Alistair carefully sipped his tea, glancing from face to face and staying silent. It felt extremely odd to be sitting here, especially with these three; two of whom had tried to kill him, at various points in time, and one of whom Arl Eamon had thought he should replace.
Though perhaps it was stretching a point to say that Ser Cauthrien had ever tried to kill him. True, she and her soldiers had not exactly been overly gentle in arresting Solona and him after they'd killed Arl Rendon Howe while rescuing Anora from the Arl of Denerim's estate, but she hadn't actually tried to harm them any more than was necessary to subdue them. Later she'd backed down rather than trying to prevent them from entering the Landsmeet chamber, which he could only be thankful for. He still had very clear memories of just how nasty a fighter she was to go up against, and very little desire to ever have to fight her seriously again. Especially seeing as he'd been unable to beat her the first time, and had been in considerably better fighting condition back then than he was now. And had had backup.
He wondered why Loghain hadn't dismissed him after they'd finished questioning him about Ostagar. Perhaps Loghain had thought they might have further questions later, though the conversation seemed to have wandered pretty far afield now, into entirely unrelated territory. The three of them were now quietly discussing some minor incident in the Bannorn as if it was vitally important news. Though perhaps it was important; the banns of the Bannorn tended to be a very conservative and touchy lot, and they'd been on the opposite side of the brief civil war from Loghain. They can't have liked having him put over them as their Arl. Plus they were the breadbasket of much of Ferelden, which gave them considerably more political power than they otherwise might have enjoyed for their size. No one wanted to see the grain going unharvested and undistributed, or worse, trampled into the mud or burnt.
So he sipped his tea and nibbled as unobtrusively as he could on the plateful of little pastries he'd been given, nodding thanks when one of the pages came over and silently refilled his cup. They were good at being unobtrusive, he noticed, sitting quietly on their bench over against the wall, slipping over to refill cups of tea or reload plates with food when it was needed, without disturbing the conversation.
He found himself studying Galway, and wondering why Arl Wulff had trusted the fostering of his only remaining son to Queen Anora, when he'd clearly not been at all happy with her father and his actions. Galway, he realized, was listening very closely to the conversation, forehead creasing slightly at intervals as he clearly considered what he was overhearing. Alistair suddenly had to hide a smile, remembering Ser Cauthrien and Loghain just shortly before talking about how Anora's nobles might see any expansion of the Grey Wardens under Loghain as some sort of plot. Perhaps that was why the boy was one of Anora's pages; so that Arl Wulff had a trustworthy ear in her court and would know the reasons behind any actions she undertook. It likely wouldn't hurt the boy's future prospects any to have served in the royal court, either.
Alistair thought about the pages and squires he'd met during their stay here so far. With only a couple of exceptions, they were all the children of nobles, as far as he knew. Corey had explained that almost all noble children spent at least part of their childhood fostered out elsewhere, or at least most of the sons did, serving terms as pages or squires to other noble families that their own had ties with, of blood or trade or political bent. It made connections, he was beginning to realize; not just between the families, but between the pages and squires, who would eventually become knights, banns, arls... for a moment he pictured it, this vast interconnecting web-work that bound the country together, of men who had fostered together as pages, or been knight and squire, or master and page. A web of shared experiences and friendships along which information might flow, following channels that weren't readily apparent at first glance.
A network that Loghain didn't have any real connection into, he realized; commoner born, raised precipitously to become Teyrn of Gwaren and later General of the Armies of Ferelden without any of the formal training that usually backed such positions. And then he'd married a commoner, as well, which meant he's remained disconnected. By the sounds of what Corey had said, he hadn't exactly exerted himself at taking on pages and squires of his own either. And of those he had... well, Ser Cauthrien was as commonly born as Loghain himself had been. Alistair didn't know who else Loghain had ever taken on as a page or squire, but suspected that few of the nobles would have trusted common-born Teyrn Loghain with the fostering of their children, no matter how high King Maric had raised him. Some of his own Banns from within his terynir of Gwaren might have, perhaps... but for all its size, Gwaren was largely wilderness, with just a handful of tiny settlements of no particular political importance scattered around.
