He glanced down at her, raising a single black brow at her comment on his armor.  “For your information, I loved that armor.  Damn Orlesian Wardens made me change it once I got to Montsimmard.”  Maker above that had been a hard time.  Most of his time spent at Montsimmard was spent avoiding his fellow Wardens.  The Warden-Commander was decent there, but if every other Warden there had choked on their chicken bones, Loghain would not have been too upset.

He had missed her.  At first, it had been mere passing desires for her sensual touch—the way her hand felt on his chest.  And as the months and  years went on, he found himself enraptured by the witch and her presence.  So much so that he would eagerly await his rest for a glimpse of her in the dreams before the nightmares.  The gentle curve of her smirking lips made the nightmares worth it.

When she took his arm, his chest constricted, making it hard to breathe.  To feel her touch once more was heavenly, and for a moment, he felt as though he were at the Maker’s side.  Considering his son, he panicked in his head.  He had a son.  He hadn’t even asked.  Dammit.  He would bide his time.  He didn’t want to immediately douse the conversation in proverbial water like he normally did.

“Oh I miss a great deal from our time travelling together.”  He swallowed slowly, trying not to think about her physical affection.  Though it came to mind anyway.  Damnable. Woman.  He was the damn Hero of the River Dale, great General of Ferelden, and Grey Warden.  Surely, he should have been able to resist a young woman’s charm.  Though, she was not young anymore.  Sure, she was no Wynne, but that old hag had looked as though she’d lived for centuries.  But, she had…grown in a sense, matured even in the way she spoke.  And so, he grew bolder.  He took her flirtations in stride, reaching with his free hand to grasp the arm tucked beneath his own.  He ran a calloused thumb over the exposed skin of her arm and looked down at her.  To anyone looking on, it might look like a casual stroll with an old friend.  But Loghain’s eyes were like steel, never leaving her own eyes.

“I’m sure the Orlesians were insufferable, but I’ve no doubt you outwitted them in every possible way.”

— She couldn’t help but grin at that. Even now, he would voice his complaints about the Orlesians. ‘Twas pleasant to see that some things hadn’t changed over the years, despite her fears. “Should it please you to hear, I think the new armour suits you. A bit standoffish, perhaps, but you never were one to blend in.” 

     And back then, all those years ago when they met, Loghain stood out like a black rabbit amidst a snowy field. He seemed... almost content to do so, as well. He never shirked from the group’s prodding. Never backed down when they challenged him and his right to be there. He was as sturdy as the golem, if not moreso. Loghain was an impressive man, but she’d never imagined herself falling for him. The night of the ritual had been... interesting, to say the least. She couldn’t say she hadn’t enjoyed their time together, Morrigan simply hadn’t allowed herself to think of it as anything other than a necessary sacrifice. Odd then, that there were times her mind drifted fondly. 

      Ah, and there was that gaze of his. It was much harsher at first, biting ice to match the fiery insults. Witch, he’d oft called her. She hadn’t minded. Morrigan was, in fact, a witch, but... the way he’d said it was obviously meant as an insult. Now, however, it was... almost fond, if she had to put a word to it. The very idea that Loghain might be fond of her set her heart racing. She was like a young girl with this crush, but she couldn’t help it.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / inapplicable (verse dependent) MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / slave / unsure (verse dependent)   EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying 

FAMILY

MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / single / divorced / widow or widower / separated / it’s complicated (verse dependent) CHILDREN – has a child / no children / wants children / adopted children (verse dependent) FAMILY – close with siblings / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other - raised by an ancient Elven Goddess Crazy old hag.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

disorganized / organized / in between close-minded / open-minded / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between  outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between hardworking / lazy / in between cultured / uncultured / in between loyal / disloyal / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / demisexual SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

