Denerim

9:32

Twelve months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Maebh stormed out of the dining room, slamming the door behind her, and ran down the hall. She didn't know where she was going. She just wanted as much distance as possible between herself and every last one of them.

She ran by instinct alone, dodging servants and tripping over thick carpets and ostentatious furniture before she skidded to a stop at the top of the grand staircase. Staring up at King Maric's portrait, she felt something inside her snap.

"Where are you," she screamed, heedless of the startled glances from the guards at the bottom of the stairs. "You should be here! If you were here, none of this would have happened!" She choked on bitter tears, balling her hands into fists and struggling against the urge to set the portrait ablaze.

She had almost lost that struggle when somebody grabbed her elbow, turning her around. "Commander," Renaud asked, looking at her with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"I want to go home, Renaud. Please?" She couldn't breathe in here. The air in the palace stank with disapproval. She did not belong.

"I do not understand, Maebh," he said gently as he began to lead her down the stairs. "Where do you want to go?"

She realized he was right. The Denerim headquarters were not "home". They were not returning to Soldier's Peak after the ball, but heading straight to Vigil's Keep. And the Tower was a prison, not a home. She shook her head, feeling dazed. "I don't..." Where had she ever felt at home? She gasped for air. An idea came to her. "There is a garden just off the North Wing. If I could go there and collect my thoughts..."

"But of course," he nodded. "Shall I accompany you, or should you like to go alone?"

"No," she grasped his hand on her arm. "Stay with me, please. Don't let anybody talk to me."

He nodded solemnly.

Her legs trembled by the time they reached the garden. She sank onto the bench and leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. Rage, shame, frustration, and anxiety warred within her. This was only the first day of this celebration. How would she ever last the entire week?

Renaud sat next to her, quiet and steady. It occurred to her that he must have questions about what just happened, questions he did not ask. He was giving her time to think. He always gave her time to think. "I am so grateful that you are here," she said, angry tears already beginning to recede.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Comman—Maebh," he asked carefully, using her name like she had asked.

"I don't know. Renaud," she turned to him. As much as she disliked revealing herself, leaving herself open and vulnerable, she needed his help. "Have you ever... been in love?"

He paused before speaking. "Maebh, I'm twenty-eight years old and Orlesian. I've had my heart broken a dozen times and broke two dozen more."

She laughed and leaned a little closer. "Have you ever had to … I don't even know the word for it. But I can't... I have to stop..."

He sighed, "You and your lover have reached the end of your story together, and must go your separate ways, is it?"

She thought about that a minute. "Yes. That's a very nice way to put it, actually."

He shrugged, and she could make out the glint of his smile in the moonlight. "And so it is, non? My people are known for saying very bad things in very nice ways."

She rolled her eyes. "I learned a great many about your people at my father's knee. Very few of those things seem to actually be true, though."

"Mademoiselle is very kind."

"I'm hardly a 'mademoiselle', Renaud," she said bitterly. "Anyway, I wanted to ask if you've ever... I mean, I don't have any experience in this sort of thing." It felt like such a foolish thing to admit.

"Truly? I would think... That is to say, I suppose not everything I was taught is true..." he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for a polite way to say that he believed all mages to be wanton.

Maebh folded her hands primly. "I have had three men in my life. One died hours after we lay together for the one and only time. The second never so much as touched me and has since … he's not himself anymore. And the third... is the one I'm having trouble with." She tried to cover her fear and shame with excessive forthrightness. All the courtesy was beginning to grate on her nerves.

He cleared his throat, "I see."

"I need your assistance in this matter, Renaud. It's a delicate thing I'm doing and, as I'm sure you're aware, if I make a mistake it could be very, very bad for the Grey Wardens as a whole in this country." She shifted her weight, sitting up straighter. "So, you've had so much success breaking hearts, what's the best way to do it?"

He sighed and bent forward, propping his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees. "That's not exactly what I meant. And I exaggerated. I'm sure that is something your father taught about us that is true. I am afraid I am out of practice in the art of heart breaking. Perhaps Ghislaine would be better suited to your needs." He stood. "It grows late, Commander. We should return and see if Loghain is ready to depart."

They were silent as they entered the palace. Maebh paused at the bottom of the grand staircase. "I have no idea where they even are," she said, feeling slightly ill at the size of the place.

