The Calling

14

Fiona felt relieved to get out of there finally.

The group all but fled the ruined palace after Kell re united with Hafter. The hound barked at his master repeatedly, almost as if admonishing the fact that he and the others had left him alone for so long. She wasn’t sure if the hound had slept, or if he had been somewhere with them in the Fade. Dogs dreamed, didn’t they? Either way, he was clearly relieved, as was Kell. The hunter said little, and just patted Hafter’s head and smiled sadly.

They took Nicolas’s body with them. It didn’t seem right to leave him amid all those dwarves who had died so horribly. Kell and Maric carried him between them, neither speaking a word as Genevieve led them out. Fiona followed along, hugging her arms around herself and trying to regain some warmth. She couldn’t stop shivering. The more that nightmare lingered in her thoughts, the colder she felt.

They left Nicolas outside the ruined palace, at the foot of the long stairs. It took them a while to collect enough loose rubble to pile on top of him until they had a cairn of sorts. Genevieve laid his black cloak on top, and they hung their heads for a long moment. The cavern held nothing but oppressive silence for them.

“It feels wrong not to bury him,” Fiona murmured.

“It was his choice,” Genevieve snapped.

She couldn’t argue with that. Nobody could. Were they supposed to march all the way back to the underground lake to allow Nicolas’s body to rest with that of his lover? The idea had appeal, but they all knew it was impossible. The darkspawn would surely catch up to them long before then. This would have to do.

It seemed to her that there should have been some kind of discussion then. They needed to talk about what they had been led into, and where they were going. Fiona felt like there needed to be some recognition of what had happened, even if her mind screamed at her not to think about it. Every time she remembered that whip cutting into her flesh, her thoughts veered away violently. But the others seemed no better off than her, and so they all numbly followed after Genevieve as she led them back into the thaig.

For hours they stumbled through the ruined streets. Fiona barely noticed the city itself anymore, as wrapped up as she was in her own darkness. The dream had felt so real. The demon had impersonated the human man who bought her from the slavers that took her in after her parents had died. She’d had no idea back then who those kind men really were, only that they offered her food and a warm bed to sleep in. Then an even kinder man came to take her from them, and she found herself in his luxurious home and thought herself the luckiest little girl in the entire alienage.

How very naive she had been. Count Dorian, as she learned her new master’s name to be, had been in search of an elven whore he could keep as a pet, something he could put in a pretty dress and bring with him on one of his many trips to the capital, like baggage. The Countess had permitted him his new toy, and completely ignored Fiona as she went about her own dalliances. Fiona lived in that house hold a prisoner, invisible and not even knowing that any of it was wrong, only that she needed to please the Count or suffer his wrath. Often his wrath came whether he was pleased or not.

Escaping the man had not been easy. Fortune had brought her to the notice of an elderly mage on the streets of Val Royeaux, though the Count’s fury when he discovered it had been immeasurable. She still flinched when she thought of how he had whipped her that night. He had gouged and bled her until she had pleaded for death, and he had denied her even that.

And then she had grown angry. She had dug deep down inside and demanded that what ever talent for magic she had, a talent in which she did not even truly believe until that moment, come forth and save her. And it had. She had killed the Count with raw magical force, and lay bleeding beside his corpse as exhaustion took her.

The demons had come, then. They had whispered soft things, promising that they could take all the pain away. So desperate was their desire to possess her they nipped away at her mind, and it was all she could do to lie there and cry silent tears as she resisted.

The Countess found her in the dungeon, unconscious and lying in a pool of her own blood. Almost dead. Why the woman had contacted the Circle of Magi to come and take Fiona away, she had no idea. She never saw the woman again. Perhaps the Countess had felt pity? Perhaps she had felt some gratitude for the elf who had finally slain her cruel husband and transformed her into a rich widow? She could just as easily have called on the watch, or let her die.

The Circle, sadly, had been little better. At least the nightmares grew fainter in time. She thought that she had finally put them behind her, but apparently it was not so. It felt like an old wound had been ripped open inside her heart, leaving it raw and bleeding.

