The Calling

9

Fiona glanced at Maric as he walked beside her. “You didn’t need to come with me,” she muttered. “I am perfectly capable of finding Duncan by myself.”

“I know that,” he said.

“I have a spell that will lead me right to him.”

“So you told me earlier.”

“And if I were to sense any darkspawn coming, I’d go back.”

“I know that, too.” He looked at her seriously. “I also know there’s more than just darkspawn down here. I’ve had firsthand experience with such creatures. You shouldn’t be alone out here any more than Duncan should.”

She couldn’t really argue with that logic, so she sighed and turned her attention back to the tunnel ahead. Maric had been frustratingly agreeable since they’d left the dragon’s cavern. He was being respectful of Julien’s loss, she supposed, and that was unexpected. There were times when she thought Maric a fool, a man who seemed to get by on his irreverent charm instead of acting as she would have expected a king to act. And then there were times like this when he seemed thoughtful and competent, and she could see perhaps a sliver of the leader his reputation claimed him to be.

Which was the real man, then? It was impossible for her to tell. So instead she tried to ignore him and concentrate on their task. Frustratingly, she found it almost harder to ignore Maric when he was quietly following beside her than when he was chattering away. Surely he’d planned that.

They walked for a short time through a winding passage, the white light of her staff showing the way even though it probably was unnecessary. There was a lot of the phosphorescent lichen down this path, which at least meant that Duncan hadn’t wandered this far completely in the dark. If he had, what he had done would have been suicidal on top of being extremely foolish. She was still going to kill him when they found him.

And if she didn’t, Genevieve certainly would. The Commander had been livid when she’d learned Duncan had run off. There had been a moment where she very nearly ordered them to move on, leaving the lad behind to fend for himself. Fiona had seen the thought cross the woman’s mind, and only reluctantly had it been discarded.

The darkspawn weren’t on them yet, after all. They had a little time, if not much. Fiona had volunteered to retrieve Duncan, if she could. The fact that Maric accompanied her made it less likely they would return to the dragon’s cavern only to find the others gone, but it was not impossible. The King’s knowledge of the way to Ortan thaig was far less useful now that they were essentially lost.

“Look at that,” he murmured, pointing down to the ground. There were patches of colored moss, purple and grey mostly but also bits of orange. The walls in these caves were moist, and the air was humid and smelled of musty greenery. Strange how they had just left behind a cavern with streams of lava and here was already something completely different. She’d expected mostly stone and more stone down here in the underground, but there was much more. It was full of life. Indeed, there were dragons.

“It’s just moss,” she said.

“No, I mean it’s not corrupted. Do you notice there’s very little evidence of the darkspawn around here? Ever since we left the Deep Roads.”

“They probably don’t come this way often, thanks to the dragon.”

“Do they need to? The corruption spreads everywhere, I thought.”

She had to admit he had a point. As they’d descended, the taint had become so thick it almost choked the air, and yet here there was almost nothing. Perhaps it was the lava and the heat, burning the corruption away? Perhaps it was the presence of the dragon. The Old Gods were said to be ancient dragons, after all. There could be a link.

As they approached a cave opening ahead, she heard the sound of running water. They stepped into another large cavern, and from where they stood on the edge of a small cliff they looked out over what had to be some kind of underground lake. The water was cloudy green, lit from beneath by phosphorescent rocks until it shone like an emerald on the rocky ceiling. It had an eerie beauty to it, she thought.

The acrid smell of brimstone clung to the air, and the echoing sound of dripping water surrounded them. How far the cavern went on she couldn’t tell. At some point it was all just a greenish haze mingled with the mist.

Maric stood at the edge of the cliff and stared out at the water, awestruck. He said something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch.

“What’s that?” she asked him.

“Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.” He raised an eyebrow when he saw she didn’t recognize the quote. “It’s from the Chant of Light.”

“I didn’t have a very religious upbringing,” she responded wryly. Which was an understatement, but how could he know what it was like in the alienages? There were no chantries there, and when the priests came it was with alms and many words of benevolent advice for the poor elves and their lost, wicked ways … and a large number of wary templars to guard the priests from harm.

