Arl Urien laid a good table at least, even if the guest rooms here weren't as comfortable as those to be found at his own estate, Eamon found himself thinking as he made breakfast selections from the lengthy sideboard. He carried his plate over to the table, settling in with his brother Teagan on one side of him, the Cousland boy – Fergus, that was it – to the other. Teagan was, unfortunately, already involved in conversation with Arl Bryland's wife – Eamon never could remember the woman's name – so he strove to make polite conversation with Fergus instead.
"Your father said something last night about sending you travelling this spring?" he asked politely, as he cut a smoked fish into small pieces, carefully removing all the tiny bones from each fragment before eating it.
"Yes," Fergus said, smiling, a look of pleased anticipation on his face. "Trade is very important to Highever, and my father is sending me on a tour to visit our factors in several countries, so I can meet them personally and gain some familiarity with the various cultures they work within. I'll be heading north and east on this first trip, to Dairsmuid in Rivain, and both Antiva City and Rialto in Antiva. It will likely be some time next winter before I'm home again; as long a trip as it is from here to Rivain and Antiva, father feels I should spend at least a few weeks time at each stop. And then the next year he plans to send me west, to Orlais and Nevarre, with a stop at Kirkwall in the Free Marches on the way home."
That led to Eamon talking about his own several years in the Free Marches, between when his father had sent himself and Teagan there to safety, to his return to Ferelden after the stunning triumph of Maric's forces at River Dane, in order to assist in ousting the remaining Orlesians. The Fergus boy mildly impressed Eamon by actually asking mature, intelligent questions of him about his time there and his years ousting the Orlesian family that later became his in-laws, and listening attentively to his answers. Overall he had a surprisingly pleasant time talking to the young man, and hoped his own heir would prove to be as promising someday.
Directly after the meal there was another influx of guests, the Howe family having arrived from nearby Vigil's Keep. Arl Rendon and Arlessa Yvonne's children all took strongly after their mother, with her dark black hair and cold grey eyes. The two younger also took after her in looks, only the eldest, Nathaniel, showing some trace of his father's long features instead of Yvonne's more heart-shaped features. They had barely settled in when the final guests arrived from the nearby palace – King Maric, his faithful shadow Teryn Loghain, and their children, Prince Cailan and Anora, Cailan as usual following the pretty blond girl around like a mabari hoping for a treat, Anora seemingly indifferent to his presence.
Arl Eamon did his best to hide his dislike for Loghain as he took his turn greeting the pair. He'd never felt that the common-born Teryn really belonged in the councils of the nobles, no matter how well he'd supposedly done in the rebellion. He often wondered how much of what was credited to Loghain had truly been done by him, and how much was him taking credit for the work of others; so many talented commanders had died in the long war, after all, who could really say what tactics had been Loghain's, what the work of more able nobles.
Eamon had been quite pleased that the ex-farmer had sensibly kept to his own lands of Gwaren for so long. And then Eamon's sister, Queen Rowan, had died of a wasting sickness, and suddenly Loghain had become Maric's indispensable right-hand man, spending all his time in Denerim rather then Gwaren.
As he moved away from the pair, Eamon idly wondered if there was anything... unnatural in their closeness. Then dismissed the idea; there'd never been even a breath of that sort of scandal about either of the pair, and he knew Maric was a womanizer. Lips compressed slightly at the thought – he had the evidence of it parked out in Arl Urien's stables, after all.
It was early afternoon, the children and young adults off watching one of the entertainments arranged for them by Urien – a puppet show – while their noble parents enjoyed some quiet time, some having retired to their rooms, some gathered to drink and talk in the great hall. Eamon was not in the least surprised when Maric invited him to join him on a slow walk around the halls of estate, ostensibly to settle his lunch. He nodded agreement, the two passing out of the great hall and strolling down a wide corridor in the direction of the guest rooms, Loghain a silent presence some steps behind them, politely out of earshot but presumably close enough to leap to Maric's defence if assassins should materialize out of the woodwork. Really, the man's paranoia was almost comical, when it wasn't, as now, absolutely infuriating.
Maric wisely remained silent until they were in a long stretch of hall unbroken by any door, no one in sight but the three of them.
"I would like to see the boy," Maric said, softly. "You have brought him, as I asked?"
"Yes," Eamon said, coldly. "My lord, this is not wise, nor is it kind to the lad, now that you've had me reveal his true parentage to him. You will only awaken... inappropriate wishes, certainly for him, possibly for yourself as well. More, showing any interest in the boy at all may well set thoughts in motion in others that will eventually reveal to them that he is your bastard. After all I have endured to keep it secret..."
King Maric abruptly stopped, gave Arl Eamon a questioning look. "What do you mean?" he asked neutrally. "Endured what?"
Eamon blew a sharp snort of distaste out his nose before continuing. "I mean, my King, that tongues will always find something to wag about, and my taking in the child all those years ago led to more then a few rumours that he was mine. I am sure you can imagine the distress this has caused my lady wife over the years since, especially as I was specifically forbidden to tell her his true parentage. I have hope she does believe me when I assure her that Alistair is not my son, but having rumours of that sort thrown in her face during all the years we have been childless ourselves... it has been very difficult, for both of us."
King Maric actually had the grace to wilt slightly. "I... know I owe you more then I can repay, for having taken him in," he finally said, and resumed walking. "But I must see him, at least once. It... bothers me, that I have never set eyes on the boy since putting him in your hands. Can you not arrange some discrete, unremarkable way for me to see him? From a distance, if not closer?"
