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“Big fork, regular fork, tiny fork, and, erm… extra fork?”
Freya Lavellan raised a hand to her mouth and snorted, watching Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of her forces, attempt to recite the names of his cutlery across the table from her in the dining hall.
“This is not a joke!” exclaimed Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition. Freya put her hand down and tried to maintain a straight face. “We are only two months away from the Empress’s ball, and you must know this. The Game is not a--”
“Were you really about to say it's 'not a game?'” interjected Cullen. “Sabotage, murder, backstabbing. They all treat it like a round of Wicked Grace. If someone's fool enough to try and kill me over a fork, let them.”
“Augh!” Josephine threw her hands up. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m going to go get Cassandra. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”
The Ambassador gave Cullen one last icy glare and turned, flouncing out of the room and slamming the door behind her.
The Commander sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands.
“She’s right. I know she’s right. I just… Templars never had to bother with this stuff, and I just plain don’t get it. I’ve been trying to remember these stupid little details for weeks and it just doesn’t stick.”
Freya got up from her seat and walked around the table to where Cullen was sitting. She took one of his large hands, strong and rough-skinned from years of holding the hilt of a heavy sword, and she pulled it gently away from his face.
“You can do this, Cullen.”
He looked at her hand, slender fingers curled around his thick, calloused ones, then turned to gaze up at her and frowned.
“I’m afraid you’re more confident than I am on this one, Inquisitor.”
Freya smiled, her moss-colored eyes gentle as they looked into Cullen’s.
“You’re a brilliant tactician. Surely you’re not going to accept defeat from a bunch of silverware?”
Cullen smirked at this. Freya took the forks out of their lineup on the table setting and laid them out on the table.
“Look at each fork. They each have a different size and design. And those can help you remember what they’re used for. I know you’re a man who appreciates function over form, but in this case, they’re intertwined.”
“I can appreciate form, as well,” he said, looking up at her and letting his gaze trail slightly down her slender neck to her freckled collarbones.
“I’m sure you can,” replied Freya, giving him an impish smile. “But in terms of the forks, I think learning their function will help you remember.”
She pointed to the largest fork with the longest tines.
“This one is your dinner fork. It will be closest to your plate. That’s the one you’ll use for your main course. It has long tines like that so you can stab into slabs of meat, roasted potatoes, things like that.”
She moved to the next largest fork.
“This fork is a fish fork. See how it has this little notch? That’s to help clean the fish off the bones. And it has wider, flatter tines to help you pull the fish off the skin without mashing it.”
Then she picked up the smallest fork, which only had two tines.
“This,” she said, holding it up, “is the snail fork. Two narrow tines for getting into the shell and scooping out the meat. And yes, I’m as disgusted by this as you are, but you can’t make that face at the Empress’s table.”
She pointed to the last fork.
“This one is your dessert fork. And it’s a bit of a mean trick Josephine is playing, because it won’t even be on the table when we sit down. It will arrive with the dessert course. It has this one wider tine on the edge so that you can use it to cut into cakes or pastries, and it’s relatively small because sweets are to be eaten with little, delicate bites.”
She arranged the forks back on the place setting where they belonged.
“They’ll be on the place setting like this. You’ll use them in order from the outside in as each course is brought out.” She looked up at him. He was studying each of the forks in turn, contemplative. “Now you name them.”
“Snail fork. Narrow tines to get into the shell. Fish fork. Notch for bones, wide flat tines for flaking the fish off the skin. Dinner fork. Big, long tines for meat and potatoes. Dessert fork. Small bites, wide tine on the edge for cutting. Served with the dessert. Got it.”
“Good! Once more.”
There was a loud creaking sound, and Freya looked up. Josephine had just reopened the door with their Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, trailing at her heels and looking supremely annoyed. Cullen pointed to each piece of cutlery as he named them off.
“Snail fork. Fish fork. Dinner fork. Dessert fork. Which, by the way,” he said, looking round at Josephine standing in the doorway, “shouldn’t even be on this place setting. It should be brought on the plate with dessert when it is served.”
He leaned back, looking smug. Josephine looked from Cullen to the forks, and from the forks to Freya.
“I… how did you…?”
“Sometimes," Freya said, "you have to really learn a person before you can teach them.”
Josephine opened her mouth and closed it several times, then she put her hands on her hips.
“Well... fine then. You can both go for tonight.”
Freya smiled at Cullen as she straightened.
“If you need any more help perfecting your forking, come find me.”
Cullen ran a hand through his hair and laughed nervously, flushing a deep crimson as Freya sauntered out and headed in the direction of her quarters. The Commander followed, walking toward the ramparts that led to his office.
“Those two are going to be trouble,” Josephine said to Cassandra, following them out and watching the pair of them cross the main hall in opposite directions.
“Probably,” replied Cassandra. “But the Inquisitor is helping him--in ways we can see, and ways we cannot.”
And with a gentle squeeze on Josephine’s shoulder, the Seeker took her leave, as well.