It was good to wake up in the pre-dawn darkness the next morning and see Crunch still sprawled out on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the drawers and cabinet underneath it, paws twitching slightly in his sleep. The mabari woke as soon as Alistair tried to get past him, and heaved himself upright, forepaws resting on the edge of the bed as he tried to lick Alistair's face again. Alistair laughed quietly, and fended him off, then gave him a good scratching before pushing him back to the floor and rising to his own feet to dress for the day ahead.
Loghain was already up and half-dressed when Alistair entered to help him with his armour, and paused long enough to properly greet Crunch himself, bidding the dog good-morning and scratching his ears briefly as well, before pulling on his gambeson. Crunch moved aside, sitting down out of the way and watching attentively as the two men helped each other put on their armour, then rose again and barked once they were both fully dressed. "Yes, time for breakfast," Loghain agreed, and led the way out to the main room, where servants had already set out a meal for the three.
Alistair ate heartily, aware that it would be a long time and many miles of travel before they stopped to eat again. Loghain ate just as heavily, working his way through an equal mountain of food. When he was finished, he split several of the leftover biscuits, and made crude sandwiches out of cheese and fried sausages, wrapping them in a napkin and hiding them away in one of his belt pouches. Alistair, after just a brief moment for thought, did the same.
"Check your bed to make sure you haven't forgotten anything," Loghain said, and headed back to his own bedroom, presumably to do the same.
Apart from needing to fold his nightshirt and find room for it in his own luggage, Alistair didn't find anything he'd missed. Loghain reappeared from his room with his weapons equipped, so Alistair followed his lead and belted on his sword – his father's sword – and hooked his shield onto its harness.
There was a quiet knock at the door. Loghain opened it, and a group of servants came in, dipping their heads perfunctorily to the two wardens before gathering up their packs and chests to carry downstairs. Loghain and Alistair followed them, Crunch at their heels, down and out the back to the palace stables. It was still the grey of pre-dawn, the stable yard lit by lamps, a little early morning mist only just beginning to rise.
Queen Anora was there, simply dressed, wrapped in a cloak against the morning chill and with her hair still in a single long braid from sleep. Loghain smiled. "Wait here," he told Alistair, and walked over to her. She turned when he reached her, the pair walking across the stable-yard, talking quietly together while the servants loaded his and Alistair's belongings onto their pack mules. Alistair watched the servants at work for a little while, then turned when he heard the sound of additional hooves on the cobblestones, their horses being led out of the stable. He froze, staring.
"Maker's balls," Loghain exclaimed softly from a few feet away, voice full of a combination of shock and reverence.
"I've been planning to give you a better horse for some time," Anora said, voice warm with amusement. "Do you like him?"
"Very much... where on earth did you get such a magnificent animal?" Loghain asked, walking forward, eyes glued to the large grey dun stallion in the lead.
"I imported him from Antiva, of course. One of several horses I bought to improve Ferelden stock; he's been standing at stud at the royal horse farms since his arrival. I'll have to insist you breed him whenever the opportunity presents itself, of course."
"Naturally," Loghain said, sounding amused, and stopped by the stallion, accepting his reins from the groom, before pulling off one gauntlet to reach up and allow the horse to sniff and nose at his hand, keeping a wary eye in case the stallion proved to be a biter. "Does he have a name?"
"A very long Antivan one, yes. They've been calling him Silk at the farm, I'm told, for the gloss of his coat. Rename him if you wish, it scarcely matters what he's called outside of the pedigrees of his foals."
Loghain patted the horse's neck. "I'll have to give it some thought; he deserves a name as fine as he is. And the other horse?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at the blue roan gelding one of the grooms was still holding.
"I thought Alistair needed a better horse, if he was going to have to keep up with you when you're riding that one. And Brunnera looks quite well paired with yours."
Loghain snorted. "Thank you, on both our behalves," he said, then turned to look at Alistair. "We'd best get a move on, the army marches early."
"Yes ser," Alistair said, and hurriedly walked over to accept the reins of his gelding, scarcely believing that such a fine horse was going to be his to ride. He took a couple of minutes to introduce himself to the gelding, and double-check that his tack was all fastened snugly enough, then swung up into the saddle. Loghain, having done much the same last-minute check of buckles, was in his own saddle only seconds before. He lifted the reins and rode the stallion once around the yard, a smile of pleasure on his face, then stopped by Anora.
"Thank you. He's magnificent," Loghain said.
A brief grin flashed across Anora's face. "As that's the second time you've called him that, I will believe you like him."
"Very much," Loghain assured her. "Well. I'll see you when we return."
