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The biting Wintermarch air and the sharp tongues of pugnacious noblemen had left the Teyrn of Gwaren in a particularly foul mood that night—which admittedly was not much of a detriment to his disposition, considering the fact that Denerim always kept his nerves in a constant state of quietly smoldering fury. Still, he’d managed to retain some small hope when he at last made it back to his estate that his ever darkening scowl might finally make a dent in his housemaid’s endless chatter. It hadn’t, of course. It never did, if he was being completely honest with himself. So, resigning to his fate, he attended to her inquiries on the day’s events and servile duties with as much deliberation as his pounding head would allow.
“By the by, m’lord,” she babbled, following him to the entrance hall’s writing desk where his letters from the day would be stored. “Lady Moira said she’d wait for you in your study. Course she’s probably gone to bed by now, but I thought I‘d let you know anyhow, just in case.”
This at last caught his attention. Bryce’s daughter, Moira Cousland, had been staying with Loghain at his small estate in Denerim while she studied politics from one of the palace’s ambassadors. As the Couslands only daughter, she was, after all, expected to marry well and thus necessitated that she learn the subtleties of foreign relations, something Highever was sorely lacking. Loghain had gladly offered up his own residency when Bryce mentioned the quandary in passing one day. He would be in Denerim anyways and the occasional dinner at Castle Cousland had cemented his opinion that Moira was sensible beyond her twenty-two years, and could manage herself well-enough without his constant supervision. So a month ago she arrived and had since become an unlikely companion during the cold winter evenings.
It wasn’t often that the girl waited for his return (she had quickly learned that the Teyrn was very much so affixed to an unpredictable schedule), but if Moira Cousland had said she’d wait for him, then undoubtedly she would be up there in his study still, so stubborn was the girl that even if her eyes closed from sheer exhaustion she’d merely pinch herself awake until her arm bruised. Better, then, that he at least check the room on his way to bed rather than find she’d stayed there the entire night in this horrid weather. Letting out a small, weary sigh, Loghain nodded at his housemaid. “Thank you, Gheyna,” he said courteously and then turned towards the stairs.
“And ser!”
Loghain glanced back at the elderly woman.
“I’m afraid she’s had a bit to drink, ser.”
Brow cocked in curiosity, the Teyrn merely nodded his head in acknowledgement of this and then made his way to the second floor. It did not take him long to reach his study (the estate was a simple one, naturally, given that he’d always felt himself more commoner than aristocrat) so a mere few moments after his housemaid had warned him of his ward’s state was he to witness the mess for himself. Pushing open the already cracked door, he had only to take a single step into the room before there was a shout of “Teyrn Loghain!” and he nearly fell backwards as something collided into him. Looking down at the giggling mass of curls and velvet cloth that had wound its arms around his torso, Loghain’s curiosity become replaced by suspicion.
“Moira?”
“Oh, this is better. My head was spinning and I didn’t think it was ever going to stop,” she sighed, nuzzling her head against his neck. The Teyrn could keenly feel the heat rising to his cheeks, but more than that, he was unsettled by the pungent odor of alcohol that issued from the girl.
“Maker’s bl—are you drunk?” he questioned, taking in her disheveled appearance with a critical eye. The girl’s head abruptly jolted back in indignation and she might have tumbled backwards too had he not caught her by the waist to steady her.
“This just so happens to be your fault!” She argued, shooting him a pointed glare as she jabbed his chest with an accusatory finger.
“And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” he asked wearily. Maker, Bryce was going to kill him if he ever learned Loghain had allowed the girl to drink herself into this state.
She huffed in aggravation. “Because you were supposed to be here! That pompous fellow Duke Odhagan stopped by claiming that he’d wait until you got back so I had entertain him in the meanwhile, but he kept insisting that we drink together and I couldn’t just ask to him to stop because then he’d start spreading all sorts of nasty rumors that “the Teyrn of Gwaren is so inhospitable!” and so I kept having to drink until I couldn’t even see straight anymore and then he left anyways and you never showed up and—.” Moira stopped and squeezed her eyes shut tight. “Oh, my head is spinning again…,” she murmured, clutching to the front of his doublet as she laid her head against his shoulder.
Loghain let out an irritated sigh. He was going to kill that man the next time he saw him. At such a young age, Moira had an enormous reputation to uphold while in Denerim. Not only was she the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, but she was currently housed under his protection, that of the only other Teyrn in the damn country. For that pompous, conceited, drunk of a Free Marcher to actually pressure her into drinking past her limits when he damn well should have just left Loghain’s bloody estate once he learned that the Teyrn was gone was enough to make the his blood boil.
“Have I made you angry?”
Face angled slightly upwards so her olive eyes held his own, the sound of Moira’s meek voice broke him out of his pensiveness. With a start, he realized that she must have thought his vexed expression aimed at her.
“No, you haven’t made me angry, Moira,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She bit her bottom lip.