The tea in his cup had gone cold, and the three were clearly winding up their conversation. "I'd like to leave by the day after tomorrow, if the 3rd can be ready to depart that soon," Loghain was saying to Ser Cauthrien. "I may as well travel with them, since we're all going to the same destination anyway."
Ser Cauthrien nodded. "They could leave by first light tomorrow if it was necessary – earlier, if it was an emergency – but the day after tomorrow would certainly be better. Will you want those men from the stockade?"
"Yes, but not now. Hold them for me, if you would; I'll retrieve them when I have time to deal with them properly. Or wait, no... send them on to Sigrun. If I do make her commander of a second establishment, she'll have to get used to performing Joinings and dealing with recruits herself. Let her know what their crimes are, too, if you would be so good, so she has some idea of what she's dealing with."
"Of course," Ser Cauthrien said, nodding her head in assent.
Alistair put aside his cup and plate, hastily rising to his feet and bowing to Queen Anora when Loghain did, then followed him out of the room. Loghain was silent at first, clearly lost in thought, then after a while sighed and glanced over at Alistair. "You'll have to pack for us again tomorrow afternoon. For a long trip; Corey can advise you as to what more is needed. Make sure to put anything that needs laundering or mending in the basket by the door this evening, so we'll have it back in time to pack before we leave."
"Yes, ser," Alistair said, and frowned worriedly. He'd only packed enough things for a week, and unlike Loghain, he didn't have a clothes-press or two full of additional clothing on hand. Even assuming he'd mostly be wearing his armour, it would be nice to have a few extra changes of smalls and stockings, if nothing else.
"Remind me to sign you over some of your pay tomorrow morning," Loghain added. "You can visit the market for anything you need for yourself."
That made Alistair considerably happier. He'd almost forgotten that being a Grey Warden earned him money; he'd only been paid a scant handful of times before Ostagar, and after that having any money at all in pocket had mostly involved scavenging anything even remotely saleable from the people and creatures they killed while travelling. Since leaving Ferelden he'd only once been gainfully employed, very briefly, as a mercenary. His career as a sell-sword had been cut short by the discovery that there were things he wasn't willing to do for money. Most mercenary captains, it seemed, preferred hirelings who didn't have qualms about what sort of jobs they took, or what happened to any captives afterwards. He'd been booted from the company as soon as they'd returned to town.
"I've got a few more questions about what you observed in the Tower of Ishal," Loghain said as they reached his rooms, and led the way to small study he had there, gesturing for Alistair to take a seat near the desk. He extracted a set of maps from a cabinet at one side of the room and quickly sorted through them, before coming over and spreading one out, putting little carved stone weights on the corners to hold it flat. "The Tower of Ishal, as of shortly before the Blight," he said, then took sheets of paper and a silver-point pencil out of his desk. "Now, tell me again about what you saw as you climbed the tower," he said.
Alistair was feeling hoarse from talking by the time he'd run through both trips to the tower again, Loghain quizzing him closely on things he'd seen. He was a little surprised at how much he'd noticed in passing, but didn't particularly remember until Loghain prompted him with questions – the condition of the main doors between each floor, areas where he'd noticed major damage, the extent of such, and so forth.
Loghain was looking pleased when he'd finished, and after scrawling a last few lines of notes sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It at least sounds as if the tower is still in reasonably good condition, and what damage it's taken should all be reparable. The surrounding ruins themselves should provide more than enough dressed stone for the repairs; it will just be a question of clearing out any wildlife or squatters that have taken up residence in the years since, and hiring in people to do the work. Dwarven stonemasons, by preference, seeing as they built the original structure; better to have it repaired properly than do a slap-dash job of it."
Alistair said nothing, there not being anything useful he could say in response. Anyway, it sounded as if Loghain was just sorting out his thoughts aloud, not expecting any actual response. Then Loghain glanced at the window, and suddenly frowned. "Maker, I didn't realize how late it was getting. I've got a dinner to go to this evening; you'd best accompany me. Go bathe and change into whatever you have that's suitable for court. Be quick about washing, I'll be needing to make use of the bathing chamber as well, and we need to be ready to go in less than an hour" he said, even as he rose to his own feet and began putting away his notes.
