My thanks for wonderfully awesome reviews to: Shakespira, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, Wyl, cloud1004, tgail73

And thanks, of course, to everyone out there who continues to read, lurk and alert. It's been a year since I started this saga. I promise to have it done before another year passes!

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 59

The tall mage stood in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sun's warmth. On a day such as today, he could almost overlook the smell of wet dog.

Ah, but Rendon was speaking, standing just behind him, with some report or other, he was certain. With a reluctant sigh, the mage turned, his eyes opening, fixing the blue orbs upon his fellow conspirator, a quizzical raise of a blond eyebrow indicating that the Teyrn must, once again, repeat what he had just said.

It was Rendon Howe's turn to sigh as he realized that Arawn had not been paying the slightest attention to him. A glance out of the window answered the 'why'. It was a beautiful, sunny day. One of the few that they had experienced since the long, cold winter had ended.

Instead of yet again repeating himself, Howe smirked at his friend, sidling up beside him, turned toward the window. With a smirk of his own, Arawn turned once again to look over what had been the garden, but had very little color therein.

"Shame we've seen so little of the sun lately," Howe remarked dryly, watching the mage from the corner of his eye.

Arawn nodded, his blue eyes fixed to the sky above. "Seems we may well be facing a Blight after all," the blood mage admitted softly, turning to fully face his compatriot.

There was a twist of his features, and Howe turned to face his friend. "Why ever would you say such a thing, my friend?"

A tilt of his blond head reminded Howe so much of Maric that the noble found himself taking a step back. As much as Arawn may hate the deceased king, he had many of the man's mannerisms. Even his easygoing personality - shown to only a very select few - was reminiscent of the charismatic man.

"The darkened skies do not give you a clue, my friend?" the mage drawled out. "How about the swarms of darkspawn from out of the Wilds?"

"We've sunshine now," he remarked, gesturing out of the window. "We have simply been experiencing a bout of inclimate weather. And we're only experiencing an unusually large amount of the usual darkspawn incursions." His smirk widened into a grin. "And, I do seem to recall that it was yourself that declared that this was no Blight." He gently reminded his companion, turning once more to face out through the heated pane of glass.

"Hmmm," Arawn hummed, frowning as he turned from the window to pace around his desk. "Yes, yes. You and everyone else are more likely correct. I am simply reading too much in the gloom." Staring down at the various papers that littered the surface of his desk, he asked, "Now, what brought you here, Rendon?" He looked up, smiling slightly. "I know I was a bit preoccupied when you first began your report…"

With an easy shrug, the noble stepped from the window. "Not so much a report, my Lord," he said in his too smooth voice, "I was merely conveying that the Tevinter mages are becoming a bit…impatient with the progress in the Alienage."

A blond brow quirked again, this time in irritation. "What do they want now?" he asked, frowning. "If we just let them take any elf carte blanch, questions will be asked. This way, they can take them - albeit slowly - and the elves' disappearances can be blamed on the plague."

Raising his hands in a placating fashion, already sensing the irritation from the other man, Howe responded in oily tones, "Ease now, my friend. I have explained this to their envoys. They understand. However," he stepped nearer the other man, placing a hand to his shoulder. "They can sense the growing tensions here in Ferelden. And they are aware that they are unloved here - as they are anywhere in Thedas. They've no desire to remain any longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Hang them, then," the mage cursed. "I do not want people questioning what is happening in the Alienage. Thus far, no one cares that they are dying of plague. Slavery, on the other hand, is greatly frowned upon, and we do not want to run the risk of tainting the dear Regent's name."

"True, true," Howe agreed, removing his hand and stepping to the other side of the mage, standing in silence as Arawn rubbed fingertips over his eyes.

"By the ancient gods," the mage cursed, scowling. "Caladrius can certainly bring out the headache, even without being around, can he not?" He looked up to see Howe smirking slightly. "You agree?"

