faderift | [OPEN] I will need to face what I've done

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[OPEN] I will need to face what I've done

WHO: Loghain, various starters + OPEN
WHAT: Loghain has been granted a temporary reprieve from his exile in order to attend King Maric's funeral in Denerim. Once he returns, various other situations require his attention.
WHEN: Early April-ish.
WHERE: Throughout Kirkwall, and outside Denerim in Ferelden.
NOTES: Prompts 1 and 2 take place in Ferelden and predate all the Kirkwall prompts.

I. A rural inn outside Denerim; the night before the funeral (closed to Teren and Anders)

Loghain was advised by the Crown (also known as his daughter) that his presence in the city of Denerim was likely to cause a stir, stoking the fires of arguments left dormant for nearly a decade after the blight and the civil war. It was not an explicit instruction for him to make his entrance into the capitol as discreet and quiet as possible, but that is how Loghain has chosen to interpret it. This is explanation enough for why he's opted for his small travel party to stay at a nondescript roadside in a few miles away from the city gates; he'll ride in on his own tomorrow, dressed as simply as possible, and make a nondescript entrance into the palace through a prearranged meeting with one of Anora's confidantes.

It all feels unnecessarily cloak-and-dagger for his tastes, but the indisputable fact of the matter is there are a number of people in this country that would see his head on a spike if left to their own devices. This is the safest, least politically incendiary route for him to take, while still getting to say his final farewells to his king.

The inn has a small common area near a lit hearthfire; aside from them, and the innkeeper who is keeping to herself, they don't seem to have much other company. To keep himself occupied, Loghain has taken to polishing his boots.

II. The inn; after the funeral, in the evening (closed to Teren)

The funeral is over, and so is Loghain's business in Ferelden. Whatever feeling he had expected on the heels of completing this journey, this isn't it.

After passing some time at the palace with Anora, Loghain arrives back at the inn late enough at night that he fully expects both Teren and Anders to be asleep so that they can be well rested for their journey back to Kirkwall in the morning. Rather than rousing the stablehand to see to Sooty's needs, Loghain leads his tired mare into the stables himself and takes the time to feed and water her while removing her tack. He brushes her down while she grazes, speaking softly to her under his breath. Outside the stall, Primrose dozes with her chin on her paws.

III. The Gallows library; at night (closed to Vandelin)

Once he has returned to Kirkwall, Loghain does not need very long to revert to his usual habit of staying up late into the night pouring over maps and tomes related to the blight and darkspawn, though admittedly some of his work is almost of a penitent nature; reviewing the old routes he took during the years he devoted to searching for Maric, wondering whether the present might look very different for Ferelden had he simply made this choice, rather than that one. It's a completely unproductive use of his time, yet it is difficult for his thoughts not to tend in that direction.

More often than not, these nightly visits to the library are solitary. This night in particular, however, when he steps into the library, he discovers there is already a lamp lit on one of the tables.

"Someone else is here burning the midnight oil, I see," he greets the enchanter with a smile that could easily be mistaken for a grimace.

IV. Wildcard scenarios (OPEN)

(OOC: Loghain can be found working in the Warden offices, on the training grounds delivering basic combat and self defence training to those who require it, in the stables seeing to his horse Sooty, or wandering around Sundermount with his wolf-dog Primrose! Feel free to set up a scenario of your own choosing if you prefer.)

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All the cloak and dagger business has suited Teren fine, and though she doesn't care for funerals, she has been a quiet but steadfast presence at Loghain's side since their arrival.
Expecting her to be asleep at this time of night is misguided; as a rule, Teren doesn't get a good night's sleep. She's embroidering by candlelight at her window when she sees someone enter the stables, and having come to know that specific gait-- and horse-- she makes her way down, giving Primrose an idle scratch behind the ears as she goes by.
Rather than disturb Loghain, she stands in the doorway, arms folded, thoughtful. She doesn't mean to sneak up on him, but sometimes it just happens.

Primrose gives her tail a friendly swish from side to side at that scratch and lifts her chin from her paws to watch after Teren a moment as she passes by. But she is a trusted and familiar presence, and so shortly thereafter, the wolf-dog relaxes again.