Anora nodded. "Be careful, father," she told him quietly.
"As always," Loghain said, then dipped a very respectful bow towards her. "My Queen."
Alistair bowed deeply as well. "Queen Anora. Thank you."
She gave him a brief smile, nodding in acknowledgement, then moved off to the side, out of the way of the horses and mules. One of the grooms fastened the lead rope for their mules to Alistair's saddle, and the pair of them moved out, around the side of the palace and out the main gates, continuing on to the gate that took them through the wall around the noble quarter, and then westwards to the keep they'd passed through on their entrance to the city almost a week before. They rode through the keep and crossed to the north bank over one of the bridges again, the eastern sky showing the colours of dawn now, to where a unit of the army was drawn up in their ranks in the practise grounds. Ser Cauthrien was there, looking over the troops that were waiting to depart. A small unit of mounted soldiers, of which Ferelden never seemed to have enough, especially when their traditional enemy was the chevaliers of Orlais. Perhaps fifty or sixty riders in total, plus close to a dozen muleteers leading trains of mule with the supplies for them all. No waggons; this was a unit meant for fast movement.
Loghain brought them to a stop to one side, watching while Ser Cauthrien finished her review of the group. "Wait here," he told Alistair when she was done, and rode over to talk briefly with her, and the man who was apparently the commander of the unit, before riding back to rejoin Alistair. A brief wait while the soldiers all mounted up, and then then they rode out, Loghain keeping them behind the column of soldiers until they'd left then city, then guiding their mounts around the moving mass of them and up to the front to ride with their commander, Crunch loping easily alongside, investigating the ditches and hedgerows when the mood took him.
"Captain Dorn," Loghain said, exchanging a nod of greeting with the man. "This is my squire, Alistair."
The man gave him an evaluative look, then a brief nod of greeting. "Alistair Theirin, isn't it?"
"Yes ser," Alistair said, and at a brief look from Loghain, bowed in his saddle. "Captain Dorn."
One side of the man's mouth twitched slightly, then he clearly dismissed Alistair from his thoughts and turned to Loghain, the two men quickly moving on to an intense discussion of what they could expect to find in the south. By a few references they made to previous battles they'd been involved in, Alistair quickly realized that they knew each other well; doubtless Captain Dorn had been one of the many soldiers who'd served under Loghain during his years as the General of the Armies of Ferelden.
They didn't travel as quickly that day as they would have if it was just the two of them; it is a truesim that a army generally moves at the speed of its slowest members. There was also no reason for them to push hard and tire out the horses in an effort to get south any faster. They moved mostly at a walking speed, occasionally varying it as the road conditions allowed, and rested the horses regularly, as well as spending most of one hour with everyone on foot and leading their mounts, to give the horses a longer rest without sacrificing too much mileage to the necessity of it. By the time they stopped for a mid-day meal – cold army rations of hard tack and dried meat, making Alistair glad of the biscuit sandwiches he had – they were already well south of Denerim, beyond the Drakon River valley and the ridge of the Southron Hills, and following a road that circled the foothills of Dragon's Peak.
"The Dragon's Peak bannorn keep is just over that next ridge," Loghain mentioned to Alistair, gesturing toward it as they resumed travel after eating. "A rather impressive structure. It's fallen to siege several times, but never to a direct assault."
Alistair glanced curiously at him. "You seem to have known Bann Sighard rather well. And now Bann Oswyn."
Loghain nodded. "Of course. My teyrnir bordered on his lands; Dragon's Peak is immense for a mere bannorn. It would have been an arling of its own, if not for its proximity to the Arling of Denerim and some historical nonsense that made it prudent to keep one of Oswyn's ancestors under the Arl of Denerim's thumb in that generation. Also the fact that much of it is uninhabited forest. This part here around the peak is all cleared farmlands, but further south you mostly just find woodsmen, trappers and Dalish. Anyway, our political inclinations largely marched together; we were allies in the Landsmeet far more often than we ever opposed each other. One of the reasons why he believed me when I assured him that I'd had nothing to do with Oswyn's abduction and torture; it was a damned idiotic way to treat the son of a long-time ally. Mind you it was months after the Blight ended before his temper had receded enough for him to be willing to listen to me at all, so that I could even attempt to apologize to him for it."
"If it wasn't something you'd ordered done, than why'd you apologize?" Alistair asked, confused.
"Because it happened under my command. A good commander is responsible for his men, not just when they do what he tells them to, but also when they do things he never would have ordered or even had expressly forbidden. Part of being in command is controlling your people. I failed to control Howe; worse, I didn't stop him when I could have, after Highever. Therefore his actions are my responsibility," he said, and fell silent for a few paces, a strange look briefly crossing his face. "I hope I did not merely turn a blind eye to his actions; that any signs of his cruelty and madness I missed were missed honestly, not through some secret desire of my own that he carry out any of the things he did."
