Sneaking did not come naturally to Maebh. It had nothing to do with an aversion to deception, for she could certainly lie well enough when the situation called for it. It was more because whenever she tried to be covert, her mind raged at her for skulking about rather than simply charging in and solving the problem. The looming demands of a seemingly unsolved problem overwhelmed her with impatience.
She pulled the collar of her cloak higher and pressed into the shadows. Maebh knew she could fight her way into and back out of the tower, she had done it once before after all. The problem this time was that if anybody saw her, there would surely be talk. The kind of talk that would make Anora angry. Maebh felt she had enough of being the focus of her sister's ire as of late, so better to let somebody else take the spotlight for a while.
Carefully, she wove a soft spell of drowsiness over the guard. Back during the Blight, she and her companions were technically at war with the monarchy, thus men in its employ were fair game. The civil war was an easier time, if only in that regard. As soon as the guard started to nod off she darted past him, hurrying down the hall to the cell where Zevran was being kept.
"Psst," she hissed softly, pulling a key from her sleeve. "Zev, wake up."
Zevran turned over and smiled. "Ah, mi amora, you have come to offer succor to the imprisoned? I did not think Ferelden would be so... open-minded."
Slowly, she eased the door open. "Stop it. I'm here to get you out."
He laughed softly. "No, no, you have it all wrong! Why don't you come in here with me? Be sure to close the door behind you, we do not want to be interrupted."
She eyed him warily, but in the end did as he requested, feeling utterly lost. "Zevran, what's going on?. What is this all about?"
He patted the straw mattress next to him. Maebh sat down gingerly on the edge, remembering how Fort Draken had a flea problem the last time she had been here.
"Remember how I told you that there were people trying to kill you? This whole farce is part of our plan to actually thwart those attempts."
Maebh rubbed her temples. "You need to explain this to me, starting at the beginning."
He sighed and slung an arm across her shoulders. "You see, my Warden, I took every precaution to remain unseen while in the city. But, as capable as I am, I could not be sure that I made no mistakes. If my whereabouts where to be made known, then it is possible that the wretches would bide their time until you truly were unprotected. Hence, the little mummer's show you were just treated to. The hope is, those wishing you ill will now be so emboldened as to attack during the festivities, and we will be able to root them out from the source."
Maebh jumped to her feet and began pacing, irritable. "Has it ever occurred to any of you that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself? I've fought off assassins, as you well know!. I bested Father in hand-to-hand combat. Oh, and let's not forget that pesky little abomination known as the Archdemon. I don't actually need your help, Zevran. Or the help of anybody else for that matter."
"Of course not, my little bird," Zevran purred as he stood, joining her on the far side of the small cell. "Undoubtedly, you are far more of a deadly sex goddess than I ever would have dreamed upon first meeting you. A master on the battlefield, and if I may be so bold as to speculate, a master in the bedchamber as well." Maebh glared at him, but Zevran only grinned wickedly in response. "But," he continued, "you know, it may just be that your sister and I might have a bit more knowledge as to how to handle these more delicate matters, especially when there are so many, shall we say, innocent observers?"
Maebh crossed her arms, scowling even deeper. "Perhaps."
He chuckled softly and returned to the straw. "Now! Why don't you come back here, and we can while away the hours reminiscing of simpler times, yes?"
She continued to pace. "Zevran, I have need of your services."
"My darling, I thought that's why you came!" He grinned and stretched, making a show of clearing space for her on the sleeping pallet.
"Not those kinds of services!" She waved her hands, exasperated. "The kind where you kill people, on purpose, without anybody knowing how or why."
"Really," he drawled, just the slightest bit of serious interest slipping into his tone. "And who, if I may yet again be so bold, would you wish to be receiving of these services?"
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Chancellor Eamon Guerrin."
Zevran went totally still, and Maebh shivered in the sudden, ominous quiet. "For the right price, anyone can die, just say the word. But please, Maebh, just between us friends. Why would you ask such a thing of me?"
