It was the first time Alistair had gone to Loghain's room to assist him with arming in the morning, and found him still in bed rather than already up and half-dressed. He hesitated, wondering what he should do – Loghain's instructions had never covered this possibility – then took a few steps closer to the bed, and was startled by the speed with which Loghain suddenly sat up, a dagger in one hand and a scowl on his face. Alistair froze, then Loghain blinked blearily at him and relaxed, spine slumping slightly.
"Oh. Morning already?" Loghain said, voice thick from sleep, and made the dagger disappear back under his pillow before rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Give the bell rope over there a double pull, would you," he said, waving at one corner of the room, then threw back the sheets and rose to his feet.
Alistair turned hastily away to do so, feeling embarrassed. The Commander apparently felt that his smalls were sufficient to wear for sleeping in. He was almost naked, apart from those and enough grizzled body hair to adequately coat a full-grown mabari. Alistair tugged on the rope, then stayed by it, unsure what to do.
"You might as well lay out my clothes for me while I shave," Loghain said. "In that clothes-press, to your left," he added, with just the faintest hint of what Alistair suspected might be amusement in his voice.
Alistair stepped over to it, keeping his back resolutely turned, and was relieved to hear the door of Loghain's bathing chamber shut behind the man. He quickly found fresh smalls and folded pairs of stockings in the drawers in the base of the clothes-press, and a clean gambeson and quilted leggings hung neatly in the cabinet over top, and set them out on the bed. He wasn't sure what to do next, and stood uncertainty near the bed, waiting for Loghain to return.
When Loghain reappeared, it was clear that he'd taken time to do more than just shave. A cloud of soap-scented warm air accompanied him out of the bathing chamber, and he had a towel wrapped around his hips. Alistair knew he was blushing again, and quickly looked away.
"Maker, you're worse than a maiden aunt," Loghain said, making no effort to keep the amusement out of his voice this time. "Go check the sitting room, there should have been a pot of tea brought up by now. Fix me a cup and bring it back here. Fix yourself one, too."
Alistair gratefully hurried out of the room, and took his time in pouring out two mugs full and sweetening them with honey to his and Loghain's tastes – sweet and very sweet. He was relieved when he returned to find Loghain tightening the laces at the neck of his gambeson, and ready to be armed. He handed him the cup, which Loghain took a couple of large swallows from, grimacing slightly at the heat of it, before setting it aside. After that it was much like any morning, Alistair taking the pieces of Loghain's armour from their stand and helping him into them.
"No practice this morning," Loghain told him. "We have other things to do today." He picked up his half-empty mug, gesturing for Alistair to retrieve his own barely touched one, and led the way back to the sitting room. Servants were setting out a full breakfast in the little dining chamber adjacent to the sitting room; setting places for more than just the two of them, at that, so Alistair wasn't entirely surprised when the door opened and Sigrun bounced into the room, looking almost disgustingly awake and cheerful. Mistress Woolsey and Seneschal Varel arrived a minute later, followed not too long afterwards by Oghren and Captain Garevel.
"Fetch yourself some ink and paper," Loghain said to Alistair after having greeted everyone. "Take notes during breakfast; don't worry if you can't get it all down, Mistress Woolsey keeps our official minutes, but note-taking is a skill I'll want you to work on."
Alistair nodded, and hurried to his room and back to fetch the necessary items. By the time he returned the others were all taking seats already. He quickly took the remaining seat, setting out his paper and ink and pen by his plate. Not that he had much time to eat; trying to keep track of the conversation going on around him and take notes proved to be much more difficult than he'd imagined, though Mistress Woolsey seemed perfectly capable of taking notes, eating, and contributing her own fair share to the conversation without looking in the least ruffled.
Loghain, it seemed, planned to send Oghren's patrol south by ship to Gwaren to join up with Nathaniel. Which Oghren wasn't too thrilled about, Felsi being due to deliver their second child any day now and he having hoped to be on hand for it. But he reluctantly agreed that his team of people was better suited for the work that needed doing down south than Sigrun's was.
Some of the civilian servants at the keep – a pair of dwarven engineers trained in the use of mining explosives, and well-supplied with such – would accompany him, to oversee closing the tunnel entrances that the sink hole had opened up. Sigrun's patrol would remain at the keep, with Sigrun as Acting Warden-Commander in Loghain's absence. He wasn't planning to go to Gwaren himself – not yet, anyway, and not unless it proved necessary – but instead planned to go first of all to Denerim to report to Anora about the problem, since it was within her terynir.
"Alistair, you'll be accompanying me," he added in passing. "You can pack for both of us this afternoon, and we'll leave tomorrow morning. Plan on at least a one week absence. Have one of the servants check what you've selected to take before you pack it, they'll know if you've missed anything."
