Alistair swore under his breath as he stumbled on another soggy hummock and his foot splashed into the cold water of the bog. He paused to shake the water off his boot and looked up for a trace of Lauthrin. The shadows were lengthening rapidly, throwing much of the ground under the thick trees into darkness, but he could hear the excited bark of Wulf coming from not to far away.
Lauthrin materialized out of the thicket to Alistair's left. He moved silently through the undergrowth and soft mud, the leaves and branches barely slapping against his leather armor as he brushed past them. Alistair started slightly and then straightened, still shaking water off his foot.
"We should camp here for the night," the elf said. His fingers worked quickly at the rope knot holding the supplies bag to his back. He dropped it to the ground and began pulling things from it: tents, cook pot, water skins.
"This is the largest patch of moderately dry land around," Lauthrin continued as he worked. "South of here there is much more water. It will be slower going."
Alistair set his mouth in a firm line. Traveling any slower was not much of an option. With every passing moment he could feel the distance between himself and his daughter grow. He turned away without answering and pulled a small knife from his belt to begin cutting firewood.
Later that night, after they had eaten and were wrapped in their blankets against the increasing chill of the night, Alistair lay staring up into the sky. He wondered how he could sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Cullen's bloodied face, or Eleanor telling him not to worry as she left for Ostagar with the Grey Wardens, or Duncan and Charlotte watching him leave Denerim from the courtyard of the palace.
Lauthrin cleared his throat. "Your Majesty?"
"You don't have to call me that, Lauthrin. Call me Alistair."
"Umm, yes. Alistair. Anyway. I think once we get through the swampier area, maybe one more day, we should begin to see the snow and ice of the uncharted part south of the Korcari Wilds."
Alistair did not reply. The sound of Wulf's snores filled the silence.
"I think it will be tougher going, but easier tracking," Lauthrin continued. "The land will probably be flat and we can follow a straighter course along their trail. We will have to carry more supplies with us out of the swamps. Wood especially."
Alistair still did not answer. He lay quietly with his hands laced beneath his head, still thinking of his lost child.
Lauthrin cleared his throat again nervously. "Did you know, Your Maj—I mean Alistair, that my parents knew you? They lived in the Dalish camp in the Brecilian Forest that had all the trouble with the werewolves years ago? It was before I was born. They said they remembered you and the queen and your friends and how you saved our clan from Witherfang."
"Yes, I remember that. What were their names?" A small smile now tugged at Alistair's lips as he recalled the adventure.
Years ago that was, when he and Charlotte were both so young and desperate, fighting for their lives against the darkspawn. How he had loved her, even then, before either of them had a chance to consider the future and what it held, before either of them had a chance to consider the possibility for loss and heartbreak.
"Cammen and Gheyna. Do you remember them?" came the answer.
Alistair's face froze as he briefly considered whether to laugh or to cry. Cammen, the worst hunter's apprentice in the camp, whose son he had been following through the wilderness and trusting to lead him to his kidnapped daughter.
"Oh, don't worry," Lauthrin said quickly, as if he knew what Alistair was thinking. "I'm a much better woodsman than my father. He got better after he married my mother and taught me a little, but mostly I learned from Master Varathorn. Especially woodcraft."
Feeling his stalled heart begin beating again, Alistair let out his breath in what he hoped was an inaudible sigh of relief. The young Dalish did seem competent enough at tracking, and had even shot a few small animals for dinner, while he himself struggled just to put his feet down on firm earth and keep from sliding into the swamp.
"I guess we better turn in," the elf said after another long hush passed between them. "We should get an early start. Good night."
There was a rustle as he turned over in his blanket on the other side of the fire. Alistair resumed staring at the stars. He hoped the young man wouldn't be too offended by his silence; he just did not feel like speaking. Worry nagged at his guts and heart every moment. Alistair closed his eyes again and this time fell into a troubled, dream filled sleep.
