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[OPEN]

WHO: Stannis Baratheon and OPEN.
WHAT: A Knight-Commander wandering and glaring at various things.
WHEN: Two weeks after arriving to Skyhold.
WHERE: Skyhold, various.
NOTES: None.

A - STABLES

He stood in the stables. Stannis thought that he should leave, that he should abandon these fools to whatever horrors should come for them. But he gave his word; he offered his sword. A Templar does not abandon their post regardless of what sense says they should do. He lifted his hand to lightly pat the side of the stallion's neck. Beyond his sword and armor, the horse was one of the few possessions that he had left. If worse came to worse, he planned to let it run free from Skyhold. It was not bound to his duty and word, so why not let it live?

"I continue to be tested and wonder if deities do exist if only to torment." Stannis let his hand drop away as he started to move out of the stables. "And yet, it is I who find them wanting. Such is the way of Gods and me."

B - LIBRARY

A raven had been found to send message to the few that owed him favors. He sought to find where his daughter had disappeared. How could she had just vanish? Or was it that she just joined the list of the unnamed dead? A sobering thought, but he would continue to search for word, for rumor of what had become of her. Until it became too much to do so.

His steps fell heavy as he walked down to head toward the courtyard. He only stopped briefly in the library to see how the process of categorizing the ancient texts was going. Stannis skimmed over the books on the tables and wondered of what would be written about their present tribulations. Would the writers fill the pages with fluff and prose to hide the terror of what really occurred? Most likely. Who would want to hear the truth when a story was better?

A pause.

"Hard in Hardtown." He read the book title aloud as he picked it up where it laid. Turning it over, he knew not the reason but frowned at the smug illustrated look of the author. Still, the novel appeared to be new due to the lack of dust for one, and the name of the author for another. Someone brought this in? Apparently they believed we are missing some piece of literature. A beat in his thoughts. Should have brought the story of Hawke.

C - BATTLEMENTS

Stannis had grown accustomed to walking the battlements. He would watch the courtyard and it emptied and eventually turn his gaze towards the horizon. Like he expected the enemy's army's torches to suddenly appear, cutting through the black. Yet nothing came. Perhaps, Corypheus believes us to not be a thread now that the Herald is dead. But if I were him, I would tear this fortress down before my enemies had the chance to rebuild, before they grew enough nerve to strike. It may be a good thing that he did not become a Red Templar, did not listen to the siren call of the tainted.

He rested against the waist-high stone wall, crossing his arms. There were enough guards to do what he was doing -- or so he had been told once or twice. Turning to rest his arms on the stone, he lifted his hands to interlace his fingers. "Oh Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest night. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me rest in the warmest of places." These words were spoken, not sung. Stannis let his hands drop.

"As I thought." A pause. "Everyone believed in you, and you continue to let them down. They continue to pray like you care." A God that allowed what has happen to happen was no God. "Perhaps, we should take a page from Tevinter, after all. We should cease believing in Gods that do nothing for us. Perhaps, we would be able to do more if we were not always on our knees."

D

Wildcard.

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[ People come and go, touching books, maybe putting them back where they're meant to go. Dorian is slowly getting used to ignoring them, or rather-- not ignoring so much as accepting these new constants as normal, even acceptable ambience, as he makes the library his second home. The creaking of wooden staircase and floorboards, the whispers of conversation floating up from the rotunda, and the abominable squawking of ravens above.

Okay, so. He will probably not let that one go readily.

He glances up from where he is inspecting books stacked along some shelving at the mention of Varric's recent literary venture, attention then fixed when he sees the fairly recognisable figure of Stannis Baratheon crowding in the cramped confines of the library. Dorian's fingers tap the spines of the books being perused, before breaking away at a wander. ]

Varric's infamous penny dreadful, [ he explains, by way of approach. His voice fills the room and the metallic details of his light-weight armor seem to reflect light that isn't present. His hands dance about him in expressive gesture. ] The man probably slipped it in amongst the catalogue himself, Maker knows.

In search of some light reading, Knight-Commander?

[ Stannis halts at the sound of the voice. His fingers tighten around the book, like he would imagine that he would the hilt of a sword or around the man's neck. He glares upon the cover of the book at the words filter in, acknowledged in some small part, and slip back out. Letting it go, he cares little at how loud it strikes the table as he pivots around. ]

Dorian Pavus. [ A name he has committed to memory along with the face as soon as he heard the mage's presence in Skyhold, in the Inquisition. He takes a breath in as he steps forward to where Dorian stands. ] Somehow, I hoped that you would avoid me because for whatever reason, you are still here among us rather than being shipped back to Tevinter.

