgeting with the scroll for a bit and putting it away. A hopeless sense of going in circles has perched itself in her body, whispering darkly of impossibilities and delusions. She silences it by closing the distance between them somewhat, one step, then another, then she is standing beside him, pretending to look at the map he is currently reading.
It's the one that marks all the known old passages to the Deep Roads.
"Will you use the route we intended when you leave?" Elissa asks.
Loghain considers it for a second. "I think so, yes."
She nods too, as though she needs to confirm his words. Standing like this, she can feel the warmth of his skin through the layers of clothing separating them now, can sense the outlines of his body against hers. Side by side, their shoulders don't touch because he is taller and Elissa feels his larger frame as an awareness in her, a weight in her body, heady and slow, coiling at the pit of her stomach and spreading further down. It is too late for defences now. He is already inside all of them.
"There seems to be no other road available," she says weakly, glancing at him.
"There is that one-" Loghain reaches over to the side of the map that is closest to her and as he does, his arm brushes against Elissa's chest. She freezes and he does too, but he doesn't pull back, at least not at first. When he does, when he once again rests his hand on the table, Elissa moves her own hand over it, letting her arm rest against his and their hands intertwine over the coastline of southern Ferelden. Which, she thinks, it rather ironic.
"Elissa-" Loghain begins, looking at her with an expression that almost seems concerned, of all things. Or perhaps it's doubt. He is proving even more difficult to read as the cracks in his composure give way to something else, and the old gashes are mended with new, rendered armour.
"I..." she interrupts, but lets her voice trail off.
He is too close to talk to and she doesn't want to talk. She wants, possibly, to say please and now and less coherent things, later if at all. Elissa tips her head slightly to the side; when their eyes meet she smiles tentatively, trying out this new language between them - one of almost-confessions but no words. Loghain inclines his head in what appears to be agreement, he observes her hand in his; his thumb is grazing her knuckles, gently. It's rough and calloused and impossibly, endlessly soft all at once and she drops all her guards and turns to him, taking him in.
His neckline is loose, the fabric of his shirt a bit worn, expanded by time and frequent wear and it shows the hollow of his throat. Along his hairline she spots a small area of white skin where the sun has not reached through his heavy layer of hair – it amuses her to know that even this unforgiving heat leaves parts of him alone.
She will always remember him like this. Now.
Elissa follows the outlines of the side of his face with her eyes, mapping its contours in her mind. The lines of jaw and ear and the place where they meet; the soft defenceless spot where you can feel someone's pulsating blood if you press carefully; his hair that carries a scent of soap buried in warm grass and earth, in sun-baked outside reminding her of a world beyond this; the curve of his mouth and the lines travelling up towards his nose carrying ghosts of the man he has been, unshakable proofs of a life lived. In the corner of his eyes he has a thin spider's web of wrinkles, almost like a pattern. Of what, she does not know.
Very slowly she disentangles her right hand from his, removes it from maps and duties and memories from before; she lets her fingers travel along the back of his neck, fingertips marking the exact boundaries and borders between them. It is not until Loghain turns his head to look at her, that she realises she's been holding her breath.
"Elissa?" he asks, his voice low and soft. "Are you-"
You had an injury from the duel, she could have said, in a half-hearted answer to his unfinished question, a last-minute resort to lies. Or I saw something on your skin.
But she doesn't.
Instead she kisses him.
She kisses him and he is absolutely still, showing no intention to respond; Elissa pulls back, steps away, a hard knot of disappointment beginning to twist itself around her lungs. He looks at her, frowning as he seems to go over the scenario in his head, making a bloody strategy of it. A sudden flare of anger runs through Elissa.
"I do not think this is wise," he says, but he sounds like he doesn't truly mean it.
Even so, it makes her cheeks hot and she finds no words for it; somehow this seems to make something dissolve in him, because his posture relents and as she turns to walk away, Loghain grabs hold of her, his hand around her wrist like a mirror image of another night, only this time he pulls her against him until her hand rests on his chest and his free hand gets caught up in her hair.
She looks at him, almost frowning in surprise, as he is suddenly kissing her back. Softly at first, slowly, then he deepens the kiss, his hand strong and demanding at the back of her head and the other one at the small of her back, gathering her closer against him. She feels her stomach lurch, a hot flush of blood shifting through her as she's pressing back into his touch.
They kiss.
It's such a remarkable thing to finally do it, and such an unexpected pleasure, that she swallows a little noise of too-eager want, pushing it away with another kiss, then another one. Elissa lets the hand resting on his chest run up over his shoulders to cradle his neck, brush through his hair, allows it to linger in the warm, thick strands. And her free hand travels up to Loghain's face, caressing it, only to find the cartography of her map off in places, correct in others and he closes his eyes with a sigh as the pads of her fingers reshape the lines surrounding them.
"So this is unwise?" she asks, tracing the line of his jaw with her thumb.
"It hardly matters now," he says, running a hand through her hair with a fascinated expression on his face.
It's a lie. Of course it matters, they both know it matters, but not this morning, not in this room.
Elissa smiles and pulls him closer once more; for a long time they just stand like that, in a silence surrounded by chilly gusts of air. Then she puts her hands around his face, kisses her way down his throat and further down to the hollow of it where he is a flood of heartbeats and tastes of steel and battle. Loghain lets out a distinct sound of approval that reminds her cruelly of the fact that they are running out of time, as do his hands around her waist that are pressing her up against him until they verge on being inseparably close, a sort of defiant but futile resistance.
She is breathless as she disentangles herself.
"I have to go," she manages.
Loghain looks at her, his gaze as unwarded as her own, momentarily rendered transparent as he gives a thin smile. "Yes."
With a sigh, she leans her still-sore chin against his shoulder and Loghain's hands on her back are warm and comforting, their shape bleeding into the thoughts of what she would prefer them to do right now, over and over and over again, until her mind shuts up.
"I hear they have locks on the doors in Amaranthine," she mumbles, suddenly feeling the weight of the hours she has not slept recently.
"I hear they do," he agrees, sounding amused and serious all at once.
At the door, she pauses, her hand around the handle and her body full of hotly flushing blood.
"Elissa?"
"Yes?" She looks at him over her shoulder. It's strange; he looks the same but nothing is.
"Have a safe journey."
A/N:
Patience is a virtue, I hear.
Thanks to CJK for being utterly patient with me and this story, and thanks to all of you for reading and commenting and being generally awesome.