Loghain hasn't been inside the Teyrn of Highever's estate for many years.
Last time he was here the courtyard had been much less ravaged by war, the large trees he distinctly recalled were planted shortly after the rebellion still stood and he was greeted by servants, not a Cousland. Technically he isn't, of course, but the Warden who meets him immediately the moment he steps inside the open doors, standing impatiently in the entrance hall is still a Cousland in his mind. Elissa. He adjusts the words for her in his head, still unused to being on a first name basis with someone he didn't wish to belittle by it.
"They haven't arrived yet," she says without preamble. Her face is closed, ready to display whatever expression needed but betraying nothing of her own feelings - a face very much like his own when he stands before a Landsmeet or the court. Stood, he reminds himself. "I'm restless."
He knows that feeling. The first fortnight of uneventful existence he could tolerate, even appreciate; now he knows a thousand things that ought to be tended to but has no means to do anything about it; he sees ways and people and possibilities, potential threats and possible allies, and his only hope is that he has taught Anora well enough for her to be aware of the same things.
"It is hazardous to delay the recruiting more than necessary," he points out. "The battles ahead require a fair number of Wardens, I'd assume."
They begin to walk along the corridor, Elissa leading him into the drawing room while being unusually quiet. This is a woman who talks when she is pleased, when she is displeased, when she is distressed adn when she is, he has learned over the past few days, drunk. Whatever mood she is in now is one that does not bring out her habitual chatter.
She nods towards the armchairs at the large, ornately decorated windows facing the back courtyard where trays of tea and fruit and a little bowl of bread await them.
As they have begun drinking their tea, a servant slips in, announcing the arrival of the guests; Elissa looks up.
"Do send them in." She has a commanding presence in this house, one that is not the same as the one on the battlefield or in front of their maps. Here she is Elissa Cousland. Loghain wonders if she misses the title, how deeply this kind of life is cut into her.
The servant curtseys. "Yes, my lady."
Loghain and Elissa both rise on cue.
The arriving Wardens are led by a Dalish elf who looks to be perhaps forty or fifty but speaks low and thoughtful, resembling a much older man.
"I am Hedin, sister," he says, pressing Elissa's hands. "Senior Warden of Val Chevin."
"Brother," he says then, turning to Loghain who doesn't return the ridiculous greeting, but nods.
There are three others in the group, no more. A young serious-looking man who, without smiling or otherwise expressing any particular sentiment in either direction, presents himself as Jenner. A young mage, short and round with bushy red hair, who pats Elissa's arm – "Shirei, nice to meet you" – and a tall, blonde woman carrying a crossbow and who nods, serious-faced and pale. Loghain looks at her the longest and she offers a tentative smile in his direction.
"Hawise," she says. "Born in Gwaren but raised in Val Royeaux."
"Loghain," he nods.
"Oh, I know." Her voice is so levelled and soft-spoken there seem to be no nuances to it beside polite interest. "My parents survived to tell the tales of your rebellion."
He decides there is nothing he can or should say in response to that, so he looks at the others in the room, who are all settling down in their seats, being served tea by two servants who have slipped in wordlessly during the greetings.
"We will get straight to the point, for I fear we have much to discuss." It's the mage who speaks, smiling. It seems an inappropriate thing to do, but Loghain knows little of what these Orlesians consider appropriate behaviour, after all.
"Please do," Elissa says in a tone of bland cordiality.
"Are we to understand that Riordan of Jader was the Warden who slew the Archdemon?" Hedin, the elf, asks. He sits back in the chair, folding through a pile of papers in his lap. "His death is the only one we've had reports of."
Elissa throws Loghain a glance; he almost wishes they had taken the trouble to invent that lie, regardless of the usual outcome of lying. Of course, that would also require the loyalty of the circle mage who has wished for Loghain's downfall since Ostagar and he cannot see that even his Commander could be convincing enough for that.
"No," she says, looking straight at the Orlesian senior Warden. "Riordan chased the Archdemon through the city."
"That sounds odd," the mage comments calmly. "You were spread out then? All three of you Wardens?"
"No," Elissa says again. "Not all of us. Loghain and I were together. Riordan opted to go alone. He... we think he cause the Archdemon severe damage, enough for it to be unable to fly."
