The Keening Blade

Chapter 8: Dark Thingy…You Know?…Thingy?

Maude sulked all the way down the hall. Loghain smirked, picturing just which bits of Riordan would cease to be attached to his body if the Orlesian attempted to kill the Archdemon.

Avernus had more important things to discuss with him.

"I spoke to Wynne," the old mage said, "and explained in detail the necessary steps for the preservation of the Archdemon's blood. This would more appropriately be performed by Warden mages, but as we are so very thin on the ground, I deemed it necessary to trust her."

"I quite agree."

"This is an essential duty. If I am incapacitated, she must organize the Circle mages, perform the spells, and distribute the blood. I wrote a memorandum, specifying the proportion that must be sent first to Weisshaupt, and then to the other Warden posts. I have made a copy for you both," he nodded, including Maude. "We must have this blood if there are to be more Wardens for a future Blight."

He left them, disappearing into his room. Maude sighed softly.

"Future Blights! I suppose we must think about the possibility, but I shall be happy when we've dealt with this one!"

"Yes, once I've slain the Archdemon—" he smirked. He opened the door to his room and waved her in.

"Oh, stop! We know how things are going to be, so there's simply no point in you teasing me like this. Oh! I almost forgot! I have something for you."

"Now what?"

"This is nice! Look!" From under her breastplate, she produced a painting...no...a map. She smoothed it carefully, saying, "This is a gorgeous one. I thought of you the moment I saw it."

Loghain scowled at her, not because he disliked the map, but because it was his habit. He lit a candle to examine it.

"This is-"

"Isn't it lovely?"

"-exquisite."

'A Botanist's Map of Thedas,' the elaborate printing proclaimed. Loghain had never seen anything like it. Careful annotations, rich color, whimsical little illustrations of the various plants, many of which he had never before heard. He felt his own scowl transform into a smile.

The girl said excitedly, "It makes me want to see them all! Wouldn't it be brilliant? Look at that-the 'Stalker Rose!' Wouldn't it be amazing to see a plant that eats living things? Especially since it doesn't eat anything as big as me. And the flowers are pink! I love pink roses! The Anderfels look boring, though, except for those little white flowers. 'Edelweiss.' I like them."

"It's an incredibly beautiful map. Thank you."

He could not help this feeling, nor did he want to. She was looking at him with those shining eyes, so full of the pleasure of pleasing him that his chest ached. His hand strayed to the tender curve of her cheek, and she smiled radiantly. Then something occurred to him.

"Where did you get this? It must be very valuable."

She gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. "I found it," she told him proudly.

"Where did you find it, Maude?"

"Here. Well, downstairs, actually."

He rubbed his jaw, forcing himself not to shout. "Did you steal this?"

"It was in a chest. I was just looking around. You know...around... It was there, in a dusty old chest, and I could tell that nobody had looked at it or thought about it or wanted it for years and years. Nobody here could possibly appreciate it as much as you, so I decided you should have it."

He took a deep breath. "Maude, you can't steal from your allies. It leads to all sorts of trouble, and it's wrong! I know you were at the palace of the dwarven king at Orzammar, when you killed that dragon of his. You didn't go about stealing when you were there, did you?"

She was still looking at him with those big soft eyes, but a faint furrow creased her brow. She blinked once, and after a moment, again.

Loghain tried to explode quietly. "You did, didn't you? You absolutely did. You totally looted the palace of the dwarven king!"

"It's not like I robbed anybody at sword's point there-"

"Bloody hell!"

"Don't be like that! Kings always have the best stuff. And as for this- I just wanted to give you something nice! Nobody cares about this. Look: it used to be framed, but you can tell from the edges that somebody took a knife and cut it out. That's horrible. People who do that to nice maps don't deserve to have them. And it was just mouldering away in a ratty old chest, completely forgotten. The frame was probably used for another ghastly portrait of Isolde. Besides, it's Eamon's. We don't lilke him anyway!" she paused, scowling. "Do we?"

"No, we don't like Eamon," he wearily conceded.

"Well, there you are! You've got his lovely map, so 'ha!' on him. Look at this: 'Northern Prickleweed.' We have heaps of that in Highever. It has thorns like razors, but it blooms in the spring: masses and masses of tiny yellow flowers that the bees like..."

"Must you be such a thief?"

