Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: Oops, I M'ed it again.

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: Like Loghain, I am not afraid of spiders. I even admire them, as a beautiful bit of natural engineering perfectly designed for the niche they fill. But they are repulsive and I can't stand to look at them - the ones in DAO were bad, the ones in DAII were almost too friggin' realistic, and the first time Merrill shocked one of the really big ones with Horror I nearly threw up. In all, I'd have to say good job to the animators.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: And When I Woke Up, My Halla Was Gone!

After three weeks in the Blighted Ferelden Valley, trudging days through soul-sucking blackness, then experiencing the life-affirming lift of watching it live and breathe again, and between times battling hordes of giant spiders and the occasional (thankfully immature) dragon, the little hot spring came as a welcome relief to all of them. Loghain in particular was happy to see it because it meant they were well into the Hinterlands and the Southron Hills, which meant they were nearing the end of the Blightlands. They'd used rather little of the precious store of ashes, and the bag appeared completely undepleted. In celebration, he allowed the party to rest and recuperate in this salubrious spot an extra day.

Thanks to the return of the grasses and the slaughter of the spiders and dragons, animals also were slowly creeping back into the formerly corrupted lands. Rabbits came first, tentative, hungry for green, followed by deer. It kept the party eating quite well, and Loghain wished they'd ridden horses after all. They would have cut down on travel time nicely, could have eaten their fill of the fresh-grown grass, and he and Elilia could have been back in Denerim by Harvestmere after all. Oh well, if wishes were horses then dwarves would ride.

Very much to his surprise, he found that he rather liked the dwarves. Laz was pleased to call herself a "gritty little bitch," and he couldn't help but agree with her assessment - and her opinion that a "gritty little bitch" was a good thing to be. Varric was…well, he was as tricky and slick as a Wicked Grace dealer but he was also deeply pragmatic, which went a long way toward making up for other deficiencies in his character, such as the continual jesting, gabbing, and storytelling. And he did make the evening campfire a lively affair with his wild yarns.

And they were both good to have at your back in a fight. While not as swift as other masters of stealth and dual-weapons fighting, Laz was still a diminutive whirlwind and utterly without fear. Her strength was far greater than that of most dexterity-and-cunning experts, and her two waraxes sliced through most foes as easily as a knife sliced bread. The scars of her encounter with the mature dragon were mostly faded and her eyebrows had even begun to grow back, and she was actually rather unhappy about that. "I hoped I'd have a bitchin' gnarly scar to show off, but what the hell." Varric wasn't as forward in battle, but he and Bianca were a force to be reckoned with. In all, Loghain was rather glad they'd "accidentally" joined forces. Not that he wasn't still going to keep a particularly close eye on the "purveyor of information."

Two days before they found the hot spring, the party happened upon a particularly vicious nest of spiders. After slaughtering the first wave it seemed they were home free, but then boiling up from a deep hole in the ground arose a monster, a spider larger than a dray horse, followed by a couple of genlocks of unusually ragged appearance even for darkspawn. And Loghain, who had faced down an Archdemon without blinking, was so revolted by the enormous arachnid that he actually hesitated. The spider lunged for him and its gigantic fangs might well have ended him then and there had Seanna not cast a quick spell of horrific despair over the creature, paralyzing it in a paroxysm of terror. This was not actually much of a help, since the creature's quivering legs, rigid mandibles, and ear-splitting shriek of horror was altogether more hideous than its usual aspect, but Loghain swallowed his reaction and plunged his blade into one of the largest of the creature's eight eyes. Elilia's greatsword ended the creature, while Laz and Varric swiftly brought down the genlocks. It was a fast victory, and no one was injured, but it was a disgusting upset all the same.

"You're scared of spiders," Varric pointed out wonderingly, as Loghain did his best to clean the filth off his sword.

"I most certainly am not," Loghain retorted indignantly.

"You most certainly are." The dwarf chuckled. "It's a good thing for you that you weren't with Hawke and me back in Kirkwall. Some of the spiders we killed in the caves around Sundermount or in the Deep Roads were big enough to make that little guy shit himself."

"I am not scared of spiders," Loghain insisted. "I happen to find them utterly repugnant, but that's not the same thing. For instance, I happen to find you utterly repugnant as well. But I am most definitely not afraid of you."

Champion chose that moment to bound over to him, tail wagging so vigorously that her entire rump swayed back and forth, carrying in her jaws a gnawed-off leg of the spider. She crouched down on her front legs in her "play with me" gesture, and Loghain blanched at the sight of the hairy appendage, still oozing dark green ichor. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and managed to speak sternly.

