Loghain was thankfully able to rest after his morning activities, as the center focus of the wedding party with no further role to play until later that evening he was allowed to be blissfully left alone. In fact no one bothered to even so much as address him until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon and night began to fall. Even then it was only to ensure he was properly attired for the pre-wedding feast. To his surprise and just a touch of confusion the servants that attended to him seemed much more pleasant and attentive than they had been before. He didn't dare ask why, after all would he really have liked the answer? Instead he made the wise decision to simply accept the pleasant turn of events. His hardships, after all, were done for the day.

Although he was never particularly one for dances and fancy feasts. Such gaiety had always been the realm of nobles far above his station, even after he was named Teyrn of Gwaren and took his place aiding Maric and Rowan in the duties of ruling a nation. Not that they had needed much help when they both stood upon the throne. Regardless, even as unused to such pageantry and revelry as he was he could not help but admit to a touch of excitement at the thought of the upcoming feast. After all, it was in the honor of his upcoming marriage. He should at least be somewhat entertained and enthralled at the idea. Even if he was still unsure about his so-called beloved bride.

Speaking of which Loghain couldn't help but smile a bit wickedly to himself as he considered the fate that awaited that petite elf who carried herself like a queen. She would be made to serve him and the others of the wedding party in order to prove her worth as a wife. It would be entertaining to see such a strong, proud enemy of his forced to serve him like- the ex-general stopped mid thought, suddenly realizing his mistake. He was underestimating her once more, he was still thinking of her as that irritating sprite stuck to Eamon's side like a mockingbird pipping platitudes in his ear. But she was more than that. He knew that, come to learn that through hardship and toil.

He was not some child's fairytale villain that plotted and chortled at the idea at an old enemy laid low. The elf had not been his enemy since she had chosen to spare his life and induct him into the Grey Wardens. What's more he had even come to think of her as something akin to a friend. Something he had not known in his life since Maric's untimely death. Even Ser Cauthrian as generous as she was concerning his character was a subordinate…an ally, but not a friend.

The elf had, in her own way, managed to spur him into speaking of those things which mattered most to him, without any true outward judgement. Even after all he had done she had seen fit to grant him a second chance and defied those who begged her to end his life. Many of those dissenting voices had been those dear to her, older than her, seemingly wiser, and infinitely more powerful in the eyes of Ferelden. Yet the elf had held fast and denied them all and granted him mercy. It dawned upon him that he had never bothered to ask her why. And now her life and her future happiness was in his hands and the most he could think to do was delight in the thought of her filled with misery.

What sort of man was he?

He berated himself, as he knew Rowan would have done…as Maric would have done. The elf deserved more from him. She was about to be his wife, if he expected to receive any happiness in the situation then he had to make an effort for her sake as well. In a very real way his future happiness depended upon hers. With that thought in mind the Teyrn finished changing for the feast. They dressed him in the colors of Gwaren, red, gold, and amber. Rich colors that reflected a fading summer or beginning light of Autumn. Fitting considering he was in the autumn of his years.

The white shirt he wore was of fine make, the sleeves hemmed with a staccato frame of golden leaves and red droplets of holly berries. Over this shirt he wore a fine silk tunic of amber wrought with lines of bronze and gold bricks like the framework of a castle hall. Like many nobles he wore trousers of a fine dark fabric the color of muddy red clay. He wore his finest pair of hunting boots forged from soft fawn leather and stitched with drakeskin. What's more, for this particular occasion, he wore a belt of thick gold and deep red gemstones. Not the rich sort of deep red of a rubies brought up from Orzamar and the deep of the dwarves city and mines but the lighter red of stones born of the same ore as iron and copper.

As nearly light as they were dark in color, as reflective as cloudy glass. The softer gems did him credit though, bearing up light and the color of his eyes and the shades within his hair. Not that this would have mattered much to him. What he would have preferred to wear were his old leathers, dark and rich and worn from use and years spent upon the road. Still, he could at least appreciate the touch of such fine materials. Loghain dismissed his attendants when they had finished helping him dress and made his way alone to the grand feasting hall where the pre-wedding celebration awaited him.

As in many things Loghain arrived earlier than many might have deemed necessary. He did this because, like a great deal of things in his life, he disliked not being aware of each and every angle he could. He stood then, waiting in his place until Anora, her new king, and the entire wedding procession ( and quite a deal more as well ) at last arrived. Loghain took his seat beside Anora, to her left and thus the left of the King, at the head table. There were several speeches made concerning the health of the bride and groom as well as to their prosperity. Most were a short and entertaining affair. Though a great deal of them were dry as well, seeming to have been cobbled up last minute as a show of support without any real meaning.