"Yes, ser," Alistair said, hurriedly rising to his own feet. He dipped a brief bow to the commander, and hurried off to grab his toiletries and go wash.
The closest things that Alistair had brought along to court clothes had already been worn a few days earlier, and when he examined the outfit, proved to be in need of laundering before being worn again. He wasn't sure what to wear in its place, until he remembered that he'd packed the griffon-marked tabard that could be worn over his armour on more ceremonial occasions. Armour wouldn't be suitable for wherever Loghain was dragging him off to, not to mention being uncomfortable to dine in; but he had a pair of black leggings, and a white shirt that was still clean, and that together with the blue and silver-grey tabard belted over top looked reasonable, he thought.
He still felt considerably outclassed in appearance when Loghain walked into the sitting room, however. The Arl was dressed in sueded black leather leggings with a shirt of dark blue linen, and a vest of black suede on over top of that, with the warden's rampant griffon worked in silver on the left breast. Loghain looked over Alistair's outfit, and frowned just slightly. "Acceptable, I suppose," he said, then smiled thinly, looking amused. "And at least we co-ordinate. Come, the carriage will be here to collect us shortly," he said, and led the way out of his rooms and downstairs, Alistair hurrying along in his wake.
There was indeed a carriage drawn up in the courtyard in front of the palace, the crest on its door a familiar one. "We're dining with Arl Eamon?" Alistair asked, surprised.
"Yes. A command performance; Anora told me I had to go, or I'd have turned down the invitation," Loghain said with a grimace as they settled into the seats inside. "Politely, of course."
Alistair felt his lips quirking at the very dry tone in which Loghain said that, which implied without actually saying so that he would have vastly preferred to be quite impolite in his refusal. Alistair wasn't entirely certain if he was looking forward to the idea himself or not. Years, since he had last seen the man, and they hadn't been on the best of terms even before he'd stalked out and irretrievably sunk Eamon's plans to put him on the throne. "I'm surprised he'd invite me," he said.
"He didn't. Which is why I'm taking you," Loghain said shortly.
"Oh," Alistair said, and flushed, a combination of anger and shame making him tighten his hands into fists, his jaw setting. It was the same old story, it seemed, Arl Eamon only showing any interest in him when he might be of use to the Arl. He turned and stared silent out the window for the remainder of the ride, not even really aware of the passing cityscape until they pulled up in the courtyard in front of the Arl's estate.
The estate must have suffered some damage during the Blight year, he thought; Arl Eamon had clearly substantially rebuilt the public face of the building, anyway. The arrangement and sizes of doors and windows were still the same, but the previous rough stone walls had been sheathed in smooth, polished stone tiles, with decorative carved stone framing the windows and doors, the old wooden doors replaced with worked bronze. It looked very elegant, and reminded Alistair of some of the finer houses he's seen in places like Ostwick and Kirkwall. Though he could see it was a false face only, the bulk of the house still plain Fereldan construction.
Loghain's face was impassive as he looked up at the building, but he gave a very quiet snort of disgust that almost made Alistair smile again. Clearly he did not think much of the rebuilt facade. Too Orlesian for his tastes, most likely.
The guards at the door were dressed in their finest, glossy silk tabards worked with the Redcliffe crest over top of armour polished mirror-bright, the hafts of their ceremonial pikes tied with ribbons in matching colours. The entry hall was festively decorated as well, with branches of evergreen and more ribbons. "What's the occasion?" Alistair asked quietly, glancing around.
Loghain paused, looking mildly surprised for a moment, then frowned. "I forgot how out of touch you've likely been with Fereldan news. It's to celebrate the name-day of Arl Eamon's second child. A daughter, born this past winter; born early and sickly enough at first that the Guerrin's delayed her naming day until now. I'm not sure if Arlessa Isolde will be here for the celebration or not; word is her health suffered considerably during the birthing."
