"Commander," Levi again was in a state as he confronted Maebh in the main hall.
"Yes, Levi," she responded, glancing in a mirror for a last-minute spot-check before dinner.
"I don't know where to seat anybody. Should you or the King be at the head of the table? Who should sit to the right of the head of the table? Who should sit to the left? How should I shift everybody around? Maker's Breath, I'm a merchant, not a steward!"
"If I may, Commander," Renaud stepped in. "Levi, the Commander should be at the head of the table. As the guest of honor, the King may sit at her right hand. In which case, Loghain would be shifted to the left, and everybody else will move down one spot accordingly." He turned to Maebh. "I will ensure that the others understand, there should be no unpleasantness."
Levi scurried off to inform the rest of the staff. Renaud stepped closer. "If I may be so bold, Commander," he said in a low tone, "the garment underneath your robes, the, how do you say, small pants?"
She whirled on him. "Excuse me?" she hissed.
He was taken aback by her offense. "I beg your pardon, perhaps I have chosen the wrong word?"
She took a deep breath, and placed a hand against her forehead. "Try again. Carefully."
Helpless, he gestured toward her legs. "But they are on inside-out. I wanted to tell you before," he stepped closer and his voice dropped to a whisper, "Loghain discovered..."
Maebh blinked. "Thank you. I..."
"Commander," he was standing so very close, but looking away. Maebh could feel the heat of his body. "Have you considered the broader complications of such an … involvement with the crown?"
She frowned. "You forget your place, Warden."
He turned to face her, and she willed herself to meet his eye and not back down. "Have I? I have been charged with helping you rebuild the Wardens in Ferelden in any way I can. And I can tell you, we have no business being so close to the monarchy."
"We are not close to anybody."
He did not respond, just returned her stare. She expected to see accusation, anger, condemnation in his gaze. A familiar dance, one she had been practicing since her days in the Tower. To her surprise, his eyes offered only sympathy. "If you insist, Commander," he conceded at long last, and left her alone in the hallway.
Maebh's wardrobe malfunction delayed her arrival to dinner. By the time she managed to get herself quite situated and reached the dining room, the rest had all been seated. Renaud and the other Orlesians stood as soon as she entered. Loghain and Alistair did not seem to notice. She stood behind her chair, feeling awkward as first Loghain, then Alistair glanced at her, then the others, and both rose. "Please, that's not necessary," she said finally, pulling her chair back.
Renaud, betraying just a hint of irritation, walked past Alistair to her. "Allow me, Commander," he said and pushed her chair in as she sat down.
"Thank you, Renaud," she said in her best casual tone as the rest returned to their seats.
"Such manners," complimented Alistair.
"What were you expecting?" Loghain asked, with an edge of confrontation.
Alistair chewed slowly. "I'm not surprised, I just wanted to say something nice. You understand, of course," he said, light and jovial.
Maebh looked down and tried to hide the smile quirking on her mouth.
"And how fares your queen?" bubbled a blushing Ghislaine. The young elf mage didn't seem to know what to do with herself in such proximity to the handsome monarch.
"Anora? She's uh... she's well."
Maebh looked up at him and was struck by the most curious memory. Sitting in Irving's office, scared out of her wits, facing down the King as he genially accused her of enthralling his son. She remembered the look on his face. He had worn a kind expression that seemed somehow artificial, as if he knew that expression was what people hoped to see, and so he wore it to hide his true thoughts. Alistair wore that same expression now.
"Commander," Avice said, concerned. "Are you quite alright? You've gone pale."
"Oh!" Maebh let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "It's nothing." She speared a forkful of asparagus and raised it to her mouth before setting it down again. "It's just that, Maker's Breath, Alistair you just looked so much like Good King Maric, I..." she shook her head and smiled. "Like I said, it was nothing."
Alistair looked at her, baffled. "Really?"
Maebh could feel her father's glare burning into her face. "Yes, in fact," she replied, arching an eyebrow. "Is that so surprising?"
"Well, no, I suppose not. It's just not something I hear very often. Or think about, to be honest."
"Oh," sighed Ghislaine in sympathy. "I can understand. Being sent to the Tower so young, I so rarely think about my parents. I'm afraid I do not even know if they still live. I'm sure you know how it is, Commander."
