Maebh Mac Tir is one year old. She toddles across the floor to her father, who holds out waiting hands. Her father's best friend is visiting. They are deciding the fate of Maebh, her sister Anora, and her father's best friend's son, who is still a babe in arms.
Her father's best friend laughs. "No, it will never do. She's too much like you, Loghain. Maker's breath, look at her."
Maebh picks up a toy sword and chews on the pommel. Her father's best friend laughs again. He laughs often. Her father sighs and ruffles her hair. "You're right. She wouldn't do any better at court than I do. She'll be my second. Anora will be your son's queen."
She looks to Alistair. He nods grimly.
Maebh Mac Tir is three years old. Father has brought her to Denerim. In front of her is a boy. "Hi! I'm Cailan. How old are you?" he demands.
Maebh holds up three fingers. She is too shy to speak.
"Then you will be my friend. We shall be best friends, forever, and go on adventures together!"
Left foot. Right foot. She approaches him.
Maybe LaLune, who lives on the Moon, is five years old. She is playing tag with her best friend, Cailan Aspun, who lives on the Sun. She is winning. She always wins at tag. He tricks her. Catches her. Demands a kiss. She sparks, bolts of electricity shooting out from her fingers. He stares at her, blue eyes round with shock.
She begins to cry.
"No, we won't tell anybody. I'll protect you. You don't have to leave."
He kneels in front of her.
Maebh Mac Tir is nine years old. Her father is teaching her how to fight. He is a hard taskmaster. It is raining, a muddy early spring morning, grey and damp. She is wet and miserable and wants to stop. Her arm burns from holding the shield, her shoulder is wrenched from his blows, her legs ache from crouching in a defensive posture. She feels frustration rising. He comes at her again and again and again and again and she fails again and again and again and again. She fights angry tears. She is not good enough. She will never be good enough. He will never approve. He will never be proud. He comes at her again and she pushes him away. But she never touches him.
The look on his face confirmed her fears...
Left foot. Right foot. Her hand wraps around the pommel.
Maebh Mac Tir is nine years old. She has hope. Maybe he will be like Cailan. Maybe he will help her hide it. But no.. He is stone. He will not bend, not even for her. His own daughter.
He locks her in her room. He has told everybody she is ill. He is sending messengers, making plans.
He wakes her up in the dead of night and takes her away. He will not allow her to take anything. He makes her wear servant's rags. He shaves her head. He tells her she is an orphan named 'Amell'. She is confused.
"But, Father," she says, trying to understand, trying to reason with him.
He strikes her the first time. "You have no father. You are an orphan. A foundling. Unwanted. Unclaimed. You are nothing. You will call me 'the Teryn'."
Maebh Amell holds a hand to her stinging cheek.
He bows his head.
Maebh Amell is nine years old. She is traveling with the Teryn, but she does not know where they are going. She has nothing. She is nothing. She pulls her eyelashes out one by one. She does not cry.
The Teryn has something in his hand. It looks like a leash, the kind somebody else named Maebh used to see on dogs. He holds it to her throat. He stops. He does not put it on her. He puts it back in his pack.
She reaches to hold his hand. He yanks his hand out of reach and continues walking.
Left foot. Right foot. Her other hand wraps around the pommel.
Maebh Amell stands on a bridge over the River Dane. The Teryn is handing her over to a stranger in bright armor and maroon robes. The Teryn recommends to the stranger that she be made Tranquil. The stranger looks at her with pity. She is angry. She does not want to be pitied. The Teryn leaves. She turns. She screams.
"FATHER!"
He turns. He is coming back. He is going to take her with him. This must all be a test! And she passed! She is going home!
He stares into her face, his mouth twists. "You have no father. You have no mother. You have no sister. You have no family. My daughter drowned in this river. You are nothing to me. My daughter is dead."
He strikes her the second time. He turns and leaves. She sobs, broken.
The stranger removes his armored gloves. He strokes her head gently. He takes her hand in his and leads her away.
He braces himself for the impact.
Maebh Amell is fifteen years old. The Teryn returns and tries to have her made Tranquil once more. He won't even look at her. She is too smart for him. The stranger, now known as Greagoir, protects her.
Left foot. Right foot. Her pace increases.
Maebh Amell is twenty years old. She is researching about mages in other cultures. She stares in shock at a diagram of a Qunari mage collar. The Teryn had one of these, he had nearly put one of these on her.
He opens his eyes.
Maebh Amell is twenty-five years old. The Teryn murders her lover before his sweat is dry on her skin.
Left foot. Right foot. She lifts her arms.
Maebh Amell is twenty-five years old. The Teryn sends assassins after her.
Anora gasps in horror.
Maebh Amell is twenty-six years old. The Teryn does not recognize her.
Left foot. Right foot. She tenses her shoulders. He looks up. The flicker. The look. The expression she saw at Ostagar, at Arl Eamon's estate, at the beginning of the duel. It is no longer hidden.
He is proud of her.
Maebh Mac Tir is twenty-six years old. The sword slips from her nerveless fingers and clatters on the ground.