She looked up from the map, and said bluntly, "Yes, I must. How do you think I've kept my people fed and armed? Yes, I've done a bit of Chantry-board work, and some things for the City Guard, and even a bit for the Crows, but they really didn't bring in all that much. It's not like Eamon ever paid me for saving his life and rescuing Redcliffe. Likewise the Circle of Magi. King Bhelen gave me an antique mace for putting him on the throne, and I can't sell that because it might get back to him. The elves of the Brecilian Forest rendered me their heartfelt thanks. None of that would buy a bowl of pea-and-lamb soup in Denerim Market! In fact," she growled, "I've been raising funds myself to put into the army-and contributing some very nice things I found: runes and jewels and gold for my allies. I've had to scrape by from the the night I left Highever. I arrived in Ostagar with a family sword, a shield I don't use, an old set of scale mail, and two silver coins in my purse. And I only had that because Mother had the sense to make me gather what I could. I realized later that night that what I had scavenged was all the dowry I would ever have."

She stroked the map gently, her fingers resting at Highever. "And I stayed at Eamon's estate in Denerim, and then I came to Redcliffe, and I found that both are completely packed with expensive crap that Eamon could have turned to gold but hasn't; while I've been pouring my own coin into his coffers. He still has his tapestries and his family silver, and Isolde has her silks and her jewels; and both places are filled with books and weapons and antiquities and paintings and ridiculous gewgaws! It makes me sick!" she snarled. "He makes me sick."

"He makes me sick, too," Loghain agreed, always ready to hear Eamon Guerrin defamed. "Now stop fingering my map and set to work on my armor. You need to get your sleep."

She unarmed him willingly enough. "You need sleep, too."

He shook his head. "I never sleep before a battle. My mind whirls...it's impossible to settle."

"You shouldn't let your mind whirl. You have a lovely bed, and you need to use it." With a naughty smile, she added, "See? If you order me about, I'll do the same to you!"

"I hadn't noticed you needing an excuse to order anyone about."

"Oooh! Sarcasm from you. There's a shocker."

It seemed to Loghain that her hands lingered on him a little longer than before. Her face was composed and thoughtful as she tugged on his buckles. As always, he felt a wayward thrill of excitement as she knelt to work on his greaves. He would not, would not think about other things she could do for him on her knees.

And being on his knees before her was no less disturbing. It aroused complicated, painful memories that had somehow become overlaid by a profound and serendipitous liberation. Being Regent of Ferelden had been the most stressful, frustrating, miserable time of his life. In an ironic twist of fate, he had been stripped of power, and immediately initiated into an order he deeply despised. Yet it truly might be, as he had confessed to Anora, the best thing that had ever happened to him. Only as a Grey Warden, it seemed, could he do the one thing he most wanted to do: save his country.

He paused, drawing a deep breath, hand still on her thigh, fingers and thumb stroking the firm flesh in a light caress. A little gasp drew him from his thoughts. The girl was looking down at him, astonished, lips parted, eyes wide. She swallowed, and whispered, "Loghain..."

He had no idea what his own face was telling her. Whatever it was, it was something he did not want to burden her with. Giving himself a hard mental shake, he rose, and quickly piled her armor into her unresisting arms. Ignoring her mute appeal, he took her by the shoulders, and walked her out of his room.

"No...Loghain..."

"Good night, Maude."

He shut the door softly, and pressed his forehead to the cold wood, gritting his teeth. Through the heavy oak barrier, he could hear her voice, small and plaintive.

"Loghain..."

Something brushed against the door on the other side. The girl must be leaning against it, too.

"Loghain..."

"Go away, Maude."

She was leaving, thank the Maker. Loghain clenched a fist against the door, hard enough to whiten his knuckles, until her footsteps hesitantly moved down the hall and finally faded.

Emptying his mind of all conscious thought seemed the best course. He stripped off his shirt, splashing his face with the cold water from the basin, scrubbing angrily at his neck and shoulders and chest. He had once again done the right thing, and once again felt himself more empty than a desert.

The lovely map was abandoned on the vanity. He reached for it and sat down on the bed, spreading the map across his knees, taking refuge in a minute examination. It was an object of beauty; an artifact of learning and experience; a practical, sensible tool for comprehending and ordering the world. Loghain knew that there were things that truly were, and things only imagined, and things that not ought to be be, and things that were impossible.