At that moment they were rescued by Erlina, Anora's maid. "Her Royal Highness sent me to find you, Commander," she said, bowing slightly.

Renaud stiffened slightly, and out of the corner of her eye Maebh could see him frowning. Ignoring his odd reaction to the elf, she turned to her. "Oh? Anything in particular?"

"She wished for me to inform you that your belongings have already been moved from the Warden Headquarters to the palace. You will be staying here for the remainder of the celebration." Erlina's tone was calm, but she held herself stiffly.

"What," Maebh burst out, flinging her hands up. "Whose bright idea was this? Or am I allowed to know?"

"There have been concerns about your safety, my lady. It was decided it would be best if you were to stay here," Erlina remained calm.

Maebh began to pace. "I see you haven't deigned to tell me who precisely is concerned. I can't believe him. And the others?" she turned back to Erlina.

"The other Wardens, my lady? They are to stay at the Headquarters."

"Absolutely not!" she exploded, balling her hands into fists. "Ghislaine is my attendant and... and if my safety is at risk then obviously so is Loghain's and... and Renaud cannot stay there alone. No, if I am to stay here, then they are to stay here, and you can tell him that I will not budge on this," she wagged a finger in Erlina's face, emphasizing each point.

"Do you mean to say 'tell her', my lady?" Erlina asked, composure not even cracked.

"Him, her, the royal We, whatever they're calling it I know who's idea this was and I want no part of it," she fumed, resuming her pacing. "I assume I will be housed in the same quarters I was the last time I was here?"

"But of course, Her Majesty believed you would be most comfortable there. And, my lady, I was asked to provide you with a schedule of events for the rest of the week. Tomorrow you are to be fitted for your ball gown."

Maebh slumped, too tired to fight anymore. "Of course I will. If anybody needs me, I'll be in my rooms."

She turned on her heel and left Renaud and Erlina glaring at each other. She didn't care enough to ask why.

Maebh tossed and turned under the fine coverlet, drips of information invading her consciousness that led only to confusion. Where was her wool blanket? Why was the sun streaming in on her with such insistence? Who was knocking on the door?

She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the light. Oh Maker. Denerim. She was back in Denerim. Nothing good ever happened in Denerim. She slowly crawled out of bed and pulled on a robe. Her body ached, culminating in an pounding head and a fuzzy mouth. How much did she have to drink last night, anyway? She tried to remember but lost count halfway through second bottle of wine before dinner.

The knocking resumed. "Hold on," she grumbled, trying to gather the tattered edges of her will. This was intolerable. Why had she not paid more attention in Healing lessons? "What is it," she rubbed her eyes again as she opened the door.

"I brought you tea, with that honey you like," Alistair grinned sheepishly at her, holding out his peace offering.

She sighed and leaned against the door frame. "What are you doing," she asked, shaking her head slightly.

"Please, Maebh," he leaned closer and whispered. "Don't embarrass me in front of them?" He jerked his head back at the scurrying servants and impassive guards.

"Fine," she grumbled and admitted him into her chambers. "What is this about, anyway?"

"I just wanted to apologize for being such an ass yesterday. I guess I was just so excited that you were finally here that I didn't really think about how you might not have felt the same way." He sat down on the easy chair by the fire, looking glum.

Maebh's heart ached in her chest to see him so downcast. "I am excited to see you, Alistair. I just...," she sighed and went to him. "I had just had an argument with Father right before you came in."

He hugged her around her waist and leaned his head against her chest. "I miss you," he said forlornly. "Nobody gets my jokes around here."

She ran her fingers through his hair, marveling at how the curls sprang back into shape. "I don't get your jokes, either."

"You're right, my mistake. It was Wynne who would laugh at my jokes. I always get you two mixed up."

"So all mages look alike, is it," she teased.

"Something like that," he grinned.

"Morrigan, too," she needled, fighting her own grin.

"No no no no," he patted her on the bottom. "Bad girl. Morrigan is a terrible, cruel, lying, apostate, sneaky witch thief and thus not in the pantheon of wonderful, beautiful, kind, and trustworthy mages whom I love and adore."

Maebh began to feel ill as he pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck. "Morrrigan isn't all bad, you know."

