Author's Note: A one shot I've been wanting to do for quite some time. Enjoy! And have hankies nearby! :P

Desiderium

The world is going; dark world, adieu!
Grim world, conceal thee till the day;
The heart, thou canst not all subdue,
Must still resist, if thou delay!

Thy love I will not, will not share;
Thy hatred only wakes a smile;
Thy griefs may wound - thy wrongs may tear,
But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile!
While gazing on the stars that glow
Above me, in that stormless sea,
I long to hope that all the woe
Creation knows, is held in thee!

(Emily Jane Brontë)

The world seemed to grow darker with every passing day. With Maric rising before the sun to escape the court and its mournful resignation and the young prince dogging Loghain's steps, his eyes begging Ferelden's hero to perform another miracle... There is nothing you cannot do, please, make Mother well again... Only the sickness confining Ferelden's beloved warrior queen to her bed had proven more resilient than the forces at the River Dane and fighting unseen enemies had never been Loghain's forte... Surrender had never been an option and so he had been travelling all over Thedas, seeking healers, scholars and even apostates to find a cure for the wasting disease that was ravaging Rowan's failing strength more and more as time continued to flow mercilessly. Maric, Maker damn him, had travelled to Redcliffe, leaving both Ferelden and his family to Loghain's diligent care. This was nothing new, yet with the healers predicting the queen's final journey into the Fade daily as of late, his absence was keenly felt. It also made it impossible to withdraw to his study and tell the rest of the world to hang itself... His doors unlocked, he sensed the approaching presence before the young prince walked through the door. A perfect blend of his parents, Cailan had inherited his father's colouring and easy charm wedded to Rowan's kindness and fondness of daring heroism... And now the result of the union of his best friends stood in front of Loghain's desk, long fingers interlaced, his bright eyes subdued by grief.

"Cailan," Loghain nodded at the boy, trying his best to keep his own anguish well concealed. "What brings you to me, dear boy?" Might as well try the kind route, especially with Cailan laughing Loghain's scowls away as easily as Maric did by now.

"I..." Cailan fidgeted, his eyes fixed on a document on the desk. "I wondered if...if I could..." A tear slid down his cheek as he met Loghain's gaze. "If I may ask you to invite Anora to come to court?"

Surprised by the request, Loghain let his guard down for a moment. "I remember you telling me that you didn't quite enjoy her presence the last time she was here to share in your studies," he teased lightly, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

"Aw, that was just because she always knew all the answers." Cailan waved the question aside with a slight smile that vanished as quickly as it had arrived. "Killing ogres by myself isn't nearly as much fun and..." Faltering slightly, Cailan slid around the desk and crawled into Loghain's lap. "With Mother so sick...and Father avoiding me..." Damn you, Maric, Loghain groused inwardly. Damn you to the Void for neglecting not only the best wife a man ever had but wounding her even more by neglecting her child...

"So, you see, she has to come. Right? We are betro-" Furrowing his brow, Cailan recalled the word Rowan had used during the ceremony several months ago. "Betrothed. I need her with me, Loghain. Please, you will send for her, won't you?" If Loghain ever had intended to keep his little daughter safely tucked away at Gwaren, that decision came undone by a pair of slight arms tightening around his neck and a forlorn child seeking solace in his arms.

"I will send for her, yes. It may take a few days though..." he counselled, his countenance grim at the thought of Anora facing the snake pit better known as Ferelden's royal court.

"Doesn't matter..." The boy hopped down, considerably cheered and skipped towards the door. Doorknob in hand, he turned around and gave Loghain a meaningful glance. "Mother is asking for you..."

"Tell her..." That little request had accomplished what legions of chevaliers had failed to achieve, it had shattered his resolve. "Tell her that I shall be with her as soon as I can." Leave, he pleaded silently, one hand tightening around the quill, making it snap. Stop looking at me like a mabari pup whining for its mother...

"Loghain?" The child's voice was faint, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Yes?"

"She..." Gulping down a sob, Cailan's eyes locked with Loghain's in a meaningful gaze. "She won't make it... Mother...she will leave soon..."

A child's perception could be unnaturally sharp when a mother's life was on the line and Cailan was no different in that regard. To hear the words spoken out loud cut more deeply than it should have, for it was not unexpected...anticipated even...

"Those we love never fully leave us..." Quoting Maric word for word, he found no solace in the ancient mantra. "Your mother, Maker bless her...she..." Where was the end to that sentence? Where was the oblivion, the redemption he sought so desperately? If he could not even console a child, how was he expected to come to terms with her imminent departure himself?

"Just don't make her wait any longer..." Cailan said quietly before leaving the room without another word.

The air was heavy, almost sticky with the scent of death and decay, no matter how diligently the rushes were changed on a daily basis, the bedchamber of Ferelden's queen was not a welcoming place by any standards. It was not the stale air, not the sense of gloom that seemed to hang over the room like a dark cloud that disturbed Loghain as he made his quiet entry into her domain. Rattling breaths, cut short by fits of coughing and retching, assaulted him like daggers aiming at his heart. Shutting the door quietly, he made his way towards the bed. It was here, in this monstrosity of a royal bed, that she had given birth to Cailan and two stillborn daughters in the years that followed... And now all that remained of Rowan Guerrin was nearly swallowed up by a mass of pillows and blankets... At the sound of the door, she stirred slightly, one of her painfully thin hands clenching the coverlet.