She knelt beside the cot and took his hand in both of hers. "Because you are one of my dearest and closest friends as well as the best assassin I've ever met. Eamon deserves to die, and you are the only one I would trust with this task."
He yanked his hand away. "If that were true, you would know I am no executioner."
"No, of course you aren't," she replied, fingers curling into fists. "That's why I'm asking you how much it would cost."
He sat up, and his curiously golden eyes turned hard. "Five hundred sovereigns."
She slammed a fist on the cot, frustrated. "Zev, be serious!"
His jaw set, and looked down at her, eyes boring into hers. "Nothing in this life is more serious than death. Five hundred is my price."
"Zevran-"
"Your sister paid me a great deal of money to ensure that the kind of thing you propose does not happen, my darling. And because she paid me so very much, I shall keep this little conversation private. Unless, of course..." She could feel his eyes on her back, even though she refused to turn to look at him, "You decide to take matters into your own hands. At which point the monarchy would have no choice but to throw the Grey Wardens out of Ferelden again."
"But you don't know what he did! What he tried to do!" she protested. Eamon had to die. Why wouldn't Zevran listen to her?
He held his hands up and turned his face away. "For any lesser amount, I will refuse to hear this. The man is trusted by both the king and queen. His presence at court is a stabilizing one on the country. Do you have any idea how the bannorn would react without this man to back up your commoner sister and her bastard husband?"
"You're the bastard here!" she spat. "I thought I could count on you!"
He shrugged. "Apparently you were only correct in half of those assertions," he replied flippantly.
It took an enormous effort to contain her will, so as not to char Zevran to an exotically perfumed crisp right there on the spot.
"If you can meet my price, and it sounds to me that is a rather large 'if', I will also not accept newly minted coins. All the coins, all five hundred of them, need to have Cailan's face looking back at you. Each and every sovereign-"
"Don't you dare," she gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "Zev, don't you dare!"
"Every single one," he continued, merciless, "You will look at his face and then hand them over to me and tell me again that you want pay me with those coins to kill his uncle."
Gritting her teeth, Maebh felt the tense energy gathering at the tips of her fingers. She stormed out the cell and slammed the iron door behind her, fairly certain that the sparks she saw fly were not generated by the metal scraping the flagstones.
"How many more of these do we have to watch?" Maebh demanded irritably as she shifted in her seat.
"There were a total of thirty men at the lists, which means we have seven more matches to go, Commander," Renaud informed her, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned forward.
Maebh groaned inwardly and leaned back, staring at the roof of the tent. It was a sort of yellowy-gold with blue accents, which made the interior look much warmer than it actually was. She made a mental note to thank Anora for dressing her in velvet and wool for the tournament. Today would have been exceptionally uncomfortable were she wearing lighter fabrics. She glanced over to where her sister and the Empress were sitting. Anora was laughing merrily over something Celene was saying as she pointed down at the last two jousters. Alistair tucked a blanket more firmly about her shoulders, and in that moment Maebh realized, with no small surprise, she was completely free of envy at the sight. She was truly and honestly happy for Anora. Eamon was seated on the far side of the row, looking tired, and Isolde sat on the other side of him, looking sad. Maebh wondered how Connor was faring at the tower, and hoped that he was adjusting better than she had.
"Sit up," Loghain reprimanded her, breaking her reverie. "You're wrinkling your gown. And for the Maker's sake ,smile! They're saluting you."
She did as she was bid and sat up straight, smiling and waving until the next pair of jousters drew the attention away from her. "Renaud, explain something to me," she asked as the chevaliers thundered towards each other on their monstrous steeds.
"Hm?" He almost turned his head toward her, though he never took his eyes off the action.
"Why don't they just... dodge?" She winced as they crashed together, lances splintering. The crowd cheered at the sight.