It takes Loghain a moment or two to notice the presence behind him, focused as he is on caring for Sooty. When he does, he turns just quickly enough that the mare snorts her displeasure into her feed bag, but not enough to truly spook her. Then, "Teren," he exclaims with some quiet surprise, relief coupled with confusion plain on his face (and another unnameable feeling that always creeps in when he sees her).

He dusts off his hands and slips them into his pockets, taking a small step towards the stall door. "I rather expected you'd both be asleep," he admits.

"Did you," Teren replies, eyebrows raised sardonically-- as if she ever falls asleep before it's nearly dawn, and doesn't usually just wander the halls or the camp or wherever the Wardens are positioned. There's no official night watch among them, but Teren might as well be.

"I suppose you've had things to think about," she adds, chancing a small, uncertain smirk.

At the pointed look she gives him, Loghain quirks a small smirk of agreement and doesn't bother responding. Yes, she has always kept peculiar hours; he's noticed that. He's had time to notice plenty about Teren.

"I suppose you've had things to think about."

"A few things, yes," he agrees, meeting her eyes. There's no drink to reach for (or spill everywhere) this time, and no intoxicated junior Warden to come staggering into their table to interrupt them, and so the brief silence that follows feels heavy, weighted with meaning. Loghain allows himself a small smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes a bit, before he looks back to Sooty and absently smooths a hand across her broad neck. "What about you?" he asks--to Teren, of course, not the horse.

What about her. Normally Teren would dodge the question, say something flippant and get it over with, but there actually have been developments. She's scared to death to confront them, of course, and that shows in a subtle change on her face when she looks away from Loghain, pursing her lips even as she leans against the doorway. Her thin hands run up and down her arms once or twice, warding off cold or perhaps just nerves.
"If I told you," she says in a quiet voice, "that what you saw in the Fade was real-- as, I expect, what I saw was-- how much would you want to know?" It's as much an invitation as anyone has ever received, to be given the truth by Teren about some aspect of her life. She's not even entirely controlling the subject. It's a huge deal, and by how stolidly she looks anywhere but at Loghain, this much should be clear.

"...how much would you want to know?"

Her body language communicates her vulnerability just as clearly as her words do, if not moreso, and Loghain pauses as she speaks, listening in silence. The question deserves serious consideration and not a haphazard and ill-thought out promise to never never wonder to himself about what he had seen, to never ask Teren any questions for fear of tripping a wire and ensnaring her in something she can't escape. And to turn the situation on his head, how much of what she'd seen in the Fade had been true for him, too?

He smooths his hand one more time over Sooty's neck, then slips his hands into his pockets and takes a few quiet steps towards where Teren leans against the door. "I would know whatever you might wish to tell me," he replies quietly at last, looking to her eyes even if she cannot look into his, "whenever you might choose to share it." A pause, before he offers, "And I would give you the same, for what you saw."

Teren fights the urge to snap that she doesn't wish to tell him anything, that this is his opportunity to wrest transparency from her tightly clasped fingers-- but that's no way to converse with someone who has otherwise been so forgiving, so...
...comfortable, in his way.

She's silent for a time, jaw clenched and arms folded as she stares hard at the floor. How much does he need to know? Perhaps, as a start, just the things that would send a person running, either to the hills or to the guard.
"Fifteen years," she finally grunts, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, "or thereabouts. I was in that room because I killed someone."

"...I was in that room because I killed someone."

It is not an answer that Loghain finds especially shocking or difficult to accept. There is much about Teren that he does not know, though that lack of knowledge doesn't hinder his understanding. Her demons, the blood on her hands, hound her as much as they do him. He doesn't need to know the details to grasp the deeper intangible truth of what those experiences did to her.

He frowns in thought, not in judgment. "Did they deserve it?" he asks quietly.

"Who's to say?"
Teren shrugs one shoulder, shifting her eyes grimly back to meet Loghain's. "We were both doing what was expected of us. And both gave up our lives as a result." There's a great weariness behind her words, and her arms are still folded, still closed off.
"I still remember his face. Quite clearly."

