A/N Back to the once-a-month update schedule. I'm doing the best I can, guys. Real life is being... very real right now, lol. No problems, just a lot to do. PS. A million thanks to Emynii for filling in for my usual betas. You're the best!
An inexplicable, light feeling floated through Maebh like a bubble as she made her way from her quarters to the hall she was supposed to have reported to nearly an hour ago. Maybe the reception wouldn't be so bad. It could hardly be worse than when Alistair came to greet her at the headquarters. Or the dinner. Or the dress fitting. She tripped on her hem and cursed. The gown was lovely, if difficult to manage after weeks of wearing Tevinter-style attire out on the road. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she had to admit that the peachy pink silk highlighted a glow in her skin that she hadn't ever noticed before. Ghislaine had curled and arranged her hair, pinning it behind one ear and guiding it to flow over her opposite shoulder. It looked shiny and thick and full and Maebh found herself brushing a few fingers against her chin to make sure it was actually herself she was seeing in the mirror.
"Commander," trilled Ghislaine as she slipped her arm around Maebh's. "We are already late to the reception. Come, come, you cannot disappoint them!"
Maebh sighed and allowed herself to be led into the hall where the reception was being held. It was situated facing to the northwest, which was clever of Anora. Daylight was already growing short, so late in the autumn. This particular room caught every last ray of sunshine, providing light and heat that limited the need for smokey torches and inefficient fires. Instead, the afternoon sun streamed in blocks of gold, spreading across the floor in perfect rhombi, marked by the shadow cast by the panes. The garden just outside blazed with color from the autumn leaves, golds and reds and yellows and oranges broken by the occasional deep blue-green of a pine. Maebh knew that outside the air would be cool and crisp and sweet as an apple.
But she could not go outside. Not with this throng of people falling under an appalling hush as Ghislaine ushered her to the slightly raised dias where Anora and Alistair were greeting the guests. Depositing her just to Alistair's left, Ghislaine tutted over her hair and arranged her skirts. "There you are, Commander. Your Majesties," Ghislaine nodded at the two monarchs before melting into the crowd.
Maebh looked about wildly, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Her earlier feelings of satisfaction at her own appearance evaporated when standing next to them. They wore complementary attire, Anora in ivory silk embroidered with pink flowers and green vines, Alistair in a linen doublet with similar detailing. They glowed in the late afternoon sun. Maebh shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, wondering if her gown was tailored in the back so as to cover the worst of her scars.
"Just smile and be pleasant, and try to remember their names," Alistair murmured to her, patting her arm.
She nearly jerked away, but stopped herself just in time. Anora barely acknowledged her presence. Alistair looked uncomfortable between the two of them. Maebh tried to think of anything to say. She scanned the crowd briefly. Ghislaine had completely disappeared, most likely to get dressed. Renaud was circulating, stopping to chat occasionally with people Maebh did not recognize. She concluded they must have recognized him by the Grey Warden insignia on his doublet. It occurred to Maebh that the grey doublet with black trim looked especially attractive on him, though he looked angry for some reason, and wouldn't come close enough for her to summon him over. And Loghain was nowhere to be seen. "Why isn't Father here?" she asked.
This elicited a reaction in Anora. She flicked her gaze over, irritable. "Because there are going to be a number of people still dealing with the aftermath from the civil war. I thought it be best if he made himself scarce for most of this. Hello, Bann Alfstanna," she greeted the woman warmly, and proceeded to exchange pleasantries.
Alfstanna. Why did she remember her? A sudden thought occurred to her. A memory of a broken man, babbling in a cell. "Bann Alfstanna!" she said excitedly. "How is Irminric?"
Anora turned on her, eyes wide, "Bann, please excuse my-"
Alistair took a deep breath, "Of course, what she meant to say was-"
Maebh began to feel panicky, and consciously kept her focus in the room and not outside in the garden with the peacefully rustling trees and apple-sweet air.
Alfstanna, for her part, smiled widely. "My Lady, he will be so touched to know of your concern!"
Anora and Alistair exchanged glances. "So," Alistair cleared his throat. "He's … doing well?"
With her smile turning a bit sad, Alfstanna nodded. "Better than he was, thank the Maker. And much better than he would have, had he been left much longer."
"Oh, well, I just..." The memories swirled and flowed together. Irminric, Cullen, the soldiers of the divine holding the sword to her throat, tortured and tormented and imprisoned as much as she and the others like her. She hated them as much as she loved them. "I couldn't bear to leave him like that."