Loghain barked a laugh as Renaud took a deep breath. "Well, you see, Commander..." He trailed off, his attention once again riveted to the field.
"Hm?" Maebh twirled a lock of hair around her finger, wondering how many hours of interminable boredom she would be required to endure for the sake of appearances.
Renaud pumped his fist and grinned as the two jousters crashed again. Both remained seated on their horses, and the crowd cheered even louder this time. "Oh, ah, yes. How to explain... it has to do with the rules of the … honor …"
Loghain laughed again, this time a derisive thing closer to a snort. "Honor. What does a chevalier know of honor? They are simply too pig-headed to admit that they need any defense other than their absurd suits of armor," sneered Loghain.
"As I said, it has to do with honor, Commander. Perhaps that is why my brother Warden is having difficulty with this concept," he said sullenly.
Loghain bristled, and took a deep breath through his nose. Renaud ignored him as the chevalier crashed again, and this time the one in green fell and did not get up again. "Merde," cursed Renaud, slumping in his seat.
The three sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments as the green knight was helped off the field. "Oh, look!" burst out Maebh. "They're taking a break or something. Renaud, I would so love to go for a walk." She stood, tugging his arm until he joined her. "Would you care to accompany me?"
"But of course," he replied, straightening his doublet and following her out of the tent.
She ignored the disapproving glare she knew Loghain was searing into the back of her head.
"So, let me see if I understand you thoroughly," Maebh asked as they passed a jester juggling clubs. "You're saying it's possible to slide the lance in such a manner as to knock your opponent's off its mark, all the while keeping your own on target?"
"Oui,. It requires a great deal of control and training, and I had believed that Maker-forsaken de Gaspard," Renaud spat the name, tossing a bit of pretzel vehemently, "had fixed that gap in his training."
Maebh mulled this over, nibbling a bit of her own pretzel. "You have a remarkable grasp of the sport. How did you come across such knowledge?"
He laughed and shrugged. "It would seem that my grasp is not so strong as you would think. I lost fifty silver to Ghislaine on that last match!" He laughed again, eyes crinkling. Maebh found herself smiling in spite of herself, and dipped her head so her hair hid her face. "Anyway," he took a deep breath and continued, "as a young man I was squired to a chevalier for a few years. Claude de Moivre."
"You were to be a chevalier then?" she tilted her head. "What happened?"
His expression turned inward. "That story … is not one you want to hear, Maebh."
She was about to voice a protest that, no, that sounded like precisely the sort of story she wanted to hear, when she was interrupted by a call from behind.
"Maebh Mac Tir, as I live and breathe!"
She turned and was engulfed in the arms of Arl Teagan, who proceeded to kiss her on both cheeks. "How are you, my dear dear girl!" he enthused. Maebh resisted curling her nose at the smell of ale on his breath.
"Oh, no complaints, your honor. Renaud and I were just stretching our legs a bit." She blushed as Teagan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It's just that we've been cooped up in there all day-" she began to protest.
"We grow so accustomed to regular exercise when out in the field, you see," Renaud started at the same time, "that once we are on leave it is quite uncomfortable-"
"Please, please," Teagan released her and pulled one of her arms around one of his. "You don't need to explain the … details, to me of all people. So," he began amiably, walking in the same direction they had been headed. "Where are we going?"
Maebh exchanged a glance with Renaud, who shrugged and attempted a blank expression, but she could see the grin tugging at his lips. She took a deep breath. "As a matter of fact, we were headed back to the pavilion to take in the last few matches. Would you... care to join us?" She did her best to sound sincere.
"That is a smashing idea!" Teagan declared. "What a wonderful afternoon we shall have!"
"Yes, wonderful!" Maebh forced a smile, and did her best to think of anything other than her conversation with Zevran regarding Eamon the night before. She was in for a long afternoon.
