" I would not trade it for anything. " ( from maric :') )
inquisition. | accepting. | @vhenadhal
this relationship budded slow. marriage was marriage – a political station to wedge the guerrins into the royal line, she’ sure; the only ferelden noble family of any real standing anymore, loyal to the theirin line to the end. rowan had been told this is what it’d come to, once the usurpers were cast out. she simply hadn’t believed it, then, and spent her days unhorsing silly boys or biting her sword into dummy wood, or sometimes just trees.
maric was a bloody idiot. or, that’s what everyone had said, anyway. rowan heard them talking before, some fragile little boy in comparison to his wicked-strong and commandeering mother, promise with a sword and wears his armor well, but untrained, letting the intricacies of politics fly past his youthful head.
rowan, in comparison, had always listened.
she knew it would come to their marriage, in the end – only putting it into action was.. odd. more difficult. she’d not wanted it, when it came, spent her time keeping up appearances at his coronation, and only wishing loghain would somehow take her to gwaren.
that never happened. and now she is with child.
she doesn’t resent maric. that stiff betrothal took time to unfurl like this, but it had. she found herself reaching beyond their friendship, and understanding why someone like katriel had truly adored him. he was undermined, and – quite foolish, at times, but never truly stupid, and never cruel, or callous. vengeful, yes, but it was a price that had been owed, and rowan had been happy to pay it back.
months had blended into years. his laugh is always kind. and he cherishes her, in a way she hadn’t anticipated. (hands across her hard abdomen, soft now with the gentle bump, reminiscing in laughter as if they were a hundred years old, and their battles were far off; childish games, their bed sheet wrapped around her figure as she pulled it off of him and dared him with a devious grin and finger to come and take it back).
it was different with loghain – less silly. more serious. she could always feel her heart in his hand. but with maric, it’s more like he is living every day alongside her, instead of being apart of her.
it isn’t bad. just different.
he touches her growing belly now. rowan has traded steel for dresses, and dresses for gowns – and though this is the place they’ve reached, her insecurities rise like wild dogs. is this? what you want, maric? the question is right there, unspoken, if had been me, instead of her –
i would not trade it for anything. she brings her eyes up to meet his, only then realizing how impossibly close his face is to hers. she blinks, surprised to feel tears in her eyes. he circles one of her strong shoulders, cupping at the back of her arm, other hand remaining delicately upon the gentle swell of her stomach. she does cry, then.