David Gaider - The Calling

“No risk, no reward. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyhow.”

Her face tensed, and it looked like she had a few things she was going to tell him herself. But then she waved them away with a flash of annoyance. He supposed it didn’t mean much where they were, especially well after the fact. “At least you weren’t caught,” she muttered. “Though the flagrant risks you take are completely unacceptable.”

“We’re all going to die, right?” He chuckled, but he was only half joking. “Whether I die now or later doesn’t seem all that risky to me.” Genevieve picked up on his tone right away, and her expression darkened. She said nothing and nodded gravely, her attention returning to her sword.

Duncan supposed it was a little unfair to throw that in her face. She was far closer to her Calling than he was, and no doubt acutely aware that what ever happened down here, she would be following the path of her brother soon enough. He turned to go.

“Wait,” Genevieve called after him. “I think it’s time to explain your duty to you.”

He paused. “My duty? Watching after the King? Is there more to it than that?”

Her mouth thinned into a grim line, and Duncan’s flippant mood evaporated. She was utterly serious now. He moved in a little closer and crouched down near where she sat. She barely noticed him, formulating the proper words in her head.

“It’s entirely possible,” she said slowly, “that what we do here will fail. You know what the Grey Wardens thought of all this. They don’t believe Bregan has been captured, none of it.”

“I believe it,” Duncan averred. He meant it, too. Genevieve could be many things, but in the short time he had known her, foolish and gullible were neither of those things. If those who had known her longer denied her visions for their own reasons, more fools they.

She nodded at him, her eyes showing a flash of gratitude. “The point is that we could die. There are only a few of us here, and despite what any of us believe, the chances of us actually finding Bregan before the darkspawn realize we are here and react is small.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“If something has truly changed within the darkspawn, the threat of a Blight occurring is great indeed. If we cannot stop them from taking that information from Bregan, my job will be to assess the likelihood of them using it. At that point, your job will be to get King Maric back to the surface.”

“By myself?”

She nodded. “You’re stealthy. The King far less so, but you know better than any of us how to move unseen. I’m counting on you to take him.”

“Don’t you mean Kell? He’s a hunter, he could—”

“I’m counting on you ,” she reiterated.

He gulped. Tall order, that.

“His nation will need him,” she continued. Genevieve picked up her blade and balanced it lightly on her knee. She ran an admiring finger down its length, seemingly fascinated by the details etched into its steel. “They will need a leader who has seen the threat of the Blight firsthand, who believes in it. King Maric could help alert all of Thedas and bring the Grey Wardens great credibility in what ever follows.”

“But what if … ?” Duncan let his question hang, feeling guilty even for thinking it.

“There is also the possibility that I’m wrong,” Genevieve stated evenly, finishing his thought without any sense of accusation. She glanced up at Duncan, her eyes dangerous. “That Bregan is dead, and I’ve made a terrible error in bringing us here. Or something worse.”

“Worse?”

“If what King Maric learns could harm the Grey Wardens, could make us look like fools and prevent us from carrying out our duty, then you must make certain he never reaches the surface at all.”

Duncan gasped in disbelief. “You mean … ?”

She held her chin thoughtfully, her thoughts distant. “He may try to escape. What ever his reasons for joining us, however, the die is cast. If he must disappear down here in order for us to claim what ever story we wish on the surface, then that is what we must do.” Noticing Duncan’s wide-eyed look, she affixed him with a steely stare. “Consider the situation: There is a danger here, but I do not know what that danger encompasses, or what someone like Maric might learn in the pro cess. We have a higher duty, Duncan. The Grey Wardens protect the entire world, not just one small nation.”

He nodded slowly, his heart racing inside his chest. “I … I understand.”

Genevieve smiled compassionately, if sadly. She reached out and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you can do this. I am counting on you to see it through, if it comes to that.”

He nodded again, uncertain what he should say, if anything.

She let her hand drop. “Go. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we will have more immediate matters to think about, yes?”

Tomorrow they headed into the lion’s den.

Nodding breathlessly to the Commander, Duncan turned and left before she could say anything else. She trusted him, him , to watch the King in more senses than just the one. She wanted him to do it, and not Kell or Fiona or anyone else.

Probably because he was capable of murder, and she knew that. The thought settled coldly onto his heart. It didn’t repel him, however. He knew the Grey Wardens weren’t out to do anything more than defeat the darkspawn, no matter what it took. Sometimes that meant doing terrible things.

If it came to it, he would murder King Maric. He wondered if even Fiona, who expressed such dislike for the man, was capable of that. Probably not. For all her anger, she was a good person.

While he was not.

Bregan couldn’t be sure how much time passed in his cell. His mind was often clouded by a haze of pain, and he would drift in and out of sleep without any reference to mark whether a day had passed or a night. The hours had become fluid, lost to the darkness and despair he found himself submerged within.

Often when he awoke from his restless sleep, there would be a moment of confusion when he thought he might actually still be at the Grey Warden fortress in Montsimmard, that the ordeal of his captivity had all been but an unpleasant nightmare. A part of him waited for the familiar smells of the cypress and linen, searched for the faint moonlight coming through the shutters in his chambers, even though the rest of him knew better. Perhaps it was his mind hoping beyond hope, refusing to accept his circumstances.

It was strange to him, for if he had been asked he would have said he associated no fond memories with the fortress, despite it having been his home for so many years. Being part of the Grey Wardens was not something that had brought him joy. It had not been a misery, precisely, but rather a life he had endured . He had had not resisted the pull that had brought him down that path, but neither had he walked it willingly.

The idea that now his mind yearned to send him back there seemed to him almost like a sick joke.

Genevieve would have argued with him. She had always believed their position within the Grey Wardens to be a great honor. The day he had been made Commander of the Grey, her eyes had shone with quiet pride while he had somehow felt smothered, trapped. Still he had done it, assumed the command and the responsibilities that came with it while his sister shook her head at what she perceived as his obstinacy.

And somehow it had translated into popularity among the men he had commanded. Bregan had never seen himself as being particularly more worthy than any of them. They had all made the same sacrifice as he, all taken that foulness into themselves just as he had, to fight against a threat that most of humanity thought was long past. He sought out no distinction for himself, and readily passed on the accolades offered by his superiors to those men who were actually deserving of them, and for that the Grey Wardens had loved him.