Amaranthine 9:32

Four months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Maebh took a deep breath and looked at her plate. "That's... that's fine, thank you," she said to the Dryden boy who was trying to pile more boiled cabbage on her already heaping portion. "Perhaps you should serve the others?" she gestured down the table at the dozen Orlesian Wardens. The boy nodded and moved to her right to serve Loghain. Maebh attempted to meet eyes with each and every one of the twenty-four staring at her. After the eighth pair of eyes, a large burly man with a huge red beard and a look like he could scarcely believe she could lift a butter knife let alone fell an archdemon, her resolve failed and she frowned at her food. The Drydens had quickly taken to their role as the staff of the Keep. Maebh suspected it was part penance for their ancestor's crimes, and part attempt to repay the Mac Tirs for their service to Ferelden. Maebh was just grateful that she was not being asked to serve as cook as well as Warden-Commander. The job had some perks, at least.

Maebh stabbed a hunk of boiled potato and lifted it to her mouth. Loghain cleared his throat and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He frowned and shook his head slightly. She put her fork down, embarrassment rising. She watched with mounting anxiety as the steam from her food slowed and then stopped. Finally, the Dryden boys had finished serving everybody. "Now," murmured Loghain as he unfurled his napkin and placed it on his lap.

She dug into her supper with a vengeance, even though it had, in fact, gone stone cold. It was simple fare, and better than Alistair had ever managed to concoct on the road. She smiled to herself thinking of the gallons of terrible stew she had slurped down, trying to satisfy the raging hunger in her gut. Loghain cleared his throat again and Maebh slowed her assault. She looked at him, and he nodded toward the others. Maebh turned and saw that they were talking quietly amongst themselves, picking at their suppers. "So," she said awkwardly, turning to Renaud. "Have your friends quite settled in? Or do they require anything? I could have one of the Drydens to assist you, procure whatever supplies you require."

"Hm," Renaud patted his lips with a napkin and Maebh quickly looked back to her food. "Well, I know that I, for one, have been completely satisfied but, Avice, what were you asking me earlier?"

The dark haired woman pursed her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, we were a bit confused about the stable situation."

Maebh tilted her head. "What situation is that?"

"They are empty, save the Drydens' oxen. Where have you housed your own horses?"

Maebh looked to Loghain who was smiling slightly. "You can tell them," he said to her, quietly.

She turned back to the other woman, and shook her head. "We don't have any."

The room went oppressively silent as the Orlesians stared at her, shocked. Maebh shifted her weight under their gaze, trying to find a comfortable position in the large chair at the head of the table. "But..." a voice said to her right. She looked at the woman, the only other mage, an impossibly beautiful young blonde named Ghislaine whose perfect brow was furrowed in disbelief. "What happened to the horses you had while battling the Blight?"

Loghain looked almost smug as Maebh answered with her own look of confusion. "What are you talking about? We didn't have any horses then, either." The stares intensified, and Maebh began to feel as if she were being somehow judged. "We didn't!" she protested with a frown.

"Oh, no, nobody thinks you are lying, Commander!" Renaud reached over and touched her arm in reassurance. "It is simply that it is hard for us to imagine. With every detail revealed your exploits become even more remarkable."

Loghain looked at Renaud's hand on Maebh's arm with an icy calm. "It would seem that underestimating Fereldans is still a problem in Orlais."

Renaud leaned back with an easy nonchalance and smiled ruefully. "Oui, one would think we'd know better by now, eh?"

Maebh concentrated on her food and shrugged. "I suppose I can understand your skepticism. There's a lot that we did that seems pretty unbelievable now." She fought the smile that threatened, still keenly aware of the hard blue-grey eyes to her right. "However even if there were horses to be had, they wouldn't be any use to me."

Now it was Renaud's turn to look confused. "You mean to say you do not know how to ride at all?"

She nodded, still not looking up. "I had never actually seen a horse in person before you arrived."

He clapped his hands together. "This is simply unacceptable, Commander. We shall remedy it as soon as weather permits."

Loghain snorted. "The thaw has only just begun, Warden. I'm afraid you will be waiting quite a while."

Maebh tried to hide her disappointment. "Well, it has to come eventually, right, Loghain?"