"Absolutely not. No, don't give me that look - if you want to play fetch, then you go and find yourself a proper stick. I am not throwing that thing."

Varric chuffed a deep, chesty rumble of laughter, and made it a point from then on to throw many sticks for Champion, with a leer at Loghain each time. Loghain ignored the jibes as best he could. The dwarf could think what he wanted: he was not afraid of spiders, he was only disgusted by them, and the size of the thing had taken him off-guard. If he should happen upon another so-outsized arachnid, Maker forfend, he wouldn't hesitate.

Still, he was probably more grateful than any of them to happen upon the hot spring. In its steaming mineral waters he could soak away the long, hard road and more importantly still, wash away the deep shuddering revulsion that gripped him every time he thought about that enormous spider. While the heat eased tense muscles his tense mind relaxed at last as well, and the memory was washed away until it was finally faded enough to be viewed in its proper perspective. Revolting or not, those spiders were a menace, and could not be allowed to thrive as they were doing. He would recommend patrols of soldiers on extermination missions, once matters with Orlais were settled.

They all took their turns soaking in the hot spring over the day and a half they spent lounging there, and it did them all a great service. Late on the second night, when the others were lazing off their dinner in the warmth of the fire, Loghain took the opportunity for a private bath.

Submerged to his shoulders in the steam-obscured waters, he allowed himself to doze lightly. In the morning they would set off again, and leave this pleasant spot behind for the marshes of the Wilds, never particularly pleasant even when they weren't Blighted. They could leave the great southern forest to rot, and the rest of Ferelden would never care, but he knew he couldn't leave the taint to fester and perhaps spread again. He would follow it into the Wilds - all the way to Ostagar, if it came to that - and expunge the corruption from Ferelden's soil once and for all. It would hardly be the first time he'd braved the land other more "civilized" Fereldens feared to tread without an army at their backs.

His mind sank deeper into sleep than he'd intended, and he was startled awake by the sound of someone slipping gently into the water. His eyes flew open, and he was relieved to see that it was Elilia. He'd feared it might be Varric, and he had never been one for the concept of male bonding in a communal bath. That was an Orlesian thing.

"Don't mind if I join you, do you?" she asked, with a slight smile.

"Not in the least," he said. He held out his arm to her and she moved in close to let him embrace her. She rested her head on his shoulder and slipped an arm around his neck while the other hand toyed with his chest hair and the deliciously warm water worked its magic on their aching muscles. In all, it was the sort of luxury he thought he ought to have felt guilty about indulging.

"We're on the edge of the Wilds here, aren't we?" she asked after a moment.

"Pretty much. I reckon we should be out of the hinterlands and fully into Korcari by mid-day tomorrow."

"You know, each time we've planted the ashes, the effect seems to have spread further than the last time."

"So I've noticed."

"Don't you think, perhaps, that we've done enough, then? Surely this last dose has carried far into the Wilds, much further than we would ever go. Why don't we go back to Denerim now?"

He shook his head slowly. "I have to be sure, Elilia."

She pulled back a bit and looked him in the eye, her brow slightly furrowed. "I don't…want to go…back there," she said.

"The witch is dead, dearest."

She shook her head. "No no, although I seriously doubt that. I meant…Ostagar."

His arm tightened around her shoulders. "Was it that bad?"

"I don't know, but…it's in the past, and I'd prefer it stayed there." She could not tell him the things she'd seen when she returned, the hideous mockery the darkspawn had made of King Cailan's eerily preserved corpse. And she did not want him to find out she'd taken the documents from Cailan's personal lockbox. It was hard to say how much evidence remained after so many years, but it was better to stay away, if possible. Alistair had his father's sword, and someday perhaps she could tell Loghain it was safely cached in the Royal Armory, but for now…no, therein dwelt monsters she did not care to confront at present. The reasons for staying away from the ill-fated battleground were as much practical as personal.

"I…suppose I could continue on alone," he said slowly. "At least, I could if any of you were any good at hunting. Laz has never held a bow in her life, and Bianca makes a hellacious amount of noise. And if he actually managed to hit something, the quarrels rip great holes in the meat. Not sure you'd be able to feed yourselves. But you could go to Gwaren and supply yourself there - its only about a three days' trudge away, give or take, and I could leave you with a buck and a brace of rabbits."

She smacked his chest, hard, with an open hand. "You are not going off into the Wilds alone, Ser."

"It wouldn't be the first time," he said. "Well technically I had Maric with me, but at that point in his life there wasn't exactly a lot of difference between traveling with him and traveling alone - except for the utter lack of peace and quiet."