Alistair nodded. They continued on from the entryway into the main hall, which was even more ornately decorated. Arl Eamon was there witha small receiving line to greet his guests. His hair had turned from steel-grey to pure white since Alistair had last seen him, the lines on his face even more deeply graven. He looked to be a decade or two older than Loghain, and yet Alistair knew he was, in fact, the younger of the two by several years. Arlessa Isolde was with him, her face pale and pinched, hair streaked with white. And Bann Teagan, he was pleased to see, looking much as he had when Alistair had last seen him. He was startled to spot the very young boy in apprentice robes standing beside Teagan, and then noticed the pair of templars standing watchfully among the guards nearby. The tower must have given special permission for Connor to attend the family event.
Loghain waited until the current noble couple talking to the Guerrins had moved on, then led the way to the receiving line. "Arl Eamon, Arlessa Isolde," he said, giving the pair a very precise bow. "My congratulations on the name-day of your daughter. I'm sure you remember my squire, Alistair."
"Indeed," said Arl Eamon, voice a touch frosty, and gave a shallow bow in acknowledgement to the pair of them. "I'm glad that you were able to attend, Arl Loghain. Alistair."
Isolde's lips pressed together, but she bowed politely as well. "Arl Loghain. So kind of you," she said, voice just a shade short of venomous. "Alistair."
"Arl Eamon, Arlessa Isolde," Alistair responded, and bowed deeply. "My congratulations as well. I was very pleased to hear the news of your daughter's birth."
"Thank you," Eamon said coolly, giving Alistair only the slightest nod of acknowledgement. Isolde's hand tightened on his sleeve, and she sniffed, then moved her head fractionally as well, the barest politeness.
He was relieved to continue on to where Loghain was now exchanging pleasantries with Teagan, both men smiling and showing a lot of teeth, though not in any particularly friendly way. The smile Teagan turned on Alistair, however, was entirely welcoming and genuine. "Alistair. I hear you're Loghain's squire now. A bit late for it, perhaps, but I suppose better late than never."
Alistair nodded. "Thank you," he said politely, not being sure what other response he could possibly make that wouldn't sound rude. "Is this Connor? I wouldn't have recognized him if he wasn't standing next to you; he's grown at least six inches."
Teagan smiled, and glanced at his nephew, who was blushing and looking pleased at the attention. "Closer to eight, I'd say. I don't know what they feed their apprentices at the Tower, but clearly it agrees with him."
The boy grinned at his uncle, then dipped a bow at Alistair and smiled shyly. He had crooked teeth, and was clearly at that terribly gawky awkward stage of adolescence where he was all skinny wrists and ankles and too-big hands and feet. Though at least he so far seemed to be avoiding any spots other than a dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose. "I know I should remember you," he said, voice starting deep and then cracking mid-sentence, which drew a grimace from him. "But I don't. Uncle Teagan has told me how you and Solona Amell saved my life, and the lives of my father's villagers. I'm really happy to finally meet you. Meet you again, rather."
Alistair smiled. "I'm pleased to see you again as well," he said, and glanced at the templars nearby. He wished he could talk to the boy longer, find out how he was since the horrendous events of the Blight year, but suspected it would be a topic that the templars would discourage any talk of. "Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk more some other time."
Conner grinned. "I'd like that," he said.
Teagan spoke up. "I'd like to talk to your further later myself, Alistair, if you have time. With your commander's permission, of course?"
Loghain nodded. "I see no reason to object, assuming there's time for it. Come, Alistair, we'd best move on," he added, and nodded politely to Bann Teagan before moving away.
They circulated around the room for a little while, Loghain occasionally stopping to exchange a few words with one person or another. Most of the attendees were from Arl Eamon's political grouping, however, and therefore mostly unfriendly to the ex-Teryn, so the pair of them spent much of the time being ignored by those around them. A handful were rather cold-shouldered to Loghain while pointedly friendly to Alistair. He thought he much preferred the ones who were more honestly hostile to him as well. Apart from Bann Teagan and Connor Guerrin, the only truly welcoming smile he received was from a young man leaning heavily on an ornate cane who purposefully made his way over to them after having passed through the receiving line himself.
"Bann Oswyn," Loghain greeted him, bowing with surprising respect to the young man. "I was sorry to hear about your father. I'm sure you remember my squire, Alistair Theirin?"