He had no idea how long he stared at the map, half-unseeing, or rather seeing only the pretty, colorful plants, pausing in wonder at the many-trunked baobab tree of Seheron. It was like a tree and its mirror-image combined, and yet it was one living thing. Were these illustrations of reality or some bored scholar's fantasies? The Northern Prickleweed was real enough, but the Stalker Rose?

And then the girl's voice startled him out of his brooding. She was pounding on the door, calling out, "Loghain! Loghain! I need you right now!"

The door was thrown open, and the girl was there, barefoot in the doorway in a nearly transparent silk nightgown.

"We have to save Morrigan!" she declared, eyes blazing.

Whatever he had feared or hoped she might say, it was not that.

The nightdress must be the Arlessa's, he supposed: the finest, thinnest white silk, with little blue ribbons loosely knotted under her breasts, then falling in teasing curls. It was like nakedness, but even prettier. It was hard to comprehend what the girl was saying, distracted as he was by her half-concealed nipples. They were such an appealing shade of pink. His eyes were drawn down to the hazy shadow between her legs. All he had to do—

The girl caught hold of his arm and gave him a shake, and he managed to look at her face again. She was very indignant about something, but not about his mindless ogling, it seemed.

"She's been tricked into believing she has to do this dark ritual...thingy...to protect us, and it's the worst idea ever. I blame Flemeth entirely. In fact, it's why Flemeth sent Morrigan with us, but I don't blame Morrigan because Flemeth's been at her since she was little, twisting her mind. We'll fix her, though. Come on."

"What kind of ritual?" Loghain said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her.

"She wanted me to-" the girl stopped, clearly angry. "You know, I know you think I'm totally depraved, and it's true that I'm a stone-cold killer, and a thief, and a robber, and a bandit, and a pickpocket, and a tomb raider, and a scavenger, and a liar—"

"-and a cheat," Loghain added.

"-and a cheat," she agreed without heat. "There are however, things, that not even I will do." She smiled at Loghain radiantly. "Who knew? It's interesting to learn nice new things about myself." She gave Loghain an embarrassed blush and began babbling. "She wanted me to order you to haveritualsexwithher and conceive a baby-" she gasped for breath "-that would absorb the essence of the Archdemon and thus no Warden would need to die—"

He grimaced, and shook his head, interrupting her. "Wait. Sex?"

She was very put out at the very idea, clearly. Her hands fluttered, making her pert breasts quiver slightly. Loghain hoped she would do that again.

"Yes, sex," she repeated. "Ritual sex. She said—"

"Ritual sex?" She had his undivided attention.

"Yes, yes, yes! Ritual sex with Morrigan!"

"Oh," he sighed, disappointed. "With Morrigan."

"-She said if I didn't, she'd take her toys and go home because she didn't want to see me killed. As if that's going to happen!" The girl went on breathlessly, "And she said some things are worth preserving, but I said the Old Gods aren't good for anything but causing blights and being made into spiffy armor. In fact, you know what, Loghain? I think we should hunt them down and kill them all after we kill this one. Kill them dead, dead, dead. That's what I think." The adorable breasts jiggled with every dramatic gesture.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, feeling completely like a drooling lecher. He groped to the bed for a silk-lined wolf skin coverlet, and wrapped it around her, briefly mourning as the pink-and-kissable were hidden out of sight. Quite essential if he were to understand what she was saying, though.

"Oooh! This is nice!" she rubbed her cheek against the fur. "So soft! Anyway," she continued, not to be kept from her story for long, "aside from the fact that it's a terrible idea, and we'd still have an Old God in demon baby form attracting darkspawn out there- which totally defeats the purpose of everything we've been fighting for- it would make me some sort of rapist by proxy: pimping off one companion to another. That's morally abhorrent to me," she declared righteously. "We're not going to do that. Morrigan's probably under some sort of evil compulsion. So we've got to save her."

"If it's a compulsion spell, you should be talking to Avernus."

The wolf skin puddled to the floor, as she threw her strong young arms around him. Pink-and-kissable teased his chest, then pillowed sweetly against him. She smelled of soap and water and warm girl, her breath hot against his throat. He went with the moment, resting his hands on the trim waist, wondering if she would object if he slid them a bit lower-

She broke away, alas, eyes shining with admiration. "That is so clever of you! I was too stirred up to see it. Of course he'll help. Avernus likes Morrigan. Come on, let's get him and we'll all go save her!"