"Who...is...it?" Maker, even her voice spelled nothing but death now. Unable to speak with sorrow tightening around his throat like a vice, Loghain stepped into the light of the candles. A smile lit up her ravaged features at the sight of him and, somehow, that only served to render him entirely speechless.

"It is good to see you," she said softly, extending her hand to him.

Against his better judgment, he clasped it in both of his and brushed his lips over the clammy skin of her palm. "Rowan, I..." There were so many things to say, how could he pick just one? "I am sorry to disturb you so late..." Lovely, now he sounded like an illicit lover apologizing for making his lady wait.

"I asked for you..." Coughing slightly, she pressed a piece of linen to her mouth. It came away bloody. "I had to see you."

"Hush, don't talk so much if it causes you pain..." Wincing slightly, his grip around her hand tightened. If he held on to her with all his might, she would not slip away so easily...

"Everything causes me pain these days..." Rowan teased, her smile skeletal. "This is nothing out of the ordinary and if it brought you here, I am grateful."

"It should not be me!" His composure came undone at the thought of Maric, safely hidden away from this very sight. "You know that I am useless at this kind of talk and I'll only make it worse for you."

"Strange," she mused, her free hand sliding on top of his. "I remember you being quite capable of saying just the right thing when it mattered."

"What would you have me say?" he growled, powerless to conceal his anger as he stood up, turning his back on her. "That I regret those long, empty years I spent in Gwaren? That I wanted to wring Maric's neck for not realizing just how lucky he is?" A agonizing pause, and then the words tumbled from his lips without further ado. "That I never stopped remembering and would do the same again if we had been given half a chance?"

"If that is what you want to tell me, then, yes, I would have you say all that and more." Another bloody coughing fit interrupted her then. "Come back here."

A single step and then he found himself gazing into the abyss. "Come closer, I beg you." Another step and then another. Something was tugging at his sleeve, as powerlessly as a butterfly's wings caught in a trap. "Closer still..." she entreated. Something within him snapped at the sound of her weakening voice and, Maker damn the consequences, he could no longer resist her call. Groaning in pain, he slid down on the bed next to her and gathered her in his arms. Her eyes reflected all she felt for him yet would never say, lest it may endanger Ferelden's stability.

"You will watch over them, won't you?" she pleaded against his chest. "Maric...he is so...impractical."

Loghain harrumphed at that. Truer words had never been spoken about the damnable sod.

"And Cailan, he'll need your guidance. He worships you, you know? Sometimes that worries me... I know you, you don't like being adored."

"I will do what I can." And hope for Anora to make the difference. For Cailan had inherited none of Maric's diplomatic talent nor any of Rowan's practical sense.

"Watch over them for me. Protect them, guard them. I know Orlais is not quite finished with us yet..."

"They will not get another foothold here for as long as I live." he vowed before kissing the top of her head tenderly.

Her face crumpled into an expression of hopeless grief as she began to weep. Her arms tightened around him, pulling him into a kiss. "Who will look out for you though?" she lamented darkly. "Who will love you as you deserve and need to be cared for?"

"Don't..." he ground out, on the verge of tears himself. "Don't say that!"

"Forgive me, all this lying around in futility, it makes me worried. I cannot ask more of you than you are willing to give. I know you want to leave and not have your last memories of me be those of a woman wallowing in her own misery." Straightening her back, she released him with a smile. "Go. Get some rest. Let Maric do his own work for a change."

"Were I to do that, the whole country would descend into chaos before you could say Orlesian invasion." Loghain countered harshly.

"Maybe, but this load is too heavy to carry alone, even for your shoulders. He must see to his own responsibilities. To Ferelden, to our child and to you, the only truly loyal friend he has ever had." Rowan determined, her eyes flashing with a hint of her old fire.

"Very well then, I shall do as my queen commands. Rest now and try not to worry as much. And Rowan," his steely blue eyes were stormy with need as he gazed down at her. "If you need me or if things should take a turn for the worse...call for me and I will come to you. You should not be...alone anymore."

"I will."

That very night she slipped away painlessly, never once sending word to disturb his rest. Steadfastly loyal to the last, she once more put everyone else's needs above her own. And when they told him of her steadfastly forbidding anyone to send word, his heart ached for her. It was her strength, the very last remnants of it, that enabled him to tell a distraught Cailan and prevented him from tearing Maric's heart out at his return from Redcliffe. Loghain's extended trips to Gwaren became a thing of the past then and his entire dedication settled on protecting Ferelden and fostering the match between Anora and Cailan. He no longer shouldered all of Maric's load and, surprisingly, the king no longer expected him to do so. They never spoke of Rowan, nor shared each other's feelings of loss and regret. Time had softened the edges of their bond, yet without Rowan's steadying hand to watch over them, nothing was ever the same after she had gone.

And sometimes the Witch Of The Wilds' eerie prophesy of a Blight and betrayal would ring in his ears, souring what little life still had to offer. Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last. Determined to prove her wrong, Loghain dedicated his entire strength to serving his country and his king, in that order. He was a man who strived to keep his promises, even those given under duress. It had served him well in the past after all. Love, affection and even friendship were fleeting constructs, a lesson life itself continued to teach him after taking the last of his friends away several years later. Without Maric or Rowan to even out the balance, the icy chill in his heart settled and took root, unwilling to permit anything but Ferelden to touch him. And when rumours of a Blight stirring in the south began to brew, the last promise he had given to Rowan came to a bloody, wasteful end at Ostagar. It was then that the Teyrn of Gwaren's regular visits to Queen Rowan's tomb in the cathedral of Denerim ceased. He would never visit it again in this life.

FIN