"By the time we had reached Fort Drakon, it seemed unable to escape. It was trapped on top of the building." Loghain observes the sullen man, who is straddle-legged on the settee, his face a sceptical grimace. He draws his own voice tight. "Ask what you want to ask instead of going about it in this insolent manner."
After a brief pause, it's the tall woman in the corner – Hawise - who speaks.
"It's not possible to slay the Archdemon and live," she says thoughtfully, tilting her head to be able to look at Elissa. "We've heard legends-"
"I am sitting here, am I not?"
"But-"
"We have the decaying corpse and a cellar full of blood to prove that it was indeed an Archdemon we defeated." Elissa takes a sip of tea, being demonstratively calm, Loghain thinks. Her hands are steady and her voice unfaltering.
"Oh, no one doubts that," Hedin says. He frowns a little as he looks down on his papers again, then he smiles bleakly. "We do, however, doubt that we have been told the whole truth."
"This seems a pointless conversation then," Loghain says, attempting to remain calm. "There is little we can say and even less we can do about what has already happened."
"Our purpose in Ferelden is not to give offence," Shirei shifts in her seat.
"So, tell me then, what is the purpose?" he retorts.
"We have reason to believe that the collective forces of darkspawn have divided."
"And what are those reasons?"
"Simply put it's about numbers," Hawise says, crossing her legs. "Our records show a significantly smaller amount of damage during this Blight than during any other."
Elissa nods. "Perhaps the damage has been done to different areas?"
"No, not as far as we can tell. The number of darkspawn is much smaller. And it seems improbable that they would have decreased over the years - rather the opposite. They have been left alone in the underground; they would have a larger force."
"So you think something else has been calling them, too?" Elissa asks, looking serious and pale. They are both thinking of the marsh witch, he can tell from her averted gaze.
"It would explain the relatively benevolent Blight."
"Ferelden has been run over by darkspawn," Loghain reminds them, echoing, he realises with a sense of dark humour, his own adversaries not long ago."That is hardly benevolent, not even to Orlesians."
"Ferelden is the country worst ravaged by the Blight, yes," Hedin says calmly. "It has not spread far, however, which is an unusual occurrence as far back as our records go."
The mage clears her throat. "Could we go back to the night of the battle, again?"
"By all means," Elissa replies.
"You said you two were in the same group of fighters?" She nods towards Loghain and Elissa mirrors that nod.
"We were. We were joined by Wynne, a Circle healer and Morrigan."
Shirei looks uncomfortable but not surprised at the last name; Loghain shifts position in his seat and observes her intently until she speaks again.
"This is the chasind woman? The witch of the wilds?"
"Yes," Elissa admits reluctantly.
"And she was made a Warden?" Hedin holds the bloody quill ready; Loghain wonders if the elf notes when people take a piss, too.
"No. We... couldn't perform the joining-" she keeps her eyes off Loghain. "Alistair and I had neither means nor enough knowledge about that."
"Riordan would know the ritual," Hawise raises an eyebrow, obviously confused. "It seems-"
"Now you're assuming that this supposed Commander would be capable of strategy," Jenner snaps, his eyes dark as they glare at Elissa. "Which is basically unheard of in this village. A troop of two, that's a charming Fereldan idea, surely."
"If you had bothered to inform yourself of the situation in Ferelden before entertaining us with your questions," Loghain says hotly. "You would be aware that the previous Grey Warden Commander perished at Ostagar along with his Wardens."
"Jenner knows this full well," Hedin sighs, then turning to the man in question. "Enough."
Jenner shakes his head and retreats into himself again, arms folded across his chest. There's an anger brewing there that has nothing to do with this present situation, Loghain can tell, from habit; he would observe any soldiers he recruited closely before raising them to anything beside footsoldier, carefully avoiding making knights of those who could not rein themselves in when necessary. Maker knows war makes monsters of them anyway.
"Furthermore," Loghain falls forward in his chair, his hands resting on his knees. They will curl into fists if he lets them, so he pushes them flat against the legs of his trousers. "The supplies necessary to perform a Joining ritual had been destroyed."
"By whom?"
"Arl Howe," Elissa says, suddenly. She looks at Loghain, very quickly, as to urge his silence. Then she smiles wistfully at Hedin. "You may have heard his name; he was serving the Teyrn of Highever until he staged a coup just before the troops were supposed to leave for Ostagar, slaughtering the entire Cousland family in their own home."