ABILITIES

COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

BAKE A CAKE FROM SCRATCH | RIDE A HORSE | DRIVE A SUBMARINE | SPEAK A SECOND LANGUAGE | DANCE | CATCH A FISH | PLAY AN INSTRUMENT | THROW A PUNCH | BUILD A DECK | ICE SKATE | UNCLOG A DRAIN | PROGRAM A COMPUTER | CHANGE A FLAT TIRE | FIRE A GUN | SEW | JUGGLE | PLAY POKER | PAINT | FLY A KITE | SCULPT | WRITE POETRY | CHANGE A DIAPER - verse dependent | SING | SHOOT A BOW AND ARROW | RIDE A BIKE | SWIM | SAIL A BOAT | DO A BACKFLIP | PLAY CHESS | GIVE CPR | PITCH A TENT | FLIRT | STITCH A WOUND | READ PALMS | USE CHOPSTICKS | WRITE IN CURSIVE/CALLIGRAPHY | USE AN ELECTRIC DRILL | BRAID HAIR | MAKE A CAMPFIRE | MAKE A MIXED DRINK | DO SUDOKU PUZZLES | WRAP A GIFT | GIVE A GOOD MASSAGE | JUMP-START A CAR | ROLL THEIR TONGUE | MAGIC TRICKS | YOGA | TIE A TIE | SKIP A ROCK | SHUFFLE A DECK OF CARDS | READ MORSE CODE | PICK A LOCK

TAGGED BY: @xcapableof

Damnable woman.  It was always his first thought, creeping into the gardens like some young man peeking into a window.  He always felt like an outsider in those gardens, more often than not preferring the safety of the sparring grounds.  He was not afraid to approach someone with a sword.

But Maker above, put him in front of a beautiful woman and he was rigid and nervous.  Though thankfully, his stoic, stern face never faltered.  He stared, sometimes openly, at her.  Though more often than not, he would shift his eyes away from her and study the Arbor Blessing leaves crawling up the stone walls of Skyhold.

But today of all days, she caught him, and she did not let him go.

“At this rate, I might crumble.”  The witch’s Morrigan’s words always seemed to jab even if they were in jest.  Loghain rather liked it.  “At least I changed my wardrobe.”  The sly smirk that spread was brief but obvious, creasing laugh lines that were not used too often.  He straightened his back and finally looked at her without fear of discovery.  She was just as beautiful as she always was, something alluring in those golden eyes constantly haunting him.  Even after all these years, the Ritual burned constantly in his mind.  Their old flirtations kept him awake, wondering.  Their parting was especially hard.  She left so soon.  Loghain had not even said good bye.  He supposed the Maker had quite the sense of humor, putting them together again under one cause and one roof.

“And you,” he breathed, his voice a bit too breathy for comfort.  Clearing his throat, he offered up an arm.  “Walk with me?  I fear I’ve missed your cutting remarks.”

— “I should hope so.” He was playful as she remembered. It was a good sign. Their relationship was redeemable. There was still hope in this forsaken world, even if it was in something as small as a broken friendship. Morrigan had little optimism left, and so she would cling to whatever reliable source she could find. “Had we found each other, you wearing the same old rusted, sweat-coated armour I would never have approached you.” 

      What was it with Fereldens and their... puppy-dog eyes? Alistair when she’d joked about a subject too close to home, Zevran when she’d denied his numerous advances... And now Loghain, all these years later at just a reunion. Had he missed her so? She hadn’t considered what her companions might think of her sudden departure. None had ever followed as far as she knew, and she hadn’t made the effort to check. She’d fully intended to burn the bridge they’d formed, and yet... she felt as if staring into those eyes of his for too long would only burn her.

— Morrigan wasn’t entirely sure both parties were eager, but they were at least willing. She’d sat down with him in the tucked-away library near the entrance of the fortress, a few books (of her own possession, for which the Inquisitor should be grateful) sprawled out on the table before them. 

The ladies in the big red cloths didn’t like him much. They didn’t like how he plucked from their gardens, or sat in the dirt, or touched their pretty statue with his grimy hands. But they let him do as he pleased when it came to picking up stray twigs and leaves, and adding new seeds to their garden to replace the ones he’d taken.