The Landsmeet chamber was silent as a tomb. Maebh dropped to her knees in front of the Teryn. Her heart raced. She struggled to breathe.
"What are you waiting for?" He asked tenderly.
Maebh tried to speak, but the words did not come.
The crowd began to whisper.
"The Warden has reversed her decision!" announced Anora, taking advantage of the confusion.
"What? No she hasn't!" protested Alistair. "Maebh, what are you doing?"
"I can't" she choked. She heard footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair reach for the sword. She was too late to dive for it.
"I'll do it myself," he announced.
"No!" shrieked Maebh as she threw her arms around the Teryn's neck. "You can't!"
The crowd swelled from a whisper to a murmur.
Alistair held the sword aloft. "This was our decision! This is justice!"
"Please, Alistair, stop," she sobbed, eyes wide with fear.
"You won the Landsmeet and you said you would make me king. That makes me king, right? Am I king now?" Alistair turned wildly to the assembled nobles. "As my first order as king, I order the traitor Loghain executed!"
Maebh tightened her grip. "No! No one's decided that yet!"
"She is correct. All, that was decided was that my father should step down," Anora chimed in, not unlike a cat with her claws sunk in her newly caught opportunity.
"No, she promised me." Alistair turned back to her, aghast. "Maebh, what are you doing?"
The Teryn's hand was pressed against her back. Otherwise, he was perfectly silent and still. Maebh's cheek was resting against his. He was barely breathing. She adjusted her grip again. The armor clanked, biting painfully into her elbows and knees. "I'm..." she looked up, and saw the crowd staring back at her, their eyes blazing holes in her skin. "I'm invoking the Right of Conscription!"
Alistair reached for Maebh with one hand and brandished the sword with the other. The murmur raised to a roar. Quick as lightning, Riordan grabbed Alistair's right hand and wrestled the sword away. "It doesn't matter now what you believe, Brother. The Right supersedes all."
Maebh looked up at Alistair. His eyes met hers. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Riordan handed the sword to a guard. He then went to Maebh and lifted her arms from around the Teryn's neck. "We will prepare for the Joining immediately."
Maebh nodded.
"So, Sister, any other surprises in store for us?" Alistair's words dripped venom.
Anora stepped forward. "Have you decided then, Warden, who's claim you will support for the throne?"
Maebh turned to them dully. "I thought you were going to get married and rule jointly."
"Yes," Anora pounced. "That is exactly what was agreed upon. I am glad you kept your word."
Alistair looked from one sister to the other, seething. "Yes, that was the agreement." His words carried a deep tone of menace that would have chilled Maebh, had she still possessed the ability to feel anything.
"It is decided then," Eamon announced. "Alistair and Anora will both rule, as King and Queen of Ferelden!"
The crowd cheered, more out of a relief for a clear resolution than any particular joy at the decision. Maebh trembled. She turned to Eamon. "Can we go now?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper. Eamon nodded. Maebh followed as Riordan led the Teryn out of the chamber.
The Teryn turned to her. "Stand up straight, girl," he commanded.
Maebh was exhausted, her limbs felt like lead and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. "Riordan," she said weakly, "If it's not too much trouble I should like to change out of this armor."
"Whatever you need, Sister," Riordan responded.
Maebh was led away by a servant to a private chamber. She was left alone while the servant went to fetch her mage robes. Her stomach lurched. She yanked her gauntlets off and hurled them across the room. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth and crouched, breathing heavily through her nose. She felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her breastplate. What had she done?
The servant returned. Maebh stood and raised her arms while the woman made quick work of her buckles. She struggled to catch her breath.
"Do you require anything else, Warden?" the elf asked quietly.
Maebh shook her head and fastened her robes at her throat.
"The Queen would like a word with you. She said I was to let her know when you had composed yourself. Should I tell her you are ready?"
Maebh shrugged. "Sure. As Her Majesty desires. Let's get this over with." She bit her fist as her stomach lurched again. She leaned her face against the wall and took several deep breaths. The look on Alistair's face haunted her. She tried to push it out of her mind. The door opened and she turned to see Anora gliding into the room.
"Well," she said in an amused tone. "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, don't you?"
Maebh scowled. "I'm pleased that you were entertained." The acidity of her words were ignored. "Where's Alistair?"
Anora shrugged. "He's upstairs, pouting. Why didn't you warn me he was so much like Cailan?"
"Because I don't think he is at all like Cailan." Maebh crossed her arms.
Anora was quiet a moment, regarding her quizzically. "So tell me, Warden. How much of that did you plan in advance?"
Maebh stared at her. "So we've come back to that now, Your Majesty?"
Anora laughed. "Yes, we have! Thanks to you…" She walked to a window, looked out over the city, and sighed happily. "This has all worked out even better than I dared hope."
Maebh's scowl deepened. "But the Teryn may still die in the Joining."
Anora turned back to her. "Why do you persist in calling Father 'the Teryn'? He no longer has a title."
Maebh shrugged unhappily. "Titles don't change his odds of survival. Never mind that I have no idea how Alistair will react, whether or not he will..."