"We've heard about this, although we were never given enough details to make anything of it." Hawise still sits in the same position, seemingly made a part of the cushioned chair, becoming a large ornament in it. "Why would this Arl set out to destroy the Wardens?"
"He wanted the Couslands gone," Elissa replies. "And that would be why. My brother and I survived the coup."
A silence falls. Even Jenner seems to come to halt in his disdainful glowering. Loghain wonders where his Commander is going with this adjustment of the truth, what she hopes to gain by freeing him of being the man who almost erased the Wardens from Ferelden. He cannot make sense of it and he can't take the risk of showing any confusion, so he clenches his teeth. It's a small enough lie, but even those can make deep, ugly marks in one's reputation.
"Oh, how dreadful." Shirei says eventually, sounding absolutely genuine.
"We're sorry to learn this," Hedin agrees.
"Thank you." Elissa straightens up, ever so slightly. It's a small move, barely more than a flick of her hand, but Loghain recognises it as the way she relaxes after having exhausted her own defences. A tiny crack, just as quickly closed again. It's almost as if she lets in a gust of air or a breath of something, perhaps of courage."It is, however, nothing I wish to dwell upon. And hardly significant for the Order. I merely wanted to explain. It might help in learning more about the current state of our land."
"We are grateful for any further understanding of your nation, of course," Hedin smiles now. He's so grey and insignificant not even a smile can bring any life to his face. "We intend to remain in Ferelden for quite some time."
"Indeed?" Loghain no longer cares if his expressions of dissatisfaction are visible of not.
"Yes," Hawise confirms, her face unreadable. "The Order in Orlais wishes us to stay. We've had a difficult time this year, fighting the Blight but not being allowed into the country where it was most present."
Loghain feels all gazes turn to him; he shrugs irritably. "Last time Orlesian Wardens came to Ferelden it nearly cost us our king."
"Ah, yes," Hedin nods. "I am aware of that... unfortunate affair."
"You speak of it as a matter of uncontrollable circumstances," Loghain snaps, still struggling to keep his temper under control. This is where Maric would have broken into the conversation, normally, his sensible and somewhat meek-hearted ideas pushing back Loghain's most fervent transgressions of good form. He glances over at Elissa, but she is merely giving him a curious look.
The elf rubs his forehead, squirming a little, it seems. Loghain is inordinately pleased to watch that, he must admit. If possible, he would extend this moment for much longer, prolonging the torture.
"This is an event in the past," Hedin says eventually. "The current situation is far too pressing for us to waste any time on past mistakes, wouldn't you agree, Loghain?"
"The Empress is not pleased," Shirei adds.
"I was under the impression that Grey Wardens are a politically neutral group," Elissa remarks, quietly sarcastic but in a tone that cuts through the air of the room.
"Rarely in wartimes," Jenner comments, icily. "As I'm sure you've noticed here too. Or did you not just put a Grey Warden on the throne?"
This time everyone looks at Elissa who gives a nod.
"We are grateful for your aid, of course," she says curtly, closing the conversation rather expertly. "I also have a request to make of you, but I assume the Queen has already alerted you of this matter. It is, after all, rather urgent."
To Loghain's surprise, both Shirei and Hawise nod in recognition of what this is alluding to whereas he has no idea. It jars, dully and annoyingly in his mind as though he ought to have traces of information that can lead to knowledge on this account. He searches for the Commander's gaze. She doesn't look in his direction, however, but at the mage.
"Yes, the matter is taken care of," Hedin says. "We hereby invite you, Commander, to visit our Order in Orlais as soon as can be arranged."
"I accept your invitation." Elissa leans back, head held high and her expression one of full mastery of the situation. Loghain wishes he could say the same of his own, its ungraceful fury and sneering grimaces begin to wear him down; at least these pathetic excuses for envoys aren't important, he can tell as much from their behaviour. Then again he has no idea what the current Orlesian standards are, either, considering the fact that most of them are devious bloody vermin.
When the Orlesians leave, not much later, Loghain finds himself still sitting in his chair and waiting for an explanation. He has come to expect them from her, after all. She leads, certainly, and rarely requires anybody's assistance in that, but she has never before been obscuring her immediate plans as far as he knows.
"You look angry, Loghain." Elissa observes him calmly, pouring herself another cup of tea and dipping a slice of apple in it. When she has finished eating, she continues. "I was going to tell you, of course."
