David Gaider - The Calling

“That Grey Warden.” He looked at Duncan curiously. “Why didn’t he just give you the ring? Was it that valuable?”

“He’d bought it to give to the woman he was going to marry,” came the flat response. “He never got the chance to.”

“His name was Guy,” Fiona added. “Genevieve was his fiancée.” Maric’s eyes widened with mute surprise, and that effectively ended the conversation.

They said nothing further as they made their way up the path back to the top of the cliff. The murmurs followed them for a time, and then grew silent. If the sounds belonged to any creatures other than what ever fish could live in a sulfuric lake, they remained hidden within the shadows. When they finally returned to the dragon’s cavern, the others were waiting for them. The dragon’s carcass sprawled across the rocks, looking somehow smaller than she remembered. Its stomach was mostly cut open now, as well. Bloody entrails spilled out onto the ground, Kell standing amid it all busily prying black scales off its flank with a belt knife. Fiona imagined he had opened the belly up to try to retrieve some of the dragon’s bones. They were highly prized, as Maric’s enchanted blade demonstrated. She had no idea if the bones were as hard in their natural state. Probably not, as it seemed unlikely that anyone could remove them if they were.

Hafter barked excitedly around his master’s feet, though the hound had a pronounced limp and was nowhere near as quick as Fiona knew him to normally be. Kell looked down at him and grinned, and then sliced off a large chunk of the dragon’s flesh with his belt knife. He tossed it to Hafter, and the dog pounced on it greedily and began chewing away. It was fitting somehow, she thought.

Genevieve turned and watched as they entered, frowning severely. Fiona saw the body of Julien nearby, wrapped tightly in his black cloak, with Nicolas still kneeling beside him. The warrior glanced up and scowled when he spotted Duncan. Utha put her hand on the man’s shoulder to restrain him and he visibly deflated, his face twisting into silent grief that he then hid by turning away. The dwarf, at least, looked apologetically at Duncan. Whether the lad saw it or not, Fiona couldn’t say. He kept his face completely blank.

“It’s about time that you returned,” Genevieve snapped. “The darkspawn are growing brave. A pair of shrieks attempted to sneak in here, and we were forced to kill them. More will almost certainly follow.”

“Well, we’re back,” Fiona stated. “Duncan didn’t go far.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Genevieve glared sternly at the lad, her jaw clenched and her lips pressed thinly together. He didn’t look up to meet her gaze, but Fiona suspected he felt the disapproval anyhow. How could he not? It radiated from her in palpable waves. “What was that?” she snapped at him. “Do I need to fear you running off even here in the Deep Roads, Duncan?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, though it hardly seemed convincing.

“You should have let him go,” Nicolas muttered, just loudly enough to be overheard. Genevieve’s eyes widened in outrage and she turned to stare at him, but the warrior stared back at her defiantly. “What is he doing here with us?” he insisted. “He’s some gutter rat you picked up in Val Royeaux. A murderer! A thief! He doesn’t belong in the order.”

“I say he does,” she seethed.

“His presence demeans us all!”

In a flash, Genevieve darted toward Nicolas and cuffed him across the face. Her heavy gauntlets made the blow far more severe than it might have been otherwise, and the man reeled back onto Julien’s wrapped corpse. The others stared in shock as she towered over the warrior, her face red with fury. Nicolas stared up at her in dismay, covering his cheek almost reflexively.

“Control yourself!” she roared. “The boy brought down the dragon. He did his part, as did Julien. If anyone is demeaned, it is you with this pointless display.”

An awkward silence settled among the group. Utha stepped forward, her look anxious, and she made several gestures to Nicolas. Fiona couldn’t see what they were, but it was clear they were meant to calm the man down. He glanced nervously at Genevieve, who remained towering above him, but she ignored him and instead turned to look sharply at each of the other Grey Wardens in turn.

“The time has come for us to move on. Let us do so—quickly.”

“No,” came the firm response. It was Kell. The hunter stood up slowly from the dragon’s corpse, wiping his knife on the scaleless flesh of the creature’s belly before sheathing it on his belt. He turned around and met the Commander’s look with a calm, resolute expression. “We have come far enough, I think. It is madness to proceed.”

“You are not the commander here,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

“And you are not acting as a commander should.” He gestured toward Maric, who appeared to be watching the confrontation intently. “We have the King of Ferelden with us. He is not someone whose life should be thrown away lightly. If there is no chance of us succeeding, we must return him to the surface.”

“What we must do is prevent the Blight.”

Kell shook his head sadly. He removed the leather gloves he wore, now coated a dark and ugly red from the dragon’s innards. “But we are not doing that. There is no chance of success for us here, Genevieve.”

“You are wrong.”

“Am I?” His pale eyes narrowed. “If a Blight truly comes, our duty now is to see this King safely back to the surface and help his people prepare for it. We waste our efforts seeking a man who is likely beyond our reach.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Why? Because the rest of the order did not believe in your visions?” He held his hands out in supplication, his voice pleading. “I believe in your visions, Genevieve. Let us heed them and meet the coming Blight with our eyes open.”

She stared at him silently, her face cold stone. Fiona shivered, and wondered where this was going to lead. All of them tensed and watched the Commander with dread. She reached down and slowly pulled her greatsword from its scabbard, the metal grinding softly. She held the blade before her, not taking her eyes from the hunter. The threat was implicit. “Not while there is a chance to stop it. I say that chance exists, and if it requires the sacrifice of each and every last one of us, we will continue down this path until I say otherwise.”

Kell appeared unimpressed. His hand moved cautiously to the hilt of the flail at his side, but he did not draw it. Hafter, sensing the confrontation, growled and raised his hackles. He bared his fangs at Genevieve and his master did nothing to restrain him. The moment dragged on.

Utha stepped between them. The dwarf held her hands up at Genevieve and Kell, and then angrily began signing at Kell. It was too fast for Fiona to follow, but he seemed to understand. He frowned thoughtfully. “You agree with her? After all this?” he asked.

The dwarf nodded solemnly. She gestured again, and this time Fiona did understand it. Too much has been sacrificed to turn back now.

“I agree with Kell,” Nicolas chimed in. He stood up, glowering.

He looked to Fiona and Maric, as did Utha and Kell. Genevieve did not. She stiffened, refusing to acknowledge that a consensus was being sought to determine her right to command. Fiona wasn’t certain what the woman would do if that consensus was not in her favor. Would she go on her own? Would she try to kill them? Fiona hadn’t been part of the order long enough to know what the protocol was in a situation like this. There probably wasn’t one. In the face of the darkspawn threat, mutiny was normally not an option.