Ostagar

There were voices, men talking. Cailan was talking about battle and tactics and looked so blasted happy about it that Maebh felt ill. She could tell that Duncan was troubled by his attitude, and that Cailan was either happily ignorant of that or happily not paying attention. He glowed with triumph and anticipation. She struggled to keep her composure.

A realization managed to penetrate the fog in her brain. He was looking at her. He was walking towards her. Was he talking to her?

"Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"

"You might. But I'd be surprised." Maebh said with a slight smile.

Cailan laughed with delight. "You have a live one here, Duncan!"

Maebh searched his face for any hint of recognition, but there was nothing. It's been too long, she thought. He's forgotten her. Her heart steadied. This is a good thing, she thought to herself. This will make things easier.

She dully replied to his other queries, "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." And then he was gone to talk to the Teryn. She watched him with her heart in her throat. He did not turn around.

Duncan was too preoccupied to notice her agitation. They spoke for a bit about the Blight before he mercifully dismissed her, with vague orders of finding somebody or other in the camp. She ran across the eroded bridge and searched for someplace to sit and think.

She found an outcropping that had once been part of a solarium and sat on the edge, looking out into the Wilds. Yes, it would be easier if he had forgotten her. She was just another Grey Warden. After the battle she would go do whatever it is that Grey Wardens do when there is no Blight to worry about and have no contact with him ever again. Problem solved.

Which left her free to mull over the other, more troubling situation: the Teryn. She turned that particular puzzle piece over in her head, observing from every angle until she came to the unavoidable conclusion that she had to speak with him. There were too many questions that could only be answered by a face-to-face confrontation. She steeled herself with the idea that the likelihood of him recognizing her was slim to none. He had been telling other people of her untimely demise for so long he may have started to believe it himself. She knew how it was. How many lies had she told that she had to cling to with such ferocity that she could barely pick apart the difference of what was true and what she really needed to be true. The constant planning of conversations before they happened, sleight-of-hand, admitting to one thing to one person and inventing something to another, muddying the water enough that she could slip away unnoticed, the anxious tightrope walk of her day-to-day existence sometimes made her feel as if she were losing her mind.

And for all her intelligence and savvy and observations and defenses she had not seen what Jowan was. This was troubling. Her closest friend had managed to conceal not only his illicit affair with that moronic initiate but, more importantly, the fact that he was practicing blood magic. How did he take her by surprise? What else had she missed?

She stood up and brushed off her robes. This sort of navel-gazing was unproductive. Wallowing in self-doubt would only make her weaker. She would think on it later, when the pain was not so fresh and she could pick it apart logically. She missed Cullen. It would be nice to talk to him right now. He was always so steady, so transparent with no ulterior motives to anything he did. She hoped he was coping, that the other apprentices were not tormenting him the way they used to until she started her subtle campaign of directing their attention at the hapless mage Godwin. The image of poor Cullen surrounded by girls giggling at his discomfort with nobody to distract them disturbed her more than than she expected. He never had learned how to deal with the interpersonal politics of the tower and she was partly to blame for that. She had personally shielded him from the worst of it without him ever noticing. She couldn't dwell on that, either. At the time she had been convinced that the tower was her tomb, so planning for a future in the tower that did not include herself wasn't worth the effort. Maybe she would write him when she had the chance. Yes, writing would be better than a personal visit. He could approach it at his own pace and not be so intimidated by her physical presence.

She began to walk without any particular goal in mind. Focus, she commanded herself. Aimlessness is how mistakes are made. She could not afford to make a mistake in this conversation. Stay neutral. Reveal nothing. A reconnaissance mission.

She briefly considered going over to the king's tent first, but dismissed that as a poor choice. No matter what Cailan said to her when she inevitably talked to him again, she was not going to be able to focus afterwards. He was simply too distracting. No, that confrontation would have to wait until she could afford it.

The guard in front of the Teryn's tent stopped her. "He's not to be disturbed," he said.

"So the Teryn is inside?" Maebh shifted her weight slightly, sticking out a hip and subtly arching her back. "I have a message for him, and would be most grateful if I could speak to him directly."

The guard's eyes flickered over her body. "Of course."

He disappeared inside the tent. Maebh stood straight and smoothed her hair. If she trembled or stammered or showed any sort of hint of her anxiety, all would be lost. The Teryn strode toward her, accompanied by Ser Cauthrien. Maebh felt a flare of rage at the sight of the woman, approximately her own age, standing where she was supposed to be. She quickly looked away and focused on the Teryn. She could not afford any distraction.

"So, you're the new recruit Cailan was bragging about. You wanted something?"

Maebh smiled humbly. "I was just curious about your views on the upcoming battle. The king seems so confident..."

"The king is very young. You'd do well to remember that. I could give you a better assessment of our position if I were left alone to do the work I came here to do," his voice was flint, his eyes steel. "I image you're planning to ride out with him and the rest of the Wardens?"

Maebh allowed herself a moment of honesty. "Oh no, I hope not. I'm not much of a fighter,"

"You're smarter than you look," the Teryn sneered, and Maebh caught a glimpse of something else in his eye. Recognition? Curiosity? It was gone before it was fully there. His tone softened ever so slightly. "Duncan is a good judge of ability. I'm sure whatever you lack in experience you more than make up in potential."

"Thank you."

The softness disappeared. "Now, if there's nothing else you wanted, young Warden, I actually have some work to do." He turned without waiting for a response.

Maebh felt hollow, and had to beat down the urge to jump on Ser Cauthrien's back and pull out her stupid ponytail. Focus, analyze. He had noticed something about her, that's for sure. But what? Did he suspect who she was? Should she tell him?

She decided that after the battle she would be writing two letters. She would make the first move, but then leave the rest to him. She was surprised by her own ambivalence. A part of her longed for reconciliation but another part wanted nothing of the sort. If she were to reestablish some sort of relationship with him, it would be another bond keeping her in Ferelden, a limit on her freedom. She was not sure that was what she wanted.

She had wasted enough time on self-indulgence. It was time to find that Alistair fellow Duncan wanted her to meet.