"But you were afraid I'd interfere?" He is angry. There's little reason for it as she has the right to decide as she sees fit. His place is to follow her orders; and yet, Maker knows there is a discomfort breathing in the very air around them now.
"It was a delicate matter."
"Oh, I am certain it was." Loghain hears his own voice like a sharp lash in the air.
"It's not like-"
"We barely won the war," he interrupts her. "You are aware of this, are you not? At present you are one of the most important people in Ferelden and yet you are foolish enough to jump on the first ship to Orlais and let yourself be assassinated by the Empress' own guards?"
Elissa snorts. "Don't underestimate me."
"Hardly. I am realistically estimating the power of the Orlesian army against one Warden."
"Ah. Of course." She sighs, all but rolling her eyes at him. "I am aware of my status here, Loghain. I am also aware of the fleeting nature of being a hero. If I am to use it for any grander purpose than rally farmers to join the Order, I might as well act immediately."
The most infuriating part about this, Loghain thinks, staring at the wall behind her, is that she isn't wrong. Her plan is dangerous but not necessarily delusional and he can't deny the potential usefulness in it.
She's quiet for a long time. Long enough for him to construct several plausible explanations in his head as to what she will do in Orlais. He is fairly certain it involves his daughter and Cailan, the idiot, whose affairs seem destined to have bearing on their political situation for years to come. Why Loghain did not see it, he will never understand. Nor will he be able to forgive himself for the sloppiness. When the Warden Commander returns as a violated corpse he will add that to his ever-growing list of mistakes, too, and he feels it like a burning bitterness because he can't stop her. He can't convince her of the nature of the Orlesians, just like he could never convince Cailan or even Anora, not entirely, not unreservedly – they are all children of a different time, naïve fools who are willing to believe in the existence of dragons and ghouls but not the full extent of human corruption. Not until it marches into their country and bleeds it dry, of course. The hopelessness in trying to explain it in mere words leaves him so tired he barely has any anger left.
"What do you know of these Orlesians and their loyalties?" he asks, still having the taste of fury at the back of his throat, threatening to overtake him. "They may be the Empress' puppets, for all we know."
"She does interfere in Warden business to a disturbing extent." Elissa sighs. After a sip of tea she looks at him again. "Our land is in disarray, Loghain. If there was anything to these letters that we found, if Cailan had any serious intentions and if there were, in fact, proposals of a lasting peace in the making-" Loghain snorts at the word peace. She pauses, but not for long. "I think that the best time to find out is sooner rather than later. We're in too vulnerable a position to risk anything."
"And sending the Commander of the Fereldan Wardens to her death is no risk?" He had not thought her so careless with her own life, not when they bargained so desperately for it with the marsh witch, not after what she had convinced him to do. There's a surge of anger at her words as well, piercing him in spots he rarely acknowledges, a rush of irritation that not even his sense of dignity can diminish and a misplaced sense of betrayal. "You are to play this into the Empress' hands!"
"I am not, Loghain." Elissa folds her arm across her chest. "I can handle myself."
"Against a whole nation full of enemies? Pardon me, Warden, but not even you can be vain enough to believe this."
"Who else would you suggest sending to investigate this then? Are you offering to go?" The question isn't malicious at all, rather subdued considering the topic of their argument, but he grimaces at it anyway.
"Who else will be the Hero of Ferelden when you have yourself killed?" he throws back at her, watching her eyes widen slightly. Then she shakes her head, looking dissolutely at him.
The room is utterly silent for a long time. Loghain watches the paintings on the walls, determined on waiting for her to speak.
"You're right," she says eventually, to his surprise. "This is a far-fetched idea. A dangerous plan that I'm reluctant to put into motion. But I will still do it, because we have little choice."
Trust her to counter his anger with this nearly sensible reasoning, he thinks to himself, shaking his head too. It's much more gratifying to debate with someone who is prone to acknowledge his point of view, but not even half as simple to argue. For a fraction of second he wishes the commander was Cailan, arrogant, blind Cailan who would often let himself be talked down from great heights of stupidity if coaxed properly into believing he made the decisions. But she isn't him; if anything she is resembling Maric - headstrong, careless and humble in a confusing and painful combination.
"Since there seems to be nothing I can say that will convince you otherwise, I wish you luck then," he says, almost against himself. "I think you are wrong; this is a foolish plan that serves little purpose but placing you in great danger."