With a huffed laugh, the noble nodded. "The man gives me the chills," the noble admitted, laughing again at the surprised look upon his friend's face. "Oh, don't give me that look, Arawn. You are formidable, but also affable. That man…" he gave a visible shudder for effect. "He's unnatural."

"Most blood mages are, my friend," the maleficar reminded the other man.

"I don't think I would agree with that," Howe admitted, turning to take a seat nearby. "Most of the time, you are rather…normal, quite congenial. And that Jowan fellow our dear bard recently returned to the fold…"

Here, Arawn raised a hand, tutting at the man. "Not a word against Jowan," he warned, his voice soft, yet warning. "He is an old friend, and I'll not hear a disparaging word against him."

Silent for a moment, Howe stared at his friend for a moment, wondering at the relationship between the two blood mages. Finally, he gave up with a shrug. "Suit yourself. However," he tilted his head to one side, smirking widely. "All I was going to say is he's rather the milquetoast, wouldn't you agree?"

Sighing heavily, Arawn plopped down into his chair, frowning at his friend. "Jowan is not the most assertive of men," the mage admitted with a groan. "But, he is useful, and has been useful to us."

"He failed," Rendon reminded him, as gently as he could, given that the mage had already warned him of speaking against the other mage.

"He managed as he was able, being alone and without back up," Arawn countered, raising a hand to point a finger at the Teyrn. "And that subject is now closed."

After a moment, Howe bowed his head in acquiescence, determining that he would find out what relationship existed between the two.

He was just too curious now to let it go.

As Howe pondered, Arawn's mind was working as well. His thoughts went to the Teyrn upstairs, one who, he had no doubt, currently paced around his small room, most likely cursing Arawn. The thought brought a smile to the mage's face, and Howe quirked a brow at that.

"Just thinking of our Regent upstairs," the mage interpreted the eyebrow movement correctly.

"Ah hmmm," was Rendon's verbal response.

"What?"

Shrugging, Howe replied, "I must wonder why you let Loghain have his cognitive moments." He twisted in his seat, crossing his legs at the knees. "It would seem more prudent to keep him in a stupor so that he does not have occasion to cause us trouble."

"Another thing Caladrius warned me of," the maleficar admitted. "It's something his Tevinter master had warned him of with regards to lyrium branding." Arawn shrugged. "Apparently, if left always in control through the brand, the lyrium will begin to…rot the mind. And, if the mind weakens, the subject falls into a near constant catatonic state. Without the mind - or the will - the lyrium branding would cease to work."

"At all?"

Sighing with a shrug, Arawn remarked, "It would be like walking a wooden puppet into the center of a crowded room. The strings would eventually tangle, the limbs twist, and soon, the puppet would be unable to move."

"Too complicated for me," the Teyrn admitted, rising to get himself a drink.

"It is for me as well, my friend," Arawn admitted with a laugh, rising as well. "Speaking of our dear Teyrn," the mage said as he approached the door, "I think I will go and check on him."

"Enjoy your talk, my friend," Rendon chuckled as Arawn twisted the doorknob. With a shake of his head, the mage left the study, leaving Rendon to pilfer more of his liquor.

DA:O

By the Void! Will it ever end? The mage wondered as he made his way through couriers and courtiers alike, many seeking his approval on one writ or another, most simply to offer well wishes for the Chancellor of the Regent. He allowed himself a small quirk of his lips as he mounted the stairs, walking serenely as he felt the many pairs of eyes upon him. Once he turned the corner of the stairwell, however, he took the stairs two by two.

He took great delight in his almost daily torments of the Teyrn of Gwaren. Not that he especially disliked the man. That was not the case at all. In fact, he greatly admired the man who was, arguably, the greatest hero Ferelden had ever produced.

No. The near joy he derived from his tortures were simply because, absent Maric, Loghain was as good a replacement as any.

