Alistair was woken by a bell ringing somewhere in his room. He groaned, and rolled over, tempted to just curl up and ignore it. But he felt relatively certain that would not be a wise thing to do, and made himself get up out of bed and stagger the few paces necessary to tug once on a rope bell-pull in the corner of the room, which signalled to the distant servant ringing the bell that he was now awake. He leaned heavily against the wall for a moment, forehead pressed against raised forearm, then sighed and turned around, leaning back against the wall as he eyed the inviting bed. Nope, returning to it was undoubtedly not a good idea either, as much as he wanted to.
Another sigh, and he straightened up, stripping off his nightshirt and tossing it onto the bed. He quickly dressed, in a padded shirt and leggings that had been delivered to his room the evening before, hastily resized to fit him from existing garments. He would receive a more properly constructed gambeson and quilted leggings to wear under his armour once they had been made, he was told. For now, this would at least serve to give him some protection during practice.
Stockings and boots completed the outfit, after which he left his own rooms and went down the hallway to knock on the door to Loghain's. "Come in," Loghain called out from inside, so he pushed the door open and entered.
Loghain had clearly been up longer than he had been, or at least was more efficient about rising and dressing; he was wearing his own under-padding and already half-armoured, busy fastening one of the buckles that attached his cuisse around his thigh. He barely glanced at Alistair, giving him a fast once-over, before nodding at the nearby armour stand. "Get to work. I would hope you already know how all of that goes on."
"Yes, ser," Alistair said, and walked over, picking up the second cuisse and walking around Loghain to where he could hand it to the man and then help buckle it on. It was at least familiar work, though it was almost three years since he's last helped another warrior with arming in this way; a painful memory, of assisting his fellow Grey Wardens to ready themselves before the battle at Ostagar. A battle they'd all died in, because this man had walked away from the field with half the army rather than leading them in for the planned flanking attack. His jaw clenched in anger again, and it took all his control to continue with the arming, as he helped fasten on the heavy breastplate, the faulds and tassets, the vambraces and pauldrons and gauntlets.
"Good," Loghain said approvingly when he was done. "Carry my helmet down; I won't need it right away."
Alistair nodded, jaw clenching again, and picked up the helmet, tucking it securely under one arm before following Loghain out of the room. He remained silent as they left Loghain's suite, the Warden-Commander pausing for a moment to exchange a few words and a smile with the guards on the door before leading the way down through the keep, and out to a practise yard in back, tucked in between a wing of the keep and the hills towering in back, a sheer cliff forming one side of it. The yard was thankfully almost entirely deserted this early in the morning, save for a dark-haired archer practising at a line of archery butts on the far left side of the space. Loghain ignored his presence, leading the way to the other end of the yard, where a small open-fronted shed housed a stock of practise weapons, most made of wood or bundled river reeds, weighted to have a similar heft to the weapons they represented.
"Pick out a sword and shield to use," Loghain told him. "We'll warm up first, and then spar for a little while, so I can judge for myself just how out of condition you are."
That angered Alistair all over again, even if he knew that he wasn't in fit fighting shape any more. He took some time over the practise swords, until he found one that felt right in his hand, then took a shield; less reason to be choosy there, the shields all being much the same size and shape. Loghain had already selected matching items, and was going through a series of exercises a few yards away, moving his left arm through blocking and bashing motions while his right hand slashed, stabbed and blocked with the wooden sword. Alistair moved away out into the yard as well, and began doing the same, frowning as he moved through a like series of moves. His muscles protested, his left arm tiring quickly of the weight hanging from it, and he was breathing heavily by the time he finished even one set of exercises.
Loghain, in contrast, was onto a second or third set of exercises and not looking any more discomfited than he had standing still upstairs while dressing in his armour; armour that significantly outweighed the mere padded cloth that Alistair wore. Alistair's hands tightened uncomfortably on the hilt and straps of his sword and shield, and he had to force himself to loosen them to the proper grip before continuing on with his own exercises.
He was blowing like a bellows, dripping with sweat, and sore by the time Loghain called to him to stop. Not to mention simmering with resentment, especially when he saw the look of distaste on Loghain's face as the man looked him over. "You're in even worse shape than I thought," Loghain said. "Perhaps it would be best if we wait to spar until you've had more time to recover your fitness. And your wind."
Alistair shook his head. He wanted to fight Loghain, even though he was sickly certain that he'd lose. "Do it now," he grated out.
Loghain's eyebrows rose slightly, then the man nodded fractionally, a faintly approving look in his eyes. "All right," he agreed. "Let's do it."
He lost, of course, and in a humiliatingly short time; a pass of their blades, a solid thump of shields, then a sudden bash and shove from Loghain and he was on his back on the ground, Loghain's foot on his chest and practise blade held at his throat. Loghain shook his head. "At least one hour of exercises every morning, boy... sit-ups, push-ups, running, using your sword and shield, whatever you chose. We'll spar once a week to see whether you've improved at all," he said. "Starting today; you still have over half an hour left to go. Get busy," he added, then removed his foot from Alistair's chest, returned the practice sword and shield he'd been using to the shed, and walked off to the far end of the yard to speak with the archer.
Alistair rolled slowly upright to a sitting position. Maker, he was sore. He felt humiliated at how easily the older man had beaten him; humiliated, and ashamed. He forced himself to his feet, returned his own sword and shield, and walked off to one corner of the yard before painfully lowering himself to the ground. Sit-ups and push-ups... right. He could start with those. He was sure he'd be regretting it before the hour was up, but Loghain was right, blight take him... he was in terrible condition.