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He finds Siegfried sitting a little way off from the camp, back turned to the others. Hunched, knees drawn up to her chest. No doubt company is the last thing she wants right now. He gives it to her anyway.
‘Leave me alone, Loghain.’
He sits. ‘Heard you and the crow arguing earlier.’
‘Oh yeah? Did you also hear the part where I told you to leave me alone? This isn’t-’ she stumbles on her words, catches herself. ‘We’re not friends.’
She speaks from a bitter heart. He understands.
‘You’re right. I’m just someone who tried to kill you, and you’re someone who didn’t kill me.’ A pause. ‘I owe you a debt.’
She scoffs; he can hear the tears in her throat. ‘It was a damn sight more complicated than that and you know it.’
‘No, it’s quite simple. Most things are. It’s only ourselves who make it complicated.’
‘If I wanted pithy wisdom I’d go to Wynne,’ Siegfried quips. Then, tired: ‘What are you doing here, Loghain? There’s nothing to talk about, certainly not to you. The Blight is what’s important. Who cares about the rest of it?’
He says nothing. Leans back, looks up at the stars. Finds the constellation Toth, the outstretched arms, the flames.
Then: ‘When I first joined you, as one of your companions, I had no idea what to make of you. Any of you. You were just a group of people who had destroyed everything I had worked for. But you were also Ferelden’s best hope. And as I spent more time in your company, I saw what the others see in you.’
Wryly: ‘I’m afraid to ask.’
‘A leader. A warrior. A friend. It takes great courage to survive what you have seen. Whatever else I may have done, you had my respect from the start.’
She huffs. ‘Had a funny way of showing it.’
He won’t apologise. She knows that.
‘Turned out all right for you in the end,’ he says with a smile. ‘Couldn’t help but be surprised when I joined you and discovered what had happened to my assassin. Who charmed whom, I wonder?’
‘Fuck if I know.’ She laughs wetly. ‘There was a lot of charming.’
They sit in silence for a moment.
In truth, he is out of his depth. But he heard the fight, they all did. And he is the only one with a daughter. He has soothed Anora’s broken heart on more than one occasion. He has been ally and villain to her through the years, stern and compassionate, toed the line between father, mentor, and friend.
And he has made his mistakes. They weigh heaviest of all.
But he would like to think he can be proud of how he raised his daughter. Certainly can be proud of how she grew up, the woman she has become.
Siegfried and Anora are not alike. Where Anora is tempered steel, smooth and sharp and powerful, Siegfried is a raging storm, raw and ragged and wild. But the same passion burns in them. They are both their own lighthouse, surrounded by broken rocks and crashing waves.
They are both girls who are not girls but lions.
And this lion’s fury turned earlier on Zevran. The elf Loghain sent to kill the warden; the elf he later found occupies her bed. Her heart. Or could, if she will let him.
He does not know what happened earlier today. Until now, the two had seemed perfectly synchronised, the sun and moon, push and pull of the tides. He has seen them in battle; they are utterly unstoppable, a deadly whirlwind, not two separate fighters but one pair moving together.
And they are the same in everything, quietly supporting each other, quietly caring for each other. The kind of easy, equal partnership one rarely finds. The kind he himself once had with Celia.
But not tonight. Tonight the whole of Ferelden heard their shouts. And bad blood lingers that is left to fester. It will soon turn to rot.
Judex above, an omen hanging in the sky.
‘I will be fifty-seven this year,’ he says finally. ‘I have seen a lot of things. A lot of what our nature has to offer. Greed, anger, betrayal, fear. Felt them myself, too. Maker, we all do. Sometimes the bad seems to outweigh the good; I’ll wager you see that. So much wrong in the world. So much work needed to put it right. And only us to do it.’
For a moment, it seems that Siegfried will not reply. She sits, studying the ground, jaw set.
‘I grew up to stories of your victories,’ she says finally. ‘You were a hero to me.’
He sighs. ‘Doubt I lived up to your expectations.’
‘People never do.’
He can’t tell if she means Zevran, or Alistair.
‘Perhaps. But then, how can they if you refuse to let them?’
She groans. ‘What the fuck Loghain, are you going to lecture me on second chances or some bullshit? I’m not in the mood.’
He can’t help the chuckle. ‘Me neither. Lecturing never came easy to me.’
‘Then what are you here for? Trade stories about how shit things are? I already know.’
‘Just here to offer a little help, if I can. You forget, I’ve done this all once already.’
‘What all? A Blight? Being the last fucking warden? Having everyone- having everyone leave you? Even people you thought- fuck.’
She bites off her words before they turn to sobs.
‘Take some advice from an old man,’ he says softly. ‘I know war, leadership. Love. Fear.’
‘Don’t fuckin’ talk to me about love, okay? I’m really- Not tonight. Not ever, actually, just- really not tonight.’
Crickets in the grass. A breeze ruffling their hair. The cracking of the fire a little way behind them. The others talking in low tones. The moon, impassive. Tenebrium mapped in stars above them, wings and beak. He breathes.
‘Remember what I was saying, about the world being a miserable place?’
She half laughs, half chokes. ‘Kind of hard to forget.’
He pretends not to see her tears.
‘Certainly seems that way sometimes. But that’s a lie. There’s good here too, quietly. Want to know how I did all I did, back then? With help. With my friends, my allies. My wife, my daughter. You need the good, it keeps you going. It’s not weakness to be afraid. But if you let that fear dictate your actions, then that’sweakness.’
She says nothing.
He can feel her pain from here, like the ache in a phantom limb.
‘I think he’s in love with me,’ she says, and her voice is quieter than he’s ever heard it. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
He leans back. Above stretches Fervenial, winding branches spreading across the sky. ‘Whatever you feel is right.’
‘Fuck off. How do I know?’
‘Suppose you don’t.’ Then: ‘What does your heart tell you?’
‘That this is all a fucking waste of time.’ He can’t see her face, but her voice is that of one on the edge. ‘The world’s fucking ending, who gives a shit about anything else? I don’t- I can’t do anything else right now. Especially not- not love. Andraste- fuck. I’m not cut out for this shit at the best of times. I always- Maker, I always ruin- and then I hurt- fuck I can’t do this.’
She breathes shakily, centres herself as best she can.
‘Hey, thanks for trying.’ She’s aiming for upbeat, falls just shy of the mark. ‘It’s not your fault I’m a fuckin cold-hearted monster.’ It’s meant to be a joke.
He finds Eluvia, traces the shape in the stars. Contemplation. Calm. A girl sent into the sky.
‘All heroes are monsters,’ he tells her finally. ‘But even monsters can be loved.’