After that first meeting within the hall the Teyrn found himself either searching his bride-to-be out from time to time…or else found by the elf in a similar fashion. They said few words to each other at such instances, but it was something of a learning experience Loghain had to admit. It seemed, for the most part, that the Commander of the Grey was quite the competent leader even at a time of relative peace. He had come to recognize her potential as leader while amongst her rag-tag band…but waging war and ruling peace were two very different things. But, he supposed, the Grey Wardens were ever at war. Her days consisted of studying old journals and tomes written by Warden Commanders past, dutifully preparing potions and poultices, studying and attending to letters and business forwarded from the seneschal at Vigil's keep, and (of all things for a mage to do) practicing her sword-work.

He'd been more than surprised when he'd found her at the Landsmeet, sword at her hip and clad in light armor like some sort of warrior. After all everything he knew of her cried 'mage'. Yet like everything else about her she was not of the average sort. Though her form was poor, the power of her swing was something to be admired. A talent, he'd later learned, she'd acquired after learning the long-dead talents of an old elven Arcane Warrior. And now, apparently, she'd added to that set of skills by acquiring the talents of a Battle Mage as well. He was more than impressed to see the improvement she made with each day and her skillful use of her magic more than made up for the lack of finesse she had with a blade.

Yet she observed him as well. There were the few odd occasions where he'd look up from a map he'd been pouring over and find her silently observing from a corner of a room. Once, while surveying Ser Cauthrien's newly trained recruits, he'd spotted her out of the corner of his eye, watching almost gleefully from the shadows of the training yard. But when he looked again she'd always be gone. She was nearly like a specter in the silent way she appeared at the corner of his daily life.

And then, oddly enough, one week before their wedding the first bit of disturbance came. It was past mid-day and Loghain had gone to the practice yard, thinking of finding his betrothed at work there once again. He was contemplating whether or not to help her alter her form so her swing would prove more effective, when a servant ran past him in a panic, bandages and towels in hand. The Teyrn stopped in his tracks and stared curiously as two more servants quickly followed, one carrying a bowl of ice and another a large supply of poultices. He stopped the later one and shot him a curious, if concerned, glance. "What's going on here? Has someone been injured?"

The servant, a young human lad with raven locks stuttered for a moment before at last lowering his head respectively and muttering in his most hurried fashion. "M'Lord Loghain! Oh! Um…we were sworn to silence sir!"

Loghain furrowed his brow and glared at the pale boy in his grasp and tightened his hold a bit, making it clear the boy was going nowhere until he'd been answered to satisfaction, "By who? What has happened that you must be so silent to the Queen's father?"

The boy visibly paled and shook with a mild amount of fear, "'Tis by the Warden's order ser. She was riding and the horse threw her. She bade us all to silence ser. I beg of you! Do not tell the lady I broke my word! "

The old general gave grunt of disgust and released the boy, "Maker damned fool." he growled under his breath, turning on his heel and storming down the hall in the direction of the Warden's quarters.

They were easy to find, having once belonged to him in the days when Maric reigned. His quarters had since changed several times, his current lodgings in the guest quarter of the palace. It felt odd to him to be traveling to his old room to see to the woman who had once proved to be his enemy and then his ally…and now his wife-to-be. He growled, slightly furious at the thought, and brushed past the poor serving girl who'd been in a rush to leave. His entry to the room was noted by all with quiet looks of resigned horror or guilt…save for the small pale elf laying upon the bed at the edge of the room. She, he noted, merely seemed to sigh with some sort of anticipated annoyance. He found this, more than all else, an affront to his pride.

He turned his wrath upon the servants milling about her bed, and the physician, caught in the act of putting away his tools. "Leave us." he snapped, his voice harsh with command. There was a momentary pause in which all those he'd commanded looked to the bed and the woman lying there, propped up amongst pillows and looking more slightly put-off than seriously injured. She gave a simple nod and to Loghain's immense irritation, only THEN, did they all hurriedly flee the room.

He waited a moment in the awkward silence that followed. Then at last he turned to her in fury, "You ordered them to silence against me. Why?"