"Wouldn't you know if you did?" Alistair asked.
Loghain sighed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was not exactly at my best, after Ostagar... and the mind has a phenomenal capacity for self-deception, at times. We'll scorn actions in others that we excuse in ourselves, ignore warning signs that would otherwise let us know that someone was not who we thought they were merely because we like them, or at least want to think well of them. One must continually ask oneself if one's perceptions are based in observed fact or in wishful thinking. And sometimes, no matter how careful we are, we end up being wrong."
He fell silent for a little while, lost in thought, then smiled, and glanced sideways at Alistair. "Your father always wanted to believe the best of people, even when hard experience had shown him time and time again that believing the best wouldn't necessarily stop them from being and doing their worst. And yet in a peculiar way, it worked for him; it was like a special magic he had, part of his charm. Many of us, faced with him expecting us to be better than we were, changed ourselves to try and live up to his vision of us, rather than living down to our own. A part of his personal magic; that he saw the good in people, and made us want to believe in it too."
"You include yourself in that?" Alistair asked, mildly surprised.
"Of course I do. My entire life has been shaped by Maric's presence in it. Not just because of the obvious things like him forcing me to become Teyrn of Gwaren, but all the subtle things as well. I would have charged the gates of the Black City with him if he'd ever asked it of me, and not least because of how much I wished to never fail his idea of me. I had to, occasionally; there were times when I needed to tell him truths he didn't wish to hear, or undertake actions of which I knew he'd likely disapprove. He was no more a perfect man than you or I, and as prone to self-doubt or self-delusion. But overall, being his friend made me a far better man than I'd have been if he'd never fallen into my life. I am... very grateful, for having had the privilege of knowing him. I can only hope that he was overall more thankful than regretful about knowing me."
He fell silent again. When he next spoke, he changed the subject. "Look, there's the keep," he said, and gestured off toward the peak.
The keep was only visible from here as a grey outcrop at the top of a distant steep rise, a spattering of colours around its walls marking the varicoloured roofs of the town nestled under its looming walls. Even from here it was clear that it was a very large building. Strange to think of Zevran living there, and yet at the same time not strange; it was easier to picture the elf living a life of ease and luxury in a fair-sized castle than eking out some meagre existence in an alienage, for instance. Alistair found himself smiling; trust Zevran to have landed on his feet. Lover to one of the nobles of Ferelden.
Loghain rode off to talk further with Captain Dorn after that, so Alistair's afternoon passed mostly in just watching the passing landscape, talking to Crunch whenever the dog chose to remain close at hand, and managing the string of mules, who thankfully were largely content to just amble along behind his gelding. Only when the sun was beginning to sink below the forested hills off to their west – another part of the Southron Hills – did they finally move off the road, into a fallow field. Loghain reappeared at Alistair's side before he'd barely had time to wonder what he should be doing.
"We'll be setting up over there, beside Captain Dorn's tent," Loghain instructed him, pointing to where a couple of soldiers were already spreading out a large bundle of canvas.
Alistair nodded, and followed him over to the indicated spot. Together they removed their own tent and necessary supplies from the mule carrying it, one of the army muleteers showing up soon afterwards to lead off the remaining beasts to be cared for with the army's mules, which greatly relieved Alistair; he hadn't been looking forward to offloading them, removing the pack saddles, and caring for that many mules on his own.
He and Loghain soon had their own small tent raised and gear stowed away within, the two-man tent looking insignificant next to Captain Dorn's considerably larger tent; a command tent, big as a small cottage, big enough to walk around upright inside and hold meetings in.
"Should I construct a fire-pit?" Alistair asked, looking around their very bare camp site.
"No, no need; we'll be dining with Captain Dorn each evening, and sharing the soldier's fare for our other meals. Look after our horses, and then whatever time remains until the evening meal is yours to do with as you chose."
Alistair nodded, and saw to unsaddling their horses, changing their bridles out for simple halters, and pegged them down on long ropes for the night a short distant from their tent, in an untrampled area with plenty of clover and grasses for them to graze on. He checked their hooves for stones and shoes for loose nails, then spent a pleasant time simply grooming the pair of them, Crunch sprawled out chin-down on the ground nearby and watching. Around him the army camp sorted itself out into neat groups of tents, arranged like the petals of a daisy around individual cook-fires. The horses and mules were staked out in clusters around the outskirts of the camp, and the air was full of the smells of food cooking. He went and sat down under a nearby tree once he'd run out of things to do, smiling when Crunch followed him over and settled down with his head in Alistair's lap.