"I still remember his face. Quite clearly."

Loghain makes a pensive sound of agreement in response, but little else for a time. He empathizes, but she knows that already; anyone who knows the name Loghain Mac Tir knows that he has the blood of hundreds on his hands, but perhaps only a handful--present company included--know enough of him to know how those deaths preoccupy him. And this isn't about his understanding, anyway. It's about her, and her willingness to expose a vulnerability to him, trusting that it won't be exploited.

"Teren," he starts again just as quietly, "that changes nothing for me." After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out to rest a hand against her arm, his touch light, easy to withdraw from should she choose that.

"Perhaps it should," Teren says, some of the prickle returning to her voice despite how she tries to rein it in; she's so bad at this, emotional honesty or whatever you want to call it. Why bother when shutting everyone out has worked so well for so long?
She lets Loghain touch her arm without pulling away, however, and she looks down at his hand, pensive. "You'll find I'm not what you're bargaining for," she says, her voice quiet and not entirely combative, "but I suppose the choice is yours."

Betraying an order, and Alistair, and leading a whole country nearly to its doom? Rather more to complain about than killing one person, sabotaging one noble house. But some things are done out of a desire for honor, and some are done out of intrinsic treachery, and Teren suspects she knows where both she and Loghain stand on that spectrum.

Honour, and too much loyalty. Those qualities when combined can force a man to commit untold atrocities.

"I bargain for nothing--that's not what this is." It would be easy under other circumstances for Loghain to allow himself to woolgather over his past mistakes, but the pair of them are on the cusp of something together and he suspects a misstep, or inattentiveness, could throw it into jeopardy. When she doesn't push his hand away, he lets his hand settle there warmly, a calloused thumb stroking her arm through the fabric of her shirt.

"And," he adds quietly, "it's not only my choice, is it?"

She continues to look at his hand a moment longer, watches how fondly it rests there, in a way she thought she'd never see again-- and perhaps it wasn't even real the first time. It seems alien now, but not unwelcome, and Teren is frustrated by how she wants to lean into it.
"...we're all food for worms," she says under her breath, unsure why the thought came aloud, but it seems appropriate. How many years does she have left, how many does Loghain? Looking up into his eyes, she watches him, torn, a part of her hoping he'll take the initiative, make the decision for her. That's never been a thing she's wanted before.

Possibly he reads something of Teren's hope and fear in her eyes when she looks up to him, because for a moment his lips twist into a wistful grimace. She isn't alone in these feelings, or in her awareness of how fleeting the time they have left is--but if Maric's death in Seheron served no other purpose, it at least forced Loghain to recognize the importance of seizing those moments of genuine connection while he still could. Life comes with no guarantees, except for an end to it, one day. (And taxes.)

"...we're all food for worms."

He quirks a small smile. "But not today," he replies just as quietly. Then he lifts his hand from her arm to cup her cheek, and leans in to kiss her gently on the mouth.

Sucker, Teren hasn't paid taxes her whole life and isn't going to start anytime soon. Inevitabilities are for other people.
Except this one, apparently: she's a little surprised by the action, but not averse to it, and meets Loghain's kiss. There's no tearing at clothing or shoving tongues in mouths, at least not on her part; really, it's telling as is that Teren's demeanor is calm, even pleasant.

There's probably not going to be any tearing of clothes or tongues being shoved anywhere, since they're still in the barn and Sooty is, like, right there. So the kiss remains a gentle one, warm with affection, until Loghain lets it end. When he draws back his hand remains at her face, thumb stroking the ridge of her cheekbone.

"I care for you. Whatever sort of life an old traitor of a Warden can have with the Calling," this said with a touch of grim humour, clearly referring to himself, "I'd share that with you, Teren."

Not to mention Boots. There are children present.
She looks into his eyes as his thumb moves over her cheekbone, and finds that she likes the feeling. It's familiar, in a long lost way, and Teren is a bit ashamed that she wants to chase it.
"Very well then," she replies, prim and dignified, but with the slightest twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

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[OPEN] I will need to face what I've done

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