“No, don’t listen to me,” he protested.
“You should listen to your friends.” Katriel looked at him, the dim fire shrouding her delicate face in shadows. She spoke with sad resignation. “Why do you defend me, Your High—Maric? You know nothing about me. Yet you keep defending me against your friends, against your countrymen. . . . You need to stop.” She seemed actually concerned, emphatically placing a soft hand atop his. “You need to stop defending me. Please.”
Maric took her hand in his, rubbing it tenderly. He found it amazing how even half covered in soot, she still felt softer than anything he had ever known. He smiled at her ruefully. “I can’t do that. Just because you’re an elf, they can’t say those things about you. I know they’re not true.”
“It is not because I am an elf.”
“A stranger, then. Or a woman. A woman I happen to love.”
The word seemed painful to her, and she turned her head away from him, on the verge of tears. “You really are a fool,” she muttered. “How can you say such a thing to someone you have known such a short time?”
He reached up and gently took her chin in his hand, turning her head back into the light. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, I know you,” he whispered to her. “I may not know what you’ve done or where you’ve been, but I see who you are. I know that you’re a good person, and worthy of love.” He reached up with his thumb and wiped away a tear on her cheek. “How is it that you don’t know that?”
She cast her eyes down and reached up with a hand to remove his hand from her cheek. For a moment it looked as if sobs would overwhelm her, but she choked back more tears. “I am not who I pretend to be,” she confessed.
“Neither am I,” he replied.
Katriel looked up at him, her confusion genuine.
Maric chuckled ruefully. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been pretending to be a prince? To be this man that everyone looks up to? Someone that they’d be willing to fight for? To put on the throne?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Can you imagine if they succeeded? The joke would’ve been on them, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better it ended this way.”
Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she meant to speak, but no words came out. Finally she sighed in resignation. “It hasn’t ended,” she said quietly. “There is always something that can be done. Always.”
“See?” He smiled. “This is why I like you so much.”
She smiled back, but it was melancholy. Her strange elven eyes searched his, looking for . . . what? He couldn’t tell. “Maric—” She took a breath. “—you should know—”
“I know,” he cut her off, “everything I need to know. I don’t care who you were. I care who you are now.”
Katriel blinked back new tears, unsure how to respond.
“And I care whether or not you think you could love me.”
She nodded, letting the tears finally come with a sad, bitter laugh. “More than I should. You’ll be the death of me, my prince, I swear it.”
“‘My prince’? I like the sound of that much better than ‘Your Highness.’ ” He reached up and took her chin in his hand again and leaned in closer. “At least when you say it,” he breathed.
And then he kissed her. And she relented at last.
Rowan sat in the dark, at the far end of the chamber. It was well out of sight of the campfire, though the ambient glow still allowed for the faintest bit of light to reach her. She didn’t mind the darkness. She found it comforting, even with the thought that one of the spiders could sneak up on her where she sat. A small part of her welcomed the chance. Let it come.
She had removed much of the armor on her upper body, each plate unfastened by the sense of touch alone, and now she was dipping a cloth in the stream and wiping it clean. The water from the urn had slowly carved a channel here over the years, a channel full of fresh flowing water that continued on outside the building. It would be impossible to tell how far it went without bringing a torch to see, but there was little point. A torch might only draw trouble.
She didn’t really need to clean her armor, despite the uncomfortable gritty feeling it had now. She had just needed to get away, to be by herself. The tears had been few, but she didn’t want Maric to see them. He didn’t deserve to see them.
She heard Loghain approach before she saw any hint of him in the ambient light. He was being quiet, tentative. Perhaps he didn’t want to disturb her, but intended instead to watch over her and ensure her safety. It would be just like him.
“I hear you,” she complained to the shadows, putting down her wet cloth.
“I’m sorry,” he responded quietly. “I can leave, if you like.”
She thought about it. “No,” she said reluctantly. “It’s all right.”
Loghain came closer, settling beside her on the stream bank. She could just barely make him out in the faint light, enough to see that his expression was grave. He ran his fingers absently through the fresh water, making a slight trickling sound.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“I didn’t think you did.”
They were both quiet for a time, and she picked up her cloth again, dipping it in the cold stream. Slowly she wiped the front of her breastplate as Loghain watched her in the darkness. Even now she could feel his eyes on her. They made her nervous. “It would be easier,” she sighed, “if I could simply hate him. After what he’s done, I should be able to, shouldn’t I?”
“He’s a hard man to hate.”
“I miss my father,” Rowan said suddenly. “And I miss the way Maric used to be. It was easier to pretend, once. I didn’t even care about the throne like my father did. Maric’s smile made everything worthwhile, and sometimes I could make believe it was just for me.” Her throat caught on the end, and she stopped. Then she realized what she was saying. “But you don’t need to hear this. I’m sorry.”
Loghain ignored her. “You deserve more than pretend, Rowan.”
“Do I?” She felt the tears come, unbidden, and chuckled at their ridiculousness. Here she was, a warrior and commander of men, and yet every time she turned around, she was dismayed to discover that she was as brittle and weak as she feared. “I’m not sure that I do. Maybe I really do hate that poor elf just because she . . . because she’s the one that caught his eye and not me. All those years I thought we were meant to be, and I was just fooling myself.”
He hesitated for a moment. “He could still change his mind.”
“No,” she said quietly, “I don’t think he could. And I don’t think you do, either.” Then she shrugged. “And it shouldn’t matter. At least he’s happy.”
They sat in the silence, and she began to clean her armor once more. Loghain seemed to be considering something, to the point where she could feel him brooding. “Do you blame him?” he reluctantly asked.
“For all this? No.”
“What about for your father?”
She had to think about that. “No.” Then, with more certainty: “No. We knew what we were doing. I think Father would have approved.”
“I blamed him,” Loghain said, so quietly he was almost whispering. “For my father’s death. For being dumped in our lap, for forcing our hand. I wanted to hate him, too; you’re not the only one.” He paused, considering. “But we can’t hate him. And it’s not because we’re weak. It’s because we’re strong. He needs us.”
“You’re wrong,” he whispered gently. A hand reached up to brush a lock of her hair away from her face. “And I hope one day he sees that.”
Rowan shivered. She could feel Loghain sitting right next to her, but she couldn’t see him. She hoped that he couldn’t see her, either. She clutched the breastplate closer to her chest. “Th-there’s nothing to see,” she insisted.
“That’s not true.”
She felt the tears come in force, threatening to turn into sobbing, and she turned her face away from him. “It isn’t?” Her voice betrayed her emotion, and she cursed herself silently in dismay.
“One day,” he said bitterly, “he will see what he had all along. He will see a strong warrior, a beautiful woman, someone who is his equal and worthy of his utter devotion, and he will curse himself for being such a fool.” And then his voice became husky. “Trust me.”
With that, Loghain started to silently move away. She quickly turned and reached out with her hand, grabbing his forearm. He froze.