[ Where you belong, need not be added. The overly articulated words said it well enough. ]

[ Well. No one can say Dorian didn't try to be immediately helpful.

It certainly sounded like it, on paper, even if it had the effect of poking the bear awake. He smiles at Stannis, even if the sparkle in his eye takes on a specifically cool sheen, his arms folding across his chest. His tone continues to brim with saccharine indulgence. ]

Why, there's still so much left to do, Knight-Commander. Rifts to close, elfroot to gather, ancient tomes to put into alphabetical order--

And whyever would I avoid you? You seem so friendly.

All of which shall be the concern of the Inquisition.

[ If the man shall be a pariah of his own country, he could enjoy being such within the organization as well. Not that Stannis has much in the way of controlling who comes, who goes, and who is allowed to stay. If he did, things would be different.

He continues to glare; his lips form into one single line. Stannis continues to breath slow like containing his rage -- if only to give the appearance of adhering to the (foolish) wishes of those in command. ]

Because while you are able to charm your way into staying here, I know a snake is a snake.

Unlike you, Ser Stannis, who sees no reason to be charming at all.

[ He could, of course, throw himself at the man's feet, make grand claims as to his good intentions to better assuage the Templar's suspicions, pledge his allegiance to good and defeating Corypheus once and for all--

--it isn't exactly his style. ]

And I know a Templar is a Templar. Where I'm from, they haven't the privilege of intimidating mages, and though my awe cannot be overstated when it comes to your expertise in all things reptilian, allow me to put it on record that you do not frighten me.

You'll simply have to find another avenue of discourse, I'm afraid, for as long as I remain. And I intend to, you know.

People know where they stand with me. There is nothing more they should ask for.

[ His eyes widen but for a moment before he returns to his heated glare. ] It seems you think of me most as a club in dealing with mages. You can put it on record all you like, but when the people and mages come to harm because of you ... you will know what fear is before you die.

I'm allowing you the chance to leave with your head still attached to your shoulders.

And deny you the chance of mounting me above your hearth? I'd make for such lovely decoration.

[ Dorian's stare is bright and clear, his temper more the clean flash of electricity he so favours in contrast to Stannis's more smouldery anger simmering away behind his face. Dorian looks the rough southern man up and down just once, in a split-second flick of eyeline.

The curl of mustache twitches along with a more crooked smile. ]

But you've yet to disabuse me of the notion that you're more than a blunt instrument. Who wields you, I wonder? The Order failed, the Circles collapsed, and here you are, swinging about for something to strike. If I'm such a danger, why wait?

The Order has not failed. Men and women who were never fit to be part of it failed it. Which is the fault of the Chantry.

[ For just taking in those sent to them, for not looking more at the souls of those Templar and finding them wanting. If they need those to watch over mages, let them be those of worth. But that is an old argument of his as he shakes his head once. ]

I answer to the laws of the realm. [ I always have. ] You've yet to be tried as guilty by them.

Well. It's certainly feeling poorly, at the very least.

[ Dorian raises one articulate eyebrow, subtle, at Stannis' reframing as to his claims. His arms remain rigid and folded, betraying tension, but his expression is well schooled. ]

Guilty, do you think. Pray, what laws are you referring to that I ought be tried? Unless there are stringent rules around maintaining a certain level of 'dour arsehole' at all times of which I was not previously aware, in which case, you could offer me pointers.

No more than the rest of Thedas, and it will be rebuilt.

[ Did he care of this man knew his plans? No. What would be done to stop him? The Order will be remade and redeemed for the actions of the few that would ruin the good done by those that honored their oaths.

His eyes narrow that much more at the question. There is a clicking soft clicking sound of his teeth snapping shut like he may actually be holding himself back. He does not takes his eyes off of the Tevinter -- the tense way he stands shows that he expects some attack at any minute that he must defend against. ]

What laws? Do you want me to tell you what I think you will do? Become an abomination. [ He takes a step forward. ] Use blood magic to tear through the simple folk that continue to let you stand with us, like you are one of us. [ Another step. ] Regardless of what level of dour I am, I see that keeping you here will lead us only to ruin. By every law, you will be found guilty and you know it as well as I do, Tevinter.

