David Gaider - The Calling

Maric glanced away, embarrassed by the intimacy, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t quite realized the nature of the two warriors’ relationship earlier. Not just comrades, then, and far more than close friends. The other Grey Wardens seemed unsurprised.

“I’m not mad,” Nicolas whispered. “But you need to trust me.”

Julien was clearly confused, but he reluctantly nodded. Giving one final suspicious glare at Maric, he said, “I’ll be right outside, then.” Marching across the room, he opened a large wardrobe next to the bed and removed his greatsword. It was dull and looked as if it had not been used in some time. The man hefted it onto his shoulder and walked back outside, still glaring the entire way.

Nicolas watched him go, frowning sadly. As soon as Julien was out the door, he sighed. “He doesn’t know.”

“But you do?” Maric asked him. “You know this is a dream?”

“I know this is the Fade. I knew it instantly. To see Julien alive, I knew it couldn’t be true. I held his body in my arms. You don’t forget that.”

“Then we don’t need to explain,” Duncan said, relieved.

An awkward silence ensued as Nicolas turned back toward the hearth. He walked to the wooden mantel and ran his hand along its length, as if testing its smoothness. His eyes looked haunted, Maric thought, and for a long moment they all watched as he stood there. The only sound was the crackling of the flames.

“We’d talked about this,” the blond man murmured. He didn’t look at them. “Leaving the Grey Wardens, and coming out here on our own. We’d have a few years left before the taint caught up to us, and we could spend it with each other. We could truly be together.” He gently ran his hand along the mantel again. “It was a fine plan, down to every detail… .” His voice trailed off and he became silent again, staring into the fire.

“You mean to stay,” Kell said. It wasn’t a question. The hunter and Utha exchanged a sad, knowing glance.

Nicolas nodded. “I mean to stay.”

“You can’t!” Duncan objected, his dawning horror evident as he realized what was being suggested. “You can’t do that! You know that isn’t him, right? It’s a lie!”

“It’s not a lie.”

The warrior seemed resolute. Maric walked toward him and tentatively put his hand on the man’s shoulder, looking at his eyes to get his attention. “But it is a dream. Your body is back in the real world, just like ours. If you stay here …”

“Then I die?” Nicolas smiled, abashed. “We knew it was possible one of us could fall in battle. I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t.” He turned back to the mantel, unable to meet Maric’s gaze. “I love him. Tell me I should return to a life where I can’t be with him. Tell me this isn’t better.”

Maric couldn’t tell him that. He let him go and stepped back.

“But—” Duncan looked around, his confusion only mounting as he saw both Kell and Utha accepting Nicolas’s words just as Maric did. “You can’t be serious! You have to come back. This is suicide!”

“I can think of worse ways to die.”

“No! It’s wrong.” He ran up to Nicolas, making as if to push him back against the hearth. The warrior warily caught at the lad’s leathers and held him with a strong hand, though Duncan didn’t struggle much. He seemed more astonished than outraged. “How can you let the demon defeat you like this?”

Nicolas nodded slowly, closing his eyes as if the idea pained him. “Julien saved you,” he sighed. “He did the right thing, I know that. I wish I’d died with him.” Then he paused, opening his eyes and looking directly at Duncan. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I did die with him. This has nothing to do with the demon.”

“But—”

“Let me have my dream,” he pleaded, his voice heavy. It was as much to Maric and the others as to Duncan. “Please, just let me have this one last thing.”

Duncan looked like he was about to continue arguing, but seeing the expression on Nicolas’s face, he visibly deflated. Finally he nodded. He didn’t agree, even Maric could see that, but he couldn’t argue in the face of that pain. He gave Maric a troubled glance and then turned and stormed out the door without another word.

Kell walked up to Nicolas, extending his hand. “You served well,” he said. “You did your duty. Let it end here.” Nicolas shook his hand heartily, the tears coming more quickly. He fought to control a sob.

Utha went to the warrior, looking up at him with compassionate tears of her own. She made no gestures, but simply took both his hands in hers.

“Thank you,” he croaked, his voice near breaking.

Maric nodded at the man. Part of him felt disquiet at the idea of leaving Nicolas behind, a warrior who could still be of great help to them. But would it be better to demand that he follow them, fighting until he died some grueling death alone in the Deep Roads? Or worse, survived and carried on alone? It didn’t seem as if Grey Wardens met happy ends even at the best of times. Perhaps it was better to choose your own.

The idea settled over Maric like a dark cloud as they left Nicolas behind in the cabin. Outside, Duncan waited with his arms crossed. The lad looked distressed rather than belligerent. It must be difficult to understand when death seemed like a thing very far away. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t.

Julien solemnly watched them leave, and then returned inside the cabin to his love. This dream wouldn’t end, and somehow that brought Maric a small amount of comfort.

“We need to find Genevieve,” Duncan avowed.

Maric agreed, and together the group swiftly walked down the hill and out of the wilderness in search of the Grey Warden’s commander.

Time was running short.

The guard studied the group with a wary eye as he peeked through the massive gate’s shuttered window. The livery of a horned stag on a black background hung from the battlements. Duncan didn’t recognize it, but he assumed it was Orlesian. The guard’s accent seemed to confirm that. “M’lord doesn’t take in travelers,” he sneered.

Maric glanced back at the rest of them, clearly asking for ideas. They had spent the better part of the afternoon traveling through the marshes before they’d seen the remote outpost. It had appeared out of the mist, ivy creeping up its cracked stone walls and greyish moss hanging down. It was as if the marsh was busily trying to reclaim the place, and yet it endured nobly.

There was a single keep within the walls and a small courtyard, room for no more than perhaps a hundred men, according to Kell’s estimation. The sort of outpost the Empire built on the fringes of its borders, watching for incursions even if none had materialized for centuries beyond counting. They were convenient places for out-of-favor aristocrats to be exiled, though Duncan knew that some noblemen took these frontier assignments seriously and tried to make an honest go of it. They brought law to the local villages and attempted to clear the wilds of outlaws and pagan worship. This place, however, looked as if it was barely holding its own against the murky marsh around it, and if there was any local population to speak of, they hadn’t seen evidence of it. This was a cold and wet wilderness, full of snakes, and certainly an inhospitable place to build anything.

Duncan shrugged, and neither Kell nor Utha appeared to offer anything better. Maric sighed and turned back to the waiting guard at the window. “We’re looking for someone. A friend.”