"Oh yes the two of you were the best of friends I'm sure she had her good points," he conceded so quickly she knew he was just trying to avoid an argument.

She wriggled out of his grasp and to her feet and snatched up the mug of tea. "So, what's on the agenda for today. I seem to recall somebody mentioning a gown fitting..."

Alistair groaned. "Oh, don't remind me. The clothes, the never ending parade of clothes. Anora doesn't understand me, but you do, don't you? I've been handed uniforms my entire life! I cannot just become instantly interested in these things!" He slapped his hands on his knees, exasperated.

"Sounds like an argument you've had before," she pointed out, feeling sympathetic.

He shook his head. "It's like she just expects me to be Cailan with a haircut! Sometimes, anyway. I don't know, maybe you can get through to her."

She stared at him over the rim of her mug as she sipped slowly. "Are you serious," she asked finally, lowering the mug. "She's probably still livid from last night. I doubt she's going to speak to me the rest of the time I'm here."

He frowned and stared into the fire.

"You should go," she said, handing him the now-empty mug. "I have much to do today and little enough time to do it."

The gown fitting was an even bigger nightmare than she ever imagined. She offered prayers of gratitude to any deity willing to listen that she had thought to finish healing her hangover before she had gone to the solar where the Event was taking place, or she was sure she would have vomited on one of the seamstresses' heads.

Ghislaine served her duty of attendant admirably, sitting to the side and fetching water, taking dictation, reciting poetry, telling funny stories, or anything else Maebh required of her in order to keep from going mad. Maebh, for her part, was imprisoned on an odd pedestal and shackled in gown after gown, the seamstresses tutting over color, fit, and fabric until Maebh just wanted to set them all on fire and run screaming into the forest.

"I don't understand," she exploded as they brought out yet another gown, the fifth of the day. This one was deep green velvet trimmed in creamy white lace and embroidered with white flowers. "How many gowns can I be expected to wear to one ball?"

"My lady," one of the braver seamstresses spoke up, "we were told to fit you for enough gowns for the entire celebration. This is to be your parade gown."

"My para-," she boggled, mouth agape, "how many different events are there going to be, exactly?"

The seamstresses exchanged looks and Maebh began to feel ill. "Commander," Ghislaine piped up. "Perhaps I can go find an order of events and read it to you?"

"Yes," Maebh responded, slowly, trying to keep calm. "That is a good idea."

Ghislaine returned not long after with a scroll that was entirely too long for Maebh's comfort. She cleared her throat. "After the gown fitting, Commander, you are to wear the first one you tried on, yes, the pink silk with the ivory ribbon, to the formal reception." She looked over the scroll at her, "The guests have already begun to arrive, you see. The Empress' ship is due before noon and the Keeper Lanaya and her Aravel not long after. Most of the others are already here."

"Empress," Maebh yelped as one of the seamstresses pricked her with a needle, "Watch yourself if you please."

"Oui, the Empress, the Antivan Royal family, an emissary from the Arishok, the Revered Mother, the list of attendees is quite illustrious."

Maebh's hands grew clammy, she tried to wipe them on the gown she was wearing, a cloudy grey silk, but one of the seamstresses snatched her hands and wiped them with a cloth. "Please, my lady, you will stain the fabric."

"Isn't this supposed to be my breakfast gown or something?"

"Commander," Ghislaine picked up a sheaf of papers and quickly scanned it, "I apologize, but that is to be your tea gown the day after tomorrow."

"This is my nightmare," she groaned. "Forget the Deep Roads. I wish I was there right now. This is my nightmare."

Ghislaine cleared her throat and continued, "Tomorrow there will be the parade, followed by an intimate feast with only the most honored guests, the King and Queen, Loghain, and yourself."

"Wait, you and Renaud won't be there?" Maebh stumbled a bit as one of the seamstresses grabbed her by the waist and turned her sharply.

"Non, Commander. We are … not welcome at the intimate feast."

Maebh looked about wildly. The solar, which had seemed so gracious and open, was closing in on her like a tomb.

"The day after the parade, Commander," Ghislaine continued inexorably, "Is the first day of the tournament. You are to be one of the spectators of honor and-"

"Get Nora," Maebh interrupted. "I don't care what you have to do to get her in here but you get Nora in here as fast as you can, Ghislaine."

