Maebh leaned against the window frame and stared out at the night sky. It was a full moon, the beveled glass distorting the calm glow and sending faintly rainbowed dapples onto her body and a small patch of the floor behind her. She liked the sitting room. It was well appointed, facing north so that it almost always was able to catch some kind of natural light. The royal couple had been more than generous with their monetary donation to the Wardens' cause, but Maebh found it hard to let go of her frugal habits. Candles were a luxury to be cherished, used only when her work demanded that she toil late into the night, not callously wasted on the lonely evenings she had trouble falling asleep. She took a sip of her brandy. The fire crackled. She tried to not calculate exactly how much they were spending on candles, on a night with a full moon and a roaring fire which both surely emitted enough light that anybody could see well enough to know who they were talking to and avoid stubbing their toes on the furniture, simply to impress the King. The King who would hardly notice.

"Anyway, Maebh," Alistair said, pulling her back into the conversation, "how are you finding your allowance? Anora says we should just continue with what Maric had budgeted but I wanted to see first-hand how that was working for you."

She turned back to face her lover, her father and the stranger who had wandered into this mess. "Well, we only have half the number of Wardens than we did at Ostagar," Maebh cleared her throat as the painful topic was broached. Loghain scowled and Alistair frowned. "However, the cost of keeping up the horses pretty much makes up the difference. If we are to expand? I'm not sure. I would like to begin recruiting Fereldans again once we have this place up and running."

"We should consider the possibility that we may have to move," Loghain pointed out. "There is Howe's old estate. What's the name of it? Virgil's Keep?"

"Vigil's Keep," she corrected gently, leaving her solitary station by the window and approaching the arrangement of armchairs.

"Yes, Vigil's Keep. I know you like it here, Maebh, but it's too remote. We should be more centrally located, more convenient to Denerim, someplace we can send word abroad to the other Wardens more quickly if the need arises. Amaranthine is perfect." He drank from his glass. "Not to mention the fact that if we could run it like a true arling we could become much more self-sufficient, and not rely on the whims of the nobility."

"Yes," Maebh mulled this over. "I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable claiming Howe's former holdings until all of his former allies are accounted for."

"Well, Loghain, you should be able to help with that, right?" Alistair's tone was entirely too casual.

The two stared at each other across the room, tension crackling. "Your Majesty," interrupted Renaud. "We also have been discussing plans on how best to launch the Thaw. Correct, Commander?"

"Yes," Maebh latched onto the lifeline as she settled in one of the chairs. "The current plan is to send Yves with most of the Wardens to West Hill, while I lead Loghain, Renaud, and Ghislaine on a smaller reconnaissance mission through Lothering and Ostagar."

Alistair nodded. "Makes sense."

"But we've wasted so much time here already, perhaps I should send Yves and the others directly to Amaranthine to prepare the Keep there?"

"Not a bad idea," Loghain conceded. "We can handle the Thaw better from Amaranthine and take on recruits. It may take us a bit longer to get started but we will be more efficient once we are fully operational there."

"But then why waste time at Ostagar at all? It seems that all should go directly to this Amaranthine," Renaud pointed out.

Maebh bowed her head and took a deep breath. "I must confess, I'm hoping we will be able to recover King Cailan's remains and... put them to rest."

Loghain set his drink down with a clatter, leaned back and sighed. "It's been two years, Maebh."

Alistair turned on her as well. "Yes, what exactly do you hope to find?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "That's why we're going on a reconnaissance mission! I was just expressing the hope that perhaps we would be able to give the former king the funeral he deserves!" She gulped from her glass, the brandy burning a familiar path.

"Commander," Renaud attempted a reasonable tone, "as noble as those intentions may be, it is quite the undertaking just to ensure the proper respects are paid to only one man."

She stood up and began to pace. "It's not just Cai-- the late king. Many were lost there. Duncan, for example. I should like to pay my respects to him as well."

"Now, you're just trying to manipulate me," Alistair accused into his glass.

"Why would she bother? It's hardly your decision where we go," Loghain pointed out with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Renaud rubbed his forehead. "I knew Duncan as well. He was a good man. But the point still stands, Commander, I must express my reservations about this plan."

"Your reservations have been quite adequately expressed, Warden. If the Commander says we go, then we go," Loghain's temper was rising.

She stopped in her pacing. "There is one other thing. I didn't want to mention it because, well, it's just a collection of unverifiable rumors at this point."

Renaud let his hand drop, eyeing her warily. "Please, go on."

She turned her glass in her hand. "Every report I've been able to track down about Ostagar has been from sources that are questionable, to put it lightly. Traumatized Chasind, wounded, half-mad soldiers, adventurers who were most likely half-mad before they even went there, and the like. But the one thing I've been able to trace as a constant is this claim that Cailan's body has been preserved in some way. There are different explanations as to who is doing it, and how and why they are, but it is..." she swallowed. Cailan's body on the cold ground. "It is troubling, to say the least."