The elf rose a brow and adjusted her position upon the bed with some effort, "I ordered them to silence against everyone. The news that I had been injured would only have caused unnecessary panic."

Loghain could see the sense in that, yet it still perturbed him all the same. "And I, of course, appear the sort to panic unnecessarily?" He growled. He paused a moment when all his betrothed did was shrug and then at last let out a sigh and found a nearby chair to pull close and sit upon. "I take it your injuries are not severe then, as you appear calm enough to circumvent half the castle."

The elf sighed and regarded him in a tired way, her eyes almost appearing dazed, "Compared to being flung about on the back of an Archdemon, falling from a horse is much less severe yes. I was quite fine until the stallion mistakenly kicked me in the leg. I would have healed in moments had the idiotic lout of a court physician actually listened to my council and used one of my own potions to heal the wound. As it is I am now half-dazed and quite numb." She retorted, her expression actually falling into clear displeasure and annoyance as she recounted the last bit of her encounter.

She calmed then however and soon resumed her normal mask of slight indifference, she sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling of her room. Loghain pondered her outburst for a moment, crossing his fingers before him in contemplation. "Could you not heal the wound yourself with a spell? Why call for the physician at all?"

To his surprise the woman turned a slight shade of pink and appeared embarrassed, "I…I have no skill with healing spells. Every time I attempt to cast one I just wind up turning whatever I'm casting at some sort of odd color. The last time I tried it was a very bright shade of fuchsia. Jowan and I were the laughing stock of our entire apprentice class for a week." she informed him, sounding not at all pleased to admit to such an embarrassing fault. Loghain himself found the idea amusing and had to fight to keep from smiling.

"I can see then why you seem so focused on your potions and salves. Shall I fetch the proper one for you or would you prefer to lie there dazed and numb as you put it?" he asked her.

She shot him a weak glare that quickly softened into strangely amused and embarrassed smile. "No, you don't need to trouble yourself. I already sent someone to find what I need. I doubt they'll be very long."

Loghain nodded after a moment and then turned his gaze to where he could see her legs were beneath her expanse of sheets and blankets. His brow furrowed as he added this latest wrinkle into the plans for their upcoming nuptials and began to worry if she would be too injured to walk. "The injury is severe I'll grant you but with a few well applied potions and poultices I should be well enough again by tomorrow eve." she told him, as if reading his thoughts.

He looked up at her with a frown, clearly frustrated that she'd been able to read him so well and then turned his attention back to her leg, "You have that much confidence if these potions of yours?"

"Yes." she said simply, her voice just slightly prideful.

The old general shot her a speculative glance before shaking his head and looking over at the elf once more. It had been some time since he'd seen her in such a state of undress. When they'd traveled together from Denerim to Solider's Peak, and then on to Redcliffe to defeat the blight he had often seen her in a shift in the late and early hours when she at last took to sleep. He would be lucky, however, if that was all he saw. For the elf was near to constantly consorting with the elven assassin he'd sent to kill her …and the other Warden who had acted so much like her shadow. The three of them had been inseparable…until the war had ended and the two men had run off together to Antiva, leaving her jilted and alone.

And now she was being forced to marry him, it seemed a cruel joke of the Maker.

There was a soft breath of laughter from the bed and Loghain looked up in surprise to find the elf softly smiling at him. "You appear deep in thought. Is something troubling you?" she asked leaning into her bed of pillows a bit further.

Loghain hesitated to answer her, afraid that she would see through him but too fearful of insulting her to tell her the truth. The lie, he concluded, would be less cruel. "I was contemplating what colors you would wear at our wedding. You never did tell me where you are from."

The elf turned a rather attractive shade of pink and looked away from him in embarrassment for a moment. "To be honest I am unsure. My earliest years were spent amongst the Dalish, but I remember nothing of their marriage traditions…and I know nothing of alienage traditions save from what Ricker told me." She paused at the mention of the other elven Warden's name before giving him something of a bashful smile, "After some discussion with the Reverend Mother it was decided that I would wear the colors of the Grey Wardens. My only other option was to adopt the colors of Amaranthine…but as the last of the Howes currently serves under my command I considered that to be a touch unkind." She explained.