( benevenuta's measured steps are not an unfamiliar sound - not in this library, and not to either of the men currently at a stand-off. perhaps less familiar: the moment where she catches sight of what's going on, lifts her skirts in her small fists to keep them out of her way as she hastens across the room to insinuate herself between them before escalation can go any further. )

Gentlemen,

( reprovingly, casting a look between the two of them and presuming no intimate friendship with either of them, )

Is this something that must be done here? You are drawing attention to yourselves.

[ It's good timing. There's enough bully in Dorian's character to recognise the defensiveness setting like cement in Stannis' posture, and though there's enough sense in him not to push that to a point of breaking -- for his sake, for the sake of mages, the Inquisition as a whole -- there is the desire to push back verbally at least, more so than he is tempted to correct him. It feels too much like submission, to appear to care what the Southerner thought of him.

And he isn't backing up, as the larger man crowds him. Larger men often do.

Still, Dorian doesn't appear especially glad to see her when Benevenuta happens and points out the obvious. He breaks his stare off Stannis to look at her, his expression neutral, but some tension easing out of his posture as he drops his arms to his sides. ]

Ah, here we are, [ he says, grandly. ] Pretty as a picture and so much more manageable, these Circle girls. Positively guiltless in every way. Shall I allow you two the floor, to better bask in each other's amiability?

Edited 2015-10-30 10:14 (UTC)

[ All sound did fade for him as he waited for what the Tevinter would say, would do. Go on, then, show what it is that your kind is. Not his own thoughts but spoken in his posture, in his cold stare. His head lifts as he hears Benevenuta's voice as he turns it slow to look to the mage. He almost holds his hand out to have her back away from Dorian, but somehow keeps it at his side, clenching his fist. ]

Is there something that must be done here? [ His expression does not so much soften as he feels it twist a little more, repeating what she said. He looks towards Dorian rather than make full eye-contact with Benevenuta. No, not allowing the Tevinter to get out of his sight. ] If you would allow the floor, perhaps, you would allow all of Skyhold.

You need not dirty everyone's presence by being in it. [ A beat. ] That is all that needs to be done here, Lady Benevenuta.

( benevenuta's brows draw together, a bit, at these circle girls, but she doesn't overplay her indignance, and therefore overplay her hand - she lets her lips tighten, too, and says, )

Good,

( in what skirts the border between her sometime-pertness and her usual-diplomacy, conscious of the way stannis keeps dorian in his eyeline, keeping herself at a precise distance between the both of them and setting a hand on each puffed up masculine chest before giving equally small pushes.

she is not particularly imposing, physically, but it's the I'm certainly not having this here sentiment that matters, not any real expectation that she can move them if they don't wish to be moved by her.

without resorting to magical means that will really not help. )

Then I think we are all quite done. Yes?

( her firm look travels, unchanging, over both men. )

[ Ah yes, here we are, familiar ground. Accusations of filth and corruption and dirt despite the fact that Dorian considers himself the most immaculately groomed man on this mountain. It's enough to make him homesick.

These are the sorts of sarcastic thoughts he nurses so he avoids attempting to shove Stannis over the railing.

Not truly a possibility, just a wishful fantasy, killed all the more with Benevenuta's diplomatic hand on his chest. Dorian allows it to trigger his step back. ]

I suspect we are, as the Knight-Commander will have to knock me unconscious and tie me to a pack mule to remove me from the premises, and the leadership wouldn't take too kindly to that.

[ And he moves on by them with an invasive brushing of shoulders, and past the table Stannis had been standing over. There is the sound of a scrape of book against wood as he takes Hard in Hightown with him with a slightly snatching, irritated swipe. ]

Good day.

Edited 2015-11-01 11:02 (UTC)

[ He does take a step back when she steps between them, when she rests her hand on his chest to walk backward. His eyes, however, do not leave the Tevinter -- watching and all but sneering at what he has to say before he leaves. Eyebrows raise, he works his jaw side-to-side, not quite grinding his teeth, about the book that is taken before his eyes roll upward.

Stannis blinks finally and lifts the heel of his hand to one eye to rub. ]

His death will not be in these walls but out of them. [ That much he has promised himself when he entered Skyhold. Unless there can be no means to avoid, he will not have any body fall by his blade within the stronghold. ] You need not get too close to him. It would be better if you did not. A Tevinter in our midst ... but the decision of the Herald before her passing, hm? I would have hated the woman for her foolishness.

