The Stolen Throne

In such situations, Loghain never once treated her as if she required saving or any sort of special protection. He expected her sword arm to be as strong as his own, and she made sure it was.

Once they had been in an area for too long, they usually moved on quickly, often chased by agents of one nobleman or another. There seemed to be no shortage of those who were willing to sell out their rightful ruler, especially when it seemed the usurper had all but won.

Occasionally, Rowan’s heartfelt pleas would find a ready audience among banns whose fortunes had dwindled and who remembered better days. The Orlesians had taken a harsh toll on the Bannorn, their taxes plundering the countryside as surely as any army. Fear, however, made many hesitant to consider helping the rebels, especially when they might be a lost cause. Too many graphic examples had been made by the usurper; rotting carcasses hung in cages at nearly every fork in the road, glaring examples of Imperial justice.

Still, the will of the Fereldan people was not completely broken, and Rowan and Loghain saw evidence of their stubbornness and independence during those months of traveling the heartland. Men with little more than rags on their backs and skin on their bones would listen as Loghain told them of Prince Maric’s survival, and their eyes would shine with a fierce determination, a hope that perhaps not all was lost. Old men would spit angrily into tavern fireplaces and speak of the days when Maric’s grandfather still ruled, of the great war with Orlais and the bitter defeat that followed. Those listening in the flickering shadows would nod their heads grimly, and one or two would quietly approach Rowan and Loghain afterwards.

The belligerence Rowan remembered from first meeting Loghain gradually vanished, though she was not quite certain why, and was replaced by something that varied between gentlemanly courtesy and indifference. Loghain was quiet to begin with, but just as Rowan believed he was warming toward her, he would promptly cool.

In fact, the only time Loghain said anything to her of real significance came on an evening in the middle of winter. They were camping in the woods to avoid a pair of bounty hunters that Rowan was certain had been hired by Bann Ceorlic, both of them huddled on opposite sides of the tiny campfire, shivering in their woolen blankets. Their breath came out in white plumes and Rowan considered once again asking for the fire to be built up. Undoubtedly Loghain’s response would be a stern frown. It would give away their position, she knew that. But freezing to death simply didn’t seem like a helpful alternative.

Rowan glanced across the fire then and realized that Loghain was staring at her. He said nothing, and the intensity in those icy blue eyes made her heart skip. She looked away quickly, wrapping the blanket around her more tightly as she shuddered. How long had he been staring at her so quietly?

“I haven’t thanked you,” he stated.

She looked up, confused. “Thanked me?”

“Back at the battle, you rode to my rescue.” He smiled grimly. “Quite literally, in fact.”

“There’s no need to—”

“There is,” he cut her off. She watched with fascination as he took a deep breath and then stared straight into her eyes, as if he wanted to be certain she understood his sincerity. “I know what you did, and I’m grateful. I should have told you so before.”

The cold went away.

Loghain nodded curtly, having made his peace, and quietly turned his attention back to the fire. He went back to warming himself like nothing had happened, and she had no idea what to say in response. So she had said nothing.

In the end it made little difference, for they had much to do during the months they were on the road. Often they struggled just to stay alive. Rowan preferred traveling companions who were more personable, perhaps, but she could not deny that Loghain’s competence saved her from real trouble many times over. If he had ever owed her anything for her defying her father, he repaid it with interest. She could see why Maric was so keen on him.

Maric, meanwhile, was also spending months on the road. Throughout the winter he traveled secretly with the mage, Wilhelm, and a small honor guard to visit nobles who had been friendly to the rebels previously. He went to remind them that the rebellion was not over, and to urge them to consider throwing their lot in with the army.

The lesson of his mother’s death was still fresh in his mind, of course. He never trusted his safety to any of these men and women, despite their past associations. Times were desperate, and if the Queen could be fooled into thinking men like Bann Ceorlic were genuine, then so could he. Every meeting was a carefully arranged affair, the ill-tempered mage fretting right up until it took place. On the few occasions that one of the nobles tried to ambush him, the sudden appearance of Wilhelm’s stone golem made short work of the attackers.