Long days, poking through tumbled ruins, finding nothing more interesting than a few painted potsherds, long nights spent stalking contracted victims for the Crows. Time passed slowly one day into the next. Loghain began to fear that he would never convince Maric to come home. The man seemed to be enjoying his freedom from care entirely too much. On one hand, Loghain supposed he could not blame him. The crown was a burden he did not care to shoulder. On the other hand, however, was duty, and duty could never be laid aside so easily.

Loghain didn't understand why, but Githa's advances grew less bold from that day at the first ruin forward. She was still a minxy little tart, but she wasn't so aggressive anymore, and it was easier to confuse her teasing for intent. He had to guard himself carefully against the notion that she was in any way serious. Damn the girl, she could not understand how difficult it was for him to resist those laughing lips and deep brown eyes. He was getting old, but he wasn't dead yet.

As time went on, he began to feel paranoid. There was the sense, now and again, that he was being watched. It wasn't anything to do with Githa's constant flirtation, or at least he was fairly certain it was not, and he did not think that the Duenna was involved, or any of her many female agents. He started laying traps and ambushes whenever he went out, but it all came to nothing. Maric looked at him as if he were crazy, and he began to wonder if Maric weren't right.

"You've been kind of jumpy lately," Githa told him. "What's the matter?"

Maybe he should explain, but something, perhaps the fear of looking foolish, kept his mouth shut tight. He refrained from answering, and she let the subject by.

But there was another subject she would not let by, and he continued to suffer beneath her teasing attentions. If he turned around, he bumped into her. If he reached out his hand for something she would reach for it too, so that their hands touched. In all it was more physical contact than he'd experienced in all the years together since Celia died. It was exciting, but not in a good way, not when he knew nothing would come of it. He did not understand why she wouldn't leave him alone.

And then one day, shortly after they'd exhausted the last of the Tevinter ruins and Loghain began to wonder whether he should or should not speak regarding the availability of elven blood, she cornered him at the bordello and asked him outright whether or not he was at all interested in her.

He stared at her, flummoxed, until it dawned on him that she was waiting for some sort of response. He gave the only one he could think of.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I feel like I'm wasting my time. Are you interested in me, or not? Because if you aren't and could never be, tell me, so I don't waste any more effort and maybe go breaking my heart."

"Breaking your heart?" It still wasn't sinking in. He shook his head vigorously, as if to dislodge an errant thought. "Are you saying that all this…touching…all this flirting…is serious?"

"You honestly thought it wasn't? What sort of girl do you take me for?"

"I thought you were a tease."

"Oh, I am. But I never tease cruelly. If I offered to sleep with someone and didn't intend for them to take me up on it that would be cruel, wouldn't it? I don't do cruel. Not intentionally, at least. I guess it was cruel if that's the way you took it."

"Why would you…want to flirt with me?"

"Why wouldn't I? Big, strong, intelligent, attractive…and sweetly bashful. And evidently unable to see many of those qualities in yourself."

"I'm a killer. You know that."

"A lot of people are killers. It's a rough world we live in. I try not to make judgments, particularly when I don't know the particulars. But I know one thing: you're a soldier. That's a dirty job, but a necessary one."

"It goes a bit beyond that."

"Maybe so. You're the right-hand man of a King. I can imagine your work gets very dirty indeed. But whatever it is you do, I don't think it's what defines you. Unless I'm wrong. Maybe you kill for the fun of it, or the rush of power you feel when you do it. Do you?"

Mutely, he shook his head.

"Then I'm not going to let it be what defines how I feel about you," she said. "Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I should be afraid of you. But I'm not. So I ask you again: do you have any interest in me at all?"

His cheeks turned brilliant red. "You're lovely," he mumbled, "but I don't know…I'm not really ready to…'take an interest'…in a woman."

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not even going to ask you to sleep with me. Not if you're not ready for that. I'm just asking you to keep me in mind for when you are ready."

"I suppose…if you really mean it…I could do that," he said.

She smiled up at him and took his hand. "Good."

Maric sidled up to him and spoke indirectly to him. "You and Githa have been…closer…lately."

"It's none of your business, Maric."

"I saw you, holding hands," Maric said, in a singsong voice. "You looked very cozy."

"Githa is a…warm…young woman."

Maric's chuckle turned into a chesty rumble of laughter. "I imagine."

"That's not what I mean." Loghain glared at his old friend. "Nothing has happened between us. She understands that I'm not ready to pursue an intimate relationship at this time."

"Not ready? Maker's ass, Loghain, then when? Celia's been gone for five years."

"Six," Loghain said quietly, "come Summerday."

"My point exactly," Maric said, but he said it gently. "She's gone, Loghain, but you're not. You loved her, and to some extent you always will, but you can't mourn her forever. You need someone."

"Maybe so. But I'm not ready. Maybe…once I know Githa better…"

"Well, that's more like it. Get to know her better. I think she's a good woman. She'd be good for you."

"I'm not promising anything. To her or you."

"Not asking you to promise anything more than to make the attempt," Maric said. "Don't keep yourself closed off forever. You alone is not a happy picture."