'Put that back on," he growled at her, pointing at the wolf skin. "You don't need to display your charms to the world at large. And I need to put on a shirt."

"Oh, very well. We mustn't frighten the servants, I suppose. You do have such a very nice chest, Loghain. But hurry!"

Avernus, most fortunately, was awake, dressed, and writing when they knocked. He threw Loghain an amused look, but greeted them graciously enough.

"Avernus!" Maude exclaimed. "Morrigan is in deadly danger!"

The ultimatum—dark of night, eve of battle, ritual sex thingy, Demon Baby, threats of desertion, etc., etc.-came pouring out. The old mage listened carefully, nodded, and then frowned.

"Well?" Maude said at the end, wanting an equally horrified response. "Isn't that the worst idea you ever heard?"

"One of the worst, I'll grant you. It cannot be. Where is she now?"

"In my room, waiting for me—and Loghain," she added, in a horrified whisper, clutching Loghain's forearm with one hand, and the wolf skin to her with the other. "How can she imagine that I'd order someone to do that? She's known me for over a year!"

"I believe you are correct in your deduction that this is something instilled in her by Flemeth over a long period of time. It may be so inculcated that she has not integrated other experiences or knowledge with it." The mage considered the issue. "It would be best if she could be dissuaded, rather than simply refused. Better, certainly, that she fully understand why it would be a mistake for her, personally. Otherwise, she might try to achieve her goal through trickery."

Loghain smothered a cough, which sounded vaguely like "Alistair!" The girl glared at him.

Avernus only smiled thinly. "Come, then."

Morrigan was surprised to see the three of them. The ghost of a smirk faded, and she appeared confused. She seemed most alarmed at the appearance of Avernus.

"You have made your decision?" she asked, with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Yes!" Maude declared. "We decided to save you from Flemeth's evil plots!"

Morrigan stood straighter, her features hard with anger. "You are fools!"

"Not at all," Avernus said, in a soothing, reasonable voice. "Your friends are concerned for your safety, and they are right. The ritual you propose is not unknown to me, but I suspect details of it may be unknown to you. Nor am I the only one who has plumbed its secrets. It has been known for many ages, and there are sound reasons why the Grey Wardens have rejected it as an option. I ask that you hear me out before you storm away. Sit, if you please. This will not take long at all."

Reluctantly, Morrigan subsided into a chair. The girl sat on the edge of her bed, and pulled Loghain down beside her, holding his hand. He sighed, and let her have her way. It would be rather interesting, and he could not object to what she was doing, other than that it involved hearing himself described as a friend of Morrigan. It was pleasant to feel the girl's thigh, warm against his.

Avernus stood by the fire, the flames casting an eerie light on his bony face.

"It has been known for some time that there are ways to spare the life of a Grey Warden who strikes the final blow. In theory, the nearby presence of a Warden's unborn child near to the Archdemon as it dies would certainly be a possibility. More probable of success would be the scenario in which a pregnant Grey Warden struck the final blow. It is entirely likely that the fetus would perish, and the Warden survive. It obviously has not been tested, since all previous Dragonslayers have been male."

Loghain sneered. "What kind of a woman would kill her child in order to save herself?"

"Besides," Maude objected, "I've been told that female Grey Wardens are practically barren! That it's difficult for a Grey Warden to have a child, and nearly impossible for two Grey Wardens together!"

Avernus cocked his head. "My dear child. Who told you that? A young man, I daresay. Was he," Avernus asked delicately, "interested in you?"

Morrigan laughed, rather maliciously. Maude turned rose pink with outrage.

"Are you saying that Alistair was trying to lie his way into my smallclothes?"

"Not at all," Avernus assured her. "Such difficulties exist, but they can respond to sophisticated magic. With care, an unborn child can be conceived, and then protected from the taint. Most Grey Wardens welcome these limitations, however, as they reduce the possibility of unwanted complications. But we digress. It is Morrigan and her solution to the Grey Warden sacrifice that we must attend to. The ritual as presented to you by Flemeth, I daresay, is based on the Ethereal Progenitor template of the Tevinters, and involves the magically focused insemination of a willing female mage by a recently-Joined male Grey Warden. Am I correct?"

Morrigan stared at him, taken aback. Warily, she said, "You are."