The silence was unbearable. Maebh turned her attention the amber fluid swirling in her glass.. She heard somebody rise to his feet and looked up. "Like the Warden said, I have expressed my opinion. I will follow your orders, Commander. If you'll excuse me," and Renaud walked out.

Loghain waited until Renaud had left and sighed. "Maybe, your continuing devotion to that … man..."

She clenched her teeth. "He was the king. He deserves better. He always deserved better than what he got from the lot of you but I can't do anything else for him anymore."

Alistair groaned. "Oh, come off it. Don't start playing poor Cailan's sob story. Look, it's unfortunate that he was abandoned to die at Ostagar I'll grant you that--"

"I refuse to sit here and simply accept the scorn of cowards like you," snarled Loghain.

"Oh yes, I'm the coward am I? I'm the one who quit the field?"

"You are the one who sent my daughters to fight the Archdemon while you were safely tucked away Maker knows where--"

"Enough!" Maebh shouted as she flung her glass into the fire. It shattered and the flames flared as they consumed the alcohol. "You have both made it perfectly clear that you don't give a damn about Cailan, but I do! I will not allow darkspawn to use his remains as a plaything until he rots! We are going to Ostagar and we are going to pay him the respect he deserves!" She gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward. "If you cannot possibly muster the concern for the man, surely the two of you can respect the office he held," the venom dripped out of her mouth. Neither would meet her eye. "Then it is decided. If you'll excuse me, I find I am quite tired of talking."

It wasn't a lie, exactly. She had grown tired of talking, but she was still too agitated to sleep. She sat on her bed, staring out the window. It would have been better had her room faced north as well, then she might have been able to catch a glimpse of the moon. She lay down again, reprimanding herself. She should be grateful she has a room all to herself with real doors and walls. More luxuries she would never have been afforded in the Tower. Her stomach grumbled and she cursed Alistair and his obsession with that stew. She curled into a ball, her stomach hard with hunger and frustration.

She was just about to drift into a fitful sleep when she was roused by a tap on the door. "Andraste's knickers," she cursed to herself as she clambered out of bed. "Yes?" she said in the most professional tone she could muster, and opened the door.

She bit back a grumble when she saw it was Alistair. "What is it? Trying to talk me out of going to Ostagar, again?"

He held a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Sh! Can I come in?" he whispered. "Quickly, it would be bad if somebody saw me out here..."

"As His Majesty wishes," Maebh muttered and stepped to the side to admit him.

He turned to face her as she shut the door. The starlight provided only the barest hint of illumination. Maebh frowned and flicked a spark at the taper on her nightstand, providing a bit more light. "It's after midnight," he said quietly.

"That it is. And I have a lot of work to do tomorrow." Maebh controlled her irritation as much as she possible as she tried to not think about how tired she would be in the morning.

"It's your birthday."

And Maebh's spine was jarred from tailbone to the base of her skull when she landed on the floor with a thud. "My birthday?"

He knelt with a faint laugh. "Yes, uh, are you alright? You look surprised."

She leaned against the door as she looked up at him. "I forgot when my birthday was. How did you know?"

He brushed the hair from her forehead. "Well... your sister..."

"Oh, of course." She pushed thoughts of Anora out of her mind. "I... thank you? It was very nice of you to remember."

"I didn't just remember," and in the glow from the candle she saw the familiar slow smile appear. "I brought you a present."

Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the sixteen birthdays that had passed since the last time she had celebrated one. "That was unnecessary," she said softly. "I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't."

"Yes, it was necessary. Very much so, in fact," he chided her affectionately. "I know they don't recognize birthdays in the Tower, but the Grey Wardens don't have any such silly prohibitions." He handed her a small parcel wrapped in a pretty cloth. "The wrapping is part of the gift, by the way. It's a scarf. Or so Anora tells me."

"A scarf? Aren't they usually wool?" The brightly patterned scrap of silk did not seem up to the task of protecting her nose from the bitter winter winds.

He shrugged. "It's some fashionable thing from Orlais. You're suppose to tie it in your hair or around your neck for decoration. She said the colors would suit you, but maybe that will be easier to see in the daylight. But open it! The scarf isn't the only thing."

She untied the loosely knotted scarf and revealed a palm-sized wooden box. "Oh," she said, turning it to admire the intricate carving on the lid. "It's very nice," she said appreciatively. "I'll keep my pen nibs in it."

He laughed again and kissed her forehead. "Open it!"

She lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a pair of lovely, intricately designed silver combs set with a half-dozen moonstones on each, offset by a sprinkling of tiny diamonds. "Oh Maker," she breathed. "I can't…You should take them back. I can accept the box, and the scarf. But these? It's too much."

"Nonsense," he took one of the combs and set it in her hair. "It suits you perfectly." His hands drifted to her face and he pulled her close for a kiss.

There was a moment of hesitation. The scarf was balled tightly in her fist. He took hold of her hand and raised her fingers to his lips. A slight pressure on the wrist, and the scarf was dropped, forgotten. He led her to the bed.

