Alistair was feeling at least twice his actual age by the time he finished working out. He felt distinctly creaky as he rose to his feet again, his joints sore and protesting. Even worse than his own stiffness, however, was seeing Loghain sparring with Edrick in the middle of the yard, showing not the least signs of stiffness or tiredness himself though he'd been working out as long as Alistair had, and considerably more energetically.
Edrick was so big that his weapons – matched daggers – seemed small, almost lost in his big scarred hands. It surprised Alistair at first to see the man using daggers; with his size Alistair would have thought a sword and shield or even one of the big two-handed swords would be more fitting, but then he remembered that Edrick had been a dockworker before becoming a Grey Warden. Swords weren't a weapon favoured by labourers, daggers being easier to carry or conceal, and something that could still be worn even when working, where a sword would only be an annoying encumbrance.
It surprised him even more to see that Loghain was also using daggers in sparring with the big blond man, rather than a sword and shield. And neither man was using practise weapons – those were good sharp blades in both their hands, and they clearly both knew how to use them well. He watched them for a while, only turning when he realized he was actually admiring Loghain's proficiency.
He hobbled back into the main building, making his was to the refectory he'd been shown the location of the evening before. There were only a handful of people there eating, all servants and guardsmen judging by their dress. He collected a share of breakfast from the dishes lined up on a table to one side of the room – a large bowl of a savoury herbed porridge, a small plate heaped with fried sausages the size of his littlest finger, a couple of bread rolls split and spread with soft white cheese and tart plum jam, and a large clay mug of strong tea sweetened with honey. He found a place to sit at an empty table, and devoured the lot, savouring the flavours of it all. The room had begun to fill with more people by the time he was done, including another warden, an elven female with dark red hair tucked back behind her ears. He glanced curiously at her, but didn't approach her, seeing as she was already involved in conversation with a group of servants.
The walk back upstairs to his quarters made him aware of just how stiff and sore he was feeling; a pain that he knew would only get worse over the days to come, before it eventually began to fade away. He was glad to reach his own rooms and shut the door behind him, knowing he didn't have to re-appear until the noon meal. On the other hand, he was going to have to dine with Loghain; not a prospect he was looking forward to.
It was a relief to climb into a tub of steaming hot water and soak for a while, letting the warmth soothe away the worst of the soreness before he washed himself. The soap he'd been supplied with was pleasant, not the caustic brown lye soap he was used to using, but some nicer stuff, a block of a creamy-white colour that smelled vaguely floral. Chamomile, he remembered after a while from the scent; the flowers from it made a soothing tea.
He dressed in plain, serviceable clothing afterwards, a pair of comfortably loose drawstring leggings and an equally loose tunic, both of undyed cloth, with woollen stockings and soft indoor shoes. Apart from the socks and shoes it reminded him of the clothing he'd worn as a boy, when he'd worked in Arl Eamon's stable, except made of better cloth and with finer stitching. By the time he settled down at his desk with the book Loghain had ordered him to study, he was almost feeling good, apart from a certain lingering stiffness and a strong wish for a tankard of ale.
Loghain looked up as the boy entered the small private dining room that was part of his suite. "You're late," he pointed out, and went back to spreading butter on a split roll, still warm from baking.
"Sorry. I was caught up in my reading," Alistair said, voice barely more than a mumble.
Loghain gave him a slightly irritated glance. "Speak clearly when talking or you're wasting both your time and mine. And sit down; it's time to eat, not to loom in the doorway."
Alistair flushed slightly, but moved forward and sat down at the only other place set at the table, briefly looking over the food piled on his plate before picking up his cutlery and digging in. Loghain was pleased to see that he ate neatly, if rather overly quickly, with at least some degree of decorum; he'd feared that Alistair might have retained the sort of manners a stable boy might have – that is to say, none – but it looked like his years in the Chantry had put at least a rough polish on him. Still...
"Eat slower," Loghain told him mildly. "No one is going to carry off the plate before you're done."
Alistair flushed again, but slowed down. Loghain leaned back in his own seat, openly studying him for a moment. "Tuck your elbows in closer to your body, and don't hunch over your plate; lean forward from the hips with your back kept straight," he instructed, then nodded. "Better. How far did you get in the book this morning?"
Alistair sat upright and swallowed before answering; a small point in his favour. "I'm on the fourth chapter, the one about the duties of a warden in peace time."
Loghain nodded, mentally taking inventory of the subjects the book covered up until that point in time, and then proceeded, in between bites, to question Alistair and try to determine his retention and understanding of the material he'd read so far. The boy proved to be good at remembering what he'd read, but only adequate at understanding the reasons behind the rules and regulations, though once Loghain had talked him through the why part of a few of them, he quickly picked up on the logic behind them, and began to make much better guesses.