The next day was easier. Teagan had claimed toastmaster duties at the intimate feast the night before, and as such the royal tent was much more sparsely populated that morning. Loghain, Maebh, Renaud, Alistair, and Anora were the only ones who had managed to will themselves to attend.
Maebh fussed with the sleeves on her blue gown. They were absurdly long, and she fretted that she was going to accidentally trip on them and make a perfect fool of herself. Again. She made a mental note to ask Anora to explain to her why she couldn't have just worn some clothes that would be remotely comfortable, if only in present company. "So, how does this thing work, exactly? They all fight it out until there's just one left standing?"
"Exactly!" Alistair beamed. "Ah, the grand melee. Are you sure I can't join them, my dear? Grand melees are such fun!"
"We talked about this," Anora said, tired but resolute. "It would be as inappropriate as it is dangerous."
"Wait," Maebh said suddenly. "What about me? I could do it! It wouldn't be inappropriate for me to participate!" A good brawl would be so welcome. Enemies should could identify, target, and defeat in short order. Her pulse beat faster just at the thought.
"Absolutely not," Loghain said firmly. "This is an invaluable opportunity for you to see the tide of battle from a bird's-eye view. Besides, they don't let mages participate."
"Oh," she said, feeling suddenly awkward.
"Yes, well," Alistair cleared his throat, trying to break the spell of uncomfortable silence that had descended. "Did you know Maebh, there's a rumor going around that you will be recruiting the victor?"
Maebh snorted. "This is a game. These are children at play! How can I possibly judge aptitude from such an artificial construct?"
Alistair frowned. "Might I remind you that I was recruited at a tournament?"
It was Loghain's turn to snort. "Yes, and we all see how well that turned out."
"It was also how we ended up stuck with Ser Jory, might I remind you," Maebh said quickly, before Alistair had a chance to rise to Loghain's bait.
Alistair began to laugh. "Jory. I'll always remember the look on his face when you put on those Chasind robes. Maker above, I thought he was going to die of apoplexy before we ever got back to camp!"
"It was better than Daveth's reaction," giggled Maebh. "But... the less said about that the better, I think."
"Daveth." Alistair sighed. "He was a good one, if a bit crude. Would have got along swimmingly with Oghren, I imagine."
Maebh smiled. "He was quick, too! Wish I had ten like him. I wish I had one like him!"
Anora turned to them, tilting her head quizzically. "Jory? Daveth? I don't know if I've ever heard you mention these men. Were they Wardens as well?"
Alistair shifted his weight as Maebh looked down at her hands, ashamed of mocking her fallen brothers. "Yes," she declared, not looking at Loghain. "They joined with me, and perished at … at Ostagar."
This satisfied Anora, who nodded and smiled sadly at her. Alistair reached and squeezed Maebh's shoulder, and she placed her hand over his to hold it there while she bit back tears.
It wasn't exactly a lie, not really.
Fortunately for all, it was soon time for the melee to start. The contestants lined up, single file, in a ring around the field. Weapons at the ready, they leaned forward like hounds straining against the leash. Their armors ran the gamut of makes and types; suits of studded leather, drakeskin, high dragon hide, veridium, silverite, and volcanic aurum were all on display. Their weapons were a motley assortment as well, some men carrying daggers, swords and shields, some axes and mauls and still others dar'missan or greatswords. More than a few bore the favor of some lady or another.
Maebh's heart beat faster at the sight, and she realized she had begun to gather her will. Embarrassed, she released it. Alistair smiled at her and winked. "Don't worry Maybe, I'll make sure you don't get too excited."
Both Renaud and Loghain turned to stare at Alistair. "Just what is that supposed to-" Loghain began to sputter, until the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the horns announcing the start of the melee.
The fighters charged to the center of the field, and Maebh's spirit soared at the massive clash of steel and muscle. She watched, enraptured, as some fighters formed small companies for short periods of time, enacting small battles-with-the-battle of two on two and three on three and five on five. She saw hulking berserkers wielding massive mauls felled by a fleet-footed dualist, only to watch that same dualist get mowed down with two others like her in one fell swoop by a dual-wielding Templar.