His movements were deliberate. His hands traced a slow path over her body in the darkness, as if he were memorizing her form by touch. He savored every sensation, drawing out the experience until her arousal was wound so tight she was afraid she would shatter. The early summer night breeze blew softly in through the windows, brushing against sweat-slicked skin drawing goosebumps and shivers and deeper embraces. She tried to look into his eyes but could not make out their shape in the dim light.

And then he was over her and around her and in her and she wanted to speak but if she spoke she would cry out and so all that emerged was the softest of moans. He demanded of her with his mouth and his body and she succumbed. She gave of herself until there was nothing left to offer and he claimed it all. He lingered a moment after he was done and got up to go.

"Please," she said softly as she reached for his hand. "Just a few hours."

He pulled his shirt over his head and returned to her side. "You're going to get me in trouble." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"If you were so worried about trouble you wouldn't have come to me in the middle of the night, Your Majesty."

"You know me too well, Commander." His arm wound around her waist, pulling her close.

She traced the line of his muscles through his shirt and nestled her head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck. "How well does she know you?" The name of her sister stayed hidden behind her lips, too painful to speak aloud.

"She's very observant," he replied wryly.

"You should be with her today. You should not have come here." She felt the air drawing into his chest, he was preparing to argue. "Or at least," she deftly sidestepped him, "you should have come at a different time."

He stroked her hair. "I owed you. From last year. You never even said it was your birthday."

"I had other things on my mind."

He was quiet a moment. "We were at the Tower."

She burrowed closer to him as the horrible memories rushed in on her. The bodies. The abominations. The betrayal. Cullen. "Yes. It wasn't a very good birthday."

He kissed her again and brushed the tears from her face. "You saved them. That has to count for something."

"Such as it is."

"Speaking of saving people. You know what happens in about, oh, four months or so?"

"No," she mumbled sullenly into his chest, feeling his heart beat.

"It's the one-year anniversary of you defeating the Archdemon." She felt his words rumble in his chest.

"Hurrah."

"We're planning a celebration. You should come, seeing as, you know, it was you who saved us all and we're having the parade and the ball and the banquet and..."

"No," she jerked back. "No no no no."

He sighed. "Don't make Anora right."

"Right about what? No. Please, don't make me do this. Don't make me dress up like a doll and have to dance in front of everybody and the banquet? Oh Maker, they'll want me to give a speech and Blessed Andraste not a parade..." Her words trailed off as she began to feel the flickers of panic at the prospect.

"Shh," he placed his hand over her mouth. "You will have to make some kind of public appearance, Maebh, the people demand it. You're the Hero of Ferelden! It isn't that bad. You'll do fine. And don't worry about the clothes, Anora says she'll take care of it. We just need you to show up a week before everything starts and let us take care of everything." He sighed happily.

She gnawed a fingernail.

He left just after breakfast. Maebh nearly slept through it, but Loghain had roused her in time. He had furrowed his brow at the sight of the scarf on the floor and the silver comb still tangled in her hair, but refrained from actually asking her to explain what had transpired.

She stood at the head of her household and her meager force of Wardens. Again, she noted that her father was absent. Alistair was talking. He was always talking, she thought. Always smiling. Always laughing. Putting people at ease, drawing them in with his charm and good humor. The sun broke through the clouds and his armor gleamed.

He thanked them for their hospitality and congratulated them and wished them well. He was the perfect mix of genial and aloof. Again she was reminded of Good King Maric. She shook her head. Focus.

"And, as you all know, the one year anniversary of the end of the Fifth Blight is fast approaching. The Queen and I have decided to hold a festival celebration. Our Maebh will be the guest of honor, of course, and the rest of you are cordially invited as well." He smiled broadly.

Maebh felt a pressure on the back of her arm, and realized Renaud was prodding her. "Yes, uh, thank you Your Majesty. We will have to discuss amongst ourselves who is able to attend. We do have the Thaw to attend to. We'll let you know," she concluded lamely.

"Of course, Commander. I would never dream of compromising your continuing efforts against the darkspawn. Again, thank you all! This has been a most enjoyable visit."

There was an empty spot in the pit of Maebh's stomach, small and hard. Alistair turned and led his entourage away, out of the courtyard, past the gate, and into the tunnel that led through the heart of the mountain and back to the main road. And with each step the empty spot grew until she was completely hollow, brittle, cold. She held her head up, did not turn to face the polite willful ignorance of the servants and the gentle questions of her men. Eventually they grew uncomfortable and drifted away, falling into the usual order of the day.

It was Ghislaine who remained by her side at the end. They stood together, Ghislaine's arm linked with Maebh's. "Oh, Commander," her sigh was surprisingly world-weary as she leaned her head against Maebh's shoulder. "C'est tragique, no?"

Maebh's laugh was short and bitter. "Tragedy? I keep doing it to myself. Is that what counts as tragic in Orlais?"

"Of course!" Ghislaine's laugh was ruefully sympathetic. "Is there any other kind?"

Maebh shook herself and turned back toward the Keep. "Well, that's enough of that. We have work to do."