And last of course to say words on his behalf was Anora. Her speech was a long affair compared to that of the others. A true and proper royal speech that honestly seemed a bit too well thought out and emotional for Loghain's tastes. Once she was finished however the symbol for the feast to begin was given and everyone sat back expectantly. The music began and the lilting sounds of violins, violas, flutes, and virginals floated up to surround the feast goers with the proper atmosphere, the drum beat only coming into play after so many of repetitions of the tunes simplest melody. At the highest point in the tune the wide doors to the palace's grand hall opened and the servants poured in. At their head in the lightest dress of rich emerald green, came the Commander of the Grey, Arl of Amaranthine, and Hero of Fereldon…with a large tray held carefully within her arms.

The tray sported a large jug of mead, and a single goblet with two handles on either end. The handles represented the two lives coming together to be joined and the mead within would be the overflowing plenty they should have in the years to come. The dress she wore was practically a sheath, looking ragged from afar before the true finery of it's design became clear as she drew closer. Like a collection of fresh green leaves overlapping one over the other. It was clear the elf had chosen a dalish dress for the night's affair. The light and delicate material overlying her thin, petite frame made her seem like a tiny nymph born from the wisp of a tree and a touch from the fade. She'd let her hair free and undone, as tradition dictated, her last night as a free maiden required that her hair be free.

Her legs were bare up to her knees where the hem of her dress draped like a canopy of spring fresh leaves. Upon the peak of her bust and around the upper turn of her shoulders fell the collar of her fine dress a coil of golden leaves and vines twisting in an intricate display of craftsmanship. Her sleeves were long and fell like a waterfall of light silk from just beneath the curve of her shoulder to the tops of her knuckles, flaring out like a bell to make her hands appear smaller than they already were. She looked both succulent and delicate a ray of sunshine through the forest in the middle of the night in the largest city of Ferelden.

As always she was a fascinating, but strange sight. She came before him and offered him the goblet with a soft and slightly chagrined smile. He accepted it easily and nearly happily and held it out before him as she used those frail, delicate looking arms to lift the large pitcher upon her tray to fill the goblet nearly to the rim. She spilled not a single drop, a good omen by all considerations. Loghain smiled at his wife-to-be rather proudly before he raised the honey-sweetened spirit to his lips. He drank the contents dry and held out his cup for more. The elf's expression turned slightly knowing and a bit sly. Telling him with her eyes 'don't over do it'.

He smiled back, "I won't slip into my cups my dear, I am simply thirsty."

She gave a brief laugh and nodded her head before she refilled his cup and stepped back at last turning to give her attention to the rest of those gathered within the hall. It seemed that there was little demand for mead amongst the high table a great deal of those seated turned the slim elf away, even the King, though he did smile warmly at her as he refused. She nodded at those she passed and turned to see to the lower tables. And suddenly the demand for mead was great. Everywhere the pretty elf turned there was a new man calling for her attention.

Loghain watched, a touch irritably, as his betrothed was called to serve man after man. there were a few women who called for her attention as well, but their number was less than a tenth that of the men. Most who called for her to serve them seemed to be only seeking a chance to speak to her; to shake her hand and say they had met or been served by the Hero of Ferelden. But the men, in an ever-growing number as the night went on, seemed to have an ulterior motive in mind as well. The way they glanced at her, the way they called out to her, the way they reached out or let their hands linger on her petite form. It was all very apparent to see.

His bride-to-be was particularly popular amongst her own brethren. They took a special delight in calling her back, time after time to serve on them. To his relief the Grey Wardens appeared to have little in mind other than to tease her. A bit of ribbing at their friend's expense. All save for one. The Howe boy, Nathaniel. Wherever she turned his eyes followed her steps. When he called for her to refill his cup there was a touch of longing in his gaze as he refused to take his eyes off of her. Every now and then, when she could not see him, he stared at her as if he were dying with every smile she sent to another man. The Howe boy was in love with her. And suddenly Loghain understood exactly how the lad felt. He had felt the same way as he had watched and called upon Rowan the night before her wedding to Maric.

The Howe pup was deep in love with his Commander, and she either had no clue or was purposefully avoiding the situation. Without warning the old general felt a stab of pain in the vicinity of his heart and an uncomfortable rolling in his stomach. Was this how Maric had felt that same night? Maker, it was awful. No wonder the man had drunk himself into a stupor.

