but imagine an all-elven war council, guys

Imagine Merrill: as your diplomat, apologising for what a terrible mess we’re in and suggesting that you patch up the problem with a spot of tea and hugs.
Imagine Zevran: as your spymaster, who at every given opportunity will suggest sending assassins. Orlesian nobles having a land dispute in rift-ridden territory? Assassins. Chantry priests blaspheming your name and ruining your reputation? Assassins. Bears? Assassins.
Imagine Fenris: as your alarmingly grumpy commander, who never has had enough coffee and continuously has to put up with these two and their antics all day, and who counters every ridiculous suggestion of yours with a very curt: ‘No’.