David Gaider - The Calling

“I am here to help you Grey Wardens,” Maric said slowly. “You know more about the darkspawn than I ever could. If there’s a chance to save Ferelden from the Blight, I’m willing to risk my life to do that. But if there’s not, that’s for you to decide.”

“Idiots!” Duncan suddenly blurted out.

All eyes turned toward him. The lad was furious in a way that Fiona had never seen before, almost shaking. He turned accusingly toward Nicolas. “We killed a dragon. A dragon ! And you want to turn around now ? What do you think Julien would have said to that?”

“Don’t tell me what Julien would have said.” Nicolas’s words lacked heat, however, and he stared at the floor.

“You all want to turn tail at the first sign of trouble? Then go. Make Julien’s death mean nothing, if that’s what you want. I didn’t even want to join the Grey Wardens, and now I know why. You’re a bunch of bloody cowards!”

Kell’s brows rose, but he said nothing. Nicolas, too, remained silent.

“I should never have let you run me off,” Duncan continued, his face turning red from rage. “I jumped on that damned dragon’s back, and you know what? It was worth it! None of you had the damned balls to do it. You think those Grey Wardens of old that you talk about, the ones that stopped all those Blights, you think they did that by playing it safe?” He stormed over to Genevieve and planted himself by her side. She did not acknowledge him in any way, her face remaining inscrutable. “If Genevieve is the only one with the guts to see this through, then I’m going with her. Me, the gutter rat .”

The last was spat at Nicolas. The warrior winced and closed his eyes. Utha looked between the two of them and shook her head sadly, but made no move to intervene. Kell arched a brow at Fiona, the silent question obvious.

She shrugged. “I think Duncan’s said it all, hasn’t he?” In the end, neither Kell nor Nicolas argued with the decision. Genevieve accepted their return to the fold without further comment. Fiona doubted that she would forget, however. She never forgot anything.

They traveled down the passages where Duncan had gone, after Fiona pointed out that there were other paths that way that went in different directions. They couldn’t return the way they’d come, after all, not without encountering the darkspawn and beginning the very battle that they had fought the dragon to avoid. So they needed to go forward, and hopefully find a way back to the Deep Roads and a route to Ortan thaig. Privately Fiona wondered if these caves didn’t simply keep going down forever. Maybe there was no way back now, and would have been no way back even if Kell had gotten his way.

She kept those thoughts to herself.

At Maric’s suggestion, they carried Julien’s body with them. With his body still wrapped in his cloak, they hefted him up on their shoulders and took him the short distance to the emerald lake. It was difficult getting him down the narrow path from the cliff, but the Grey Wardens carried the burden without complaint. Even Genevieve said nothing, despite the delay.

At the shore of the lake, standing amid the white pillars, they released Julien’s body and allowed it to float out onto the green waters. Chantry tradition demanded that bodies be cremated and their ashes properly interred, but there was no way for them to build a pyre, and burying anything in the stone was impossible. Better this than leaving their comrade in the cavern and to the mercies of the darkspawn horde.

They watched the body for a time, each of them shrouded in silence. Fiona hadn’t known the man very long, but she had always appreciated his quiet nature. For a warrior he had been remarkably thoughtful. He had never treated her as anything other than a fellow Grey Warden, and for someone who was both a lowly elf as well as a mage, that meant a lot.

Nicolas knelt at the water’s edge and hung his head in agonizing grief. The others pretended not to notice, to let the man preserve at least a shred of his dignity.

“Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls,” Maric intoned. “From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.” He walked to Nicolas’s side and put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. Nicolas looked up at Maric with gratitude, tears welling in his eyes.

“In my arms lies Eternity.”

The body slowly sank beneath the surface.

Bregan opened his eyes.

Something had changed while he slept. How long had it been? It was pitch dark in his cell, just as it had been when he had closed his eyes what seemed an eon ago. The Deep Roads were a single night that stretched on into infinity.

Somehow he suspected that a great deal of time had passed, however. The burning under his flesh had ebbed, to be replaced by a strange iciness. He poked his skin and found it heavy and sluggish, and wondered whether, if he poked hard enough, if the resulting dent might simply remain. His limbs felt detached, as if they didn’t quite belong to him.

So, too, had the humming lessened. Then, as he listened to it there in the blackness, he realized that wasn’t quite true. It was stronger. The far-off chorus had become a powerful symphony, a great swell of beautiful music that no longer pounded to get inside his head but instead tickled at the edges of his thoughts. It was far easier to ignore, but now he found it distracting. He found himself losing his train of thought whenever he listened.

He shook his head, refusing to be enticed, and sat up. The furs on which he had lain had been changed at some point. How, he wondered? They were thicker now, coarser. Feeling around in the dark, he also found some clothes folded neatly nearby. They were not his. They were made of a rough, scratchy material he didn’t recognize, perhaps dwarven. That made him wonder if they would even fit.

He stood up slowly, wincing at the aches he felt throughout his body. There was little pain, however. Running his hands over his bare skin, he noted that most of the bandages and poultices were gone. He was whole. His flesh was rough, however, as if he were covered in thick scars. Strangely, it also felt like he was touching someone else’s skin. It was as if he was numb. And cold, too, even if he did not shiver.

Carefully feeling through the clothing pile, he picked out what seemed to be a pair of trousers. That would do for now. They fit well enough even though, as he had suspected, they were indeed too short in the legs.

Where had the glowstone gone? He remembered that it had not been present when he returned to the cell, but not why. In fact, he remembered very little about returning to his cell at all. He had come alone, that much he knew, but what had happened with the Architect? He had a vague recollection that they had spoken, but his impressions were distant. Had it done something to his mind?

The idea should have alarmed him more, but it didn’t. He supposed it was possible that this, too, could be the result of magical meddling. But he doubted it. If the Architect had wanted to erase his memories or otherwise use magic to alter his mind, there had been far better opportunities for it to do so.

No, he had come back here willingly, to sleep. He had been exhausted. His limbs had been weighing him down like lead, and the incessant humming had nearly driven him mad. He remembered these things, and the slumber reaching up to drag him into oblivion almost before he touched the ground …

… and then nothing. No dreams, for perhaps the first time in his life. Grey Wardens always dreamed, the price of sharing the fringes of the darkspawn group consciousness. Yet now, nothing. Blissful unconsciousness.