Loghain had become so focused on watching Tearanae's path through the hall and the old memories that swam up of their own accord, that he missed the first half of whatever it was his daughter tried to say to him when she turned his way. To his embarrassment he had to ask her to repeat herself. Anora shot him a warm and slightly smug smile over the rim of her wine glass. A twinkle in her eye told him that she considered something slyly confirmed. "What I said, dearest father, is if one did not know better they would think this match were one made for love; rather than by my machinations."

The Teyrn glowered at his daughter, giving her a light, scathing glance and an unhappy twist of his mouth. "You've begun to fall for your own scheme then Anora. I could hardly say that there is love between us."

His golden-haired daughter simply shook her head and looked down at her plate in triumphant pleasure. "Deny all you like father. The murmurs of the servants and peasantry are beginning to agree with me. They are convinced that you have already had your wicked way with her."

This revelation nearly made Loghain choke on his mead. He barely managed to keep it down and droplets of the sweet alcohol dripped down his chin. He hastily wiped it away and turned indignantly to his queenly child, "I've what?! How on earth did they reach that ridiculous assumption?!" he sputtered, looking about half as insulted as he felt. Did they assume he had no self-control? How quickly the rumor mill seemed to pick up the play Anora had put in place.

The queen's expression grew speculative, as if she either did not believe her father's outburst or else did not truly believe in the rumors after all. "Apparently a few maids claim to have caught you fleeing her chambers, disheveled and as red in the face as a blushing virgin." she stated primly.

Loghain barely restrained the urge to beat his head against the table in front of him. But of course someone had caught sight of him then. The maker could be cruel indeed.

"I assure you Anora, there has been no such inappropriate behavior between the Warden Commander and myself." He told her as sincerely as he dared. It was only a lie in the strictest sense of the word. A kiss, no matter how heated, was not an act of congress after all.

Anora seemed unimpressed by his assurances but said no more on the subject. No longer the focus of her attention, Loghain was free to turn his eyes back to the lower hall. Unfortunately for him it was just in time to see his betrothed turning away from a table as a man promptly fell into a bowl of prawn's legs dead asleep. A clamor erupted around him as it seemed no one was able to rouse him from his sudden stupor. There were a few likely culprits for the man's sudden case of narcolepsy. But of them Loghian was sure that it had been the elven mage who now looked quite satisfied with herself as she returned to serving a few Grey Wardens who also seemed well aware of what she had done.

Catching his fiance's eye, Loghain rose his cup and gestured for her to return to him. She smiled brightly and easily maneuvered her way back up to the head table. As she leaned over to pour a healthy amount of mead into his empty container he pulled forward to whisper in her ear, " I take it that Arl Garick's son did not intend to take a sudden nap in a dish full of prawns and butter?" he asked in mild amusement.

She laughed cheerily, her breath tickling his neck with her sweet breath. "I considered a bout of sleep far kinder than the slap across the face he deserved for sliding his hand up my thigh beneath my skirt." she whispered back, a bite of irritation to her tone despite the smile upon her face.

The River Dane frowned and found himself placing a possessive hand upon her own. "Upstart brat." he growled, his back bristling, "A beating would be the least he deserves."

The elf drew back slightly to gaze at him in slight surprise. Color briefly flooded her face and she studied him carefully from beneath her long lashes. "Careful m'lord, someone might accuse you of jealousy." she commented, her tone hesitant…but hopeful.

And, damn him, he stirred to hear that bit of hope. He sent her a rather wicked smile over the rim of his cup as he rose it for a drink and stared straight into those bright eyes of hers. "Of the Garick boy? Hardly. I'm quite sure only a man who knows well what he's doing will manage to satisfy you m'lady." He teased.

She flushed nearly the same color of her hair and bit her bottom lip. Her whole body gave a shudder at his tone and he lowered his cup slowly as anticipation filled him. She set her large mead pitcher down on the table and leaned across to kiss him, nearly causing him to spill the mead in his hand. Her lips were hungry against his and despite himself he eagerly returned her gesture. Until the sound of cheering and his daughter's almost scandalized gasp forced them both to draw away. Neither one appeared too sorry however as when they turned to the crowd someone (Loghain suspected a certain heavily drunk dwarf sitting at the Grey Warden table) shouted, "Oi! Save it fer another night you two! You ain't married yet!"

Laughter erupted and both Tearanae and Loghain had the forbearance to look at least somewhat chagrined and apologetic. A brief glance between them was enough for anyone to tell they were far from embarrassed though.