Avernus regarded her with compassion. "You were still willing to go through with this, even after the revelations about Flemeth's use of her previous daughters?"

Morrigan turned away, trying to conceal her growing unease. "That has nothing to do with me! I was to be the mother of an Old God, and share with Flemeth in his power!"

Avernus grimaced. Loghain began to feel that there was something very, very wrong here.

"Anyway, Morrigan," the girl said, "this is a rotten plan for you. You don't even like children!"

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, but the girl cut her off.

"I know—I know. They say it's different when it's your own demon baby, but I think they're wrong. It would be years and years of work and cooking and cleaning and being run off your feet, and then all you'd have is a demon to show for it."

"The child would be born free of the taint—"

"And how long would that last, with every darkspawn in Thedas after you? And besides, that's just what Flemeth says. If I were you I wouldn't believe anything from that source, because we already know she was not exactly forthcoming or truthful. The very fact that it's Flemeth's idea shows that it has to be a bad idea for everyone else. "

"My mother only wanted—" began Morrigan, a little more uncertainly.

Looking very grave, Avernus spoke.

"My dear young friend, Flemeth is not your mother. You know this. Flemeth undoubtedly killed your mother, perhaps your father too. She kidnapped you, probably with the original intention of possessing your body. She has never had your well-being in mind, and she has deceived you. I know about the ritual you describe, and it is clear that you have not been informed of the consequences to yourself."

"And I suppose you know them?" Morrigan ventured, with a shaky attempt at sarcasm.

"Morrigan," said Avernus, "knowing that Flemeth sustained her life and youth with her young fosterlings—like yourself—you don't find it odd that she sent you out to aid the Grey Wardens and carry and bear the child? Why not assume your form and bear the child herself?"

"At the time the arrangements were made," Morrigan replied, her brow knit in thought, "it seemed to me obvious that Flemeth was simply too old to bear a child. I did not then know that Flemeth's 'daughters' were her many forms."

"But now you know," Avernus persisted. "So why would Flemeth risk your death in battle? Why not assume your form and use her great power to win the prize? No, my dear young lady, I do not wish to play games. The fact is that she did not tell you all about the taint in this enchantment. You say truly that the child of such magic would be born untainted, yet the tainted seed of the Grey Warden is necessary to its success. In this ritual, the taint must go-elsewhere."

"Would it make her a Grey Warden?" Maude asked. "That would be neat! I'd love for Morrigan to be a Grey Warden!"

Morrigan's face indicated that nothing could be more repulsive to her, and Avernus shook his bald head.

"Alas, no. The taint would poison her slowly, but poison her it would, and eventually she would lose her magic, become a ghoul, and then die. By then, presumably, Flemeth would be back to step in and attempt to control the reincarnate Old God, though I have my own reservations as to her ultimate success in that endeavor. Perhaps her intent is to unite herself with the Old God in its new human form. That, however, it mere conjecture on my part. As far as I can see, this ritual is nearly certain to cause your own ultimate destruction. Rather than being a unfilled sack for her own possession, you would be a sack-a disposable sack-for the gestation of the Old God in human form."

Morrigan was looking quite sick and bewildered as Avernus dismantled all her preconceived ideas and long-held plans, leaving nothing in their place. See her distress, Maude burst out:

"Morrigan, forget Flemeth! Flemeth is not your friend. I'm your friend. I give you jewelry and a beautiful mirror. Flemeth gives you rags and smashes mirrors. I bring you to live in gorgeous castles where servants wait on you. Flemeth makes you live in tumble-down huts and makes you wait on her. She wants to use you as a tool and then discard you. I want you here because I like you and value your company. She wants to take over the world, and believe me, she is not going to share power with anyone, especially anyone she regards as a meat sack. With me, you're one of the most important people in all Thedas, fighting to save the world. And we are going to save the world, and then we will be showered with honors, and people will praise your name, and don't tell me you wouldn't like that, because I know better. And then we'll go live in a magnificent castle—or at least it will be when I get through with it, and we'll all live happily for a very long time—"

"Killing people and taking their stuff," Loghain muttered.

"Exactly!" beamed the girl.

"It is clear to me," said Avernus, "that Flemeth raised you to think you were lucky to live apart from civilization—that it made you better and stronger. I'm sure she told you to keep apart from us, that you were too good to mix with ordinary people. What she really meant, of course, was that she did not wish you to make friendships and forge alliances that could protect you from her."