"Absolutely not. Either we all go to Gwaren, or we all continue on. I don't mind going a bit further into the Wilds if we must, but surely we needn't go all the way to Ostagar?" She traced an outline around the muscles in his chest with a deliberately tantalizing finger. "Surely?"

"You minx, are you trying to seduce me into letting you have your own way?"

"Mm, I'm simply employing my powers of persuasion upon the man I intend to marry. If it leads to seduction, so be it."

"Well keep it up, it might be working."

She chuckled and moved to straddle him, which brought much of her body out of the water. A near-full moon hung high overhead, illuminating her pale white skin, glistening wet and lovely. He reached up to her and she leaned into his hands and kissed him deeply. He rubbed lazy circles around her nipples with his thumbs while their tongues exchanged wordless pleasantries. The pleasant tension in his groin became a throbbing ache and he reached down and pressed a finger against her clitoris. Her body arched back spasmodically and she gasped, pushed almost to the point of orgasm just by that simple act. This put him in excellent position to use his mouth on her breasts, which opportunity he did not squander. He kept his fingers active, stroking and teasing, always just on the surface, and she knotted up her fists in his hair, almost completely out of control herself and urging him on.

"Dear Sweet Flaming Andraste, just take me now, dammit!" she gasped out at last.

It was his turn to chuckle then, deep and throaty, and he removed his hand from between her legs and reached up to take her by the wrist. He guided her hand from his hair to below his waist. "At your whim, my lady," he said.

She hesitated a moment, a bit surprised that he would leave the proceedings in her hands, so to speak. Then she blushed, stroked his penis with tenderness in her touch, and guided him into position. She settled herself on him, a smooth motion, a smooth sensation of sudden fullness. Her breath caught, and she sat stock still for a long heartbeat.

Loghain smiled up at her, reading her feelings in her face, perfectly content to let her take all the time she needed to adjust, to enjoy. He could easily lay here all night, admiring the curves of her breasts, the muscles in her arms and stomach, the way she felt from the inside out. Then she shuddered, her head dropped down below the line of her strong shoulders, and her hips began to move; a long, slow motion at first, then with increasing speed and urgency as her need built up inside of her. When in command of the pacing, perhaps because he was too old or just possibly just old enough, Loghain tended to take it slow and steady and draw things out. Elilia, this once at least, was destined to plough straight through to climax in short order. He watched her closely, waiting for that moment, and when he saw the rush overtake her he allowed himself release as well. She collapsed against him, panting and trembling, and he held her.

"I've been thinking," he said at last, slowly, and with a wry grin she could not see as it was hidden in her hair. "I don't think we need to go all the way to Ostagar…"

She burst out laughing and kissed his throat. "Came up with that idea all on your own, did you?"

"Someone or something may have exerted undue influence over me at some point, it's hard to recall precisely."

"Probably blood mages."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Lovely as it is to lay here with you, boiled crab is a great favorite in Gwaren and I'd much rather not be on the menu. I think it's time to get out."

She sighed. "And I suppose we have to be fully attired when we walk back into camp."

"Ha! Unless you really want to give them all such an intimate peek at our personal business."

"They're probably asleep."

"They're never asleep."

"Oh, very well, then." She sighed, laughed, and stretched up to kiss his cheek. Then she pulled back, stared at him fixedly for a moment, and her lips split in a strange grin. She kissed his cheek again, with one hand stroking the other side of his face, and laughed a bit more.

"What?"

"I simply realized how very odd it is that despite being rather a ruggedly masculine, hirsute man, I have never once felt so much as the faintest prickle of stubble on your face. I used to think you must shave twice a day, but I've never seen you shave at all."

She riffled the hair on his chest once, playfully, and climbed out of the hot spring to dry herself and dress, the incident momentary and already very nearly forgotten, but Loghain stayed where he was awhile longer, thinking dark thoughts. He didn't know why his physiology gave him chest hair but no beard, and few people had ever noticed that he remained perfectly clean-shaven despite the fact that he did not, in truth, own a razor, and the possible reason, if reason it was, was something no one needed to know about or speak of. But Elilia - she'd stood right by his shoulder in the Gauntlet, and she'd seen the spirit ape his mother…hadn't she?

She was already out of sight by the time he finally climbed out of the hot spring, and he dressed slowly, lost in thought and unbidden memories. Even if he were not distracted he might still never have noticed the ambush before it was too late. He found himself surrounded by a dozen Dalish elves, bows drawn and pointed directly at his chest.

"Hold, Shemlen," one of them, an older man with graying hair braided back tightly, said. "We mean no harm to you, but our Keeper would speak with you. Come."