Cillan was worried one of them was about to hound him with her shrill voice again when he heard his name called, instantly flinching and wiping the muddy dirt off of his hands onto his pants–but that wasn’t gonna work neither, because one told him he couldn’t look like that in the hall. 

Rules.

He turned his head slowly, first watching the approaching two-legged through the thick curtain of his hair, before he pushed it back to an unfamiliar face. But she knew his name. But he didn’t know her. But she knew his name.

“‘Ow long I been wha’?” he asked, though he was certain if she repeated herself he’d be just as confused. Was she mad at him for plucking the red leaves for his pack?

— She’d observed the times he’d played in the dirt like a child might, but Morrigan would never had assumed he was... well. Best not to judge based on one’s appearance - no matter what The Game said. She offered an encouraging smile instead (The Game had taught her patience, if nothing else), hand moving to conjure the image of a varghest with controlled sparks of fire.

— How many times, she wondered. How many times had she felt steely eyes on her? How many times had she heard harsh steps straining grass and fallen leaves in the garden she called her haven? How many times had her golden gaze shifted just in time to meet ice? How many times had she heard the wind carry her name in that harsh tone - as if it were the curse so many made it out to be?

       How many times would she allow the moment to pass before taking hold? No more.

— To say she’d kept an eye on him upon first hearing the word ‘shapeshifter’ used to describe him would be an understatement. She’d been curious at first, wondering how this odd elf had learned such a rare (and oft forbidden) skill. Eventually, she’d come to find herself more interested in guiding him. It wasn’t often that she came across mages interested in learning the art, let alone those who already knew.

— ‘Twas to be a simple mission. A quick run-through of Crestwood, then to Caer Bronach to ensure those posted there were well supplied. Why the Inquisitor bothered to perform such menial tasks in person was beyond Morrigan. Why she’d asked the witch to accompany her? That was on a level of insanity near equal to her mother.

      If asked, however, Morrigan would admit that exploring was a pleasant change of pace. It had been some time since she’d been somewhere new, and the uneven terrain and sounds of wildlife were a great improvement over rock and half-hushed rumours and insults aimed at the newest addition to the Inquisition’s inner circle.

— She sat in the quiet a while, admiring the main section of camp from afar, as always, but not alone. Their newest addition sat a fair distance to the opposite of the fire, wearing a most peculiar expression. A tease of a smirk turned up painted lips as the witch made her way ‘cross the field to the fallen hero. She’d yet to properly pester him, and with Alistair gone, he would have to do as replacement.

— The outcome both was and was not what she’d wanted. Morrigan knew what had been expected of her, but that hadn’t made the... act any easier. She hadn’t paid much mind to it, hadn’t thought about that night as pleasant or unpleasant, ‘twas simply part of her job. Morrigan assumed that Tristan felt much the same, but... things had changed. Kieran was grown into a fine young man, and Morrigan had grown herself. She’d like to think she was a bit more... tolerant, at least. But Morrigan wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for a reunion with Tristan. He made no attempts to chase her after she left, and thus assumed he wanted nothing further to do with her. For all she knew, the mighty Hero of Ferelden hated her for lying to and betraying him.

       He was here, however. In Skyhold. And large as the keep may have been, there was no way to avoid crossing paths eventually. When the moment finally came, the ever-so-collected mage found herself near speechless. As if she’d been hit by a cold spell.

— To say that she was content with the outcome of things would have been false. In actuality, Morrigan was incredibly bitter. Every so often, she would cast a harsh gaze his way - simply to ensure he did not forget what he’d done. It meant so much to her, and she’d made as much clear. She’d spent years studying the Elves of old, and while she understood he was Dalish while she was Human, that did not justify his insisting upon taking what should have been hers.

       But this was no time for childish behaviour. There were things that needed doing. Ancient darkspawn that needed slaying (again, as was her luck). Answers to be found. Morrigan was there to help, and carrying on like a child would help no one, not even herself.