“Oh. It’s where Andraste goes to speak to the Maker for the first time. It’s where she convinces him to forgive mankind. It was supposed to be this beautiful temple deep under the earth surrounded by emerald waters. I guess I always imagined it looked like this.”

“I doubt there’s a temple here.”

“I know, I just … never mind.” Blushing slightly, he pointed out a natural path that led down the side of the cliff. “Do you think Duncan really came down this way? This far?”

She nodded. “So it seems. We’re close, however.”

They made their way down the path, which turned out to be little more than a collection of embedded stones at several points, some a fair distance apart. Fiona was still quite drained from all the spellcasting and found it difficult to maneuver with her chain garments and her heavy skirt. Twice Maric needed to steady her before she slipped on the dewy mist that clung to everything, and he helped her down to the next ledge. She curtly thanked him, feeling more like an ass each time.

At the bottom was a shore comprised of mud and slabs of rock mixed in with strange white formations. It was as if misshapen statues dotted the edge of the lake, all of them in the process of melting down into sludge. Perhaps it was sulfur or lime; she couldn’t really say. The formations were surreal, however, and oddly sad. Even with the constant dripping sounds, the entire cavern seemed somehow muted.

“Wait,” Maric suddenly said.

“What? Do you see him? He might be nearby …”

The man rubbed his chin and fretted for a moment, and her curiosity was piqued. She stopped and stared at him, allowing the light of her staff to wink out. There was enough light from the glowing water to see by, after all, even if it cast everything in an odd shade of green. She was getting tired of trying to maintain the concentration.

“I want to thank you,” he blurted out.

“Thank me?”

“For saving my life. When the dragon breathed its fire, you could have let me die, but you didn’t.” Was he blushing? It was difficult to tell in the green light, but the way the man stammered and avoided looking at her, it seemed like he might be. Now it was her turn to be amused.

“Do you think I would let anyone die, if I could stop it?”

He shrugged. “Less ‘anyone’ and more me in par tic u lar. You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not your favorite person. Not that I’m arguing with you, really, I just … appreciate that you did what you did. I know you didn’t have to.”

“I see.” She laughed softly at his discomfort. She probably shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “What ever I may think of you, King Maric, I don’t want you to die. I did have to do it, and there’s no need to thank me.”

“No, there is.” He finally managed to meet her gaze, his look completely earnest. “I will find a way to repay you. I promise.”

Fiona’s objection died on her lips. She wanted to tell him that he could keep his promise of repayment. She didn’t want any human lord to “owe” her anything, especially since the chances that he would actually see such a notion through were next to nothing. What was a debt to an elf, or a mage, to such a man? Especially since there was no debt to speak of.

But she couldn’t tell him that. And she didn’t know why. For a moment there was only hushed silence on the green shores of the endless lake.

Then she shuddered and the moment ended. He looked away, embarrassed, and she turned around. “If you like,” she agreed, shrugging. She imagined he was good at empty gestures. It was part of his kingly charm, no? With any luck he would simply forget the matter. In fact, that’s what would most likely happen.

They walked along the shore, weaving a circuitous route past the white formations. Another sound joined the echoes of dripping water in time: a strange murmur that seemed to come from all around them. Maric suggested it might in fact be the water, but she wasn’t so sure. The water rippled, making the green lights dance upon the ceiling, but there were no tides or splashes or anything else that might make such movement. She sensed no darkspawn, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other things living here.

When they found Duncan, it was without warning. The young man sat on a particularly large formation next to the shore, this one a great blob that almost looked like a ship. The “prow” hung over the water, and there he sat with his feet dangling over the edge, staring glumly out into the distance.

They approached, but Fiona didn’t want to step onto the formation. The white surface looked slick, almost slimy. Who knew just how stable it really was, as well? The stench of salt assaulted her nostrils.

“Duncan?” she called to him softly.

He didn’t look. “Came to get me, huh?”

“I wanted to come. Duncan, this is silly. Why are you doing this?”