"I appreciate your concern, Loghain." The shadow of a smile on her lips is both frustrating and fascinating.
"Don't flatter yourself, Warden," he says, but even as he speaks the words he wonders if she isn't correct in that, too. He is concerned about her safety. She is his commander and, Maker knows, she might also be the only person in this country save his own daughter who isn't plotting his immediate death by assassin. Truth be told he has no desire to be left alone with this Order of theirs either. "Very well. Who will accompany you?"
"Zevran has asked to come," she says, her eyes meeting his. "And I assume one or two of the Orlesian Wardens are escorting me. Other than that, I will of course demand a handful of soldiers."
"I see."
She holds out the teapot for him, but he shakes his head. The sweetness of her tea choice is too much, he has a stale taste in his mouth, reminding him of the kind of pastry Maric was overly fond of and always demanded for feasts.
"I trust you to be the Commander in my absence, Loghain." Her voice has shifted now, it's a familiar blend of strict and warm, echoing both of years long gone and recent nights around the fireplace.
"So it appears."
"I want to put this behind me rather quickly," she says. "I know we have a lot of things that require our attention here in Ferelden, and the battles with the darkspawn are hardly over – there were reports just this morning of a horde hitting villages near Highever, in fact."
"I heard." Loghain reaches for a slice of bread from the tray between them. In this estate things seem almost normal, down to the details of food and drink, but he knows there are enough starving farmers in the countryside to cause a whole new war within months. "What do you want me to do?"
Pulling back strands of hair that falls into her eyes as she leans forward, Elissa looks at him for a moment, as if she hasn't already been pondering this very question for as long as her own plans have been fixed.
"My brother is travelling north," she says eventually. "He wishes to be present in Highever during this time and is eager to get going before winter is upon us. He has suggested the Wardens begin recruiting there."
An independent order of warriors, indeed. Loghain sneers. But he cannot deny the merit of her – because there is no doubt in his mind that this is Elissa's doing – idea of sending him to Highever. It's a region that has given Ferelden many fine soldiers. And he would be relatively safe there, free to rebuild the ranks without much interruption. At least one Warden will live to see the restoration of the nation. He grimaces again.
"Are you planning on taking a ship to Orlais?" The bread reminds him of the fact that he has not eaten anything substantial today, so he reaches for some more. Elissa observes him intently.
"I don't know." She leans back again. "Fergus would like me to accompany him to Highever, certainly. He has not been back since... the attack. His men are already there, but they will not have done much more than cleaning out the grounds, if that."
She's quiet again, for a long time, before burying her face in her hands and groaning.
"Maker's breath, Loghain, I'm drained."
Unused as he is to these kinds of confessions from her, he shrugs. "Well, the Orlesians weren't paying a short visit, by any means."
"It's not just that." Her face looks old and tired in this light, aged beyond her years. "Part of me feels like we have earned some rest. I know we can't, but I sometimes want to. But then I don't know what to do with myself when we're not on the road."
He knows what she means, has known it since he was even younger than she is now, and long given up trying to mend this feeling out of his body; there is little to be done for those who have lead this kind of existence for a longer period of time, who have made it part of themselves.
"Such is the life of a general, Warden," he says. "You fight for the still hours but your job, your purpose, is war."
She grimaces, half amused, half horrified. "How very cheery you are."
"I was not aware my task was to be cheery." He feels his lips curl into a sarcastic grin. "You have chosen poorly if that is case."
And at that, Elissa chuckles. It's a novelty to him, amusing people. He used to make Maric laugh, sometimes Rowan and on rare occasions Celia, but that was in another life; to see the Commander's face soften in amusement is very unfamiliar and oddly gratifying.
"Why did you lie to the Orlesians?" Loghain asks as Elissa puts down her cup and makes a move as if to walk out of the room.
"About the Archdemon?"
"About the blood."
"Oh." She has already gotten to her feet and is on her way; when she looks over her shoulder at Loghain, her gaze is already half-way out of the room. "I hardly think they need to know everything."
Loghain nods. He had told Howe to "dispose of the Wardens". That had been his exact order in Denerim as the caught Orlesian had been dragged before him. Knowing Howe, this probably meant he sold the blood supply on the black market as Howe had been incapable of doing clean, quick cuts – something that had also been his downfall. To see Riordan alive at the Landsmeet hadn't been the greatest surprise that day, to say the least.