Maebh choked. "I, uh, yes. Marcel," she clumsily shifted topics. "You have really outdone yourself. Where did you find asparagus, anyway?"
The young dwarf grinned. "A magician never gives up his secrets, ser!"
"You make him cook? I thought the Drydens had taken over running the Keep," Alistair teased.
"Originally, they did, Your Majesty," Loghain managed to make the honorific sound like an insult. "However, Ferelden cuisine didn't quite live up to their expectations..."
"Which were already fairly low, if I may be so bold," Renaud deadpanned.
"Yes. At any rate, Marcel and Jacques have taken over cooking supper." Maebh finished Loghain's point. "The Drydens still take care of breakfast and lunch. And the dishes."
"Well, they should thank the Maker for small favors, then. Have either of you ever had to do kitchen duty? It's no fun I can assure you!"
"That's what the Dryden boys keep telling us, Your Majesty," answered Jacques with a laugh.
"Wait a moment," something dawned on Alistair, "does this mean none of you have ever had..."
"Oh Maker," groaned Maebh.
"Lamb and pea stew!"
Blank stares all around, save the groaning Maebh and the sullen Loghain. "I beg your pardon?" questioned Renaud.
"It is, simply, the best Ferelden has to offer in the culinary field I will stake my reputation on it!" declared Alistair emphatically.
"Such as it is," muttered Loghain.
"Look," Maebh held up her hands in surrender. "If I agree that it is on the menu tomorrow, will you promise not to cook it yourself? Give the recipe to Jacques and Marcel and allow them to do it? Please?"
"Unacceptable! They won't do it properly! They'll insist on doing things like adding spices or taking it off the boil early, no, that won't do at all. We are having lamb and pea stew tomorrow and I am making it. This is final."
Maebh leaned her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "I don't suppose it's worth it to point out that technically, in this building, I outrank you?"
"You would deny me? Really?" he pouted, eyes twinkling.
"You know I wouldn't. You wretched man." She fought the ugly flare of frustration that was emerging. She could be a good hostess. It was only one dinner.
"Excellent!"
Maebh was awoken the next morning by frantic knocking on her chamber door. She got out of bed with a groan. "Coming! Hold on a moment, please." She wrapped a robe around herself and stumbled to the door, pushing her sleep-matted hair out of her eyes. "Yes, what is it?" she opened the door and was quite surprised to see not a frantic Levi, but a frantic Marcel on the other side.
"Commander, you must come quickly. The King has gone mad!"
She lifted a palm to her forehead. "He's put the stew on already, hasn't he?"
"But, Commander, it's split peas! It will be ready in a few hours and he claims it is for supper! And he did not trim the shank at all!" The dwarf blanched. "The grease!"
"No, no, this is how he does it just... bake some bread or something so at least we have that and perhaps we can make some sandwiches after he goes to bed. I think a lot of us are going to go hungry tonight."
By the time Maebh was dressed and washed and ready to face the day, Alistair was still puttering about the kitchen, humming tunelessly. She stood, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe and watched with a hint of a smile. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?"
He turned and his face lit up. "They said you were still a late riser. I made you tea!" The front of his fine tunic was splattered with all manner of detritus.
"Sweet Andraste! Look at you!" She accepted the mug with a frown. "You better not tell Anora about any of this. She'll have my head."
His smile turned impish as he touched her face. "Yes, she'll be very upset if she finds out you let me cook for you."
She pulled back, irritated. He was playing house in her kitchen. His smile faltered and she quickly covered her withdrawal by taking a long drink from her mug of tea. "I didn't get a chance to show you about the outside of the Keep. Would you like to go after I finish breakfast? We don't have too much land but it will make for a nice walk."
"That would be lovely."
After he changed into another fine tunic, and gave the other to Levi to be laundered, Alistair and Maebh continued their tour about the grounds. Maebh held her hands behind her back, attempting to maintain a respectful distance despite Alistair's attempts at an affectionate, if not intimate, proximity. "And here, we have the practice field," Maebh gestured toward the one large, flat clearing where the Wardens held their daily training exercises. "Yves!" she waved, and the older Warden came jogging over. "Your Majesty, this is Yves. He is in charge of training the Orlesian Wardens. Once we have some Fereldan recruits Loghain will take over their training. But, with the way things are now, basically, Yves is in charge of all training."
