faderift | [OPEN] and anyway, I told the truth

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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.

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.

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Loghain has a shadow, though he may not realize it. He probably assumes so on some level just being who he is, but Teren is pro at being shady, and it's been a while since she got to stretch these muscles.
It's easy enough to be near enough to hear and see him when they're both doing Warden things, and though she always keeps one ear open, Teren's real priority is anytime Loghain is interacting with the others, Alistair in particular.

One can hear a lot while sewing. Or brushing Boots. Or just, you know, existing in someone's general vicinity. Subtly.

This is not the first time Loghain notices her--he's too perceptive for that--but this is the first time he acknowledges that yes, she has been shadowing his steps. Truth be told, it's been a bit like a game for him to determine when her presence in his periphery is simply a matter of coincidence--they're both Wardens, after all, and called to the same fight--and when it seems too intentional to be anything but an accident.

He pauses in his slow, relentless pacing behind his work station in the library, collects up a candle stick, and moves quietly to stand near the end of a row of books. Peering around to the other side, he spots her; there's no surprise in his expression.

"If you're going to follow me around," he says, "you might as well come sit at the table and have a cup of tea while you're at it."

There's no surprise in hers either, though there is caution. Teren's eyes move before the rest of her, flitting up from whatever book she was holding and meeting Loghain's squarely, before she claps the book shut and puts it back. Striding toward him, she tilts her head, expression level but not completely unfriendly.
"Suits me fine," she decides, taking a seat. "You've settled in well."

In the dark of the library at night, Loghain has set up enough illumination around his work station to allow him to read and take notes without difficulty. There's only one chair here available for sitting in; the other holds holds a stack of reference material instead. Loghain isn't inclined to sit anyway, and seems to work best on his feet.

"You've settled in well."

He makes a noise halfway between a snort and a grudging laugh. "I've found work that needs doing, and am doing it," he replies a bit dryly, reclaims his mug of tea, and sips from it while examining the maps and papers laid open in front of him. A few seconds of grim silence, then a small shake of his head. "I doubt I will ever be 'settled' here." There's no bitterness or sadness there; just the frank reality that his time in Kirkwall is going to be hard, and he's accepted the fact.

Teren likely hasn't been here long, but she did enter a while ago after dark had fallen, seeming to be making rounds. That said, she's very much awake, and even seems a little sharper.
"What sort of work? Fancy writing?" The question has a mocking edge, and the corner of her mouth twitches upward.

Loghain snorts. "No. My penmanship could use the work, however."

He collects the notes from the table--transcriptions, rather than the originals--and takes the few steps necessary to cross back towards Teren, offering them out to her. "I discovered these papers while searching through the project archives, though I imagine if there were any further use to be gleaned from them by the Inquisition, we would know of it by now."

That's not strictly speaking correct, but he'd rather not cast aspersions against the organization whose hospitality he relies upon.

Teren takes the papers and studies one with the particular focus of someone who learned to read quite late in life and is still slow at it. There's no way she's going to make it through all this in one sitting, but she does, at least, recognize the name 'Corypheus'.
"Ah," she intones, handing the papers back, careful not to make it too obvious that she didn't get to much. "I imagine so. He's a slippery fellow."

He accepts the papers back from her and makes a noise of agreement, then turns to set them back on the desk. "He's a slippery fellow," she says, and Loghain can't disagree.

After a moment, he shifts his eyes back to Teren, his expression difficult to read. Heavily, he says, "Are you here because of Alistair?" Best to just get it out of the way.

No one's fooling anyone, and it's oddly refreshing.
"After the Fifth Blight, I was placed in his company," she replies in lieu of an answer, "the boy was a shambles, yet did more for me, to make me comfortable, than anyone I've ever known. In return, I will never let him return to that place of weakness." She looks at her nails, then back up at Loghain, her expression level and calculating.
"Should someone appear who is singularly capable of causing such a backslide, it is in everyone's best interest that I pay attention. Close attention. And though I've begun to get the measure of you, and I have my doubts that this is your intention, I have found that one can never be too careful."

A warning in itself: though she's being unusually candid, Teren has never given any impression that knowing more of her thought process will protect anyone from her wrath if she should decide to inflict it. It's a welcome home gift to Loghain, as well as a clearly-drawn line with dire consequences should it be crossed.

"And though I've begun to get the measure of you, and I have my doubts that this is your intention, I have found that one can never be too careful."

He has begun to get the measure of her, too.

When she has finished delivering her warning, Loghain considers her in silence, leaning against the table. He turns his lukewarm cup of tea idly in his grasp, then sets it down. "I appreciate your candour." And the lack of overt aggression, though that should go without saying.

His eyes settle on the papers relating to Corypheus' initial imprisonment; judging by the slight crease to his brow line and the downward turn of the corners of his mouth, he's turning some thought over and over again in his head. "I've no intention of provoking Alistair towards any sort of self-destructive behaviour. Suffice it to say I've had my fill of days spent provoking him into anything, and no crisis of conscience on my part could undo them regardless."

Then he straightens up, removing his weight from the table, and meets her eyes again. "I want no quarrel with the boy, but my duty bids me remain until the job is finished."

Teren nods once in acknowledgment, her demeanor relaxed enough that it's clear she accepts what he's told her. "As does the lot of ours," she sighs, squinting irritably off to one side. "Whether or not we like how it finishes."
She can't really hold it against him that he's untrustworthy and doesn't want to be here. It's a feeling she knows all too well.

It's an opportunity to shift the subject a little way's away from how little the rest of the Wardens--indeed, much of the Inquisition--mistrusts him, and towards their enemy. Loghain takes it.

"How do you anticipate this ending, for all of us?" he asks her seriously; he knows very little of this mysterious Nevarran Warden, but what little he has glimpsed so far suggests to him that her perceptive insight into matters might be the edge they need.

Teren abruptly looks uncomfortable-- not only does she know at least one answer to this, she's seen it. But she's kept that mainly to herself, finding it too difficult to engage with it by acknowledging its reality.

"...if we cock it up, badly." That's vague enough. "Red lyrium growing out of everything and everyone. We'll all be useless or thralls or ghouls. ...I imagine." Nice save.
"If we want Corypheus to stay out of our heads, we'll need to find and deal with him sooner or later. He's a right tosser, but at least he's no archdemon."

"...if we cock it up, badly. Red lyrium growing out of everything and everyone. We'll all be useless or thralls or ghouls. ...I imagine. If we want Corypheus to stay out of our heads, we'll need to find and deal with him sooner or later. He's a right tosser, but at least he's no archdemon."

Alive, and corrupted, and good for no one at all. The thought becomes a knot of dread in his gut, and he chooses not to consider how Teren can predict this future.

"...in that case," he replies, perhaps a few weighted moments later than necessary, "I should continue my research, in hopes of identifying some means of protecting us from further corruption." He looks back to his work again; it's not a dismissal, for he welcomes her company, but he doesn't do well with too much talk for too long.

Whatever fears she may have had for the Order's well-being, they've been mitigated. Not eliminated, not entirely, but Teren knows a waste of time when she sees one, and paying so much attention to this man's comings and goings fits the bill.
"That you should," she agrees, rising from her seat and cracking her back when she stands. "Until next time." She may still have to kill him someday, but that goes for most people she knows.

At her words of farewell, he offers her the closest approximation to a smile that he can summon to his weathered face. "Until next time," he agrees. He watches her take her leave in pensive silence, before slowly resuming his idle pacing behind his work table again.

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[OPEN] and anyway, I told the truth

e v e r y w h e r e

the liiiiiibrary

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