After all, Cailan was dead. No torments to be dealt there. The Wardens that the dead king had so venerated dead alongside his younger brother, save for two. Arawn could only hope that, somewhere in the Fade, the spirit of Maric was bemoaning the death of his second born son, the one that he had decided was far more important to him then his elder born, or even the youngest (Arawn seldom allowed himself to think of the youngest Theirin son, but did so on the occasions he hoped to torment Maric's spirit). To the Navarran reared mage, that the man could so easily set aside children simply because they had been born to those not his wedded wife was something he still had difficultly wrapping his mind around.

Of course, he had, with almost single-minded deliberation, arranged for both of his Ferelden born brothers to die at Ostagar. That one of them still remained was not due to any lack of trying on his part.

Ah, well, he thought as he faced the door to Loghain's chambers. All water under the bridge, as they say. Had Maric not reacted to his existence as he had, things could well have been different.

He pushed open the door, stepping through as Loghain turned to face him as he entered. The elder man had been standing near the table, glaring down at the repast that he recently been brought to him. The mage offered the Teyrn a slight twist of his lips as he pushed the door closed, certain that the magics he had placed upon the aperture would keep it closed - and any sounds from the chamber unheard beyond the door - until he commanded otherwise.

"Ah, yet another day of listening to your insipid articulations, eh?" Loghain drawled as he turned fully to face the mage, a familiar scowl upon his features. Arawn merely tilted his head, that small smile still upon his lips.

"Tell me," Loghain continued, remaining in his place. "what do you get from our conversations, mage?"

"Oh, a little insight into what makes you you, Loghain," the mage offered with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. "You are fascinating, in your own short sighted tunnel vision way. You Fereldans have been free of Orlais occupation for thirty years, and yet you continue to act out of fear of reprisal from your masters." He gave a small, elegant tilt of his head, ignoring quite aptly the icy glare of the other man. "Truly amazing that."

"Oh?" a sardonic brow twitched as the corners of his mouth turned downwards further. "You find that fascinating, do you?"

"Oh, most certainly. The slave mentality remains in your Fereldans, and you make certain it lives on in how you treat others."

"Mages, you mean," Loghain snarked out, scowling.

"Oh, mages, elves, the lower classes. All the same to the average Fereldan seeking to make himself feel more superior than he actually is."

"What would you know about that, mage?"

His eyes blazed, and his face hardened. "Are you truly interested, Loghain, or do you merely want to try and rile me?" Magic blazed along his hands, glaring red despite the lack of blood magic being used. Loghain frowned slightly at the display, yet Arawn could see the slight tinge of fear in the man's eyes. "You are wise, indeed, to fear my magic."

"You are as a wild animal, maleficar," Loghain bit out, his eyes leaving the spectacle of the magic flowing around the man's hands to glare up into his eyes. "Your display only reinforces such."

"Really?" Arawn smirked, closing his fists, extinguishing the magical fire. "And yet I maintained restraint, and did not attack. Do animals do such a thing?"

"Well trained animals," Loghain countered immediately.

The mage knew that the man was trying to goad him. Most likely trying to get him to kill him, or otherwise harm him so that he would be useless for whatever further purpose the maleficar had for him. Arawn, however, was not normally a man who reacted in passion - at least, not to so blatant an attempt for violence - and so, seeing what Loghain intended, merely smiled.

He could see the ill ease the crossed the other man's face briefly, before the stoic mask fell, once more, into place.

"You asked me a question, Loghain," Arawn reminded the other as he stepped to the table and pulled a chair free. "Do you not wish to learn the answer, or were you merely seeking to inspire violence?"

"Speak your mind," Loghain sighed, leaning against the wall. "You know well you will anyway."

"Oh?" Arawn quipped as he settled into the chair. "You know me so well, do you, Loghain?"

"Better than you think, boy," the older man snarled back, his cold eyes flashing ice at the other.