( benevenuta thinks better of remarking upon her mother's tevinter origins - no, that isn't quite true. benevenuta does not consider remarking upon her mother's tevinter origins, entirely likely as it is to shift stannis' opinion of her rather than of dorian pavus. she sighs, a pensive expression settling in her sharp features as she watches the path dorian took a moment longer. )

I think it better to know what a man does than be surprised by it, later, ( she settles on, letting a slight frown linger. )

But I take no step in Skyhold without care, Knight-Commander, I promise you.

( and that is, one incident of drinking a guard under the table and requiring a safe escort back to her favourite part of the library to sleep it off firmly aside, the absolute truth. )

Edited 2015-11-02 01:13 (UTC)

I think it better to keep one's distance from a snake than be surprised when it strikes.

[ He gives her an unconvinced look. This is far from where she comes and what power that she held there politically. Such things would not protect her as they would in her own country and he finds himself frowning all the more about her situation. ]

You can promise all you like -- [ It seems like he would add more before he turns to face her properly. ] I say that you are not my responsibility and yet it seems you have become it.

( she bites back what she might've said to anyone else - that it is good of him to think of her; he never cares to have these things observed aloud, objects even to calling them observations - and with her hands clasped before her, considers what to say instead. )

Too much distance will assure nothing but surprise, if a strike should come,

( she settles on. she doesn't wish for him to feel as if she's dismissing what he says - and it isn't as if she hasn't weighed the wisdom of such a friendship in conjunction with the position she means to occupy here and the way she intends to go about it, how it might put her in positions precisely like this one.

although, she would not have predicted this conversation going quite like this, and that is very interesting. dismissal she was prepared for; his concern is something else again and when she glances up at him, sidelong, it is a girlishness that lacks the appearance of artifice. )

If he is to be here, my lord, there must be someone to whom he speaks.

( why not her? )

When.

[ Stannis corrects. ]

I would rather that he speaks to no one. Why is it that you feel that it has to be you? So that you can keep an eye on him? Do you believe that your magic is strong enough against whatever he has? [ His tone is returning to his usual sharp, stern one. He huffs out something that is like a sigh as he tips his head up to look up at the ceiling. The raven has been sent and that is all that needed to be done as of now for him. ]

Be better that you spend your time talking to those with something of worth to say.

( in the face of that sternness, benevenuta is demurely steadfast in the way that stannis is likely coming to be familiar with - she listens when he speaks (when most people speak to her, in point of fact), but when her mind is made up, she is serenely certain of herself in a way that's difficult to touch.

it is rare for her to question herself. it is rarer still for her to let anyone else prompt her to do so - but, equally, there is no heated defiance to her, no inclination to spite him with her certainty. she knows her own mind, and does him the courtesy of believing that it is enough. )

I believe that the work he has done here is worth taking the time to learn about. I did not come all this way to shut myself up in a tower afraid of shadows.

( there is no edge to her tone; a firmness, yes, but she separates disagreement from argument and will not be drawn unwillingly into the latter. )

I believe that the work he has done should be burned to ensure it goes nowhere.

[ But he sounds more tired than willing to carry on this argument. The Tevinter will be watched and ensured that he causes no trouble. Already, he is turning to look where Dorian has gone -- back straight like Stannis may very well reach out to strangle the man should he show his face once more. ]

He is not a shadow. But you say that you walk with caution and that you know what it is that you do. [ A beat. ] I will not take your autonomy away. That is not what the Inquisition has decided for the mages, and not what I said would come of you. [ Stannis lets out a sigh as he looks even more displeased. ] Do not let your observations end in your demise.

I doubt that whatever connections you have in Nevarra would forgive us for it.

I know what I do, my lord, ( a bit more easily, now that it's clear he's not going to push her harder than that on the subject - she doesn't smile, quite, but she is satisfied for now and her satisfaction is the same sedate thing as her patient, persistent determination that they should be better acquainted.

she is fond of him, inexplicably, and she is gracious when she gets her way. )

Did you need something here in the library? I have completed the inventory - I know it well.

( and that's that. )

[ He looks at the various shelves, at what it is that he could be searching for. A means to figure out how to unite the Templar and forget their petty prejudices and pride. But he doubts there is a novel that would grant him such insight. What he would do was work the lot into the ground and rebuild them into a force that is willing to unite with the Inquisition. ]

I'm certain that you do. [ What he finally says on both of what she knows and of the inventory of the library. ] These text are quite old. None that would help me in what I need for I do not even know what name I seek -- [ A beat. Ah, who would think that would grant him the insight that he seeks? ] Tale of the Champion. Is that present?