It was another month before the snows had melted and the earth in the practice field had firmed to Renaud's satisfaction. Maebh attempted to distract herself by concentrating on discussing with Levi how many recruits they could support on their allowance from the crown, and how to work toward becoming more self-supporting, plans with Loghain on how best to launch the campaign to battle the remaining nests of darkspawn, and corresponding with the representatives of her former allies to discuss possible recruitment candidates. But every evening after supper she found herself wandering down to the stables to watch as Daralis, the Dryden girl who had claimed the role of stablemaster, fed and watered the horses. It was with a mix of growing excitement and mounting apprehension that she watched as the mounds of snow receded and were replaced with the fresh green promise of spring. How could she ever hope to master a creature such as these?

She stood in the practice field, wearing the Tevinter robes that allowed more ease of movement while preserving her modesty, watching Renaud put Citrouille through her paces, feeling the same ambivalence. It seemed as if the horse had grown even larger since the day she met it, all wild energy and massive muscle. She couldn't take it all in with her eye at once and so focused on random bits, the lock of hair that fell over the animal's eyes, the pattern of the saddle blanket, Renaud's hands as they gripped the reins with a gentle firmness, the tuft of lighter grey hair that formed a diamond on the Citrouille's chest.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, moist spring air. A gentle breeze caressed her face, warm and damp. The ground was still soft and springy, the sun soft. She hadn't been able to appreciate spring last year. She tried to think where she had been at the time. Probably Orzammar.

Finally Renaud dismounted and approached her, leading Citrouille by the reins. "She's a bit calmer, now, it's as good a time as any."

Maebh clasped her hands together in front of her. "Are you quite certain? Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should wait for one of the other horses. Daralis says that the quarter horse has a sweet disposition."

Renaud nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. I agree, but I am more comfortable teaching you with Citrouille. She is spirited, yes, but we are, how do you say, accustomed to one another, no? I will be able to tell more easily if something is amiss."

Maebh blanched. "You think something will go amiss?"

"No, of course not, Commander," he attempted to reassure her. "But one must be prepared for any possibility. Now, I shall help you to mount and then adjust the stirrups to fit you, as I imagine your legs are most likely a bit shorter than mine."

She smiled weakly and approached Citrouille. "How do I 'mount', exactly?"

He patted her back. "It is quite simple. I shall hold my hands like so," he laced his fingers together and held them forward, palms out. "And you will step your right foot here, in my hands, and the left on the stirrup, and then swing your leg across. See? Easy."

She took a deep, slow breath and nodded. "Wait, can they tell if you're afraid? Like mabari?"

He frowned slightly. "Unfortunately, yes. I wanted to avoid telling you that. I thought maybe it would help if you didn't know."

Maebh felt a pang when she realized he was right. It would have helped. "Well, no helping it now," she said ruefully and stepped into his offered hand. She gripped the saddle and swung her leg over.

She had attempted to prepare herself for the sensation of actually being seated on its back, but nothing in her experience was even remotely close. It was so large and solid and alive. She could feel its heat, breathing between her legs, every shift and twitch of its muscles. She reached down to pat its neck as Renaud adjusted the stirrups. The horse took a step sideways and Maebh lurched to keep her balance. Renaud shushed and stroked Citrouille's neck and glanced at Maebh. "She does have a mind of her own, no?"

Maebh bit her lip, nodded, and took the reins in her hands. "Forgive me, Commander," Renaud carefully adjusted her grip. "Like so. This way, you are using your thumbs for control, which are stronger than your fingers."

"Oh, that makes sense," she said, appreciating that he was explaining why she must do things in a certain way instead of just telling her how.

"Now, if I may, Commander, you must put your feet in the stirrups heel-first. This way, if you were to fall, and Citrouille were to bolt, you will not be dragged."

She blanched again. "Yes, that would be bad."

"Oh, I would not be worried about that happening today. It is simply a good habit. Now, you must, how do you say, click your tongue? And press your ankles to her sides and she will walk forwards. And you must not worry, I will be right here."

"Yes, of course not, no worries." She clicked her tongue and squeezed her ankles into the horse's sides. She again was caught unprepared as the animal began to walk forward, back rolling back and forth with the movement. Maebh rolled her hips with Citrouille's gait. The movement reminded her of something, but with all her attention being focused on not falling off, she could not afford to try to think of what.

"Very good!" Renaud praised her. "You must do your best to match her movement, it will make both of you have an easier time."

The muscles in her pelvis started to ache as she struggled to keep moving in such an unusual way, and she felt the blush burning on her face as she realized exactly what the motion reminded her of. The horse slowly meandered across the field, Renaud murmuring to it in Orlesian, as Maebh did her best to remain focused on the task at hand and not remember other, more royal, forms between her thighs. She shook her head slightly and muttered, "Focus," to herself under her breath.