"Continue on with the book tomorrow; keep in mind the things we've discussed today. Now, on to the next thing. I don't have court today; I will instead be spending the afternoon testing your knowledge in a number of areas so that I can determine which areas you need the most remedial work on. Come, we might as well do this in comfort in the sitting room.
He could help but feel a little amused at the look that briefly crossed the boy's face; clearly Alistair disliked the idea of spending an entire afternoon in his company. He wasn't exactly overflowing with joy at the prospect himself, but it had to be done. They were soon settled in the sitting room, he in his favourite chair – one he'd had sent on to the Vigil from what had once been his rooms in the palace in Denerim, made years ago by his father-in-law – and Alistair looking ill-at-ease nearby.
The boy's knowledge proved patchy. He could read, though not with any great speed, write a plain but reasonable hand, and was reasonably well-versed in basic maths as well as a smattering of history and some understanding the genealogy of the more well-known families of Ferelden. He had, it seemed, been being trained as a clerk before he was moved over into Templar training, and had most of the knowledge suitable for such. As a templar he'd also picked up at least some very basic training in tactics, though as Loghain had said the day before, a page of ten could outdo his knowledge in many areas.
Still, he was cautiously pleased; Alistair still had considerable to learn, but he had at least the basics of a number of key areas, which was more than Loghain could say about most of his wardens. It was mainly ignorance that Alistair suffered from, not any lack of intelligence. Ignorance was something he could easily correct, given some reasonable level of cooperation from the boy. Cooperation that was far from guaranteed, given Alistair's poorly concealed hatred for him. An emotion he could understand, even if it was grating to have to work with someone with such poorly concealed hostility. Still, doubtless it was ever more grating for Alistair.
He was sure they were both relieved when he decided that the session had run enough, and dismissed Alistair to go have some free time until the evening meal. He certainly was, and retreated to his private study to spend a little time going over his correspondence and catching up on some of the administrative tasks that had gone undone while he was away in the north.
He dined with his senior wardens that evening, the four of them seated around a small table in a corner of the refectory, quietly discussing recent events in the Arling, and in Ferelden as a whole. Not for the first time he found himself wishing he had more wardens; with only enough for three patrols, he didn't have even close to enough wardens to adequately patrol all of Ferelden. Especially given his commitment to the dwarves of Orzammar to help with the clearing of the darkspawn from the Deep Roads – a promise whose keeping he'd inherited from Solona Amell, along with so very many other things.
Each patrol took it in turn to go on expeditions in company with the Legion of the Dead, slowly aiding in the recovery and resettling of the thaigs that had been cleared by Solona and Alistair and their companions during the Blight War. Kal'Hirol, under the Knotwood Hills of his arling, was their main base of operations, it being well-placed between his keep and the dwarven city. The ruins there were now home to a thriving colony of dwarves, many of them ex-Dusters who'd been raised into castes in return for taking on the dangerous task of resettlement there, the growing city providing a home base for the Legions. Even some surfacer dwarves had moved there, finding a ready market for their goods and skills.
But that commitment to the dwarves meant he could only use one other patrol at a time to cover all of Ferelden outside of the arling itself, since each patrol also needed a certain amount of down time spent in resting at the Vigil in between cycles of patrols. At any given time there was usually one patrol in the Deep Roads, one patrol out on the surface, and one patrol resting at the keep; having them all gathered together at once as they currently were was a rare occurrence. And a short-lived one – Nathaniel's group was due to head out on a patrol down to Gwaren and back starting the next morning, and Oghren's would only be here another couple of days before heading west to Kal'Hirol. Sigrun's group, only recently returned from a stint in Kal'Hirol themselves, would be remaining at the keep to rest up, having just completed both a patrol of Fereldan and a stint in the Deep Roads.
Thankfully there were far fewer darkspawn lurking about now than there had been during the Blight Year or the Plague Year. Yet there were still pockets of them being found, particularly in the south and the southwest parts of the country which were, naturally, the furthest away and therefore most inconvenient location for patrols to reach. He often wished he had a more centrally-located base; down around Lothering, perhaps. Or just a second base, somewhere down in the south, maybe in Ostagar; most of the place was ruins, but the Tower of Ishal still stood, and likely would for hundreds of years yet. But he needed more men, first and foremost, and new recruits were few and far between. He wished he had at least double the men he currently did.
A pity wishing for things didn't make them so; things would be so much easier otherwise.