Her eyes shining with tears, Alfstanna took one of Maebh's hands in both of hers. "The Waking Sea owes a great debt to you, your family, and your order, my lady. I only wish there were some way I could repay you adequately." She turned to the others. "By your leave," and she made her way for the next guest before Maebh could respond.
"Bann Ceorlic," Anora greeted the next guest with a restrained courtliness.
Alistair leaned close. "Be careful about references to the war and the Landsmeet," he whispered, and Maebh blushed as his breath flowed hot on her neck. "You were lucky that time, but remember that a lot of these people-" He turned and nodded at Ceorlic, who in turn barely acknowledged Maebh before moving on. "People like him, for instance, still aren't pleased about the way you handled things."
"But I just-" she began to protest, but was distracted by and odd draught of a breeze against her right hand. "What was that?" She turned to the side.
"How did you get in here?" Alistair burst out angrily, and Maebh turned back to see a marvelously familiar person cutting a dashing figure in front of the dias.
"Zevran!" she squealed, jumping down from the dias and throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh, it's so good to see you!"
"Oh, but my little bird, you must be contain yourself! Though, I know that is a difficult task for even my passing acquaintances, let alone one such as you with whom I have a much more, shall we say, intimate relationship." He grinned and Maebh giggled, feeling the panic subside in the face of his cheerful impudence.
"Get out," Anora ordered. "Get out before I have you clapped in chains and sent to the tower."
"Absolutely not!" Maebh cried, clinging to him protectively. "Are you out of your mind? Alistair, why are you acting like this? Zev is our friend!"
"Your Majesties, please," Zevran protested, reaching into his doublet with his free hand, the other remaining draped around Maebh's waist. "Though I may be the basest of those born, I very rarely forget my manners." He produced a lovely little bit of paper, bound with a ribbon. "Or is this not an invitation to this very event?"
"Let me see that," Alistair snatched the invitation and scowled at it.
"Perhaps you would like to join me in a turn about the garden, my darling Maebh," Zevran turned her away and began to move her toward the door.
"I'm not sure," she looked back at them, and saw Alistair's face turning a disturbing shade of red. "They're already angry at me for... a lot of things. But most recently because I was late to the reception."
"I am most certain that the royal duo can spare you for a few minutes," he patted her arm reassuringly. "And you look so pale, my lovely, a few moments outside should leave you feeling quite refreshed."
And they ducked out before the guards could stop them.
Maebh closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, inhaling deeply. The air rushed into her lungs, clear and cold, the sun warmed her gently. "I hate being inside," she sighed.
"Cages are for songbirds, parrots and doves, mi amora." Zevran brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "And while falcons may be the playthings of kings, they are rarely permitted in the palace."
Maebh scowled. "What are you getting at?"
Zevran laughed. "Court has never been the place for you. But, why am I wasting breath explaining things you already know, when we could be wasting breath in much more pleasant an exercise?" He unhooked the half-cape from his shoulder and draped across a bench before gesturing for her to sit.
She sat down awkwardly, trying to keep all the skirts and ribbon and sleeves from tangling or wrinkling. "So what does bring you here, after all? I apologize for their reaction. You know I had nothing to do with planning this thing." She felt a rising frustration. Anora, she could understand. She had never known the man and he was an assassin, after all. But how could Alistair have reacted in such a way?
He waved his hand dismissively. "I do not take such things personally. People like your honored sister and," he paused a moment thinking, "her husband often feel awkward when trying to interact with somebody such as myself outside of official business."
"I suppose," she smoothed her skirts in front of her. "Still, Alistair is your friend."
Zevran's smile was twinged with a bit of sadness. "Maebh, it's not so simple as that. Have they told you what happened while you were in Ostagar?"
Ostagar. Maebh closed her eyes again. No. No more tears for Cailan. "Maybe? Probably? I haven't..." A pile of unopened correspondence on her desk. A never-ending task list that never seemed to decrease. Peace found only on the daily rides, on the practice field. "I've had difficulty concentrating these past few weeks," she admitted softly.
"While you were gone, Anora and Alistair uncovered several disturbing conspiracies." Zevran handed her his handkerchief. Maebh twisted it in her hands, refusing to acknowledge the tears that had sprung to her eyes but not yet fallen. His smile gone, he spoke plainly. "The vast majority of the people attending this celebration are well-wishers, fans, or simply people trying to gain some sort of political clout or perhaps make some profit off of the many visitors. However," Zevran's tone turned deadly serious and Maebh shivered a bit, though the sun was still shining bright. "There are a number of people to whom your continued existence is a bane. Perhaps they wish to have revenge for perceived insults or injuries. Perhaps the thought of a mage gaining such power and influence offends them. Perhaps they have no quarrel with you, but wish to cause the former Teyrn grief. Or perhaps they simply want to reveal Ferelden and the monarchy as weak and ineffectual. What better way than to murder the queen's sister, king's lover, and hero to the nation during a celebration in her honor?"
