David Gaider - The Calling

“I’m sorry… .”

“No, I’m sorry.” She gritted her teeth, the anger making her shake. “I was so certain that you would die in the Joining, that you would get just a taste of what Guy and the rest of us had to go through. Enough for you to choke on. But you survived. The Maker played yet one more joke on me.”

“But I thought—”

“You’ve proven useful,” she cut him off, her tone ice cold. “You have some skill, and you get things done. You’ve made a fine Grey Warden.” She sneered at him. “Congratulations.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, and then she pushed herself away from him. “Go,” she said. “Go back to the others and get out of here. I won’t be retrieved , not by you. Not by anyone.” He dropped down to the floor, coughing and choking and clutching his throat. He could feel blood where the blade had left a shallow cut. She stepped back, looking at him with a hateful glare, and he could do nothing but stare back at her blankly.

Was that what she really felt? He’d always wondered. He’d never thought she’d held any love for him after what he’d done, but to hate him so? Why keep him close, then? Why not send him away to some other Grey Warden fortress as soon as she became a commander? She had that authority.

“I don’t believe you,” he insisted.

She snorted derisively. “What do you believe, then?”

“I believe you’re better than that. I look up to you. You saved me from that cell, and I know it’s because you thought you were doing the right thing. I think you’re just trying to make me leave.”

Genevieve sighed, her face calming. “Then go.”

“So you’re just going to stay here, then? Live a lie?”

“I’ve had my fill of truth.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing his neck and clearing his throat several times. It felt almost as if his larynx had been crushed. “So you’re going to give up. Just like Nicolas.”

She frowned, putting the sword down on the desk with all its scrolls and papers. More of them fell to the floor. Then she glanced up at Duncan. “What do you mean? What has he done?”

“He’s with Julien. He refused to come with us. He’d rather die in the Fade.”

A bit of sadness crossed Genevieve’s eyes and she glanced down at the floor. “He deserves that much, if that’s what he wants.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“Why not?” she snapped irritably. “Would reality be such an improvement? Is it such a crime to be with the one you love? Let the man be with Julien. Let them both have some peace.”

“But it’s not Julien he’s with.”

“You don’t know that. They say the spirits of the dead cross the Fade. I have no trouble believing that Julien’s spirit would stay with Nicolas, if he found him here in the Fade.”

Duncan paused. “Is that what you think Guy is?”

Genevieve stared off in the direction of the door, as if she could see through it. There was a yearning in her expression. A desire for something she had denied herself long ago. As a shadow slowly crossed over her eyes, he knew her answer. “No,” she admitted bitterly.

An awkward silence ensued. Duncan picked himself up off the floor as she stood where she was, rigid and pointedly not looking at him. She hung her head, her mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace. The silence was interrupted as the door to the apartment suddenly flew open, and Guy rushed in.

“What’s happening here?” he demanded, staring with alarm first at Duncan and then at his wife. “I was told there was shouting? Fighting?”

“Nothing’s happening,” Genevieve said flatly. She didn’t look at him, either.

His gaze fell upon the sword on the desk, and his mouth thinned. He glanced at Duncan suspiciously. “Are you certain?” he asked Genevieve. “I can have this young man sent away; there’s no need to have him here upsetting you, love.”

“No,” she said. Then she simply stood there, staring intently at the ground. Duncan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. Was he supposed to leave? Was she ignoring him now? Guy glanced at him with a mixture of confusion and questioning. He didn’t know any better than Duncan did, but clearly he knew something was very wrong.

He leaned in close to Genevieve, putting a hand on her shoulder until she looked up at him. Tears reddened her eyes. “What’s wrong, my love?” he pleaded. “Please tell me.”

“I need to go.”

“Go? Go where? When will you be back?”

Genevieve wiped away her tears and clenched her teeth. She put a hand on Guy’s face, staring at him as if she was memorizing his every feature. Then she kissed him on the lips, tenderly. His brow knotted in confusion. “Soon, I hope,” she whispered.

And with that the keep around them vanished. Duncan was almost startled by the transition, stumbling as the wall behind him faded away. They were back in a plain of rock, with the endless skies of the Fade overhead. Genevieve was in her heavy armor and her Grey Warden tunic, her white hair cut short once again. She stared at the ground, clenching her jaw, and did not move.

From not far away, Maric and the others ran up. “You did it!” he shouted.

“I guess I did,” Duncan muttered. He kept his eye on Genevieve, however, and saw her close her eyes and collect her will. The hard edges had all returned, but then perhaps they had never quite gone away, had they?

Behind the others, he saw the elven woman with the blond curls, Katriel, slowly approach. Maric stiffened, spotting her at the same time that Duncan did. Genevieve noticed her, as well, and when she did she drew her greatsword in alarm.

“Wait!” Maric shouted, holding up a hand to stop her.

Genevieve’s didn’t lower her sword. “Why? Who is this?”

“Someone I … once knew.”

“Then it is a demon!” She charged toward Katriel, who remained where she was and barely looked at her attacker. Instead, she watched Maric with her sad green eyes. The elf had met them each time they had returned from a dream, and each time she had seemed more desperately sad. Maric was the same way. Duncan could see his heart breaking each time he saw her.

Maric ran after Genevieve now, catching her just before she reached the elf. He grabbed hold of her armor and pulled her back, though it was a struggle. “Stop! She can help us!” he insisted. Kell and Utha looked on, concerned, but did not intervene.

The Commander stared at Maric as if the man were mad. “Help us? A demon?”

He paused, and looked unhappily toward Katriel. For her part, she continued to simply watch him. Genevieve stepped back, scowling with disapproval but keeping her sword at the ready. Maric approached the elf closely, apprehensive and fearful all at once. “Will you help us? Face the demon?” he asked her, his voice small.

She looked at him, her expression pensive. “No,” she admitted. “And you should not go to face it, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you.” When he recoiled from her words, anguished, she rushed forward to him. Tears streaked down her face and she became frantic. “Maric, the demon will kill you! Don’t go to your death, not for duty! Not always for duty!”

“I made a promise,” he mumbled.

He tried to look away from Katriel, but she reached up with her hands and clutched at his chin, attempting to make him look at her and crying even more forcefully. He fought against it, but weakly, and when she finally looked him in the eyes, tears were streaming down his face, as well.

“Let them go and do this task,” she whispered urgently, her voice racked with emotion. “Have you not sacrificed enough?”

“I need to save her.”

“There are others to save. Others trapped in the Fade, living in an endless dream.” She kept her eyes fixed on his, her plea desperate. “You mother is here, Maric. We could save her together. Please … don’t go.”