"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I could wish for a more attractive head in my lap. And preferably one less drool-y," Alistair informed the dog as he scratched at his ruff.
Crunch snorted, and merely wedged his chin more uncomfortably into Alistair's thigh.
Alistair was woken from a nap by something prodding his leg, and opened his eyes to find it full dark and Loghain standing over him, the toe of his boot just easing backwards from Alistair's leg. "Time to eat," Loghain told him, and turned away.
"Right," Alistair said, then rose to his feet, yawned and stretched, and started to follow him away. Then paused, looking around with a frown. "Where's Crunch gone?"
Loghain snorted. "Knowing him, he's off busily cadging tidbits from half the soldiers here. He'll show up again when he feels like it."
Alistair nodded, and continued on, taking a few faster steps to catch up with the commander, falling in to place a step behind and to one side.
"Dust yourself off, you've dirt and bits of grass down the back of your armour," Loghain told him, which Alistair hastily did, so that he looked presentable by the time they arrived at Captain Dorn's tent.
They weren't the only people dining with the captain; a number of other soldiers were there as well, men and two women of assorted ranks, all of whom greeted Loghain as one well-known to them, while Alistair had to be introduced by Loghain. Not individually, just a simple "My squire, Alistair," and a brief wave in his direction before Loghain moved to take his seat at the table. Alistair was seated beside him.
A pair of soldiers acted as stewards, bringing in and serving the dinner, which proved to be a hearty stew of beef and vegetables with dumplings. Better than Alistair had expected, but doubtless that was because they'd only just set out and had some quantity of fresh beef that had been brought along with them; he suspected the menu would drop down to salted, smoked and dried meats or fish within the next day or two. The stew was followed by a sweet dessert, a simple pudding of a plain dough cooked in a sweet syrup, sticky and filling. The same dough as the dumplings, as far as Alistair could tell by taste.
There was wine served after the meal, a dusty dark-green bottle of it passed from hand-to-hand around the table for each person to pour their own serving from, the murmurs of appreciation making it clear that this was something special in the way of wine. When it reached Loghain, he poured for himself, and then to Alistair's surprise poured a small serving for Alistair as well before handing him the bottle and indicating that he was to pass it further down the table. No one was drinking yet, though they were holding their goblets. Alistair lifted his as well, and waited.
Only once everyone was holding a drink did Captain Dorn rise to his feet, holding his goblet up in front of him in a toast. "For the Crown, and for Ferelden."
"The Crown, and Ferelden," everyone around the table echoed, then drank from their goblets.
The wine was a red so dark it bordered on purple, the flavour intensely sweet and fruity; not grape-like at all, but some other flavour. Plum, perhaps, or cherry. And very strong wine, too. He held it on his tongue briefly, enjoying the flavours and the way it fumed up into his nose, before finally swallowing. He wished he had more than just a mouthful of it, but contented himself with taking small sips to stretch out the pleasure of it.
Afterwards there was talk for a little while, Loghain and Dorn speaking of what the army could expect to see once they reached the site of the outbreak near Gwaren. It was quickly obvious that at least some of the people gathered there had been in the area before, as they spoke of specific landmarks, hills, ravines, watercourses and the like, without any need of a map. Alistair found himself considering how Loghain rarely seemed to need one at all, unless he was showing something on one to someone unfamiliar with an area. He did seem to like them; both his study at Vigil's Keep and in his rooms at the palace had plentiful maps on hand. But he didn't seem to need them to know where he was.
Perhaps Loghain remembered places he'd seen so well that he didn't actually require a map. Alistair considered his own travels in Ferelden, trying to piece together a mental image of everywhere he'd been. It was tricky; places he knew quite well, like the area around Redcliffe, he could easily picture in great detail. Or places that were memorable for one reason or another; the ruins at Ostagar, or that place in the Deep Roads where they'd found and fought the broodmother. But most of the places they'd trekked through that year were just a sort of vague "this was forest", or "boring grasslands" or "here be swamp-witches" in his head. He tried reconstructing even just what he'd seen today, which felt like it should be easy, but proved to be much harder than he'd imagined. He'd watched the scenery going by, but he hadn't really been looking at it; nor really paying all that much attention to it. There'd been that funny-shaped rock beside the road, but had that been before or after the long curve where they could see the river? He was certain the curve had been followed by a twisty bit up a hillside, and then a long gentle downhill slope, but hadn't there also been a distinctive lightning-blasted maple somewhere in that stretch...