Silence prevailed for many moments as Arawn studied the older man across the room from him. He took in the assumed relaxed posture, recognizing the tenseness that kept Loghain's shoulders far too straight. "Do tell," the mage finally prompted. "I'm all atwitter with curiosity."

Eyes narrowing, Loghain merely 'harrumphed' at the mage, his scowl deepening.

"Oh, for the Maker's sake," Arawn teased. "Very well. You asked me what I would know about being thought of as less than others." He rose, passing a hand over his tall, muscular form. "When you see me, dressed in attire as anyone else, what do you see?"

"A mad man," came Loghain's quick and easy retort.

Chuckling, not taking offense in the slightest, Arawn inclined his head. "Perhaps. However, those courtiers and couriers, nobles and commoners below…they see simply a man. Not a mage, certainly not a maleficar. Simply a man."

A frown replaced the seeming easy smile that had moments before graced his face. "But, put on a robe, and suddenly I am something they truly fear. And for what reason? Because the Chantry can brainwash the simpletons that live upon Thedas so easily? They enslave the simple folk, imprison those who are stronger willed behind walls of stone and iron, and let the nobles continue to rule so long as they do as they are told." He cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Mages are considered dangerous, my friend. But it is the Chantry that is the true threat to freedom and all that the freefolk of Thedas value."

Snorting loudly, Loghain snarled, "So this is why you seek to take over the throne of Ferelden? To take over the Chantry?"

Laughing loudly, the mage shook his head. "By the Void, no! Truth be told, had I simply been allowed to live as a free man, as I was born, I could care less about the Throne of Ferelden. Or Ferelden itself. However," his eyes narrowed, and his voice changed from the jovial, conversational quality to one far darker and menacing. Loghain blinked at the rapid change in the man's demeanor. "things changed. People died. And I was imprisoned. So, I figured, I am due for a little of my own back."

With a scowl upon his face, Loghain pushed himself from the wall, straightening as he studied the younger man. "Care to explain in more detail?" He asked quietly.

"Are you truly interested, my friend?" the mage quipped back, falling back once more into the jovial persona he had so carefully crafted for these little discussions with the Teyrn of Gwaren.

Loghain's answer was a curt nod of his head, and Arawn smiled.

"What do you know about Navarran culture?" the mage asked, watching the Teyrn closely, curious as to why he was interested in his story.

Loghain gave a shrug. "Not much. Other than that your Pentaghast clan helped to wipe out the dragons in your nation. And that your nobles are rather clannish."

"Quite similar to Ferelden in many ways, would you not think?" Arawn prompted.

Again that shrug. The mage waved the gesture away. "In Navarra, the first born normally assumes the leadership of the family once the elder passes on. Even children born, let's say, out of wedlock, are due some recognition from the family. Bastards, as they exist in Navarra, are not normally relegated to the Chantry or other lessers for their rearing. They are taken in by the family, raised as a part of the family, and trained for their role as adults." His eyes narrowed. "In some cases, those born out of wedlock are the elder, and they are given the family name, and groomed to take on the leadership at the proper time."

Loghain remained stiff, his eyes fixed upon the mage's face, watching as a near dreamy expression crossed the mage's face. "Thus, when I was of age, my mother gathered her retainers, and my younger sister, and brought us all to Ferelden. The hope of introducing me to my father was foremost on her mind," he lifted his face, and Loghain was surprised by the blankness he saw there.

Arawn turned away, hands clasped behind his back as he paced several feet before the Teyrn. Without looking up, he continued.

"She knew I could not be recognized as his heir. She had been, after all, a diplomat to this backwater country, and understood full well the protection one garners through marriage. Thus, she knew that any child born of Maric and Rowan would be in a far more stable position of inheritance than any born outside their union. Then, of course, was the fact that Cailan was only a few months younger than I, after all, and Ferelden's culture was different - far more barbaric - than our own. However, she felt he had a right to know he had another son out there, and I deserved to know my father."