"Are you talking about assassination?" Maebh hissed. "But Master Ignacio assured me-"
"Pah," Zevran scoffed. "Ignacio. He has not half the influence he claims. No, Maebh, the Crows are not responding to scrolls with your name on them, regardless of the amount offered. But, if I may be so bold, that is my doing, not his."
"I don't understand," she wrinkled her brow, trying to work it out. "If the Crows aren't after me, what do I have to worry about?"
Zevran burst out in a delighted laugh. "How can one know you and not simply adore you, I wonder?" He patted her hand affectionately. "Yes, while the Crows are the best assassin's guild, does it not follow that there are other guilds as well? Guilds eager to make a name for themselves, spreading baseless rumors that the true reason we will not accept these contracts is not because of loyalty or respect, but because we are afraid. And if one of these other guilds are successful in their goals for this celebration, they will become quite sought after, indeed."
"So that really was why they moved me to the palace?" she felt stunned.
"Oh, but of course. I recommended it myself." He stood and offered her his hand.
"Recommended it? To who?" Her head spun. Ogres were so much easier to deal with.
"To the royal couple. Once they discovered the second plot, they sought my advice on the best way to proceed," he answered glibly. "However, we have to keep up appearances, you understand. Try not to be alarmed at what happens next." He opened the door leading back to the reception and was immediately clapped in irons.
"Zevran!" Maebh clapped her hands to her mouth in dismay. "What is going on!" She whirled on Alistair.
He strode down the stairs, waving the invitation angrily. "This isn't even addressed to you, Crow. This is addressed to Donna Laurenza Madera. And where is the honored lady, I wonder? Does she even still live?"
"Your Majesty, I assure you, when I left the good lady she had merely died a little death. After I departed from the villa?" he shrugged dismissively. "I cannot be held responsible for that, now can I."
Anora's jaw set. "You presented yourself as one who had received an invitation. Yet this is clearly addressed to somebody else."
Zevran grinned cheekily. "Received, intercepted, this common tongue is so clumsy," he tutted.
Anora crossed her arms. "Take him away," she ordered. "He is here under false pretenses."
"To the tower? Are you mad? Alistair, stop this!" Maebh darted for the dias and tripped on her hem, falling to her knees.
A gasp rose from the crowd and Maebh began to struggle to her feet and then thought better of it. She knew how to work a crowd, too. "Please," she clasped her hands together in front of her and worked up a few tears. "I-
"You may visit him in his cell, Warden," Alistair looked down his nose at her. And even though she knew it was all pretend, she couldn't help the icy feeling that stole through her veins at the hard look he gave her.
Maebh looked over her shoulder forlornly at the guards half-leading, half-dragging Zevran away. Twisting his handkerchief in her hands, she tried to think of a graceful way out of the position she was in.
"The Guerrins have arrived," Anora murmured to Alistair, just loud enough for Maebh to hear.
"Thank the Maker," Alistair replied, barely moving his lips. "I need to talk to Eamon about something."
No, not Eamon. Anybody but Eamon. Maebh leapt to her feet. "Forgive me, Your Majesties. I... I am quite overcome," she stammered and ran out of the room.
It did not take her long to find the anteroom where Loghain was spending the day, entertaining the few well-wishers who wanted to see him.
It was a pitifully small gathering. A quick scan of the room revealed Bann Ceorlic and Ser Cauthrien and a handful of other men, at least as old as Loghain and all with military bearing. Maebh stood up straight and smoothed her skirts, mentally cursing herself at the dirt that had already stained the dress from when she fell to her knees. Loghain was seated by the fire, facing the door, with Cauthrien standing at his right hand and his other friends gathered about him in a way that reminded Maebh of a military formation. Specifically, a defensive one.
They were all looking at her, silent. She cleared her throat. "Father, I was not aware you would not be attending the reception."
"Maybe," he greeted her, and she approached him. His retinue parted to admit her, and even Cauthrien stepped aside, her expression neutral, if a bit downcast. "I heard you were late. And you've already left?"