“I truly didn’t want to drink that much, Teyrn Loghain,” she insisted, voice terse, head bowed in shame as if she had done something unworthy of her station. “But I figured that you’d home soon and I’d only need to keep him entertained for a little while yet. Didn’t you tell me that you’d be back by this evening?”
That stuck an unexpected blow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Loghain could recall Celia once complaining about something of similar nature, of empty words and extended absences that only seemed to worsen as the years went by. But that was a thought for another time. Swallowing the old scars that burned his throat like bile, the Teyrn wrapped what he hoped to be a comforting arm around the girl’s quivering shoulders.
“I did mean to be back by before sundown, but Cailan needed me at the palace,” he explained, but even so he could feel uncertainty tug at his mind. Had Cailan truly needed him for this long or was it merely some excuse his mind concocted? Loghain sighed. “I should have been here. I apologize,” he murmured into her tawny hair. “Next time someone insists on waiting for me, just kick them out. I couldn’t give half a whit what men like Odhagan think of me.”
She suddenly looked up at him again, tears gone and abruptly replaced by annoyed pout that made Loghain’s brows knit together in confusion. “I’m pretty sure that’s why half of Denerim wants you dead at this point.” When he gave her an incredulous look, Moira crinkled her nose in response. “Well, it’s true!” she continued. “As the commander of the army, your every action reflects upon King Cailan, and as an extension, the whole of Ferelden, but despite all that you go off and offend all of Thedas by breakfast! If I hadn’t smoothed things over with the Duke, we might have had to add Wycome to the ever growing list a nations that want absolutely nothing to do with you. I swear, Gwaren would be the first place to go if Ferelden was ever attacked, just out of sheer spite.”
Ruminations forgotten, Loghain nearly burst out laughing at this abrupt onslaught by a girl who was more than half his age. As uncivil as the declaration had been, he had to admit that it was a highly accurate description of the man’s half-hearted foray into politics ever since Maric had insisted on turning the Teyrnir of Gwaren over to him. It really should not have surprised that his…less-than-courteous methods of dealing with nobles had not been lost upon her. Still, to actually find himself being lectured by his friend’s daughter was something that amused Loghain, especially after a night like tonight when he’d likely managed to alienate three-fourths of Denerim’s nobility.
“I thank you for defending my honor, Lady Cousland,” Loghain replied at length, lips momentarily twitching into a smirk. “But as a strategist by trade, I would advise you give up on the occupation entirely. It’s a brutal business, so I’ve been told. Utterly hopeless.” Ignoring the girl’s grumblings about “teyrns” and “pig-headed mabari”, he give her shoulder a single affectionate squeeze. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“But I’m not tired. I couldn’t possibly sleep yet,” she huffed.
“Well I think you ought to try nonetheless. As it is, I doubt we’ll be able to get through breakfast tomorrow without you blushing at least once from embarrassment,” he replied crisply. “Grasp my neck, now. I’ll take you to your room.”
Once she had wrapped her arms securely around his neck, he lifted her off the ground and took a step back out into the hall. Even such a small movement had Moira groaning in protest. Concerned her stomach might not be able to handle the trek, he instead stepped back inside his study and brought her over to a nearby couch. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as a bed of course, but then, she was so inebriated that he doubted a sore back would be her greatest concern when she awoke the next morning. However, upon attempting to place her on it, Loghain found the girl merely clutched him tighter. He groaned in exasperation.
“Moira, let go of me and sleep,” he ordered, attempting to pry the girl’s hands from his neck. She peeked around the room.
“These aren’t my quarters,” she pointed out, brows furrowed and nose crinkled as she stared at him with accusingly.
“Observant as always, madam, but just sleep here for tonight. I’d rather not get vomit on my clothes.”
“Ah, I’m quite drunk, aren’t I?” she mumbled, some small spark of understanding seeming to break through the muddled look in her eyes.
“Very.”
“Is that why I feel dizzy when I see you then?”
He smirked in response. “Yes, alcohol has that effect. You’ve nearly fallen more than once tonight.”
“I suppose I’d better sleep it off then, shouldn’t I?”
"A sound strategy,” he agreed. She nodded.
“Goodnight then, Teyrn Loghain,” the girl smiled groggily and then brought her face close to his. If she’d meant to merely give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, she failed spectacularly. Moira had instead landed somewhere at the corner of his mouth, a sloppy mixture of skin and lip that was nevertheless enough to send a shockwave coursing down the Teyrn’s spine. With a faint blush coloring his cheeks, he merely watched in stunned silence as she collapsed down onto the couch and promptly fell asleep.
It took him a few moments to shake off the stupor that had paralyzed his mind, to step out of his study and away from the girl sleeping peacefully on the couch, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them. But once he had, once he had finally reached the safety of his secluded room, Loghain allowed himself to let out a distressed huff of laughter. How the girl could manage to rekindle a sentiment that he had long since thought snuffed out—first by Rowan and later again by Celia—in a single, delirious act was utterly bewildering to him.
“Maker’s blood, Bryce is going to kill me for sure….”