The writer brought in some garbage if the Tevinter is to be believed. Did he bring in something of worth?

Tale of the Champion, ( thoughtfully - she begins to move into the shelves, recalling where she'd seen that title. they have it, she is certain.

as for varric, )

Varric Tethras? It is fiction, I believe - I cannot say I've read the work myself to judge. I have done little reading for pleasure, here.

( a bit wryly. )

Mayhaps we should.

[A familiar voice calls out.]

Always wandering and always drifting, these deities we pray to seem not to care for mortal affairs but why should they? The divine are forever and as eternal as the skies above. Of course they won't heed our cries for salvation but they do listen, and listen they do best.

[Standing on the opposite end of the battlement is none other than Sauveterre gazing out into the endless abyss. He's been there for awhile within the shadows lost in thought. The Orlesian hadn't stirred a bit since Stannis wandered up here and kept to his silence until now. He had watched that entire act from beginning to end with an impassive grey stare.]

Those that listen and do not act are undeserving of any praise.

[ This, too, is an old argument. His lack of faith continues to prove itself more true than those that hold onto anything above them. He takes a brief breath in before turning to look towards Sauveterre. Stannis looks away as it has been a few exhausting weeks for them -- there is no reason to start an argument on something that neither will agree on. ]

It was not my intention to intrude on your space, Alayre.

Edited 2015-10-25 06:59 (UTC)

Mayhaps but shall you judge them?

[If Stannis's hearing is keen enough to pick up on the slight raw edge of Sauveterre's voice, then might be able to hear the cold within his tone. Alayre shan't admit but he's quite unwell thanks to two weeks of vigorous work and helping those lost within the bitter cold. The man's clearly sick but won't rest.]

You intrude upon nothing, Knight-Commander. [He answers as he glances back towards the far horizon.]

Truly, you needn't worry.

If I don't, who will?

[ Stannis lets himself sigh once more as he gives a tired look toward Sauveterre. Not one of wariness for his own sleepless nights and worries, but for the other Knight-Commander's. ]

You've done yourself a disservice, again. How many times must I tell you to rest before you do it? What good are you going to be when our enemy comes upon our gates and you can barely lift the sword above your head.

[ A scoffing noise. ] I worry because it seems I am the only competent one present.

Allow the Divine to judge in silence and simply work on the betterment of thyself.

[The younger of the two answers after a nagging cough kept his silent. Despite not seeming to heed Stannis's previous concerns, Alayre honestly listened to every word until having to hunt through the frigid landscape for a lost child. Since the ordeals of that day, he's been quite ill. He hid it rather well but he cannot ever seem to pull the wool over his fellow Templar.]

The same could said for you, Baratheon. You are known to disservice yourself physically and mentally at times. I've watched you battle against sleep before and this is no different.

[He let's out a quiet sigh as he rubs his throat. It aches terribly thanks to that cough earlier]

Though, I shan't argue with you when you're in the right. That would be in poor taste.

Since there is no Divine, does that mean I can judge and continue to be better than those around me?

[ He offers a small shrug at the comment of what disservice that he is doing to himself. It is coupled with an indignant sniff of the air. Something that only Stannis and a few others could do -- making breathing in an insult or dismissive gesture to the other person. ]

What sleep can I afford myself while I'm busy babysitting those that should know better? Perhaps, I should ask our mutual Qunari friend to ensure that you have slept and ate enough. He has said that he needed something to do, and I grow tired having to play your wet nurse.

[If Hell itself froze over just now, it might be from the withering stare Alayre gave the Baratheon for that last comment. It takes much to win his frustration but Stannis as won it fair and square this evening. Sauveterre eyes the other with a dry laugh.]

How lofty is that arrogrance of yours, Baratheon, to believe yourself to be so self-assured? Not every grunt you groan out rings true or is even remotely interesting. Conversations with you as of late are as pleasant as the Blight itself.

[He scoffs in return and glances away quickly with a huff. For anyone watching, they would assume these two be anything other than comrades. They act note like rivals half the time. It's oddly assuming.]

Such an unpleasant old goat you've become. No wonder your hair has become as thin as straw.

We are about to find ourselves living through a Blight, I feel. Something similar to it. Why does every conversation I have be filled with pleasantness? I've never been wonder for that... that is for you alone, Alayre.