His eyes glossed over slightly and he ceased his pacing, offering a slight shake his blond head. Then, he snorted in derision, and Loghain tensed. "Mother had even sent a missive ahead of us so that he could prepare for our arrival. Completely and utterly unprepared for the betrayal we would all suffer at his hands."

"Maric would never…!" Loghain spat out, but Arawn raised a hand, and the man fell silent. Whether by magic or the sheer power of the pain that crossed his face, Loghain was uncertain how the mage managed it.

"He did!" Arawn snarled, suddenly across the room, spitting in Loghain's tense face. "He sent a contingent of Templars to the Ferelden border, exactly where we were crossing. My mother…" his voice caught, and the mage backed away, blinking rapidly. "They cut down my mother for trying to protect me. They took my sister, Solona…where, I have no idea. She more than likely is dead, being that she, too, was a mage." He looked over at the man. "She was only nine."

He turned away, his head shaking, hands now clenched tightly into tight fists at his side. "Every one of our loyal retainers were killed. And, to add further insult, they were not even granted a proper burial…their bodies were burned; my mother - a noblewoman - was burned…" he spat these out, turning suddenly again, "Whether simply in keeping with your barbaric funeral practice of cremating the deceased or to simply hide the evidence, who knows?" His voice quieted. "Who cares?"

With a snarl, he shook his head, clearing his mind. "I was taken and imprisoned in your Circle. I was almost fifteen years of age. I proved most difficult for them." The smile on his face was wolflike, an expression Loghain would never have seen upon Maric's face. "It had always amazed me, really. That a man that had witnessed the betrayal of his mother by those she had cause to trust could so easily orchestrate the betrayal of the mother of one of his sons. He must have had a streak of the gallows humor within him." His blue eyes met and held Loghain's. "I understand that he had similarly imprisoned the younger son. Sent him off to the Chantry, no less." His grin widened, revealing even, white teeth. "Had a bit of a sense of irony. One son a despicable mage; the other made compliant by becoming a pawn of the Chantry."

Loghain tensed further, his eyes hard, but he made no sound as Arawn continued. "So I learned what I could from the Circle, found forbidden texts the First Enchanter had hidden away and learned more. I managed to escape five years ago, coinciding with Maric's own death in a near poetic stroke of irony." The mage chuckled at that. "I then made my way out of Ferelden, into the Free Marches, where I found a mage - a maleficar - from Kirkwall. And from him, I learned even more."

"How did you find Howe?" Loghain had to ask, his mind whirling at the implications of what Arawn was telling him.

"He found me," Arawn explained, that easy smile once again firmly in place, masking the madness that lurked just below the surface. "I had returned to Ferelden, seeking allies. Howe was seeking allies as well for his own…impending plans." Loghain shuddered as he realized what those plans had been. "Through mutual," the mage continued, ignoring the man across the way from him, "allies, we found each other. And, surprisingly, our plans melded perfectly together."

"Why?" Loghain's voice was rough.

"Why?" Incredulity was in Arawn's voice. He could not believe Loghain did not understand. "To gain what should have been mine to begin with. I had no true desire for the throne. I still do not. But, I do want some part of my life back. That part that was taken from me. And, the only way to do so is to take away from Maric's. He is dead. If he lived, trust me, my dear Teyrn, I would kill him myself. However, he is dead. Cailan is dead. So, I shall take Ferelden."

"And kill Ferelden?"

"Maker, no," There was that easy smile sliding so easily - too easily - into place again. "I would have Ferelden live. Live under the rule of a mage. Show the Chantry that it can be done. And done fairly. I am not a magister, despite my use of blood magic."

"All to get your revenge upon Maric?"

"All to show him - wherever his spirit may reside - that he made a grave mistake killing my family and sending me to the Circle."

Many more minutes passed in silence, and finally Arawn turned away, seeking the door. Taking a breath, Loghain called out, "It was not Maric."