"Of course I do," the young man said with a broad smile. "I have always regretted that I never had a chance to more formally thank you and Solona Amell for saving my life," he said, smile changing to a more serious expression, brow furrowing slightly under shaggy blond bangs.
Alistair frowned, trying to place who the young man could be. Oswyn shifted his grip on his cane as he lifted one hand to tuck his hair back, and suddenly Alistair realized where he'd seen him before. "You were that fellow in Howe's dungeon," he exclaimed. "The one being tortured."
Oswyn nodded. "Yes. I owe my life to you and the Hero; I don't think I'd have survived much longer in Howe's hands. As it is I'll bear the scars of my time in that dungeon until my dying day," he said, touching one hand lightly to his leg, before turning back to Loghain, a look of concern crossing his face. "I'd heard that there's been an outbreak of darkspawn in the south. Is it true?"
"Yes, but thankfully a patrol of my men were already in the area at the time; I've already sent more wardens south, and a unit of the army will be going to help as well within the next few days. It's down northwest of Gwaren, so you shouldn't see anything up in the Dragon's Peak bannorn."
"That's good to hear," Oswyn said, looking relieved. "If there is any help the Peak can give, send word."
"I shall," Loghain said, smiling warmly at the young bann.
"You will be going south soon yourself?" Oswyn asked, glancing back and forth from Loghain to Alistair.
"Yes, with the army."
Oswyn frowned slightly. "Ah. As glad as I am that you will be there personally to make sure things will be properly handled, I must admit to being somewhat disappointed; I'd hoped I might borrow your squire long enough some time in the next few days to more properly thank him for his role in my rescue."
Alistair found himself flushing self-consciously. "You don't need to do that," he said. "It was nothing. I mean, it was clearly something to you, but we were there anyway, and..." He stopped, realizing from the overly patient look Loghain was giving him that he was making a mess of things. "I'll just shut up now."
Loghain looked amused. "We're not leaving until the day after tomorrow," he told Oswyn. "You may borrow him for lunch tomorrow, if you wish. Perhaps somewhere near the market – he has shopping to do in the morning, I believe."
Oswyn smiled at Loghain. "That should be sufficient. Thank you," he said, then turned back to Alistair. "There's a very good restaurant that's opened near where the Wonders of Thedas used to be; the Fishwife's Tale. Join me there at midday, if you please," he said, bowed to both of them, and left before Alistair could think of any way to politely refuse.
"Do I have to?" Alistair asked Loghain.
Loghain smiled toothily. "Consider it a command performance," he said. "We've few enough nobles that are as supportive of the Grey Wardens as Bann Oswyn and the rest of his faction is; best not to disappoint any reasonable requests he might have."
Alistair frowned, but nodded agreement. "I'm surprised he supports you at all," he said, and then flushed. It was what he'd been thinking pretty much since realizing who Bann Oswyn was, even if it was hardly the most politic thing to say to Loghain himself.
Loghain's eyebrows rose slightly. When he responded, his voice was flat and cold, and he was enunciating very carefully, as if restraining himself from answering much more forcefully. "Thankfully both Oswyn and his father Sighard were willing to accept my assurance that I'd known nothing of Oswyn's abduction, nor of what use Rendon Howe was making of the Denerim Estate. Nor that I had been behind the disappearances of others, including a number of my own soldiers, which I'd thought were simple desertions, until I learned of Howe's activities." He stopped, jaw clenching tightly, then looked away. "I will never stop regretting that I didn't see him immediately brought to justice for the massacre of the Couslands, when I first returned from Ostagar. Things might have been rather different if I had. Not necessarily better, but at least... some degree less reprehensible."
"Why didn't you?" Alistair asked quietly.