"Yes, ser," he answered; the only thing he could say, even if he did feel annoyed at the thought of having to go anywhere in Loghain's company. Much less to Denerim and into Queen Anora's presence. He'd heard a story once that her first reaction to hearing about his having gone missing was that she wanted him found, apprehended, and executed, to be sure he didn't end up at the head of a revolt against her. He didn't know if it was true or not... but he wouldn't put it past her.
There was other discussion, about what Captain Garevel and the rest could do to keep the Keep sufficiently prepared and vigilant in case trouble broke out elsewhere in Ferelden while most of the Grey Wardens had their attention focused on the far south. Once all that was sorted out the entire group of them went down to the main hall, where all the wardens and a number of other key local staff were in attendance. Loghain, the two senior wardens, and his senior staff took places on the dais at the front; Alistair found a place among the waiting wardens.
Loghain broke the news about events down south, and the planned response to them. He kept the explanation simple and straightforward, without dwelling on the uglier aspects of what had happened. Judging by the set faces around the room, the wardens all understood the parts he wasn't saying in front of civilian witnesses. They were all very quiet by the time he finished, and when he dismissed them, Oghren's men headed off to see to their packing; they were to depart for Amaranthine directly after lunch, Loghain had said.
Alistair, meanwhile, found himself being rounded up and taken off by Mistress Woolsey, to review his notes. She had a few tips for him – such as only trying to get down the exact wording when it was important, and otherwise just note enough key parts down to be able to reconstruct generally what was said and agreed to later – but seemed very distracted and soon released him so that she could get back to her own duties. It was still a little over an hour yet until lunch, so Alistair went out to the practise yard in back and did his exercises for a while. He felt unsettled, and found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about those kids, and the hunters... the hunters had at least had some idea what they were getting into, and had known how to protect themselves, but those kids...
He felt sick, in the pit of his stomach. Grey Wardens were supposed to help prevent things like this from happening.
Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference, if he'd been here and doing his duty all along.
But maybe it would have.
Smalls and stockings for a week, plus two extra changes of each. Four pairs of leggings, from plain cloth to good enough for court – at least for Loghain, Alistair's own small wardrobe was not that varied – and shirts to match, along with a good coat for Loghain to attend court in. Boots of well-sewn oiled leather, to wear on the journey, and soft indoor shoes to wear at court. A warm rain-proofed cloak and gloves in case of inclement weather on the way. Supplies for shaving, for washing, for other personal care, for maintaining their mail and caring for their weapons. His shield – not the one from Duncan, but one drawn from the Keep's armoury instead – along with a sword and sword harness from the same source.
It made a surprisingly large pile on both their beds, but he was pleased that when he had the servant check that he'd thought of everything, the only change the man made was to say to also pack spare gambeson and quilted leggings as well, in case the set they were wearing under their armour got wet, and to say that he'd arrange for bedrolls, cooking supplies, and a two-man tent to be added to the load when it was put on their horses the next day, in case they had to overnight somewhere. "The Commander prefers to be prepared for anything," the servant said, before going off in search of horse packs and a travel chest for Alistair to put everything away in.
The chest and packs were left piled up by the door of their rooms to be carried down and loaded in the morning. Alistair spent some time in sharpening and polishing his new sword, and thinking about the several swords he'd carried at Solona's side. He hadn't felt right taking them away with him when he'd left, apart from the rather plain longsword he's started out with, and had left all the rest of them on the weapon rack in the room Arl Eamon had given him at the estate. The old sword they'd pieced together in the Deep Roads, his father's sword that they'd recovered from Ostagar, the enchanted one from the ancient shade in Denerim that made a faint keening sound as it cut through the air, sharp as a thought... he wondered what had happened to them all. And doubted he'd ever know.
It was a very quiet supper that evening, everyone in a sober mood still from the news that morning, and quieter yet for all of Oghren's group having departed. The table that had been full of wardens the day before was almost empty now, Gwill and Rosey being elsewhere, Kedar sitting and talking earnestly with Mistress Woolsey, their heads together in a way that conveyed that they had no wish of interruptions. So it was just him and Tisha.
She was very pretty, in the way all elves were; fragile-looking, though he knew from past experience with elves that the look was deceptive. Besides, he'd seen her in the practice yard; she wasn't much more than a decently skilled beginner yet, as far as he could tell, but she knew enough of what she was doing to be dangerous, especially to non-wardens who would lack her advantages of unusual speed and stamina. Oh, sure, Zevran could still likely have disarmed her within seconds, but that was Zevran. Sudden death with a charming smile and a salacious quip. He was mildly startled to find himself missing the assassin, and wondering what had happened to him in the years since. Probably the Crows had caught up to him eventually, and without the aid of Solona and the others... he didn't like thinking about it.
"I remember you," Tisha suddenly said. "Though I doubt you remember me."
