All things considered, Loghain can't find much to complain about regarding the shape he's in, given his age and what he's experienced. His joints bother him on especially cold mornings, or if a storm is on the horizon; reading by candlelight is certainly more of a chore than it ever was during his younger years. But his shield arm is still strong, and he's more than capable of hacking his way through a training dummy without winding himself.

He's worked up a bit of a sweat by the time he notices Nathaniel in his peripheral vision, and pauses to watch Rendon Howe's boy with an inscrutable look on his face.

"Possibly," he answers the biting query without giving any indication that it's ruffled his feathers. He carries his shield over to the wall and sets it down, switches out his blade for a practice one, and comes back onto the training grounds. Lifting the weapon, he adopts a ready stance.

He'll trust that this fight is meant in good faith. He doesn't have any other options. "On your mark," he says.