"That is so true!" agreed Maude. "In fact, Morrigan, remember that she didn't care if you had that grimoire. She offered to let me have it without a fight. Why would she do that? Not from fear of me, I believe, but because it would be more convenient not to have to find a new host before taking control—or trying to take control of the Demon Baby."

"Yes," said Avernus, with a judicious nod. "She expected you to die in the birthing or soon after, and then both grimoire and child would be hers anyway."

Her eyes bitter, Morrigan turned to Loghain.

"And what say you?" she asked. "What does your wisdom tell you?

"That you should live your life, and not another's." He thought a moment. "I believe I met Flemeth once, long ago, and her words have pursued and poisoned me all my life. She is an evil and malicious being. It would be wrong to do anything that could conceivably make her yet more powerful and dangerous. I am sure that any plan she had for you would harm you, so it follows that it would be foolish to submit to her control."

Maude smiled slightly and squeezed his hand. Loghain simply looked at Morrigan, suspecting that any hint that she was submissive or controlled by another would be enough to make the witch rebel.

"So—" Maude probed gently. "Do you still want to have sex with Loghain, Morrigan?"

"I hate you all very much," Morrigan said, stalking out the door. "Be sure to give me my share of the loot tomorrow, so it's not stolen when you die!"

Maude gave Loghain a saucy smile and a wink. "Well! I think that went very well. I think we're all in a very special place right now. Thank you both so much for all your help. Let's have some wine."

"Not I, "Avernus declined. "I must get my rest in what is left of the evening."

"Good night, Avernus! Thank you so much!" cried the girl, seeing him to the door. She shut it after the old mage and leaned back on it, granting Loghain a dazzling smile.

"I'm so glad Morrigan is safe now-except for the whole fighting the darkspawn horde and the Archdemon thing. Don't even think about leaving yet. You already told me you don't intend to sleep, so you can keep me company. I'm much too stirred up to sleep after all that!"

The fire popped and crackled, while the girl poured some wine from a silver and crystal pitcher into matching goblets. Loghain wondered if she would spirit those away when she packed tomorrow. He accepted the wine from her, and lifted the goblet briefly to her in salute.

"Luck in battle."

She lifted hers to him. "Absent friends."

He sighed, his mind's eye seeing them all.

The girl sipped her wine, and then broke the silence. "I'm so glad we could save her." She looked quite radiant, her eyes soft and dreamy. She set down her goblet. "Loghain—"

He swallowed, his entire body on sudden alert. She was up to something.

Holy Maker, she was really up to something this time. The wolfskin was cast aside, and once again her long and slender arms were around his neck. Before he could decide how to react, her mouth was on his, feather light, lips just brushing against his own. Her arms tightened a little, and then she kissed him properly, slowly and sweetly.

He let her, wondering what game she was playing. She pulled away a little afterward, looking up at him with merry defiance, long lashes half-veiling her dark eyes.

He cleared his throat. "What was that for?"

Her sweet voice husky, she murmured, "I wanted to see if I'd like it."

"And did you?"

"I don't know yet."

There was only one answer for that. He threw away the empty goblet and gathered her up in his arms, holding her fast. Her back was taut and muscular as a she-wolf, or a lioness.

There was her smile, the terrifying dark sparkle in her eyes, the quickened pulse at her throat, and then his mouth took hers, his conscious mind shunted aside; the taste of her, rich with wine, fresh as apples and honey in late summer heat.

She whispered, "It's even better when you help."

"Maude—" he supposed he was glaring at her. He was standing at the edge of a precipice, as he had so long ago, and balked at casting himself over this time. He would be gone from the world in a few days. The girl ought not to waste herself on him.

"You don't have to say anything, Loghain," she said softly. "You don't have to say anything, and you don't have to do anything, unless you want to." Very lightly, she kissed him again.

"The day will come," he said, his voice thick," when you finally meet the right—"

She smiled, studying his face with unaccountable pleasure. "What?" she laughed softly. "Do you think I should be saving myself for marriage?"

"This is a very bad idea." Hollow words. They drifted between them aimlessly, while the silence waited. She was pressed tightly to him, and must feel him, a man.

"I think it's a brilliant idea," she murmured, her breath warming him. "I think that if you leave now, we will both regret it forever." She took a little quick breath when she saw his face change.

