by David Gaider
But she did, didn’t she? As Rowan stared at him, it occurred to him that she had not complained about their betrothal for many years. And he couldn’t claim ignorance, not really. If he truly didn’t know how she felt, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to tell her about Katriel, would it?
“Rowan,” he said gravely. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
“I know.”
“Tell her what?” Loghain asked, looking as if he had swallowed something sour. He looked from Maric to Rowan and back . . . and then his face became still. Very slowly, he turned and looked at Rowan, his eyes pained. “Ah,” was all he said.
“I don’t know what to say,” Maric pleaded quietly. “I never thought . . . I mean, we never talked about this, not for years. We were always at war, I didn’t think—”
“Stop,” Rowan said calmly. “This isn’t the place to talk about it.”
“But . . .”
Her eyes met Maric’s. “Just tell me one thing: Did it continue? Past that first night?”
Maric felt helpless. He had never wanted to hurt Rowan, but it had already been done. There was nothing he could say to make it better. “Yes,” he said helplessly.
Rowan nodded slowly. Loghain turned and looked at Maric in surprise. “Maker’s breath, man! Do you love her?”
Maric flinched. Far better for Loghain to have taken a knife and stabbed it into his back. Rowan stared down at the ground, but Maric knew she was listening intently. He took a deep breath and exhaled raggedly. “Yes,” he said, “I think I do.”
Even if Rowan had expected the answer, Maric could tell it still hurt her. She avoided looking at him, her face hard as stone. He felt cruel. Loghain stared at him in disbelief.
Maric took a deep breath.
“I’ll end it,” he said quietly. He looked up at Rowan, his jaw set and his expression firm. “I never wanted to hurt you, Rowan. I should have known better. You are important to me, you have to know that. If this is how you feel, then I’ll end it. Katriel and I are through.”
There was a long and awkward pause. The silence in the caverns loomed larger, and for a moment Maric wished for the sound of wind, the cries of birds far overhead, even the clicking sounds of the spiders. Anything but the wall of silence.
Finally Rowan looked at him, her expression hard. “No. That’s not what I want.”
“But—”
“What I want,” she insisted icily, “is for you to listen to what we’re saying. How do you explain these inconsistencies about Katriel?”
Maric sighed. He stared at Rowan, wanting to talk about anything else, but she was determined. “She’s an elf,” he stated helplessly, “and she’s an extraordinary woman, one with skills that we should be thankful for. She saved all of our lives, if you’ve forgotten.” He stopped and looked at the two of them reproachfully. “And even if I agreed with these suspicions of yours, do you really think I could just leave her down here? Nobody deserves that fate.”
Loghain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should question her, then, see if she—”
“No. Enough, both of you.”
Loghain and Rowan exchanged looks again, reluctantly nodding. They didn’t like it, but they clearly hadn’t been all that committed to just leaving Katriel behind, either. Maric wasn’t certain why they thought he might agree to it. The thought of leaving anyone down in this spider-infested blackness made his skin crawl.
“Rowan,” Maric began, “maybe we should talk, go and—”
She stood up quickly, brushing the black soot off her armored legs. “There’s no need,” she said coldly. “I get it. You love her. I just wish you had told me. I could have released you from any obligation you might have felt.”
There was nothing Maric could say to that. She collected the pack, pointedly ignoring him. “I’m going to try to wash up a bit. Excuse me.” Without looking back, she marched off to the dark recesses in the back of the chamber.
Loghain shot Maric a look that had “you are an idiot” written all over it. “Take care of the fire. Give us a shout if Katriel wakes up.” Then he followed after Rowan.
Maric sighed, leaning back on his elbows and wincing as the uneven rocks behind him jutted into his back. At some point, everything had gone wrong. His plan had been a failure, he’d gotten most of his army and Rowan’s father killed, and he’d betrayed Rowan’s trust. Perhaps even Loghain was angry at him now. And he didn’t know if any of it was fixable. Even if they managed to get through these tunnels somehow and reached Gwaren in time, would it be just to see the remnants of the rebel army be crushed once and for all? Did he really want to be present for that?