She scowled and flopped down on an ottoman next to his chair. "I don't like everybody looking at me," she said quietly, studying her lap.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loghain wave his hand. The others drifted away and started up side conversations. Maebh felt the knot of tension in her shoulder ease slightly. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, voice stern. "You're going to have to get used to being the center of attention, you know. This is hardly the last time you'll be called upon to make a public appearance."
Maebh looked up and saw how his eyes did not match his tone. He looked at her with an expression of kindness, even softness. "But Eamon just arrived, Father. How can I stand there and pretend that I like him while I'm standing next to Nora and I know what he was trying to do? I can't. I just can't do it." She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "Oh, and Zevran said that there are people trying to kill me." She sighed.
Loghain chuckled. "When aren't people trying to kill you, I wonder."
"You do have guards around, don't you? If anybody's out for revenge they might try to go after you as well," Maebh scanned the room again.
"I don't require guards," Loghain replied proudly. "All of the people here served with me on one campaign or another. I trust them with my life, not only by their loyalty but also by their skill with a blade. A guard would just be another weak spot to exploit for anybody with enough coin and a score to settle."
Maebh rubbed a spot between her eyes that had begun to throb. "If you say so."
"Would you like to test us, Warden?" Cauthrien challenged. "I seem to recall defeating you in hand-to-hand combat once before."
The knot returned and Maebh rolled her eyes. "No, don't be ridiculous." She fidgeted.
"Is there something else you needed?" Loghain thrummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "And sit up straight, you're wrinkling your gown."
"I just don't want to go back in there!" she exploded. "Everything I do is wrong! Half of them hate me and I don't know why. The other half think they love me but they don't even know who I am. Anora and Alistair keep criticizing me, Ghislaine has disappeared, Renaud is angry about something and they arrested Zevran."
"Has anybody drawn a blade yet?" His tone was dismissive, and he did not wait for an answer. "It's already better than most parties I've attended at this palace. Now, get up and get back in there. It's only a few more hours."
"But what about Eamon!" she protested, her stomach turning at the idea of pretending to have warm feelings toward the man.
Loghain half-smiled. "Pretend you're still an apprentice at the Tower, and he's the senior enchanter who turned you in for accepting olives from that Templar boy."
Maebh snorted. "I hardly think composing insulting couplets about the Chancellor is appropriate behavior at such an event."
"You do that, too?" Loghain asked, dumbfounded. "Astonishing. That was always my favorite method of enduring interminable royal obligations."
"Yes, well," Maebh rose to leave. "I probably shouldn't recite the ones I composed in your honor, then."
She paused a moment outside the door to the hall. What would be the least awkward way to reenter the celebration? She concluded that the best course of action would be to walk in like nothing odd had happened.
To her everlasting relief, it worked. She made her way to the dias, smiling and nodding at people she recognized and a few that she didn't, but appeared to know who she was. On the other side of the room she spied Irving and Greagoir, and she longed to go to them. But going to them would mean forcing her way through the crowd, which had grown so much more in number and boisterousness since she had left. Her courage failed her and she stopped at the dias in the center. "When did the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arrive?" she asked Alistair as she straightened her skirts, taking care to keep her tone casual.
"Just a few minutes after you left." He turned and narrowed his eyes. "They have a Ser Cullen with them. He's not quite right in the head, is he?"
"Cullen!" She said so loudly that Anora turned.
"Control yourself, Warden," she ordered.
"But, Nora, I have to-" What could have possibly possessed them to bring Cullen to such an event. It was madness. She started down the steps.
"Alistair!" snapped Anora, and he grabbed Maebh by the arm.
"What are you doing?" Maebh struggled against his grasp. "Let me go!"
"The Empress is about to arrive, Warden, you will stay here with us. You can go talk to your little dalliance afterwards." Anora's tone was granite, though she smiled sweetly.
"But I don't want to." She had left at the wrong time, there was no way she could weasel her way out of this. The image of the Empress' affectionate letters to Cailan arose in her mind's eye and she clenched her fists. "Control yourself," she muttered, consciously dissipating her will. She took a few deep breaths. She could do this. Hadn't she endured worse back in the Circle Tower? It was just a simple greeting, not a heart-to-heart. Holding her head high, she returned to her spot on the dias. She would behave herself. Anora and Alistair had nothing to fear from her.
She yanked her arm out of Alistair's hand. "I don't see why I'm so important. She doesn't even know me." She sulked, scanning the crowd again. Renaud was in a heated conversation with Erlina and a few other servants.