"You've been very quiet this evening," Loghain said as they walked back to their own tent afterwards. "Did the conversation bore you?"
"No, not at all. But I started thinking about something else. Not because the conversation wasn't interesting," he hastily added, "But because it made me start wondering about something else."
"Yes? About what?"
"Well, about maps actually. None of the people there seemed to need one."
Loghain gave a short, surprised laugh. "No, most of them don't. Well, some of them do, but they'll have been studying the maps of the area since they got word that they were being sent south, and talking to those who've been there before, and by now be as familiar with the lay of the land as they can be without having actually walked it themselves. The rest have been there before, for one reason or another, so they're already familiar with the landscape around there. But surely you figured that much out?"
"Yes, more or less. Mainly I was wondering just how well someone could remember what they'd seen; how detailed a map someone could carry around in their head."
Loghain actually smiled, looking amused. "Very detailed. In the course of my life I've trampled over most of Ferelden at some time or another; I dare say you could drop me anywhere in this country and within a very short time I'd have spotted landmarks I know and have some idea of where I was. Or name a place to me, and I can tell you all the major landmarks in its area."
"Lothering?"
Loghain gave a short bark of laughter, looking genuinely amused. "Ask me a hard one. You're clearly forgetting your history, or were never taught it; Lothering is where I grew up, where Maric and I first met. My father and most of the rebels he'd led are buried on a hilltop south-east of town; a bald-headed hill rising above the forest, shaped like an egg on its side, pointed end down, and with a cluster of broken rocks at the rounded end. We escaped through the rocks, while my father and his rebels held off the Usurper's soldiers."
"I'd forgotten," said Alistair, feeling abashed. He had known that; he just hadn't remembered it until too late. They'd reached their tent, and Alistair considered further, while he helped Loghain to remove his armour. Some place he knew well enough himself to be able to know if Loghain had the landmarks right or not... "Have you ever been to Rainesfere?"
"Bann Teagan's lands? Of course. Any place in particular?"
"There's a large farm a couple miles east of his keep, on a rise by the river..."
"The apple orchards? A lovely place," Loghain said agreeably, and having set the last piece of his own armour aside, began helping Alistair with his own buckles. "It may have changed since I was there, that was... Maker, over a decade ago. The river curves there, turning northwards. There's a ford just after it straightens, mostly large cobbles back then though I've heard he's since had gravel dumped to make the footing safer. A very defensible ford, too, the land on the Rainesfere side of the river being higher, and the road having to rise up through a slot in the bank," Loghain said, and continued on to give as detailed a description of the area as if he was there, with it before his eyes. They were in their bedrolls long before he finished speaking.
Listening to the recitation amazed Alistair. Some of what Loghain described he recognized; others were things he'd never noticed when he was there, on that one autumn visit Eamon had made to his brother's bannorn. Some things he'd seen and forgotten, until Loghain described them. He noticed, too, that much of Loghain's recitation focused on how defensible certain key places were, or could be made – the ford, a place where the road to the keep passed through a narrow place in the hills, a ruined tower with a good view of the road and river.
"How do you do that?" He asked when Loghain finally fell silent. "How do you remember it all?"
"A simple trick of the mind. I pay attention to what's around me; the shapes and directions of things, where they are in relationship to each other. Where I'd place men, if I had to defend it. And then later, once I have time, I review what I saw earlier, to set it more firmly in my mind. Your father did it as well, though he remembered the landscape in more of a broad strokes sort of fashion. He'd remember that there was a hill, and a river that curved and a ford, but not necessarily the shape of the hill or the depth of the ford or how the footing was. He used to say it was because he had to pay attention to the big picture, so he left all the fine details to me to worry about. Celia once said..." He broke off.
The silence stretched out. Celia had been Loghain's wife, Alistair remember, dead years ago. "She said?" he prompted quietly after a while, too curious not to pry.
When Loghain responded, his voice was very quiet. "Celia once said I remember the shape of the land so well, because I loved it so much. I suppose she may have been right. Maric also loved this land; how could he not? It was his, after all. Anyway, whether or not you care for the country, it's easy enough to learn how to remember what you've seen. I expected it of all my officers; you may lose a physical map to misadventure, but the one in your head will still be there and serve you just as well. Anyway, it's getting late, and we had a long day today and face an equally long one tomorrow. Best we get some rest."
"Yes, ser," Alistair said, and fell silent for a while. "I'd like to learn that trick," he finally said, very quietly.
A soft snort from Loghain. "Then I'll teach it to you," Loghain said, sounding both amused and approving. "Good night, Alistair."