The barriers were down, prudence forgotten, the censure of the world discounted. His mouth was on hers again, seeking and inexorable, and then he lifted her in his hands, holding her up, trailing kisses down her throat, taking each nipple in turn while she cried out wildly, the white silk wet and transparent with his suckling. Her startled eyes were enormous as he tossed her onto the bed. That little flicker of alarm was endearing, he supposed, but she had wanted a man, and now she would have one.

"Take that rubbish off," he snarled, pulling his shirt over his head.

"I thought perhaps—"

"Off! Or I'll take it off you, and there won't be anything left."

She scrambled to her knees, ribbons loosening with a twitch of her clever fingers, the white silk sliding away like sea foam. One hand crept up to hide her scarred left breast.

Her eyes were even bigger, if that were possible, when he kicked off his breeches. He smirked at her, little white lamb—well, not so little, and not very lamb-like, except when she was shamming and taking somebody in. The thought amused him, and oddly made him remember to be gentle.

She was delightfully ready, and too brave to be prudish as he explored her. Adventure and athleticism had stretched out of existence tender membranes that otherwise would have bled and spoiled her pleasure. He examined her scars, and showed her his, and she was impressed and consoled. Soon he was within her arms and within her body, and knew only bliss as he hammered at her, sweat running down his sides. Instead of her usual fibs, her silvery voice uttered quick moans in a very pretty, very pleased way, so that was all to the good.

When he slid his hand down between them and touched her, she screamed out and bit him, but he hardly felt it. The moans became pleas, and then threats of dire bodily harm if he stopped, and then a series of inarticulate cries, as her muscles clenched and her eyes rolled back. He slipped his arms around her, holding her fast, concluded that she was now officially happy, and proceeded to nail her to the mattress.

"I love being with you. This is nice."

Loghain's eyes fluttered open. He had fallen asleep somehow. Maude was curled up in the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, fingers brushing through the hair on his chest.

"I hope that's what you really wanted," he rumbled, floating between consciousness and euphoria, "because I'm not taking it back."

She rubbed her nose against him. "Yes, it's what I really wanted. I never did that before. I hope I wasn't too inept. I mean, I didn't really know much about what men really like…"

"You do now."

"A bit. I'm sure you have lots more instruction for me."

"I'm sure we don't have lots more time." He breathed deeply, feeling very, very good. "You want to know what a woman does to stir a man?"

"Oh, yes! Certainly."

"She shows up."

"Very droll."

"It's true."

"I liked it so much," she murmured. "Let's do it all the time."

"Maude..." The world was back, looming disagreeably in their future, and he sighed. "This could cause real trouble for you, even though 'we are practically married according to ancient Alamarri custom.' You need to be discreet. Do you understand me?"

She rose up on her elbow and cupped her chin, studying him thoughtfully. "I suppose, although actually according to ancient Alamarri custom we are now completely and indisputably married. I know, I know. Alistair would be very angry, and Wynne would probably curse us."

"And they're not the only ones. This must be a secret. Can you manage that?"

She scoffed. "People usually believe what I want them to believe. I promise to be a good girl on the march to Denerim."

"And be a good girl when we face the Archdemon, too. Don't be in a hurry to die."

"We're not going to die," she told him with absolute conviction, delicately running her fingertip the length of his nose.

"What? Never?" Loghain huffed a laugh at that. "Would you really want to live forever?"

"I don't know," the girl said, thinking it over with a serious smile. "I suppose it depends on how much fun I'm having."

A big thank you once again to my reviewers: Shakespira, Alpha Cucumber, Amhran Comhrac, Lehni, Shikyo-sama, Nithu, Aoihand, Angurvddel, Piceron, Eva Galan, Enaid Aderyn, Crazy lemon, papillon2, mutive, Winchime68, Evalyne, Sarah1281, bioncafemme, HollyIsMyName, Chatoyant Tiger, mille libri, Costin, MoralityOduality, fussycat, wisecraknmama, and icey cold. I can't tell you how much your support means to me!

Yes, I know. Old movie geek, that I am, I used a bit of Casablanca in the last chapter, and a bit of To Have and Have Not in this one. Bogart was substantially older than Bacall, too. I hope you enjoyed my characters staging an intervention for Morrigan.

Those who love Monty Python will know where I got the title from. 'Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more.'

Next up: An Awfully Big Adventure