"Sorry, no, I don't," Alistair admitted. "Did I meet you in the alienage when Solona and I were there?"
"Sort of," she said, and looked away, down at her plate, hands tightening on her cutlery. When she spoke again, her voice was very low. "In the warehouse, when you killed Caladrius... I was one of the elves you all freed."
"Oh. There were a lot of you," he said, feeling uncomfortable that he didn't remember any of the faces, really – but he'd been so excited still from the fight, which had been difficult, and had required him to make considerable use of his Templar abilities before they'd been able to overpower and finally kill the blood mage.
"There were," she agreed softly, and glanced at him, just a brief flash of bright green eyes from behind dark red hair. "There should have a been a lot more. Over half the alienage was taken, you know. All sold off into slavery, apart from those Caladrius used up for his own magic," she added bitterly, and looked across the room to where Loghain was standing talking with Captain Garevel, as she did so the ball of her thumb stroking along the edge of the table knife in her hand as if she was wishing it had an edge. "My parents had been shipped out the week before. To Tevinter."
Alistair swallowed uncomfortably. "Um, so... how'd you end up here?" he asked cautiously.
"When the darkspawn came, I ran," she said softly, eyes still fixed on Loghain. "I knew how to swim; we'd lived in Highever alienage when I was younger, the water was clean enough for it there. So I jumped in the river, and escaped the city that way. Others tried the same; not all of them could swim. Even of those who could, not all of us made it out." She fell silent again, then carefully set her cutlery down and pushed her plate of food away. "After we got out, I decided to keep going; I didn't think staying near the city would be any safer than staying in it. So I headed away, to the northwest. I remember looking back, from a hilltop, when it was dark... the sky over the city was black with smoke and red from all the fires, and I could see the Archdemon, circling..."
She shivered, silent again, and bit her lip for a moment. "I turned away and kept walking. Even in the dark, I was too scared to stop. By morning I was lost, and sick... river water isn't good for you. Maybe out in the country it is, but not in Denerim. I lost track of time. It was days later and I was starving when I finally found a farm." She paused again, a thoughtful look on her face. "I was lucky. They didn't mind elves. And they needed help, having lost most of their workers to the war. So they took me in and fed me, and let me stay and get better. By the time I was well enough to work, we'd heard about what had happened in Denerim. So many dead, they didn't have enough wood to burn them all."
She looked down at the table again, at her hands set neatly on the edge of it. "I stayed and helped out over the fall harvest and through the winter and the spring planting, to pay them back for their help, but farming wasn't for me. So later in the spring I decided to set out for Amaranthine; the alienage there was even emptier than the one in Denerim, I'd heard, and the remaining nobles were desperate for well-trained elven servants. The pay being offered for a week's work was more than I'd have made in a month, back in Denerim, before... Anyway, there was no reason for me to go back. On the way, I stopped at Vigil's Keep for the night. They let me sleep in the stables, there weren't any horses here then. Just dusty straw. And I ended up trapped here by the darkspawn; they attacked just before dawn. So I spent a few days thinking I was going to die after all, and helping to cook food and look after the wounded and so on, and then it all ended. Only it wasn't over for me yet, because I'd been in contact with too many of the dying."
"You were blighted?"
"Yeah," she said, and shrugged. "So I took the Joining. It was that or die, and I didn't feel like dying just yet. Not after surviving so much already." She looked across the room again, to where Loghain was now seated at a table by himself, eating almost mechanically from a plate of food, his eyes unfocused in thought. When she spoke again, there was a darkness in her voice, a bitterness, that spoke more than her words did of just how deeply she hated the man. "And I keep hoping to have the chance to kill him, someday, for what he did to us. My grandfather had been one of the Night Elves, you know; he was always talking about what a good shem Teyrn Loghain was, how he treated the elves just like everyone else. I suppose its a kindness that he died before ever having to see his son sold into slavery by the man he'd praised so highly."
"Do you still hope that?" he asked hesitantly. "That you can kill him some day?"
She turned and looked at him. "Yes. Don't you?"
He looked at Loghain for a while himself, remembering Duncan and Cailan. Remembering Ostagar, both the battle there, and when he and Solona had returned, later. Remembering assassins and mercenaries trying to kill the two of them, not just once but over and over again. Remembering a basement full of torture chambers, and a cell in Fort Drakon, and most of all in that moment remembering a blood mage smiling silkily at Solona and offering her anything she'd like in exchange for his freedom, including proof of Loghain's involvement, if she wanted it.
"Sometimes, yes," he admitted softly. "If you had the chance, right now... would you do it?"
She studied Loghain for a while again. "I don't know. Sometimes I think yes, certainly, but other times... Other times I think I see glimpses of the man my grandfather used to talk about. The good shem." She rose to her feet. "Hating him is easier. But I know I'm not good enough to kill him yet; I've tried more than once," she said, then walked away.