"Who cares what Alistair thinks?" scoffed Anora. Tears welled in Maebh's eyes. Anora sighed. "Oh, don't. Don't be like that."
"What am I supposed to be like? What do you want from me? To gloat?" Maebh's voice rose. "Fine: you win. You win everything! Maybe you'll even get lucky and the Archdemon will kill me! Then you'll be free from me for good. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No, Maybe, that is not at all what I want to hear," Anora sighed. "I wanted to thank you for keeping your end of the bargain. I know it must not have been easy for you. I also wanted to thank you for..." Anora looked down. "For changing your mind about Father."
Maebh bit her lip. "You have no idea how close I was..."
"Please, just...don't." Anora's expression cracked, became pained. "I don't want to know."
They were quiet a moment, Maebh lost in her own misery, Anora regarding her placidly. Eventually, Maebh shook her head and sighed. "I should go find Alistair. I need to talk to him."
Maebh trudged up the grand staircase with leaden feet. She wasn't even sure of where Alistair was. The palace was enormous, high ceilings and meandering hallways that lead to rooms upon rooms that served no apparent purpose. She stopped at the top of the stairs, lightheaded. Portraits of ancient kings stared back at her. Their gazes seemed to mock her confusion. They all knew their way around this place. Alistair would find his way, too, eventually. At the end of the row of portraits was a blank section. Maebh looked at the name plate that had already been installed. It read: "Cailan Theirin 9:25 – 9: " The Teryn must not have thought it a priority to update Cailan's legacy.
She bowed her head, and raised her hands to her temples. She needed to hold herself together. Turning away from the place where Cailan's portrait was to hang, her thoughts returned to the Tower. How many times had she been overwhelmed with fear or anxiety and managed to control herself? She could do this. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. Whatever arguments Alistair had to throw at her, she was not ashamed for having spared the Teryn's life. How dare he waste such a resource when the Blight threatened the very existence of every Ferelden? How dare he question her judgment when it was she that had believed in him enough to put him on the throne?
As luck would have it, she didn't have to ask anyone about Alistair's whereabouts. His outraged cries echoed down the hall. She headed in the direction of his shouting and found him in what appeared to be a small library. His face was red, his eyes narrow, his arms gesticulated wildly. Riordan was with him, arms wide and palms up, clearly at a loss of words. "I am sorry, Your Majesty," the Orlesian Warden said calmly. "Since the Right of Conscription was invoked, we cannot reverse the decision. It would undermine the future recruiting capabilities of the Grey Wardens as a whole. We must go through with the Joining."
Alistair pointed an armored finger in Riordan's face. "Being a Grey Warden is an honor. Not a punishment! I will never stand next to that man and call him Brother."
Riordan sighed. "I am sorry you feel that way, Brother. You will excuse me, I must prepare for the ritual." He turned to leave the room, catching Maebh's eye as he left. He rubbed his closed eyes, head shaking in frustration and disbelief.
Maebh made sure they were alone, and then shut the door behind her. She turned to face him. "Let's have it out, then," she said calmly.
Alistair's lips were pressed together tight; a thin, angry line. His eyes blazed with fury. "I don't even know where to begin with you."
Maebh was calm. Collected. Empty. She clasped her hands behind her back and awaited the inevitable eruption.
"Shouldn't you and your dear sister be planning a party to celebrate our upcoming nuptials? Isn't that the sort of thing women do in these situations?"
Maebh watched as he paced from side to side. "I know how this must look to you."
"Do you? Do you really?" He whirled on her. "The Grey Wardens are all dead! The king is dead! And yet Loghain lives! How is this justice?"
"I truly believe that this is for the best."
He advanced. "You're just like him. You don't care who you betray. You don't care who's destroyed in your wake. You think that you and you alone know what's best for everyone else!"
Maebh took a step back.
"No matter what you thought, or felt, or whatever it was that made you change your mind, he deserved to die!"
Maebh clenched her jaw. "You really are surprised? This is that great of a shock?"
Alistair stopped short. "I trusted you!"
Tears welled in her eyes. She was hollow, empty, utterly spent. He couldn't wound her; there was nothing left to strike at. "You really thought I could murder my own father."
"Murder," he spat and turned away. "What a curious choice of words." He resumed pacing. "I wonder, what curious words you choose use to describe me? After all, what have I got to complain about anyhow? I'm the king now, thanks to you. I have a beautiful fiancée, again thanks to you." He stopped his angry marching. "Of course, I have to wonder… It's probably only a matter of time before she completes the trifecta..."
Maebh wept silently, hugging herself, longing to throw her arms around him and beg him to forgive her. But she knew that would only make this impossible situation even more unbearable. She had made her choice.
"If you think I'm going to just roll over and let the lot of you keep carrying on like you have, you have another thing coming." He turned back.
Maebh struggled to compose herself. "So that's it? You're just going to walk out on us."
The fury reared in him again. "So long as that traitor is a Gray Warden, I will not stand with them. Or you."
"You can't just quit the Wardens!" Maebh protested. "It doesn't work like that!"
"Oh I can't, can I? Watch me."