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[OPEN] and anyway, I told the truth
WHO: Loghain Mac Tir, Alistair Theirin + OPEN
WHAT: Loghain settles into life in Kirkwall.
WHEN: Throughout early September, and right after Loghain and Alistair's sending crystal conversation.
WHERE: The stables; the Gallows library at night, the dining hall.
NOTES: The thread between Loghain and Alistair is open to everyone! Feel free to witness and contribute to what goes down. Aside from the first prompt, you can assume that the others happen on multiple different occasions throughout the month.
WHAT: Loghain settles into life in Kirkwall.
WHEN: Throughout early September, and right after Loghain and Alistair's sending crystal conversation.
WHERE: The stables; the Gallows library at night, the dining hall.
NOTES: The thread between Loghain and Alistair is open to everyone! Feel free to witness and contribute to what goes down. Aside from the first prompt, you can assume that the others happen on multiple different occasions throughout the month.
I. THE STABLES (ALISTAIR)
He reaches the stables towards the end of the day, with the last of the sun's warmth beginning to wane and some slight cloud cover rolling in from the west. It's cold, but his reception from Alistair is guaranteed to be downright frosty.
Loghain steps into the stables, and checks the impulse to detour past Sooty's stall. Best not to put this off. "Alistair?"
II. THE LIBRARY
Through trial and error, Loghain has determined that the best time to make use of the Inquisitions' research facilities is in the dead of night, for what normal person would choose to sit at a desk and squint at centuries' old books by candlelight? Doing this means it's a bit slower going for him to track down what he needs, but it at least also means that there are no scowling faces nearby to draw his focus away from his work.
There are, regretfully, few resources at his disposal here for research into red lyrium or Corypheus's history, but what few books and papers he has been able to dig up are currently spread out before him on a library table. Rather than sitting at a chair to work, Loghain instead paces slowly behind it, alternating between sipping from a cooling mug of black tea, leaning over to make pencil notations on a map, and flipping through pages of notes, searching for connections.
It's possible he's been at this for a few hours.
III. THE DINING HALL
In general, he prefers to take his meals in private, but suspects that over the long run, this will only make his situation in Kirkwall more difficult, and make the untenable aspects of it persist for even longer. So while he continues his routine of having breakfast alone, he makes it a point to join the rest of the Inquisition's personnel in one of the dining halls each day for both lunch and dinner. So far, most people have left him alone.
He's seated at one of those long tables now, idly stirring a spoon in a bowl of stew until it cools. The other hand holds open the pages of a book, which he reads from in silence.
IV. THE STABLES--ON A DIFFERENT DAY
The stables undoubtedly have grooms and stablehands to see to this sort of work, but Loghain has spent the last several months trekking across Thedas with only his horse for company. It still seems odd to leave her care in the hands of strangers.
Dressed in clothes he doesn't mind getting a bit dirty, he is at work in Sooty's stall brushing her coat down after an invigorating run through the surrounding, stark hills. He talks to her quietly under his breath as he does so, smiling, and feeds her bits of vegetable out of a pouch on his belt every so often.
II
"Hermione, is that--" And the she some to an abrupt halt, stiffening as she spots him. The mabari recognizes Loghain as well, of course, but that doesn't stop him from padding over and wagging his tail at the man. Hi, friend!
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He won't slight Garahel, however. As the dog trots over to him, he reaches a hand down to scratch the top of his head, but cautions him with a tired-sounding, "Best not get too comfortable here, fellow."
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"Warden Loghain. I believe introductions were lacking when last we met, though that was my fault as well. I am Inessa Serra, formerly of Kinloch Hold...and Denerim."
Sensing the tension from his mistress, Garahel lets out a soft whine. He likes getting head scratches, can't they stay?
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Loghain doesn't speak; there is, frankly, nothing that he can say in response to Inessa's cold, condemning stare. He can't, and won't, deny his guilt and complicity in the atrocities that transpired in Denerim, but there is no apology in the world that could even begin to make any of it right.
He gives Garahel one more fond scratch behind the ears, then urges him, "Go on," to return to Inessa's side. When he looks to the young woman again, his lips are pressed into a thin line, his hooded gaze dark with regret.
At length, he asks, "What would you have me say, Warden Serra?"
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"Just don't try to justify it and don't assume that verbal apologies mean anything." The fact that he didn't immediately try to do just that grudgingly earns him a point in his favor, but Inessa's still a long way from forgiveness.
"I told Warden Nathaniel that I would work alongside any fellow Warden among us -even you- and I will. Our cause is more important. But do not expect me to forget. I cannot."
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"I expect no such thing." Her cordiality in this encounter is, to be frank, more than he had expected from any elf with connections to the Denerim alienage. True, the plot had not been his own, but it had been within this power to stop it, and he had not. Even were Rendon Howe still alive, Loghain would not be within his rights to lay the blame for that travesty completely at his feet.
But self-flagellation is similarly not in his nature; he will find penitence through action, not through throwing himself upon the alter in the Maker's house night after night, entreating forgiveness. He won't beg it from Inessa, either, or anyone else still breathing. (Perhaps from Maric--)
"I have no quarrel with you," he tells her quietly. "Should you require my assistance for the completion of our task, I am available. Otherwise, you can be certain I will leave you be."
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At Garahel's eyeing her, she sighs, her tone grudging. "Garahel...will do as he pleases; I doubt I could stop him." His habit of befriending absolutely everyone is not usually as annoying as now, but knowing the stubborn wall of muscle as she does, Inessa suspects that keeping him away would be a futile effort. That tail-wag from Garahel indicates as much.
She almost turns to leave, certain that no reading will happen now, but pauses. "Do you believe you can atone?" It's a strangely honest question, one she herself wasn't expecting to ask.
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However he does his penance, only the Maker can grant him absolution. He knows better than to look for it in the eyes of anyone else.
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"...and yet, you persist." Such words are spoken in a more neutral, less frigid tone than anything else she has said so far. That kind of willpower would be almost admirable in anyone else, but she's loathe to be generous with her esteem in his case.
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"I do." Words again offered without further elaboration or justification; whether she finds his actions admirable or despicable or pathetic, or the result of some darker motivation to manipulate or control, it won't sway him from his path.
Sensing that their conversation is drawing to a conclusion, he looks back to the work spread across his desk and takes a step towards it again.
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