Eamon sighed, then frowned in thought. "It... may be possible," he agreed after a while. "Ask me about dogs this evening – my sighthounds in particular. My excuse for bringing the boy along was to have him tend a puppy that I will be gifting to young Vaughan tomorrow; taking you to view it should give you a chance to see the boy."
King Maric nodded, looking pleased, fine smile lines appearing at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. "Thank you, Eamon," he said softly. "We should return to the great hall," he added, turning his footsteps that way.
Eamon nodded and trailed along in his wake, already considering how he could best see to it that, while the king saw the boy, the boy would not see the king.
There was a good stew for dinner, a thick pottage of barley and beef, eaten with equal interest by the dog boys and the dogs. They fed the dogs first, of course, then the dog boys gathered in a large unused pen that served as their common room – no separate loft for them, they slept in among their charges – and ate their share. They'd made Alistair welcome among them, and he felt very happy as he sat along the side of the pen, plate of stew cradled on his lap, eating and talking and laughing along with the others.
The approach of footsteps made them quiet down. Alistair was surprised to recognize the man who walked along the row of pens, peering around as if looking for someone. The Arl's manservant, carrying something carefully in both hands.
"Alistair?" the man called nervously, shying to one side as a dog growled at his presence.
"I'm here," he said, putting his plate aside in the straw and rising to his feet. The man smiled, looking relieved, and walked over.
"There you are," he acknowledged. "The Arl sent me to say that he was very pleased with your care of the puppy on the trip from Redcliffe, and he's sent this for you and the other boys to share as a treat for the holiday."
He held out what he carried, and Alistair's eyes widened at the sight of the gently steaming thick-walled clay pitcher of mulled wine, richly redolent of honey, citrus peel and spices. Soft exclamations from the watching dog boys made it clear they were impressed by Arl Eamon's thoughtful generosity; even with all the warm bodies packed into it, the kennel was still cold enough to see your breath on the air. Alistair stammered out thanks for the manservant to pass on to the Arl from all of them, accepting the heavy pitcher from his hands. The man nodded and turned away, hurrying away from the noisome kennels and back to his proper environs.
They had no cups, so the boys settled for passing the heavy pitcher around from hand to hand, drinking carefully from the pinched spout. They were all pink-cheeked and giggly by the time they'd finished it. Clearing up from supper, then seeing the dogs properly bedded down for the night before they found their own nests in the straw, involved a lot more hilarity and yawning then it usually did. For once they didn't remain awake, talking, after finding their spots – they were all sleeping peacefully within a remarkably short period of time.
Arl Eamon kept Arl Urien engaged in light banter, as they led Maric and his shadow Loghain through the darkened kennel. Here and there eyes glinted at them strangely, reflecting the light of the lantern Urien was carrying, but the dogs remained quiet, most of them deeply asleep themselves. The few wakeful ones recognized at least some of the men walking through their midst, and the intrusion didn't seem to have disturbed their boys, so they remained quietly watchful rather then raising an alarm. Arl Eamon was glad that Urien was far enough gone in his cups not to notice anything unusual about how soundly all the dog boys were sleeping.
"Ah, here he is," Eamon said, stopping beside a pen. "He's a well-formed dog, isn't he? If the bitch hadn't whelped three others just like him, I'd have sorely regretted giving him up."
The men crowded around, only Loghain hanging back, his eyes ever watchful on their shadowed surroundings.
The puppy looked up from where it was curled up against Alistair's stomach, gazing at the three men hanging over the low wall of the pen out of dark brown eyes. Its tail thumped once against the straw, narrowly missing the boy's side-turned face, and it rose and trotted neatly over to the side, rising on hind legs to stretch up and sniff at then lick Eamon's outstretched hand.
The young dog stood there a few minutes, one paw pressed against the pen's side, other curled elegantly by its narrow chest, while the three men made much of it. It nervously endured the touch when Arl Urien ran a hand down its back, exclaiming over what a fine hound it was, and saying that he'd make sure to impress on young Vaughan what a valuable addition it would be to their bloodlines. Maric leaned down as well, scratching at the dog's ears, which set it into an ecstatic wriggling, tongue lolling out, tail wagging so furiously its entire hind end was swaying from side to side.
Urien was thankfully oblivious to which way the King's eyes were looking when he softly spoke. "Yes, a very fine boy indeed," he said, eyes avidly examining the small form sprawled sleeping in the straw nearby. Alistair rolled over in his sleep, his face peaceful in the flickering lantern light, a slight sigh parting his lips as he settled again, now flat on his back instead of curled on his side. "Thank you for showing him to me, Eamon."
"My pleasure, my lord. Come, we should go back, I'm sure the Arl's other guests are beginning to wonder where we've all vanished off to."
Maric nodded, and gave the dog a final pat, leaning on the wall for just a moment longer before turning to follow the pair of Arls away. Behind him, Loghain stepped to the wall, looked over. He leaned down a moment, smiling just slightly as he touched the upraised slender silver-grey head, giving the dog a quick scratch under the chin before straightening again.
The puppy, sensing the visitation was finished, turned and walked back over to the boy's side. Alistair had one arm flung up over his head, the other draped across his stomach. The hound curled up against his side, long legs folding up into a surprisingly small space, its head resting on his tummy along the edge of his hand, and closed its dark eyes once again.
Loghain turned and walked away, following his king.