The battle roiled and raged across the width of the tourney field. Maebh longed to be down in the thick of it, testing her strength, reflexes, and wits against the horde of foes all out for their own glory. It was the Proving writ large, in gloriously bold letters of blood and sweat.
"You see that one over there?" Maebh leaned towards Loghain and pointed out a warrior in dragonbone chain. "Watch her. There's something about her I like." The woman's fighting style was unique. She did not try to compensate for her strength disadvantage, but instead used a startling display of dexterity. Her skills were doubly impressive given that she was wearing heavy armor and wielding such a large sword.
Loghain stroked his chin, thoughtful. "She fights like Cauthrien. Well, when I started training her anyway. I could probably train that one, help her get rid of that gap in her swing at any rate."
"You really think she could be as good as Cauthrien?" Maebh asked, amazed. From his point of view, that was the highest praise her father could give anyone's fighting ability, and she knew better than most how stingy he could be in that regard. Loghain simply nodded. She turned back to the fight. "If I could have somebody who fights like Cauthrien, somebody that I could count on to follow my orders, I could start rebuilding the Ferelden Wardens just on her efforts alone." She focused on the woman as the battle continued, the fallen leaving the field either by their own power, or being carried off whenever the tide turned and the healers could get to them.
"You know," she said to Loghain a short while later, "if I was down in there, I would throw a blizzard at the northeast corner. It would paralyze, what, a third of those left standing? Toss off a virulent walking bomb over in that corner. They seem to be more interested in each other, but that will help me out once they are done. And then I can concentrate on those down here, near us."
"Not a terrible idea. But why not throw the blizzard down here, where the bulk is?" He pointed to the area closest to the royal tent.
"Because that's where my woman is. I can't freeze her in the middle of a battle!" she scoffed.
Alistair patted her hand. "You're forgetting the first rule of grand melee: every man for himself."
"All the more reason to ally with a woman," she declared, lifting her chin haughtily. "Oh, no. What is she doing?" Maebh's woman had been distracted as one of the fighters wobbled dramatically and fell to the ground. "He's feigning, you fool!" Maebh leapt to her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth. "It's a trap!" she cried. "Don't fall for it! He's fine!"
But it was too late. The rogue jumped up and caught her by surprise, and the woman was defeated.
"Damn," cursed Maebh, flopping back in her seat and pounding the armrest with her fist. "Damn them all."
"Commander, if I may be so bold," Renaud spoke up. "I've never seen a darkspawn execute such a deception."
"I suppose so..." Maebh sulked as the melee continued, no longer interested in the action.
It was nearly sundown by the time the melee finally ended. Maebh gathered up her cloak and prepared to leave with Loghain and Renaud.
Alistair touched her gently on the arm. "You're not joining us for supper?"
She shook her head. "We have the feast and the ball tomorrow, remember? I'm just going to get to bed early and try to get a good night's rest. So... good night, Your Majesty." She curtsied awkwardly, her arm still in his hand. "I shall see you on the morrow."
"Yes, of course," he responded, looking troubled.
It wasn't until she got back to her chambers that she realized he had slipped a note into one of the pockets in her cavernous sleeves.
Maybe,
I'd like to spend some time in the garden. Meet me when you can, ~A.
For a moment, she had an impulse to crumple the note, throw it in the fire, and deny having ever received it. She got as far as the crumpling before she lost her nerve. She hated lying to him. Besides, what sort of mischief could he try in the garden?
Never mind that, were she perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit that she deeply missed Alistair's company. She longed to spend time with him with no servants or subordinates or siblings. Not as a king, not as a hero. Just two young Wardens of very little importance to anybody but each other.
Whether Alistair was seeking that kind of company, or the girl who backstabs her sister kind of company, remained to be seen.