“They don’t want me to come back.” He sighed, staring down into the murky depths beneath him. “Genevieve, maybe, but not the others. And I don’t want to go back.”

“So you’d prefer to wander around down here in the dark?”

“It’s not so dark,” he chuckled, though it was flat and bitter. For a moment the greenish light shining up from the water intensified, almost as if responding to his words. He stared down at the glowing patterns formed by the ripples, fascinated.

“But it’s dangerous. Genevieve almost ordered us to leave.”

“She should have. I would have.”

Fiona looked to Maric for help, but the man merely shrugged helplessly. He barely knew Duncan, but she’d assumed they had formed some kind of connection during their days traveling together. Still, what was he supposed to say? He stared at the lad with compassion, maybe even with understanding, but he remained silent.

She grabbed on to the nearest outcropping of the white structure, testing it to make sure it wasn’t going to collapse under her weight. It was surprisingly solid, and at the same time it felt vaguely coarse and slimy, as if its surface were made out of sandy sludge just short of dissolving entirely into goo. It left a pale, gritty residue on her fingers as well. She pulled herself slowly up, feeling the heels of her boots sink into the muck, and gingerly made her way to where Duncan was sitting.

“Be careful,” Maric called after her.

She knelt down next to Duncan, careful not to sit in the sludge as he was. It was plastered all over his leathers, she noticed, like he had been wallowing in it.

They didn’t speak for several minutes. Fiona just looked out over the green water as he did, admiring the play of the light upon the ceiling. The strange murmuring continued, ebbing and flowing just as the lake was. She noticed odd shadows moving beneath the water, as well. Fish, here? The source of the sounds, perhaps?

She reached out with her Grey Warden senses and felt nothing. Nothing at all. The thought that after so much corruption in the tunnels they would be here and it would be completely free of the taint was worrying, but she put it aside for now.

“I suppose I’ll need to go back?” he asked her.

“Not unless you think you can reach the surface on your own.”

“Probably not.”

With a sigh he stood up, wiping his hands on his tunic. She stood, too, and led him back to where Maric waited anxiously. Maric reached out and helped them both down, one after the other, and then turned to regard Duncan cautiously.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The lad shrugged. “You know, I never wanted to become a Grey Warden. I probably shouldn’t have been one. Genevieve made a mistake in picking me, I think.”

Maric’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I think you mentioned that once before. Why didn’t you want to become a Grey Warden? You didn’t volunteer, you mean?”

“The Wardens have the Right of Conscription,” Fiona explained. “It dates back to the First Blight, a long time ago. Everyone was so grateful to the order for finally defeating the darkspawn that they gave them a number of powers, one of which was the right to recruit anyone they wished. If the order wants you, you’re recruited. End of story.”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

“It’s not a right they invoke much these days. It’s been so long since the last Blight that some people think the order isn’t important any longer, that the darkspawn will never return to the surface. The order has to be careful not to push anyone too far. That’s how we’ve become so few.”

Duncan dug out a cloth from his belt and wiped irritably at the white sludge that clung to his boots and his jerkin. She noticed that wherever he wiped it off, the black leather was stained to a murky green underneath. Suddenly she was relieved she hadn’t sat down in it.

“Genevieve pushed it with me,” he said. “I was going to be executed.”

“Executed?” Maric asked, surprised.

“I’d murdered someone.” The lad glanced away, shadows crossing behind his eyes. Fiona could see them, and wondered if Maric could see them, too. She knew what a hard life could drive someone to do. She knew only a little of what Duncan had been through, enough to feel sympathy for him. “I’d already been thrown in a dungeon to await my hanging when Genevieve came to see me. They let this armored woman into my cell, and the way she looked at me, I thought she was supposed to be my executioner. I thought maybe they’d decided to just have me beheaded right there.”

“That’d be an easy mistake to make. Your commander is a grim, grim woman.”

“But instead she sat me down and explained to me that she could take me out of there. She could make me a Grey Warden, and if I survived the Joining I’d be a warrior, I’d fight for a noble cause for once.”

“So you said yes.”

Duncan’s face became solemn. “I said no.”