The old human general nodded, her logic was sound. "I'd imagine a great deal of the nobles back in the arling would take it as an insult as well. It's considerate of you to consider Howe's whelp before them I grant you."

She smiled at his poorly worded and rather veiled compliment and gave a simply tilt of her head toward him, "Speaking of Nathaniel, how well did he fare under your command during your raids in the south?"

He studied her for a moment, trying to ascertain her meaning behind the question. In the end he realized she simply meant what she had asked. It always did surprise him when she hid nothing in this way, as so often she was more calculating than he fathomed. There were quite a few times when a simple question from her had come to mean much more than it seemed at the time. And times when a question was simply a question. With her it was hard to tell the difference, but there was no guile in this question, no motive. She questioned like this only about her companions, for she cared for them more than she cared for whatever machinations she might possibly be able to form. And always in the end, whatever plains she laid, were always for the benefit of her companions in arms. They were the foremost in her thoughts, she served as their sword and as their shield and asked little in exchange. She was loyal, and in that way she reminded him of Maric…of all things. "He did well, he's stubborn, and has a knack for following his own plan despite what orders are given to him, but he's clever and one hell of a rogue. I would go so far as to say that he reminds me of myself when I was in my youth."

The elf perked up at this notion, her smile turning surprised, though a bit cunning. The way a great deal of women smile when they believe they have learned something normally beyond them. But unlike most women there was no malicious intent behind the smile Tearanae showed him. "That is a great deal of praise to come from you. He must truly have surpassed your expectations." She settled against her pillows and leaned heavily against them, clearly growing more drowsy due to the medication.

"I have little doubt that he owes a great deal of his skills to your tutelage. For a mage you know a great deal about the ways of subtly and swords. Each man you send me puts twenty of mine to shame. I am unsure whether to be jealous, or concerned that I am losing my touch." He told her with a bit of an impish smile of his own.

Her eyes drifted slightly downward and she gave a small sigh. "Of the two I would side with jealousy. From what I have observed your touch has not dwindled in the slightest."

He blinked as he looked at her, unsure if she knew how that innocent statement of hers could be…interpreted. He attributed it to her drugged state and was glad when the boy she sent earlier decided to at last arrive, a bundle of potions in hand. Exhausted the warden could not even be bothered to turn her head toward him so it was up to Loghain to wave the young servant boy in. Nervously the boy entered and the old warrior waved him over and took the satchel he carried before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The boy nodded, and left without a word. For which the old general was glad. The door had barely shut before the woman amongst the cushions and blankets had drifted off into a light slumber. He tapped her lightly on the arm, but she did not awaken.

He shook his head and leaned over her, "Wake up girl," he ordered, his tone insistent but not truly loud. She stirred but could not seem to truly rouse herself from sleep. He sighed and turned to the contents of the satchel, thankfully discovering a list of instructions inside as well as the various potions. There were only three and the instruction were surprisingly clear. The blue one was to be administered first to combat the effects of the drowsing and numbing concoction the castle medic had given her. The green one should then be poured over her wound to heal it directly. Lastly came the deep red potion to eliminate the pain of the healing process. Both the blue and the red had to be ingested. Which, he admitted, would be hard to accomplish with the elf in a deep drug induced sleep.

He studied her pretty, peaceful, content form and gave something of a mischievous grin. Well, after all, she was to be his wife. He uncorked the first potion and was instantly assaulted with the scent of mint and the sharp tang of citrus. He had no idea where she had found citrus fruit so far south, nor could he remember the last time he smelled such a scent so strongly, but it was a welcome smell. He poured a healthy amount of the potion into his mouth and then turned and forced the elf's face toward his own. He placed his mouth against hers, forced her lips apart with his tongue, and forced the potion into her mouth before "encouraging" it down her throat. He lifted her head back and made sure she swallowed the concoction. Satisfied that she had, he pulled back the blankets that covered her form and reached for the second potion. He turned back just as she was beginning to stir and hiked up blue sleeping gown she wore to pour the green potion across her bruised and marred flesh. This second potion reeked of cinnamon and cloves, a strong stench that might have been pleasing were it not so strong. Carefully he rubbed this second cure into her bruised wound with a gentle hand, surprised at how extensive the damage truly was, but glad that he could focus on that and not the porcelain flesh of her thigh that otherwise surrounded the large bruise.