They were just outside a field full of so much rubble and debris that it was impossible to tell what it all might have once been, when Kell picked up Bregan’s trail again. The hunter held his hand up to call for a halt and knelt, running his fingers along the ground and closing his pale eyes. He lifted his head slightly as if catching a scent, and softly said, “I found him.”

Everyone knew who he meant. The effect on Genevieve was electrifying. She almost pounced on Kell, demanding that he follow the trail immediately. He stared up at her, and for a moment Fiona thought he might challenge her authority once again. He didn’t, however, merely nodded and stood to lead the way.

Genevieve almost vibrated, she was so intent. The change in her from the surly and silent commander that had left the ruin was marked. Was she still as keen as before on finding her brother? It seemed so, though Fiona felt like she had to remind herself why they were even down here. They had only been in the Deep Roads, what? A couple of days? It felt like forever.

Duncan walked beside her for a time. She looked over at him and he smiled sadly. He meant it to be reassuring, she assumed, but it just reminded her that his heart had been broken in the Fade as well. She didn’t know exactly what he had gone through, but she knew enough. He looked older.

“Why did the demon want you?” he asked her suddenly.

“Because they become very powerful when they possess a mage.”

“It seemed plenty powerful already.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It had sustained itself in our world so long, perhaps it had only a little power left. Perhaps a mage is all it ever wanted. It’s in the nature of demons to covet what they can’t have.”

He nodded, chewing on the idea.

“Thank you for coming for me,” she whispered to him.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he said. She followed his nod and saw he meant Maric, who walked not far from them, too lost in thought to realize he was being discussed.

“Why? Because he killed the demon?”

“He’s the one who broke out of his dream first, and came to get the rest of us. He insisted we had to save you. Without him, I don’t know that I would have left my … I would still be there. For certain.”

Duncan looked away, frowning to hide his pain. What sort of dream would hold a boy who had grown up alone in the slums of Val Royeaux, she wondered? She didn’t want to ask, and instead clutched his hand and gave it a warm squeeze.

They reached the massive doorway that led out of Ortan thaig after another hour of picking their way through piles of stone and masonry. Maric indicated that he had gone through this door before, and that his group had first encountered darkspawn several hours afterwards. Fiona exchanged glances with Kell and Utha, although they said nothing. They sensed no darkspawn nearby. It seemed odd, after how the creatures had hounded them so far. Perhaps when the darkspawn picked up their trail again, she would be wishing for just this sort of oddness.

The great iron door had clearly been bashed in long ago by some powerful force. Ogres, she assumed. The great blue brutes were the work horses of the darkspawn when they appeared, and whenever the attack on this thaig happened they would have almost certainly numbered among the horde. Still, it was impressive. She could almost picture the creatures swarming in through the breach, washing over what ever dwarven defenses remained like a dark tide.

Hafter sniffed among the rubble in front of the door, making anxious sounds. Then he lifted his head and looked into the shadows beyond the door and whined. Fiona was inclined to agree.

Beyond, they were back in the Deep Roads. It did not take long for them to start seeing the familiar signs of darkspawn corruption, so thick here they could not really make out the stone any longer. It was a sickening layer of skin that covered everything, and it felt unnerving, squishing as it did beneath her boots. The idea of touching it with bare skin made her shudder in revulsion.

There was also a new sound. Perhaps sound was not the right word, as she felt it far more than she heard it. She had been feeling it for some time, she realized. Sometimes it seemed like something whispering her name, or at least she thought it was her name. At other times it was little more than the softest, most alluring notes of a chorus carried to her from afar.

It had something to do with the darkspawn. That was all she knew.

They traveled for a long time. She wasn’t even certain just how long, and kept her mind focused on maintaining the light from her staff and putting one foot in front of the other. Her mind cried out for rest, but she nearly felt glad for the fatigue. She suspected they all did, as their pace made it almost impossible to think.