“An odd choice, waiting to be hanged as you were.”

The lad squirmed, looking uncomfortable. For a long minute he didn’t say anything, but just when Fiona was about to call a halt to the conversation and suggest they return to the others, he sighed. “The man I killed was a Grey Warden.”

“Ah.”

“He caught me robbing his room at the inn. The owner had tipped me off, assuming the fellow was going to be gone for a while. I didn’t even know who or what he was. He pulled his sword and warned me to give back the ring I’d found, but I refused. It was valuable, I could tell, and I’d rightfully taken it.”

Maric grinned. “Rightfully being used in the loosest sense there?”

“I’d been starving. The winter had been hard.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’d never killed anyone before. I wouldn’t have killed him then, either, but the fight was so long. He was so determined to get that ring back, he wouldn’t stop. I’d meant to just put my dagger to his throat, to force him to submit… .” He trailed off, sighing again.

Maric seemed confused. “Why did you care so much?”

“You think I should enjoy killing someone?”

“No.” The King looked puzzled. Fiona glared at him, warning him off this subject, but he ignored her. “The first man I ever killed was out of desperation. I bashed his head open on a rock. I didn’t enjoy it, either, but he’d left me no choice.”

“He thanked me.” Duncan’s voice became a whisper as he remembered the moment. “I’d cut his throat, and he was bleeding over everything. I was desperate and trying to cover the wound, trying to stop the blood, and he got this look on his face like he was grateful. Like he was at peace. He grabbed my shoulder and stopped me and I looked straight at him, and then he thanked me.” The lad ran a hand nervously through his black hair and turned away. “It … stuck with me. What kind of man would thank someone for murdering him? What kind of life must he have had? The watch burst in and arrested me. They dragged me in front of a judge and he was the one who told me the man had been a Grey Warden.”

“So Genevieve recruited someone who’d killed a member of her own order?”

“She said it was impressive, the fact that I’d managed it at all.”

“But you refused.”

He chuckled ruefully. “I just wondered if being a Grey Warden would make me like him. Or like her. Would I be thanking someone someday for cutting my throat? I couldn’t do it. I even told her what he’d said, and she just nodded and left my cell without saying a word.”

Maric looked at the lad incredulously, but said nothing. Duncan shrugged and cleared his throat, seemingly nonchalant. “It didn’t matter. She showed up at my execution the next day and told them she was invoking the Right of Conscription before they could get the noose around my neck. Boy, they didn’t like that.”

Fiona snorted. “No, they sure didn’t.” She remembered the controversy that had sparked, not just with the Lord Mayor but also within the order. They thought that Genevieve had gone mad. Recruiting the murderer of one of their own? And not only recruiting him, but against his will? The Commander had been typically adamant, however. She had gone to that cell to see what kind of man Duncan was, and had seen something in him that she had never explained to anyone.

Duncan had had a difficult time of it when she’d first brought him to the fortress at Montsimmard. None of the others had wanted to associate with him, so he took his meals alone in his cell. Kept mostly to himself. As the most junior member of the order, Fiona had been forced to see him through his Joining. She had initially refused to do it, but Genevieve hadn’t cared. In the end, Duncan had been a surprise. She had expected him to be a worthless criminal, and instead he’d turned out to be something quite different.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Nicolas is grieving. He’s not thinking rationally. You can’t take what he says so personally, Duncan.”

“Even if he’s right?”

“Hey,” Maric interrupted. “You brought that dragon down to the ground. If you hadn’t done that, it could have killed any of us.”

“Yes, but it should have been me. I jumped on its back; it should have been me it snapped up, and not Julien.”

Fiona could see the guilt in him. It broke her heart a little. She reached up and brushed the dark hair out of his eyes, and he ignored it. “So we should be happier if you died, instead?” She smiled sadly at him. “Oh, Duncan. He saved you, and I bet he’d do it again if he had the choice. And you would have done the same for him.”

The lad looked dubious. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

She pushed him, smiling, and he allowed himself to be moved. The three of them quietly began walking back up the shore, but Maric suddenly hesitated.

“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.

“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.