Loghain turned back to him, giving him a very long look, then sighed. "Because I thought I had no choice; I needed support among the nobles to hold the country together following Cailan's death. Arl Howe had become a very powerful man as a result of his conquest of Highever, and more powerful yet when he inherited Denerim after both Urien and Vaughan died. He offered me his support. To my ever-lasting shame, he also played on my well-known distrust of the Orlesians to convince me that Bryce had been involved in a plot to open Ferelden to another Orlesian invasion. I should not have believed him, but I was..." He stopped and looked away again. "I was not exactly thinking very lucidly after events at Ostagar. And Bryce and I had been at odds often enough over the years that I suppose I wanted to believe ill of him."
Alistair bit back a comment on that, then thought of something else. "Do you know that Vaughan wasn't murdered in the alienage?" he asked instead.
Loghain shot him a look. "After the fact, yes. Him being found in a suspiciously freshly dead state in the basement of the Denerim estate made that fact rather obvious. I can only assume Howe locked him up there himself; he certainly gained by it. It gave him control of almost half the country, as the closest living heir to the Kendalls line. It does make me rather wonder if there was anything more than the darkspawn behind Urien's failure to return from Ostagar; though that pair was always very close, close enough that I find it hard to believe he'd murder him," Loghain said, then frowned. "Mind you everyone used to think that Rendon and Bryce Cousland were quite close as well, so it doesn't necessarily signify. Anyway, this is all hardly a fit subject matter for what is supposed to be a celebratory occasion."
They didn't speak further until they were summoned in to dinner, and even then it was mostly just murmured instructions from Loghain about sitting up straighter and which fork to use.
The food was very good, and Alistair was relieved that he wasn't expected to actually talk with anyone during the course of the meal. At one point there was a brief lull between courses, and the baby was brought in, visible only as a lump of lacy cloth from where Alistair and Loghain were sitting. Arlessa Isolde accepted her from a nurse and then passed her to Eamon, who held her up while announcing her name – Rowan Marie-Claire Lenora Guerrin – then passed her back to Arlessa Isolde, who walked her around the high table for their most honoured guests to see more closely. Then she was passed back to the wet nurse, to return her to the nursery.
"That's a lot of history to saddle one small girl with," Loghain said quietly, watching the nurse withdrawing with a curious expression on his face. Alistair gave him a questioning look, and he explained further. "Famous aunt, maternal and paternal grandmothers. I suppose the Marie-Claire is an effort to please Isolde's side of the family, though it's hardly a happy combination of names when tucked in with the other two, considering the aunt and paternal grandmother were mortal enemies of the maternal line. Well, here's hoping the poor mite lives up to the significance at least one of her names; preferably one of the Ferelden ones," he added, lifting his cup and drinking deeply from it.
Alistair lifted his own goblet, which he'd been doing his best to ignore until now. The scent of the dark red wine as he lifted it to his lips was enticing. For a moment he was tempted to drink deeply as well, but after only a brief mental struggle forced himself to just barely wet his lips with a tiny sip, before putting it back down.
"Good boy," Loghain said, under his breath.
Alistair felt about equal parts pleased and offended by the praise, and hated that he was pleased at all by Loghain's approval. "You make it sound like I'm a mabari," he growled back.
Loghain's lips twisted slightly. "My apologies," he said quietly. "A mental habit I've fallen into over the years with those significantly younger than myself; one I've been trying to break myself of, with only limited success. I have to remind myself regularly that all these damnably young-looking people – including yourself – are older than I was when I was involved in the rebellion. Fully adult, in other words." He touched fingers lightly to the stem of his own goblet, eyes unfocussed. "It seems just yesterday, sometimes, and then I have to remind myself just how many years it's been since I was that young."
Alistair wasn't entirely mollified, but he saw no reason to push the point. The remainder of the meal passed in silence between them, though the increasingly raucous conversations going on throughout the rest of the room more than made up for their quietness. Alistair was very relieved when the interminable meal finally drew to a close.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to disappoint Bann Teagan," Loghain said. "That ran far longer than I was expecting, and we both have much to do tomorrow." He flagged down a servant, and gave him a verbal message to carry to Teagan, politely explaining that they'd been unable to remain any longer. After which the pair of them departed, Arl Eamon's carriage once again being put at their disposal to carry them back to the palace. Loghain looked quite relieved to be departing the place; Alistair had to admit that relief was pretty high on his own list of feelings at the moment as well.