Anora's smile became the slightest bit strained. "I really do not have the time or resources to adequately explain international diplomacy to you at this particular moment, Maybe. Rest assured that your presence here, right now, is very important."
"Just try not to say anything too embarrassing," Alistair sighed as the doors opened and the Empress entered.
Empress Celene I of the Orlesian Empire was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She was not so tall as Maebh, or even Anora. Perfectly proportioned, she moved with a grace that made Anora look like a farmer, and Maebh the ox. In fact, with the way her skirts floated in front of her, and the way she seemed to hover instead of walk, Maebh was not entirely certain that the Empress actually had feet at all.
Her gown was a deep sunset orange silk, and hugged her perfect figure, as smooth as cream. Her hair, a glossy chocolate brown, was pulled up and then cascaded down her back in a ripple of ringlet curls. She smiled warmly at Anora as she reached the dias, holding her arms out to her, bell sleeves reaching half-way to the floor. "Oh, my darling," she enthused. "How long has it been since we have been together?"
Anora returned the smile and embraced the Empress. Maebh bit her tongue, and Alistair shifted uncomfortably as the two women began to converse in Orlesian. The Empress glanced in his direction and giggled, revealing charming dimples and warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Control yourself," Maebh repeated to herself, again releasing her will.
"And Your Majesty, may I say what a joy it is to meet you. Though, I wish we had met under more pleasant conditions." She lifted a hand to Alistair, who took it and kissed her knuckles gallantly. She sighed and pressed her other hand to her cheek. "Your late brother was more than an ally, he was a dear friend," she said mournfully, tears shining in her eyes.
"Yes," Alistair answered, turning slightly pink. "He was... well-loved."
"But I am grateful the Maker saw fit to bless my darling Anora with a man such as yourself, King Alistair, to help her in her time of grief. And!" she turned to Maebh, eyes widening with awe. Maebh realized she was grimacing and smoothed her expression. "How the Maker sees fit to bless us with such great joy in the midst of such dark grief! Here is the sister long thought dead, not only resurrected but capable of such heroics in such a dire time of need! Warden, I consider myself truly blessed to have met you." The Empress placed a hand against her breast and bowed her head reverently.
The entire hall had fallen silent. The eyes stabbed into her like hundreds of pins. She shook it off, this wasn't nearly as bad as the Landsmeet. Nobody expected her to commit patricide, at least. "Thank you, Your Eminence. And I also would like to extend my thanks on the behalf of the Grey Wardens, as well as the rest of Ferelden, for the aid Orlais provided to us since the Blight. And also for the actions of Brother Riordan at the Battle of Denerim, during which he made the ultimate sacrifice."
The Empress looked up at her, and for an moment her gaze was piercing; a razor-sharp look of intelligence that dissected her in an instant before returning to the warm congeniality of before. "Thank you for your lovely words, Warden." She smiled one more time at the three of them. "Well, I suppose I should allow you to see to your other guests. Anora, please, we must take some time to chat, just the two of us! I have not seen you in so long."
"Of course, Celene," Anora smiled back as Celene took her leave. As soon as the Empress was out of earshot, Anora turned to Maebh with an appraising look. "Well, you certainly gathered your wits quickly."
"I wasn't raised by wolves, you know." Maebh crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes."Are there any other guests I have to be here to meet, or can I go talk to my actual friends."
"No," Anora turned away, chin jutting slightly. "We all have to do this. Together. You'll have time to talk to them later."
Maebh glanced out the window and saw that the sun was surely setting. The air would be getting colder, sharper, cleaner. Every nerve and synapse firing to keep warm while awake, sound sleep found under the stars on the cold ground and under the sky shimmering with stars. Inside, the odor from too many bodies in too small a space made her feel as if she were smothering. The doors opened, and a breath of cooler air made its way to her face and she inhaled eagerly.
"Ah, the king and queen of Antiva," Alistair identified them for her. "I'm impressed, I wasn't expecting them to make it here alive." He turned to Anora. "Would you like to make a wager with me, my love, as to whether or not they manage to survive the entire celebration?"
Anora glanced down briefly as a grin ghosted across her face.
"Whose idea was it to make this an international affair anyway," Maebh asked, as if it were a matter of simple, casual curiosity as the monarchs made their way to the dias.
"Chancellor Eamon, actually," Anora replied. "Though I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed in myself that I hadn't thought of it first. It is an excellent opportunity to hammer out trade agreements and forge stronger diplomatic relationships."
"Yes. An excellent opportunity," Maebh agreed blandly.
Eamon.
That settled it.
She was going to kill Eamon.