The Stolen Throne

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.”

“He needs you, not me.”

“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.”