Kell remained in front, his faithful hound keeping step, and he stopped every now and again to kneel and furrow his brow as he studied the invisible trail. How he could pinpoint a single Grey Warden amid all this darkspawn filth, Fiona couldn’t begin to guess. But he did it. He turned down several passages and kept them going, until finally they reached another section where the dwarven masonry had collapsed, opening up into the inky black caverns below … the true home of the darkspawn, underneath the Deep Roads.

“There.” He pointed.

Genevieve stepped forward, enough to gaze into the breach and see that the debris leading into the cavern below was indeed scalable. “Then we go there,” she stated unequivocally.

“No, we do not. First we talk.”

She brushed by him. “I am not interested in talking.” She marched on ahead, scrambling down the rubble into the shadows below. Fiona went to follow, but Kell gave her a direct look and shook his head no. She paused, and so did the others behind her.

They waited. Genevieve could only go down so far before the lack of light prevented her from going farther. Fiona heard her eventually stop and sigh in exasperation. She turned around and marched back up the rubble until she stood in front of them. Her face filled with silent fury, she crossed her arms and glared at Kell. Hafter growled menacingly beside him, but he waved a hand to shush the hound and he complied.

“Is this to be another challenge, then?” she demanded.

The hunter studied her for a moment with his pale eyes, his expression reflective. The man was inscrutable at the best of times, and right now Fiona had no idea whether he was angry or simply concerned. “Genevieve, we have followed you,” he said slowly, “as you rushed heedlessly into one danger after another. We followed you into the palace. This needs to change.”

“We are not turning back.”

“I am not speaking of turning back.”

“The palace was not my fault,” she insisted. “We were led there by an illusion, one that tricked you just as it did me.”

“We were led there by your obsession and your lack of caution.” He was picking his words warily. Duncan glanced at Fiona with alarm, although he said nothing. She had to agree. This wasn’t likely to go anywhere good.

“And?” Genevieve demanded. “What do you propose, then? I am your commander. Are you attempting to replace me?”

“I have no interest in leadership,” Kell replied. “But I am the senior Grey Warden here after you. It falls on me to ensure this task of ours is performed to our best ability, and that requires caution you refuse to provide.”

“Maker take your caution!” she snapped angrily.

His eyes narrowed. “See reason, Commander.”

Maric stepped forward from behind Fiona. “I agree,” he said, his tone as reasonable as she’d ever heard it. “I’m willing to risk my life if it will save my country, Warden, but I’ve no interest in throwing it away.”

“Is that what you all think?” Her eyes went from him, to Kell, and then to Duncan. They remained on the lad, though Fiona wasn’t certain why. “You think I wish to throw my life away?” Duncan looked down at the ground, his expression awkward.

“I don’t know,” Kell responded. “We could all die. But if this is how we continue, we will die for certain.”

She scowled at him, her jaw clenching. Her arms uncrossed and hung by her sides, her hands clenched into fists. “Thank you, Kell,” she said crisply. “Your opinion is noted. Let us proceed into the cavern below.”

He hesitated. “I think you misunderstand what I mean. You—”

Genevieve’s gauntleted fist flew so quickly, Fiona didn’t even see it coming. Kell did, however, and he leaped back, adroitly evading her swing. “I said we proceed!” she roared, her face red and shaking from berserk rage.

With a loud growl, Hafter launched himself at Genevieve. She had time only to cover her face as the hound barreled into her, latching its jaws around one of her gauntlets and bearing the both of them down to the ground. They landed heavily, sliding along the ground. The hound whipped his head rapidly back and forth, snarling as Genevieve struggled to get him off.

“Hafter! No!” Kell snapped.

The dog didn’t listen. It continued to fight viciously, and even when the hunter moved in to try to physically pull him off he didn’t respond. Finally Genevieve gave a great heave, shoving the large hound off of her.

