A/N: Escalation. This is how wars are begun, governments are overthrown, and really, really silly fan fiction gets written. In her piece 'The Teyrn's Revenge' the remarkably talented Cheeky Monkey Tyanilth gives Loghain the opportunity to have a Discussion with the equally talented Cheeky Monkeys Shakespira and Josie Lange regarding certain liberties they have taken with his person. In a second interview he Has a Word with yours truly regarding a helpful suggestion about Ovaltine.

However, Tyanilth is far from blameless herself, a point of which Josie, Shakespira, I, and far more importantly the Teyrn himself are not unaware. All I can say, my dear Tyanilth, is that revenge can be a bitch.

So can fanfic writers with a score to settle. ;)

The Teyrn's Revenge, part the third

~~o~~

Filtered light from the spy holes scarcely breaches the velvety darkness where three figures jockey for position in the cramped space.

"Has it started yet?"

"Not yet."

"I can't see."

"Come on, move over."

"Look, the portrait has two eyes, so one eye each."

"Yes, except there's three of us."

"Take turns?"

"Rii-iight."

"Good point."

"Hey, there's another peephole lower down."

"So we have three after all."

"Cool."

"Wait...if those are the eyes, then that's..."

"Ew, no."

"Well, one of us has to use it."

"Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"That kind of requires being able to see what you're throwing."

"Would I lie?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Well, okay, yes."

"Look, just go by height."

"Agreed."

"I'm 5'9" and a bit."

"I'm 5'9" too"

"I'm...dammit! Fine, I'll use the titty-hole."

"Hey, Josie, while you're down there..."

"Har-dee-har-har."

"I will never think of a priest hole the same way again."

"Shakes, your elbow's in my ear."

"I think that's my knee."

"Am I kneeling on your foot?"

"No."

"Oh. Here, am I now?"

"Do you *want* my elbow in your ear?"

"Hey, settle down, you two! Don't make me turn this story around!"

~~o~~

Darkness. Cold, stone walls. Desultory drips of water. Restraints and a hard wooden bench.

Wait. . .

Tyanilth opens her eyes.

Right, that takes care of the darkness.

The walls are actually a rather attractive cherry wood paneling in a cozy study; the dripping noise can be accounted for by the resinous pops of a cheerful fire. She is alone and unrestrained, seated in one of a pair of comfortable leather armchairs facing a small desk.

She is, however, quite naked.

Some things never change. How reassuring.

They finally did it.

Tyanilth shifts on the dish towel that has been strategically placed to shield the fine leather from her bottom.

At least, I think so?

Just as she begins to wonder if this in fact one of those first-day-of-school-forgot–my-pants dreams, one of the two doors opens and her – stomach, yes, that's it, her stomach, certainly not another portion of her anatomy - flutters as Loghain enters the room.

No worries. I know the drill.

He places a leather folio on the desk and pulls the other armchair around to face her before seating himself. She waits breathlessly for the lecture, but Loghain merely settles back in a relaxed posture and studies her, leaning on one arm and resting his head on his hand.

Several long moments pass. The fire pops.

Her mind works furiously.

All right, so there was that one...and that one. Yes, and *that* one probably won't earn me any points. And...oh dear lord, THAT one...no wait, I never published that, I just keep it under my pillow and read it late at night...does that count?

Pop.

Tyanilth squirms inwardly under the steady blue gaze. Why won't he SAY something?

She wets her lips and takes a breath. He doesn't move, doesn't change position, doesn't even shift his fingers where they lean against his temple; he merely raises a politely enquiring eyebrow.

Her words and saliva dry up simultaneously, and she wilts like a salted snail.

Popfizzz.

Loghain finally moves, picking up the folio and slowly leafing through the papers within.

"Responsibility," he says musingly. His voice is deep velvet laid over gravel, and a faint whimper escapes his wide eyed guest. "A highly charged concept, wouldn't you agree?" He pauses to study a page, then continues to the next with a slight shake of his dark head.

"I should know. The multitude of nefarious deeds attributed to me could fill the archives at Weisshaupt, whether or not my hand actually held the weapon. Yet when one sets events into motion some measure of responsibility must be assumed regardless." He looks up and pins her in place with an ice-blue gaze.

"Wouldn't you agree, Tyanilth?" He repeats pointedly.

Weak nod.

Loghain fans through the remaining pages. "Shaving, bondage…Ovaltine…" He shudders briefly. "Which brings us back to the theme of responsibility. You seem to have a penchant for making bright little suggestions that have the most appalling impact upon my peace of mind." Squaring the sheaf of papers, he deliberately closes the folio and returns it to the desk with a slap. "Teagan? Isolde and Gregoir, seriously?"

He rises and paces once around her chair. Cringing, she follows his progress as best she can without moving her head.

"Eyes up here, madam."

Face scarlet, her eyes snap upward to meet his amused glance. He folds his arms and leans on the desk.

"And now, once again, you've tossed your evil little seeds to fall willy-nilly in the deviant imaginations of Shakespira and Josie Lange. More threesomes, yet. I suppose I should be grateful you allowed for a female to participate, and if one squints sideways the assassin might be mistaken for one in the dark. If one absolutely must." His fists clench and his brows draw in. "But Duncan? With all the…history…that entails? Are you trying to drive me insane?"

A vigorous head shake, which goes unnoticed as the Teyrn scowls at the fire.

"Not only that, but I gather Shakespira mentioned it to Enaid Aderyn who got ideas of her own, despite not being included in your 'challenge'. Maker only knows what kind of twisted drivel I can expect from that quarter."

With an exasperated sigh he looks sidelong at his guest. "Responsibility, Tyanilth."

Loghain drops his arms and pushes himself off the desk.

"From here you have two options. You are perfectly welcome to depart." He nods toward the door through which he entered. "I'm afraid every stitch of your clothing is no longer available, however, and I feel I should mention that you would need to make your way through assorted gatherings of Wardens, Templars, Guardsmen and the ladies of the Amaranthine Sewing Circle. On the other hand, you can, as did your three little friends on prior occasions, opt to accompany me into the adjoining bedroom and apply your hyperactive imagination toward a suitable apology. Oh, but with one proviso."

As the man bends over to pull open the desk drawer, her – stomach – flutters again and she is devoutly grateful for the dish towel.

"Since you have such an affinity for playing puppeteer," Loghain observes, withdrawing a bundle of intriguingly assorted straps and buckles, "we'll see how you are at dancing to someone else's strings. So? What will it be?"

Tyanilth swallows, and manages to draw herself up.

"…arnnghle," she says firmly. Damn it! She nods weakly toward the straps and he laughs.

"Really, I wonder why I even bother to ask." He stands aside and indicates with a courteous sweep of a leather-filled hand for her to precede him. As she wobbles past, a slight scuffling sound in the wall behind the portrait catches his attention.

"Must remember to get the man in with the ferrets later this week," he mutters.

~~o~~

"What do you mean, 'there's no portrait in the next room'!"