"Oui, Commander."

Maebh was being fitted for her second day tournament gown, a deep blue wool with gold trim and bell sleeves that apparently were extremely difficult to fit to her thin arms when Anora arrived, followed by her own entourage of seamstresses and servants. "You needed something of me, Warden?" Her tone was as icy-calm as ever, she was perfectly composed. But Maebh knew, "Warden" meant that Anora was angry with her.

She attempted to be conciliatory. "Please, don't make me do this. I'm sorry I threw a fit at dinner, I was tired I had too much to drink just please, please don't make me do this."

"Do what, Warden," Anora asked coolly, stepping onto her own pedestal as the seamstresses began to flutter about her.

"All these events, all these people they're all going to want to talk to me and I can't bear it I just can't, Nora, please don't make me." Maebh began to tremble.

Anora appraised her, arching an eyebrow. "Alistair frequently tells me that you are the most courageous woman he has ever met, and yet you tremble at the prospect of meeting well-wishers and star-struck fans. How curious."

"I just don't like attention is all," she said sullenly, feeling peevish and small.

"Really?" Anora sounded astonished. "Now that is curious, as I seem to recall word of somebody matching your description getting into a screaming match with a portrait the late King Maric. Unusual behavior for one who wishes to avoid attention."

Maebh winced. "I was drunk. And you provoked me! Calling me maleficar, of all the nonsense..."

"Yes, well," Anora cleared her throat and looked to the side. "I feel I should apologize for that."

"I am no blood mage-" Maebh exploded before the full weight of Anora's words penetrated fully. "Wait, you what?"

She resumed her perfect posture and cool gaze. "I know how sensitive you can be about such things, Maybe, and that is why I said it. I intended to hurt you, and that was small of me. I apologize."

Maebh was struck dumb, and then stuck with another pin and yelped. "Th-thank you," she swallowed.

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, you cannot skip any of the festivities."

"But!"

"I'm sorry, Maybe, it is quite impossible. You may have one of your Orlesians with you at all times if that makes you more comfortable. But you simply must attend all of the events." Anora remained completely unmoved by her pleas.

Feeling desperate, Maebh began to cast about for objections. "I thought this was just going to be a ball, when were all these additional events added?"

Anora turned slightly to allow a seamstress greater access to her bodice, and regarded herself in a mirror. "You were sent a full program of events over a month ago, Maybe, nothing has been added." She looked back at her. "You did read it, didn't you?"

"Oh, of course," she lied lamely as the laces on her own bodice were tightened.

Anora arched an eyebrow at her.

Maebh decided to change tactics. "But I thought the treasury was... not doing very well." Loghain had told her it was strapped, but saying as much seemed unwise. "Are we not going to a great deal of expense? Surely I could make do with one or two gowns, not twenty!"

Anora turned back to her. "Maybe, you are a legendary figure. You have influence far beyond what you know. In the past year the cost of black hair dye alone has increased tenfold. We levied an additional tax and made quite a bit of money. Every article of clothing you will be wearing for the next week will be Fereldan made. You're going to make the people, and the crown, a fortune."

Maebh scowled.

"Don't be like that," Anora chided. "Think of it this way. You're only doing what you've always done: your duty. Now, if there was nothing else," Anora gathered her skirts, her attendants fluttering like butterflies.

Guilt twisted in Maebh's heart. It was time to come clean. "Alistair came to my room this morning," she blurted.

Anora froze, her attendants' faces perfectly still, and none of them looking at either sister. The only sound was Ghislaine muttering, "...salaud sot..."

"I mean," and Maebh realized what a terrible blunder she had just committed. "I … I threw him out and... then..."

"Why would you feel the need to inform me of such a thing," Anora did not turn to look at her. "Any two such comrades would relish the opportunity to catch up on old times." A tinge of bitterness crept into her tone. "Forgive me, Warden, but I have work to do."

And she was gone.

Maebh turned to look at Ghislaine. "I really screwed that up, didn't I?"

"No, of course..." she tried. "Well, yes. Yes, you did. But it was a start, non?"

She sighed as the seamstresses stripped her of her tourney attire and prepared to fit the final piece. The ball gown.