[ The more agreeable of the Knight-Commanders. He lets himself sigh once more. ] Something to do with the matter as of late, and what we've already lived through. [ Stress and all they have seen would weather anyone. ] And I wonder if you'll be able to see the end of these tribulations if you continue to run yourself into the ground.

If we lose each other, what will we be forced to do? Conform to the foolish Templar youths?

[When the other Templar's reply isn't a scathing rebuttal, Alayre glances towards him again.]

Do you fear that Death will soon claim me far before we see the end of our trials, Stannis? If so, fear not.

[He replies quietly without any hint of his previous fury. Though, he falls silent for a spell before speaking again.]

I will see this to the bitter end. It must be us to rebuild what was broken by the hands of others. We must endure and return order from chaos.

Edited 2015-10-26 05:54 (UTC)

Death may very well claim us both. Neither of us have any heirs to carry on our name. It makes for an unfortunate end for our lines.

[ He thinks of what children Robert will have and shakes his head once. Renly need not be mentioned. While the children that his younger brother has for his own share his name, they will not share his blood. By all accounts, the line will have only the blood of a drunken womanizer to continue through the ages. His face twists as he feels like he has eaten something sour. ]

We shall have to pave the way ... redeem the name of the Order for those who have sullied it. Much to do even with the threat of the Archdemon and sentient Darkspawn. So even if you say you will, there may be a chance we won't see the end but know that it will be for those that outlive us. Can you stand that?

Eirlys has been spending quite a lot of time in the stables. She finds the horses calming, even if she feels a little jealous that they are somewhat oblivious to the world potentially ending, thinking of nothing more than the hay they're chewing on.

When she realises that she's not alone - and that her companion is a human and a Templar - she jolts back to the larger reality of the Inquisition from the walls she's begun to draw up for herself in the quiet of the stables, and the brush she was using to groom a cream coloured mare she's taken a shine to clatters sharply to the floor.

"I'm sorry, I didn't--" she manages to stammer out. "I'll leave you be, ser."

His head jerks up at the sound of the brush hitting the ground. He does not immediately brandish a sword as he does look to see who had dropped it. Stannis allows himself to sigh first before walking forward to pick the brush off of the ground.

"Leave me be? You're aware that you are in no alienage, are you not?" He holds the dropped item out to her, but his expression hardly seems friendly nor one to ease what anxiety that she has about him. "You should keep your head held high. Your people are doing as much as any human here. Do not apologize to me unless you fail me."

Of course, even then, he would not feel the desire to hear an apology.

She hesitates before reaching over and taking the brush from him, her cheeks flushing and her eyes not quite meeting his. Something in her seems to steel at his words though, knowing that she should have pride in herself and to think of herself as equal to anyone here, even if it was difficult to do that in practice.

"...Thank you. It's taking some getting used to remembering that."

"Every time you doubt it, look about where you are and recall the reason as to why."

He straightens his posture as he makes a gesture toward the courtyard, toward those milling about. "And know that it is just as good a reason as for theirs. We are supposed to be united which means we are all supposed to be as equals." Stannis does not quite agree with that as he always will consider himself different from those that are around him for numerous reasons.

"Any other troubles that you face that cannot be handled by merely knowing that no one is your better ... you can ask for my assistance." A beat. "But understand that it shall be as a hammer coming down so decide on your own if that is what you wish."

"Would that we had men like you in Gwaren, ser." Eirlys preferred softer methods whenever possible, but sometimes people needed a hammer coming down to get the message.

She's unused to a human offering to defend her, especially without expecting something sordid in return, and feels an odd mix of gratitude and morbid curiosity.

"But you didn't come out here to remind me to keep my head held high. Might I ask what's troubling you?"

"I did come to remind you of such, and to not be foolish to think that is all you must do to ensure your stay. Suffering quietly serves no one but the miscreant dog." He rubs his face at the question of what it is that is troubling him. His eyes drop down before return to looking at the elf's. "Too much, but nothing that I would not endure for the sake of Thedas."

That much is true. That much he knows and reminds himself.

"Gwaren." His tone hardens on the name of the town, eyebrows coming together. He looks at her then and frowns all the more. "I know not what you know or experienced, but I have heard that Loghain is now a Warden. His crimes being redeemed in fighting that which he would abandon Gwaren to and one day he will be sent to the Deep Roads to die. An honor for some, but for him, a fitting end."

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