"Hm?" Renaud looked up at her.

Before she had a chance to respond, the horse disappeared. It was under her one moment, placid as a cow after milking, and the next was approximately six feet to the left. She hit the ground with a thud. She heard Renaud shouting and the horse running and she jumped to her feet and bolted for the fence. By the time Renaud calmed Citrouille down she had already jumped the fence and had started running for the Keep when she slammed into Loghain.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, looking down at her ashen, and trembling.

"I fell off. I was... scared," She admitted.

He turned her around and shoved. "Then you get back on."

"But, Father, it threw me! And I don't even know how it happened, much less how to stop it from happening again."

"I suppose I should not be surprised that the eager young man neglected to mention the first lesson of horsemanship: if you fall off your horse, get right back on again. Maric knew that by instinct alone, girl, and he was a terrible rider. Get back on."

Maebh slumped in defeat and clambered back over the fence. Renaud looked at her, eyes wide. "My sincerest apologies, Commander! Something must have spooked her. It happens sometimes. But I assure you it will not happen again!"

"Don't lie to the girl," Loghain shouted from behind the fence. "She needs to know the truth if she's going to learn."

Renaud furrowed his brow. "Well, then, I must admit that it is possible, however unlikely, that you will get thrown again. Such is the nature of horses. Now, shall we?"

Maebh never had less of a desire to do anything than she wanted to get back on that horse, but with Loghain watching she could hardly back down. She set her jaw and got back on.

This time, she was not as surprised by the feeling of being on the back of the creature. But she could tell it was different, excitable. The breath was faster, she could swear she could feel its pulse when she couldn't before. She realized her shoulders were hunched as she felt her father watching, and straightened her spine and raised her chin. She clicked her tongue and pressed her heels to Citrouille's sides again.

The horse started, but Maebh was not thrown again. She tightened her legs to its sides and her grip on the reins. The horse was cowed slightly, and snorted. Renaud looked concerned. "Perhaps we should switch to the quarter horse," he said, "It seems, I am afraid, that Citrouille does not like you very much."

"No. I will finish this," Maebh said firmly. "I'm not going to let this thing beat me. Now, lead us, if you don't mind."

Renaud nodded and led them in another wide circle of the practice field. Maebh felt Loghain's gaze the entire time, but refused to look at him. She could tell Citrouille was not happy about the situation, and kept her legs tight and close to the horse's sides. She would not admit weakness to the animal. She was the one in charge.

Her legs trembled with effort, her back ached from keeping ramrod straight, her pelvis muscles burned with being forced to move in such a way for so long, when they finally completed the one circuit. "There!" Renaud said with obvious relief. "This is enough for one day, no?"

"I think one more time, Warden," Loghain called from the fence. "She is still a bit tight."

She shot a baleful glare at her father, who was leaning against the fence, looking bemused. "Well, once more then," Renaud said carefully. "If that is what you want."

"Of course it's what I want," she gritted.

Renaud shrugged and began the torturous walk again. At the end of her wits, Maebh decided to cheat, and began to channel her will into physical strength. It was the same as when she had to wear heavy armor or wield a large weapon. The horse stopped dead in its tracks. She frowned and squeezed her ankles to its sides more forcefully. Renaud looked from Citrouille to Maebh. "You are using magic, no?"

She nodded.

He shook his head. "I am sorry, but Citrouille simply will not tolerate it. I should have thought of that earlier. Perhaps that is why she dislikes you so."

"Are you serious?" Maebh exclaimed in exasperation. "Even the horse hates mages?"

"Yes, I am sorry to say."

"The Chantry's reach is longer than I realized," she quipped bitterly as she allowed her will-influenced strength ebb.

"So you would like to stop?"

"Absolutely not. We will complete the circuit." And Maebh reached deep within herself and fueled her body with anger and pride.

By the time they finally finished the second circuit, she was utterly spent. She slid off the side of the horse and would have collapsed if Renaud hadn't caught her. "Careful, Commander," he said, "the ground here, it is not quite even. It is easy to lose your balance."

She leaned against him for a moment, not trusting her own strength. "Yes, of course. My thanks." She took a deep breath, catching a scent of leather and sweat and grass and some spicy cologne, and pulled away. "We must do this again, soon. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Renaud looked from Maebh to Loghain and back, thoughtful. "Yes, soon, but perhaps not tomorrow. I must speak with Daralis about the other horses. Maybe Ghislaine's will be more appropriate for you."

Maebh nodded, turned and walked back to the Keep on shaking legs.