But why were they taking out their anger on Katriel? He just couldn’t get it. He could understand Rowan, maybe. He had sensed tension between her and Katriel previously, and now it made sense why it had been there. But Loghain? Loghain was normally a sensible man. Why would he express baseless suspicions? Why would he urge Maric to abandon Katriel here? It made no sense that she was here to harm them. She’d had every opportunity to do so—why would she help them first?
He stared into the flickering campfire, slowly becoming mesmerized by the flames as they consumed the wood. The fire was slowly ebbing, and he knew he should tend to it, add some more fuel, but he found he preferred the shadows as they crept closer. He preferred the chill in the air. The thought that there could be spiders crawling closer seemed unreal, somehow.
“You are right,” came a quiet voice nearby.
Maric turned over to see Katriel’s eyes opened. She slowly sat up, her green eyes looking distant and sad. For a moment, she looked around at the ruined chamber, at the dome above and the rubble, satisfying whatever curiosity she felt about their location.
“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, crawling quickly over toward her. He took her hand and helped her move by the fire. “How do you feel? Does it hurt?”
She seemed glad to be near the fire, and turned her head awkwardly to study the large bandage on her shoulder. “It’s throbbing, a bit.” Her tone was unconcerned. She looked back at Maric, her expression nervous. “Did you hear what I said?”
“You said I was right. I don’t hear that very often.”
“I was listening,” she began, staring into the fire glumly. “And you are right. We should not be together.”
“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 preten
d 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.”
“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.”
With that, Loghain started to silently move away. She quickly turned and reached out with her hand, grabbing his forearm. He froze.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean—”
“Stay.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m not him,” he finally muttered, bitterness in his voice.
She took his hand and brought it slowly up to her face. His fingers cradled her cheek gently, fearfully, almost as if he expected she would vanish into a dream. Then he rushed forward, snatching her up in his arms and kissing her with an urgency that almost overwhelmed her.
He was burning hot in the chill cavern, and when their lips parted, he halted once more, holding her there fearfully, as if they stood on a precipice. Rowan reached up and gently touched his cheek as he had, and was surprised to feel tears there. “I don’t want him,” she whispered, and realized it was true. “I’ve been a fool.”
And then Loghain leaned in and kissed Rowan again, slower this time. He laid her gingerly down on the rocks by a magical stream in a forgotten ruin with darkness all around them, and it was perfect.
14
Katriel awoke to darkness. There was a moment of terror when she had no idea where she was, and the thought of being strung up in some giant spider’s cocoon almost overwhelmed her. It seemed as if there was no air, that she woul
d suffocate wrapped up in spider silk and left to go mad as she felt unseen legs skittering over her flesh. Then she calmed herself as she realized that the only thing surrounding her were Maric’s arms.
He slept, curled into her as he held her protectively. She could hear his soft breathing against her neck, feel the beating of his heart through his chest. It was a comforting feeling, and Katriel relaxed and let her heart slow. It was seductive, the idea that they might be able to lie there in the shadows forever, that she would never need to tell Maric who she really was. The fact that they weren’t actually safe, that the giant spiders were undoubtedly still out there, was somehow easier to ignore when she was in his arms.
The spiders did not appear, but by the time they all began to stir, the faint clicking sounds had returned. Katriel shivered and fumbled about until she was able to light the campfire again, and this drew Loghain from the dark recesses at the back of the chamber where the water was. He emerged, the flickering firelight revealing his bare chest as well as her own lack of covering, Maric stirring beside her. Their eyes met, and then they looked away and began donning their armor.
When Maric awoke, he smiled warmly at Katriel and brushed his hand across her cheek. She clutched at that hand and held it there. All the things that were unsaid seemed like they were now forever beyond saying. It was too late.
None of them said anything, nor acknowledged what had happened during the night, if indeed night it was. It was as dark as when they had slept, the gloom around them as oppressive. All of them seemed much more interested in moving quickly than in talking, and quietly they packed up what little they had and left the camp. They needed to move fast if they were going to avoid another encounter.
Torches held aloft, they moved through the narrower paths between the remnants of the old buildings, stepping carefully among the ancient rubble. The shadows flickered around them, and each time they heard the distant clicking sounds, they stopped and warily stared into the darkness, waiting with swords ready for the spiders to rush out at them.