The palace had several gardens. Between playing with Cailan, the battle to reach the Archdemon, and her long recuperation after her injuries sustained during that battle, Maebh had seen all of them. But there was no question in her mind where Alistair would be waiting.
She paused at the door, looking out onto the small garden behind the North Wing. His back was to her, silhouetted in the harvest moon. She stepped forward, footsteps crunching on the hoarfrost. He turned when he heard her approach.
"You came," he said, sounding surprised and relieved.
"Of course I came," she said softly. "You had need of me."
He went to her quickly, wrapping her in a bear hug and resting his forehead against hers. "If you only knew how many times I had need of you in the past year and you just weren't here. Oh, Maebh."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "Me, too," she sighed, feeling warm and safe in his arms.
He stroked her hair, then took her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her. She twisted out of his grasp. "No," she said quietly.
He took a deep breath, clearly frustrated. "Why not? What's changed? It's that … that man, isn't it." It was not a question. He let go of her, his pained look demanding a response.
"Don't, Alistair. Just, don't." She turned away. A year. A lifetime. Everything had changed. She turned to him, and it was painful to see him looking so lost and sad and old in the moonlight. Did she look the same? She still could feel the scars on her back, her leg. How many scars did they both bear that none could see?
"I can't do this anymore."
"Because of the Orlesian."
"No. Because...because you love her."
He sat on a bench and ran a hand through his hair. "I do," he said helplessly. "I didn't at first, but after you left... She would always insist on appearances when we were in public, but in private she... She never forced anything on me. She was always very kind, kinder than I expected. And time went on and after I came back from visiting you she... she knew and she was hurt but she never said a word of it to me. I hated myself hurting her like that. And then... I realized that I loved her. Maker forgive me."
She shook her head, baffled. "What's to forgive? She's your wife!"
He turned anguished eyes to her. "But... you were... I was supposed to..."
She sat next to him and took his hands in hers. "It wasn't meant to be. Not for us."
He squeezed his hands into fists. "So that's it, then? We just chalk it up to having been lovesick children who made a stupid mistake?"
"I would never call what we had a mistake," Maebh replied quietly, staring down at the highly manicured ground. "It was what it was, but it was not meant to be forever."
He stared at her for several moments in silence before sighing to himself. "You're right. Damn you for always being right." He cleared his throat and cupped her face in his hand. "I suppose it would have been foolish for us to make such a mistake, so many, many times." He grinned at her, but his attempts at humor not making this any easier.
She continued on. "I know what I feel for you. You are my dearest friend, there is nobody in this world I trust more than you. And I know you feel the same way for me. Our love," and a sudden lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She looked away. It was too hard to look into his eyes and not melt. "We just have to find a different way of expressing it. Brother."
"Yes." He stroked her cheek with his thumb before letting his hand fall. "Sister."
She rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat, huddled against the cold and watching the autumn moon shimmering through a flurry of early snow.
"We'll probably start succumbing to our Calling around the same time, you know," Alistair spoke up, breaking the silence.
"I thought you quit the Wardens," she joked without rancor.
He hugged her around the shoulders. "Well, the Taint is most blissfully unaware of my change in profession, sadly."
She frowned. Talking about the Calling always made her uncomfortable. "Why bring it up now?"
He grasped her shoulders and looked at her. "I wanted to ask you. If we both survive to that point, would you permit me to go with you? I just... I don't want to go alone."
She took a deep breath, tears trembling behind her lashes. "Yes, of course I will," she replied quietly. Only then did she wrap her arms around him, and allow herself to weep.
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I feel I owe you all a bit of an explanation. I would like to apologize profusely for the gap in updates. Between the last update and now, I moved approximately 2500 miles. So... things got in the way of updates. But please don't think I've given up on the story. My updates may be slow but they will come!
And finally, many many thanks to my amazing beta, LotheringRose. She basically fixed the scene with Zevran, among other things, and kicks ass.