The mage stopped, his feet stilling instantly. Cautiously, slowly, he turned around, his face once more a blank mask as he turned fully to face the other man.

Loghain took another breath. "Maric never received your mother's missive." He straightened, staring directly into the other man's eyes. "It was I that intercepted it. I who advised the Chantry that apostates would be crossing the Ferelden border."

Many tense moments passed, and with amazing grace and speed, Arawn was upon the other man, his hand at his throat, pressing him against the wall. Gasping, Loghain did not fight against the amazing strength of the younger man, but kept his eyes fixed upon those of the mage.

"You…" Arawn spat as his grip upon Loghain's throat tightened. "You are responsible…"

"Maric…" Loghain gasped out, struggling for breath. Arawn tightened his grip momentarily, bruising the pale flesh beneath his fingertips, then released it to allow him to speak. "Maric never knew about you." Arawn pulled the man forward, then slammed him against the stone wall of his room. "You plotted your revenge for nothing!"

With a cry of outrage, Arawn pulled Loghain forward and off balance, easily tossing him across the room. As the man slammed against the floor, the mage was upon him, pulling him to his feet, a knife in his hand. Suddenly, the smell of iron filled the room, and a familiar red mist flowed around the blood mage, as the blade cut into Loghain's arm, sending a sharp burst of pain up his arm and throughout his body.

Pressing the dripping blade now to Loghain's throat, marking his flesh with his own blood, the mage hissed, "You think by your admission I will kill you, don't you, my dear Teyrn?" There was a deeper madness in his voice, something Loghain had never heard before, and he suddenly wondered at the wisdom of telling this man one of his darkest secrets. Shaking his head, Arawn continued. "But, no. No, no, no, my dear. You shall live." He pressed Loghain against the wall, and stepped away, his power flowing over and around him as a living cloak. "You are a fool, for all your brilliance, my dear Teyrn! Do you forget that I hold your daughter as well?"

Stony iciness crossed Loghain's pained face as he forced near panic down as bile, and he managed to croak out. "You would not dare! You need the Queen alive!"

"Perhaps," Arawn said, pointing the knife at the gasping man. "Or perhaps she is of more use dead, killed by the renegade Grey Wardens." He tilted his head, a malicious grin crossing his handsome face. Loghain paled as he continued. "After all, if she is dead, your claim as Regent has more validity."

"Foolish tripe!" Loghain spat, trembling with rage, and Arawn's hand upon his throat tightened it's grip.

"My plans for Ferelden have changed, my friend," the mage hissed. "You shall live - for now."

The maddened mage absentmindedly tapped the blade along the hollow of Loghain's throat. "The darkspawn swarm over Ferelden, killing those in their path. A civil war has taken hold, brought on by those fools of Banns who cannot see the destruction that is devastating this country." He stepped nearer, his blue eyes now glowing red, and Loghain gasped at the scent of death that threatened to overwhelm him. "You shall live, but your legend shall die as surely as if it had a life of it's own." Arawn repeated, stepping away. "And, as you live, my friend, Ferelden, and all you esteemed, will perish."

He moved to the door, brandishing the knife once more as Loghain made a move toward him. The Teyrn tensed as Arawn's power enveloped him, the lyrium brand under his hairline glowing brightly beneath the mane of raven black hair.

"All that you and Maric fought for shall be for naught, my dear, dear Teyrn. By not allowing the Wardens a stronger presence within the country, the Blight shall take over. With the imprisonment of the mages, there shall be no magic to help stem the tide of black death. The continued slavery of the elves, denying them even the most basic fundamental rights to bare arms, assures there shall be few to fight against the darkspawn that will invade."

He smiled, his white teeth glowing against the misty red backdrop of his power. "And you shall live, my friend. You shall live to watch as Ferelden falls to the black tide that is civil war and the Blight."