Hafter landed only a foot away, Genevieve’s gauntlet still in his mouth. He immediately scrambled back to his feet, dropping the gauntlet and ready to charge back at her again. Utha darted in and grabbed the hound around the neck. Hafter snapped at her in surprise, but then turned his attention back to Genevieve, fangs bared.

Kell held his hand out to Genevieve. “I apologize, Commander. He—”

The hunter didn’t dodge the second punch. She struck him across the face hard, shouting in fury, and he stumbled back. Hafter barked loudly, outraged by the fact he wasn’t being allowed to protect his master. Genevieve jumped up and ran at Kell, but this time Maric and Duncan were able to stop her. They tackled her from behind, and in her berserk rage she was almost able to get away from them. Her bare fist was pulled back to strike Kell, who stood stunned only a foot away, yet Duncan held it back.

And that was when Fiona saw it. All along the Commander’s hand, and continuing down into her wrist and likely farther, was an ugly stain. The very sort of stain that Duncan had told her about earlier. It wasn’t a bruise, or anything natural. It looked as if her flesh were rotting.

She gasped in shock.

Utha saw it, too. Then Maric and Duncan saw it clearly in the light. Genevieve noticed what they were doing and followed their gaze to her hand, and saw that its corrupted flesh was plainly visible. The fight simply drained out of her. She let her hand drop and went limp, and both Maric and Duncan stepped carefully away from her.

“What is that?” Maric asked, staring at her hand in horror.

Genevieve grimaced. She walked over to where the gauntlet lay and picked it up. For a moment she said nothing, simply wiped off the hound’s spittle and ignored the fact that Hafter growled at her viciously from nearby. “It is the darkspawn taint,” she said, almost too quietly to be heard.

“But …”

“It catches up with us all eventually, Maric.”

Kell stepped forward, rubbing his chin where Genevieve’s fist had connected. He seemed chagrined but not angry. With a gesture and a serious look, the hunter quieted Hafter, and then tugged one of his own leather gauntlets off and held up his hand. A stain was visible all along his forearm, much smaller than Genevieve’s but still prominent. “I have it as well,” he said flatly.

Utha rolled up a sleeve of her brown robe. A series of dark stains traveled up much the length of her arm. She made several gestures and Kell nodded. “It began when we came into the Deep Roads,” he said, “along with the dreams.”

Genevieve looked disturbed, her brow furrowing as she glanced from Kell to Utha. “I thought it was just me,” she muttered.

“If you had spoken to us, we would have told you.”

There was little she could say in response to that. She stood there, looking lost and uncomfortable as a long moment of silence passed. Fiona shot Duncan a quizzical look and he shook his head vigorously. He didn’t have the same stains, then. Neither did she, that she knew of. Yet.

“Why is this happening?” Fiona asked, breaking the silence. “Is it because we’re so close to the darkspawn?”

Genevieve chewed on the idea. “There is no record of Grey Wardens being affected this way. I thought my time had simply come. Perhaps there is something else at work.”

“Such as?”

The Commander said nothing, merely staring at the ground. Kell replaced his gauntlet and was similarly quiet. Utha merely frowned. They didn’t know, she realized. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

“Then perhaps there isn’t a Blight at all,” Duncan suggested. As the others looked at him, he nodded at the idea. “We don’t know for sure that the darkspawn are behind this. They’re just here in the Deep Roads. This could be something else entirely, you said so yourself.”

Genevieve nodded hesitantly. “Still,” she said, “something is very wrong here.”

“But we do not know it involves the darkspawn,” Kell murmured, “or the Blight. Surely our only mission is to prevent a Blight from occurring. If that is not what is happening …” He let the thought hang in the air, and the Grey Wardens exchanged disturbed glances.

“But there is a Blight,” Maric announced.

Fiona looked at the man, and saw him shy away from the curious looks of the others. “I didn’t want to tell you this,” he said hesitantly, “but there is a reason I gave you an audience when you came to Denerim. There is a reason I believed you.”

“And here I thought it was the Commander’s charm,” