Something had changed about the boy since Denerim. He seemed much less unhappy the last few days. Loghain wasn't sure what had caused it – seeing that elf again, the contents of the chest Bann Teagan had forwarded to them, the presence of Solona's warhound, some combination of them all or some other thing entirely – but whatever had caused it, he was thankful. Easier to try and teach someone who wasn't angry and resentful and fighting him every step of the way.
They talked, as they rode the next morning, having dropped some distance back behind the army, so that the dust kicked up by their passage had mostly settled. Loghain pointed out landmarks, spoke of their shape and how they lay in relation to one another, of how the small rise of land to their left had a commanding view of the road that skirted it, or where an ambush might be laid in the bushes near a ford they crossed, well-hidden until men were in mid-stream, exposed and on chancy footing.
When they stopped to rest the horses, he reviewed their travel so far that day, and was pleased by how much Alistair remembered, and amused by the surprised look on Alistair's own face as he realized just how much of it he'd so easily recalled.
"You'll forget it if you don't review it every now and then. At minimum you want to run through it in your head for a while each morning or evening. Preferably you should review it on a good accurate map regularly, or even draw it out yourself a time or two. It sets it more firmly in your mind, so you're less likely to forget it later. Do it well enough and you'll be able to recall the route and what you saw even years afterwards."
Alistair nodded, and when they resumed travel Loghain could see him looking around, brow sometimes creasing in thought as he tried to replicate on his own what he'd been talked though earlier. Loghain refrained from talking to Alistair, giving him time to become used to this new way of looking at the world. If he kept at it, it would in time become second nature for him, something he did without having to remain consciously aware of it at all times; but for now it was something he had to think of and concentrate on to do. Anyway, Loghain had enough thoughts of his own to occupy him, worrying about how things were progressing in the south, and if they'd arrive to find everything neatly dealt with already, or a giant mess. And then there was the necessity of recruiting to consider, and how he'd need to visit Ostagar and all the things he should probably take a look at between Gwaren and there while he was in the south anyway. Not to mention the mixed pain and pleasure the thought of returning to Gwaren gave him, when it had been his lands and people and was no longer.
And then there was his new horse to enjoy, a rare pleasure. He needed a good name for such a fine beast. Not anything like the name the stable-hands had given it. Silk, indeed. What an appalling lack of imagination that showed. Perhaps something in Avvar, or referring to something in Fereldan history. Though nothing pretentious, that wouldn't do either. He passed a pleasant hour considering and discarding names, until they caught up with the army again, the 3rd having stopped to have their lunch before entering the Brecilian forest.
The road was noticeably narrower after that, the column stretching out to almost double its length as the men rearranged themselves for travel through the forest. He was pleased to see that even though they were in friendly territory, Dorn had scouts out checking the path ahead of them and to either side. There were few bandits fool enough to tackle an entire army unit, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen, or that some particularly touchy clan of Dalish might not turn up in their path, or even something as relatively normal as an angry bear. Better to be on guard against the dangers that didn't appear than to be taken entirely by surprise when one finally did.
It was warm under the trees, warm and moist enough to having the flies out in force. At the next stop Loghain dug through his pack, taking out the corked container of fly-bane. An herb-infused oil, it had a strong citrus smell, rather like the scent of imported oranges or lemons, and most flies disliked it. He smeared some on his own face and hands, then offered the container to Alistair.
"Thanks," Alistair said, and quickly dabbed some on his own exposed skin, methodically smoothing it out and then running his hands through his hair afterwards to ward the flies away from there are well. "Do you want some?" he asked Crunch, holding out his hand toward the dog. The mabari snorted in distaste and backed away rapidly. Clearly he did not.
They made good time that afternoon, and by the time they stopped to camp in a large clearing, Loghain was feeling reasonably confident that they'd reach the area around Gwaren in two more days travel, unless of course the weather broke. Which, of course, it then proceeded to do, Loghain waking in the night to the sounds of rain pattering onto their tent canvas.
Breakfast was lukewarm tea and hastily-inhaled travel rations, eaten under cover of their rain capes. They didn't bother trying to fold up their tent, but instead spread the increasingly wet and muddy canvas over top of the oilskin covering the load on one of the mules. It would get wetter, but at least not muddier. The army muleteers kept the wardens string in their charge for the day, Loghain and Alistair having enough to do in handling their own horses, and it making sense to leave the recalcitrant animals to those who knew their management best.
Chevaliers would have had great difficulty travelling in this mess, Loghain knew, but the Fereldan army took pride in its ability to move even in such adverse conditions. They had to leave their armour bundled away on horse- and mule-back, and lead their horses on foot rather than riding them, but they kept on even as the rain worsened, spreading out to either side of the road whenever the terrain allowed it. The worst stretch was still ahead of them, Loghain knew, a low place in the forest that drained poorly and tended to be a swampy wetlands in the spring or after any heavy rains. Going around it would require a significant detour, however, so they had little choice but to push on ahead, and hope to get past it before the flooding became worse than they could wade through.
They reached the northern edge of the boggy area late in the morning. They stopped for long enough to rest the horses, feeding them a little grain to give them extra energy for the slog ahead, the men taking advantage of the stop to eat as well; the same travel rations as they'd breakfasted on, without any tea this time. They kept the stop as brief as they could; the water was rising visibly, puddles among the tall tufts of grass snaking together and joining up. They spread out on a wide front, to reduce the churning effect that many horses and mules would have on the sodden soil, putting men well-experienced at swamp travel in the front with long poles to probe for depth and soft spots, then cautiously picked their way forward.
It was a very long and tedious afternoon, walking through the swamp. At the deepest part, where a shallow but wide channel near the southern edge of the low area usually ran with water year-round, it came up to the waist or chest of most of the men, and the belly or sides of their mounts. The horses didn't like it at all, tossing their heads and snorting as they picked their way across it, the sluggish current still strong enough to push them a little sideways. Crunch showed no hesitation, but happily jumped in and swam across, pausing only long enough on the far bank to shake off the worst of the wet before moving on.
Loghain was worried about his own horse; being from Antiva, the stallion was likely more used to hot, dry conditions than wading through swamps. Its eyes showed considerable white, and it refused to cross the deep part at first. "Take your horse over," he told Alistair. "I think mine might follow, once it sees the way is safe."
Alistair nodded, and led his gelding forward. It had its head lowered, ears back and tail clamped tight in dislike of the conditions before it, but only briefly balked before following Alistair out into the current.
"Come on," Loghain coaxed his own horse as they watched the pair cross ahead of him. "If that gelding can do it, surely you can as well." He started forward, tugging on the horse's reins. It had its hooves set, not wanting to move forward into the deeper water, and snorted and danced a little when he gave a stronger tug on the reins.
Alistair's gelding reached the far bank, and whinnied as it surged up the underwater bank to shallower water, tail flicking back and forth. Seeing its companion of the last few days on the far shore, Loghain's stallion suddenly changed its mind about crossing, and plunged abruptly forward, surging past him and across the wide channel. As he hurriedly stepped out of its way, his foot came down on a rock that turned underneath him, and the next thing he knew he was under the water, and feeling very thankful that he wasn't wearing his armour as he flailed his arms and tried to rise up again, wincing as pain shot through his ankle and made him lose his footing a second time.
Then a hand caught his arm, and he was pulled upwards, a second hand grabbing him other the opposite arm a moment later. He sputtered as he was pulled up to where he could breath again, spitting out a curse as he finally got his one good foot underneath him and managed to stand upright. It was Alistair who'd pulled him up, he saw as he blinked water out of his eyes, the boy looking surprisingly white-faced. "Are you all right?" Alistair asked worriedly.
Loghain nodded, wincing as he tried to put his weight on his ankle again and holding tightly to Alistair's sodden rain-cape. "Yes, well enough, except for my temper and dignity. And I've gone and done something to my blasted ankle," he said, then glanced around at the swampy morass surrounding them. "No where here to stop and try to do anything about it. I'm going to need your help walking," he said.
"Which side?" Alistair asked.
"Right ankle."
Alistair nodded and moved around to that side, putting his arm around Loghain's back and Loghain's arm over his shoulder, and helped him to limp to shore where their horses waited, reins fastened loosely to a tree branch, Alistair clearly having had the presence of mind to catch the stallion before wading in after Loghain.
"Should you ride, perhaps?" Alistair asked worriedly.
"No, the footing is bad enough for the horses without one of them having to deal with me on their back as well. I'm just going to have to endure walking until we get out of this swamp."
Alistair nodded, and guided Loghain over to lean against the tree while he untied their horses. He fastened the stallion's reins to his own saddle without Loghain needing to prompt him to do so, but then he had been a stable-boy not all that many years before. They hadn't moved on very far before one of the soldiers slogging along nearby noticed their difficulty, and came over to take their pair of horses in hand with her own.
"Broken?" she asked, frowning in concern at Loghain.
"Just sprained, I think," Loghain assured her.
She nodded, looking tired. "Been a few of those so far today. I hate swamps," she said, and continued onwards, managing a faster pace than Alistair and Loghain could, and soon out-distanced them, disappearing among the trees and bushes as the rain began to come down even harder than before. Loghain frowned as he heard what sounded suspiciously like distant thunder, and was glad they'd pushed on today rather than remaining where they were; it sounded like the weather was only going to get worse, not better.
They were among the last stragglers to reach the camp that evening, thankfully a dry one despite the pouring rain; a cluster of three large caves in the base of a limestone cliff, the largest, outermost one being used as a stable for the horses and mules. He was relieved to see his and Alistair's horses among those there, already wearing nose-bags and being wiped down by one of the muleteers.
They continued deeper on into the caves, to where the soldiers were setting up camp. There was, thankfully, enough of a draft through various seams in the rock overhead that fires could be lit in them without the smoke lingering as more than a haze up near the ceiling, and the cooks already had stew cooking and plenty of well-sweetened tea brewing. Lines were being strung, with damp tent canvas and bedding hung over them to dry, and to divide the cave up into areas with some degree of privacy for the soldiers to change out of wet gear and rest.
There was also an infirmary area set up just within the second cave, and while he was still annoyed and somewhat embarrassed to have been injured, Loghain was also relieved not to be the only person needing attention from the healer. Getting his boot off was unpleasant, his ankle having swollen despite the cold water it had been drenched in all day. The healer examined his foot, then strapped it with bandages and gave him a potion to dull the worst of the pain, and told him to stay off of it, all things he would have done on his own anyway. A pity they didn't have a real healer available; a healing mage could have had it fixed and him back on his feet right away.
Alistair helped him back to his feet, and then deeper into the cave. "Over there," Loghain said, gesturing to where Captain Dorn was standing at a camp table with several of his men, a map spread out on the table before him. He looked up as the pair approached, and frowned in concern. "I'd heard your horses came in with someone else; she said you were injured. Have you been to the healer?"
"Yes. Sprain; he's done what he can for it. I'm to stay off it for now," he added, then glanced at the spread-out map. "Do you need me for anything at the moment?"
Captain Dorn smiled slightly. "Not at the moment."
"Good. Then I'll go get changed into something dry, and rest for a while."
Dorn nodded, and turned back to the table. Loghain had Alistair help him over to where their belongings were stacked off to one side. He needed more help than he liked, peeling out of his wet things and drying off, but they were both soaked to the skin and shivering from chill, and there was hardly time to worry about niceties. It was a great relief to settle down on the sandy floor of the cave, legs stretched out, dressed in a dry nightshirt – by far the easiest thing to put on among the available clothing – with bedding that was, thankfully, only slightly damp between him and the floor, and a wool blanket draped over him for warmth. He sighed in relief as he leaned back against a rock, and closed his eyes to give Alistair more privacy than he himself had had. "Go fetch some tea for us once you've changed," he said, and drifted off into exhausted sleep within moments of the words leaving his lips.
Alistair stripped out of his own sodden clothes, hastily pulling on a pair of dry smalls before towelling himself down with a shirt he'd already worn. He was shivering as he pulled on a dry gambeson and quilted leggings, glad they'd packed so heavily for the trip. Loghain was still sleeping when he turned and checked on the man, his head leaning back against the stone he was sitting propped up against, the neck of his nightshirt dampened by the water still seeping from his hair.
It had frightened him, seeing Loghain disappear beneath the waters, even if the water was comparatively shallow and slow-moving. Even if his warden senses had made it clear to him just exactly where under the roiling surface Loghain was, making wading out and helping him to his feet a comparatively trivial task. He didn't particularly care for the man but that didn't mean he wanted to see him dead.
The thought made him freeze, shocked by the realization that it hadn't been all that long ago when he would have said that Loghain Mac Tir's death was one of his fondest wishes. Yet he hadn't hesitated at all in going to his rescue, other than the moment necessary to grab the stallion's reins and hastily tie both horses to a nearby tree. And even that had only been because he'd felt certain that Loghain would come to no harm in the brief time it took for him to do so, and would likely tear a verbal strip off him if their horses wandered off.
Alistair stood watching him sleep for a moment, then turned away, digging their tin cups out of their baggage and went in search of tea, still feeling chilled himself and certain Loghain must be feeling even worse. The cooks had several big pots of it warming by their fires, with plentiful honey and spices added to it, brewed dark brown and strong. The soldiers lining up for it were dressed in an odd assortment of clothing, the main prerequisite being whatever they had that was actually dry and warm. Thankfully the line was moving quickly, and it wasn't long before Alistair headed back to their spot, a cup brimming with hot tea in each hand.
He hesitated a moment over waking Loghain; judging by how quickly the commander had fallen asleep, he'd been exhausted by his immersion and the long walk with an injured ankle. But he'd asked for tea, and after that long walk in the cold rain was doubtless chilled through and needed it, so Alistair cleared his throat and called his name, loudly.
Loghain started, eyes blinking open, then frowned and winced as he straightened up. "Maker. Remind me not to fall asleep sitting up, next time," he said, and held up one hand for his cup. He winced again as he sipped at it, then sighed and shuddered once before sipping again. "Much better," he said, and since he already had some colour returning to his cheeks, Alistair felt reasonably sure that it was more than just words. Loghain settled back against his rock, cup cradled in both hands.
Alistair took a drink from his own cup, feeling the heat of it right down to his stomach, then found a place to put it down and started unfolding the sodden heap of their tent. He draped the groundsheet and the canvas over ropes someone else had already strung around the area, grimacing at the water that immediately started dripping down to moisten the sandy floor. His own bedding next; his blankets were merely damp, but he'd prefer them to be dry before sleeping in them. He took another larger drink from his cooling tea before beginning to hang up the clothes they'd been wearing earlier that day, wringing out what he could by hand first so they'd dry faster, pausing to sip more tea in between garments.
"See if you can get us seconds," Loghain said when he was done, holding up his empty mug. Alistair nodded and made a second trip to the cook-fires, returning to find Loghain sitting on the rock he'd been leaning against, and trying to pull on a pair of leggings, stymied at getting them higher than mid-thigh by his inability to rise to both feet. He hastened to put aside the tea and help him, supporting him while Loghain pulled his leggings up the rest of the way and fastened them.
"I should warn you that I'm a grumpy patient," Loghain said, and managed a thin smile as Alistair passed him the second mug of tea. "I hate not being able to look after myself. See if you can find me a proper shirt; we'll likely be dining with Captain Dorn again once food is ready, and I'd rather not appear at the table in my nightshirt."
Alistair nodded, and soon found one, handing it to Loghain and taking his nightshirt in exchange, which he folded neatly and set down by Loghain's bedding. "Should I hang your blankets up too, or do you want to lie down again?" Alistair asked, nodding at the bedding.
"You might as well hang it up. And then, since there's nothing better to do, we may as well spend the time until supper reviewing what you remember of what you've observed today," Loghain said.
Alistair made a face. "A lot of mud and rain, mostly," he said. "I'd hate to have been crossing that swamp into enemy soldiers or darkspawn though, especially that bit with the river; they'd have had the high ground."
Loghain smiled. "You're noticing at least some of the right things," he said.
They'd talked and finished their tea, and Alistair had helped Loghain to the jakes and back, before someone showed up to let them know that supper would be served shortly, and did they wish to join Captain Dorn or prefer to eat on their own. Loghain accepted the invitation to Caprtain Dorn's table, and leaned heavily on Alistair's shoulder all the way there, exchanging pleasantries as he took a camp stool and lifted his injured foot up on top of a second one that had been provided for him. "A thoroughly nasty day," he remarked to Captain Dorn.
"Indeed," Dorn said grimly. "Thankfully we didn't lose any men at all, just a number of minor injuries. We lost two horses though; one managed to find a hole under the water to stick its leg in and break it, and a second to snakebite. The rider says the blighted thing dropped out of a tree, where it had apparently taken shelter from the rising waters, when the horse brushed up against a branch. Bit the poor horse then dropped free and swam away. There wasn't anything he could do to save it."
"Damn."
"Indeed. But we'll be ready to move on again tomorrow, unless the weather worsens considerably. I'm just glad it didn't start raining a day earlier, or we'd have had to detour around the lowlands."
Supper arrived then, a pottage of barley and mutton, which judging by the toughness of the mutton had been dried mutton prior to being cooked. But it was hot and filling, and after the day just passed, that was all that really mattered.