"It was a lie that gave me an advantage."
"Yes." Elissa smiles. "It was, as it happens."
"Thank you," he says, pushing back the last remains of anger.
"Are you as hungry as I am?" she asks suddenly. "I was going to see if we can have some food conjured up from the kitchen. There are still things I wish to discuss with you, if you don't mind?" Not waiting for a response, she continues. "My mind works better when I'm full. We can plan for our departure from Denerim while we eat. I need your help with quite a few decisions."
For a second Loghain considers the offer. He thinks of watery ale and potato stew at the filthy inn, served by the inn's equally filthy cook and the other guests there, usually limited to a group of toothless beggars and a handful of prostitutes.
"I won't object to that," he says.
With the nagging sensation of having thoughts he can't quite reach, and the fleeting irritation at the recent plans and decisions, he follows his Commander's lead as she walks deeper into the estate.
.
~*~
.
There ought to be a whole philosophy, he thinks, on living in exile in your own country.
A philosophy outlining how to go about it, what to do with the time suddenly on his hands and the many, many things one must avoid, being altogether exiled from one's former existence.
Loghain has entirely too much time to spare, lately. That, in combination with having to remain largely hidden until things calm down make for an almost unbearably dull situation.
Forenoons and afternoons alike he paces the room, reads, tries to devote a couple of hours to the self-forgetting quiet of work: going over the Warden documents in his possession, the maps he has been handed by Elissa and the tomes of books he has managed to have sent to his quarters via Anora's messenger. He uses all contacts he might still have in order to get an overview of the situation in the city, he studies the road maps of Ferelden like he doesn't already know their contours by heart; sometimes he draws his own, a habit so familiar to him that it has almost lost its soothing purpose.
He wants to move, be in motion, use his body. Even as a teyrn Loghain would practice with the soldiers as often as possible; he enjoyed duelling and training them, participate in their silly competitions and bets. Other generals he has met over the years claim it's the farmer in him, the fear of losing the mastery over his body, and he gives them right; he is fighting hard against becoming a fat, chair-bound weakling in the war room, useless for anything besides scribbling figures on a sheet of paper.
These small quarters allow no such thing as physical exercise, however, so he sits in his sofa long into the nights, waiting for an exhaustion heavy enough to bring him to sleep.
At least tonight he has a visitor.
A grim-sounding, heavily clad visitor who all but threads into his chambers like a ghost or a smooth feline, without making any unnecessary sounds.
"This is an unwise move," Cauthrien mutters as she removes the hood from her face and tosses the cloak over a chair. "You have good reason, I hope."
Loghain nods, momentarily turning his back on her to close the door and almost regretting this visit altogether. Cauthrien is not just anyone. She is pressed into the shape of a daughter in his mind, a silent shadow of a time before, because Cauthrien is hard without being cruel, her ideals still burning in all she does. He knows she is as loyal as he could ever demand of somebody, far more than he even wishes. But it serves its purpose now, he realises, turning to her again.
"I want you to do something for me, Cauthrien."
And for a second he thinks she will refuse, that her sense of duty is stronger than her sense of whatever twisted loyalty he has demanded of her in recent months, but then, as she groans and shakes her head in disbelief but still doesn't leave, he knows he has her support.
"One favour." Her mouth is a thin line. "That is all."
One favour.
After the past year, one favour is one more than he can ask for without wreaking their roles apart, without destroying any trace of intimate familiarity; whatever she does now he has set in motion a new route for them and will pay for that with the loss of her friendship. He knows this with a dull certainty.
"Do you intend to detail this any further?" she asks, harshly, when he has been silent for a long time.
Loghain looks at her one last time before he walks up to the small desk next to his bed. The letter on top of his pile of books is sufficiently detailed and perfectly bland, not even his daughter will find any fault with its reasonable request.
"Deliver this letter to Anora," he says, placing a rolled-up parchment in her hand.
Cauthrien nods, eventually. She gets to her feet, the letter like a beacon between them.
"As you command then."
A/N: Thanks as always to CJK for the beta and hand-holding and for helping me to use blunt tools and gentle coaxing until Loghain resembles well, Loghain.
These chapters seem to be getting longer and longer. I promise they won't end up epic at some point.