Just as he finished she stirred awake, her blue eyes fluttering open sharply, she coughed slightly and looked first at her wound and state of dress and then at him. Color seared her cheeks, but he did not care, he pulled out the cork of the final potion with his teeth and drank in the sweet mixture that tasted of wine and short bread. Before she could form a word against or for his actions he pushed his mouth against hers once more. He poured in what he had drained from the flask into her mouth and felt her stir and resist against him before she swallowed the potion and relaxed. When he pulled away her face was flushed and her expression utterly confused as well as off-balance.

It was the first time he'd ever seen such an expression upon that normally cool exterior. He found he rather enjoyed it. Such an expression reminded him of the fresh-faced girl she'd been when they'd first met on the eve of battle at the ruins of Ostagar nearly two years ago. It was, however, still wrong, age and youth battled for dominance in her eyes. As if she were old and young at the same instance. He pulled away from her and retook his seat not bothering to read the emotions coursing through her expressive eyes.

"I trust you feel more like yourself now?" he asked her, retaining an air of calm.

In truth that simply touch of her flesh had begun to stir his blood in ways he had not felt in many years. He needn't focus hard on the reason why. The elf was beautiful, there was little denying that, young as she was. He was a man, presented with such comely flesh, how could he have been expected to ignore what were ultimately such natural urges.

He heard her stir rather than saw her and turned slightly to see her examining the work he'd done on her leg. After a moment she turned slightly and gave him a rather shy glance. Something he hadn't expected considering her relationship with the assassin and the thief. She let out a small cough and then a short noise of discomfort before finally turning her eyes upon him. "I, yes, I feel a great deal better. I…thank you." she told him carefully.

Then, hesitantly she tucked an errant strand of hair behind one of her large pointed ears and gazed up at him nervously. "Shall…shall we try the kiss again?"

He rose a brow in surprise and studied her for a moment to see if she were serious. One glance at the way she bit her lip and glanced up at him from beneath her brows, her eyes half-lidded, was enough to tell him she at least meant to try. Why, he had no idea. She had seemed so naively embarrassed by the act the first time he'd done it. Yet her she was no, engaging him. Nearly egging him on. Her expression, her entire form, was innocent, but her eyes. Damn her, her eyes hinted at desire. A desire greater and more intense then he had ever seen in a woman before. Clearly something that had been cultivated in her by the assassin and the thief she had spent so much intimate time with.

Despite himself, he smiled wickedly, "As you wish, m'lady." he told her as he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He began delicately, but she was no longer a passive player who laid back and simply accepted what he gave. She pushed back, her mouth sweetly demanding as she touched and prodded and guided his tongue with her own. She teased him expertly and drove what he knew of kissing completely asunder.

Why had he thought her to be an innocent? Her tongue was as talented as a whore's and yet that distinct innocence remained. It was that touch of innocence that drew him in deeper. He wanted more of her so he pushed the kiss deeper, pushed her back against the bed and the pillows. His hands moved from her face to her waist and her thigh. She gasped against him and he pressed harder and only then did she cry out in pain. He drew away harshly, realizing his mistake. She pulled herself up and gently caressed her wounded leg, the bruise showing brighter now that the healing potion had begun to do it's work.

He turned away from her, and berated himself. He was too old to be acting this way. Too old and experienced enough to know not to press himself upon a wounded woman. He stood and stepped away from the bed, and from the temptation she stood for. "Forgive me Tearanae that was…inappropriate."

She was quiet for a moment and sat up to study him, he didn't look at her but after a moment he could practically hear a wicked smile bloom upon her face as she told him, "Perhaps, but it was also…wonderful."

He could feel his face heat up under her comment and was glad for the interruption as the door opened and a few new servants entered to see to the Arl's needs. He left abruptly as they entered and retreated as quickly as he could to his own quarters. To hide. And to relieve himself.