"Well met again, Warden," and he crossed his arms and bowed.
The silver-haired man returned the gesture. "Would you like to observe, Your Majesty? We were about to begin sparring."
Alistair grinned. "Sparring? Would you mind if I joined?"
"Are you sure that's a good id--" Maebh started.
"Of course it is," he interrupted her, walked through the gate, and grabbed a practice sword and shield from the pile by the post. "So, how do you usually pair up? Like versus like? Shall I take on, what's his name? The big one."
"Quennel?" Maebh sized up the huge redbearded man, shirtless, glistening with sweat and wielding a massive maul. "Um, no, maybe that's not a good idea." He would never hold back with the young monarch. A diplomatic disaster.
Alistair held his arms out wide. "Who, then? How about you," he gestured toward Renaud. "What, you fight dual weapons? I haven't practiced against one of you since Zevran left."
Renaud shifted his weight and met eyes with Yves before answering. "I concede, ser."
"Oh!" Ghislaine gasped and clapped her hands together. "Perhaps you could spar against him, Commander!"
His smile widened. "What a marvelous suggestion! Maebh," he pointed his sword at her and adopted an imperious tone. "I demand satisfaction!"
Maebh laughed. "Well if you make it a matter of honor, Ser Landry." She accepted a practice sword and shield from Avice. "What are the ground rules?"
"Do your worst," he dropped into the Templar stance and Maebh followed suit.
"I don't know, Your Majesty, my worst is pretty bad." She began to channel her will into physical strength as they circled each other.
"Don't I know it. But we'll see how good this Orlesian teacher of yours is, because I seem to recall you having some significant blind spots."
It was too much. He had invaded her office, taken over her kitchen, flaunted their adultery in front of her father and now he wanted to insult her fighting skill? She lashed out and struck a blow to his side. "You don't know it. You left."
His smile faltered. "You know why." He swung out at her with his shield, catching a glancing blow on her chin.
"That doesn't mean I respect your decision." She danced out of the way of a swing of his sword, and jabbed sharply in the opening he left had left wide. He grunted as she made contact.
"It seems you managed well enough without me," he spat, swinging hard and striking a blow to her shoulder.
She backed up, rolled her shoulder to ease the throbbing, anger rising. "You had such faith in us, did you?" she darted in again, slashing at his knees.
He frowned, pulled back, settled into a defensive posture. "You knew I could not stand next to that man in battle and trust him with my life. Surely, he felt the same about me. It was better for everybody that I leave."
"That's easy to say after the fact, isn't it?" She bore down on him. "The truth is you had no idea what was going to happen to us and you didn't give a damn!"
"The truth is that we had a plan and you didn't stick to the plan!" He pummeled her with his shield, knocking her down. "I should have just rolled over?" He charged her.
Maebh sprung to her feet and swept Alistair's legs out from under him in one smooth motion. "Yes!" she declared, holding her sword to his throat. "You made me the commander because you didn't want to make the hard decisions. You don't get to complain when I make decisions you don't like after abdicating what should have been your responsibility in the first place!" She panted, sweaty from the fight. "Do you yield?"
"Yes," he grumbled. "I yield. It seems Yves is quite the teacher after all."
"Well, Your Majesty, we actually have to fight for a living. These are hardly exercises in vanity." Maebh offered her hand and pulled him up.
He stood, holding her hand and looking into her eyes. Not the king, now, but her friend. "Have you ever thought, what if..."
She frowned. "What good would that do? What's done is done. I've made my choices and you made yours."
He still would not let go of her hand. "So we should just accept what is? Forget the past and move on?"
She shook her head. "I can't forget. And I can't claim that I have no regrets. And I can't change..." she looked away, "how I feel. But, yes, we have to accept what is or we will go mad." She shook her head sadly. "How much different could it have been, anyway? You could never have taken me as your queen."
"But if I had refused the throne..."
She looked at him sharply. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that." She pulled out of his grip, suddenly conscious of their audience. "I think it's time for my ride. You can stay here and observe the rest of the training if you desire, Your Majesty. Who knows? You might even learn something."