With those words, Arawn pulled open the door, and left the room, leaving a gasping Loghain, still trapped by the power of the branding, standing in the center of his room, the mage's mad words flowing over him.

Ferelden…will perish…

DA:O

The door to the study burst open, ushering in a disheveled Arawn. The mage shot Howe a glare as he pushed his way to the bar, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey. Feeling the power of the mage, taking note of the tiny specks of what appeared to blood upon his hands, Howe wisely kept quiet as Arawn gulped down the strong liquor. Only once he slammed the glass down did Rendon deign to speak.

"All well with Loghain?"

"Our plans have changed, my friend."

"How so?" Howe asked, watching as his friend lifted the brandy carafe from the shelf.

That only earned him another glare as the mage poured himself another drink.

"Sell all of the elves," the mage said once he finished the second glass.

Blinking, Howe tilted his head, his brow furrowing with confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did I stutter?" the mage snarled, his face twisting once more into a mask of rage. "I said to sell all of the elves. Give the Tevinters what they want. Give them that written dispensation they have been requesting. Make certain that it is complete, with Loghain's seal and signature, allowing them to purchase every elf in Ferelden."

That caught the Teyrn by surprise. "Every elf…"

"…in Ferelden. From every Alienage, every freehold, every farm. Even the damned Dalish! They can take any elf they happen upon, so long as they compensate us."

"They already have dispensation…" the nobleman started to remind the mage. A sharp chopping hand stopped that comment.

"That dispensation was to take elves they deemed too…ill to be cured with their rudimentary hospice and that would need to accompany them to Tevinter for further treatment. That they never return would be a simple matter that they did not survive," the mage sneered, glowering at the other man, who visibly shrank back. "This is outright sale of the elves to Tevinter. Authorized and signed by the Regent himself!"

"May I ask why?" Howe drawled out. Raising his hands, he continued, "Caladrius will be most pleased by this turn of events," Howe remarked dryly, moving around the desk, pulling out a clean piece of parchment as he began to write out the dispensation. "I am simply curious. After all, my friend," the Teyrn purred as he pulled his chair free. "The plan was to keep Loghain's name as clean of such things as possible. The original writ was to be seen as an act of mercy."

"I am certain Caladrius will be more than pleased, and I know you are as well," Arawn agreed. Turning to face his friend as he started to write in his neat scribe, the mage surged forward, slapping his hand down upon the parchment with a firm "No!" His blue eyes narrowed. "I do not want you or I implicated in this in any fashion. It must be in Loghain's hand in its entirety." He tilted his head. "Use one of Loghain's personal messengers to send the missive off to the Tevinters as well."

In answer to Howe's startled expression, rising up from the page, Arawn stepped away. "Let us just say that the need to keep Loghain as the national hero is no longer necessary for our plans."

That got a raised eyebrow and stilled hands at that comment. "Oh?" Howe frowned slightly, his eyes shifting to the door as he wondered just what had happened during the hour Arawn spent speaking with the Regent. His eyes skimmed back to the mage, but Arawn had turned his back to him.

"Just make certain that Loghain writes it out and signs it. He is…compliant now."

Howe offered his friend's back a frown as he stood, pondering his command. Just months prior, Arawn had been very cautious about putting their puppet's seal on anything as…unsavory as selling the elves into slavery. After all, they would need Loghain to continue to serve as Regent for some time to come. Assigning responsibility for so heinous an act to him could well ruin many of their plans, despite Arawn's assurances that Loghain's role in their plans had simply changed.

The noble opened his mouth to question his coconspirator, but the expression upon the mage's face - one he had seen seldom but had quickly come to associate with an explosive rage - caused him to snap his mouth shut with an audible click.

Thus, nodding, Howe set the quill back to the ink well and pulled free a clean piece of parchment, his quick mind already calculating the funds that would soon be added to their treasury as he then gathered more writing supplies.

After all, there were a lot of elves in Ferelden.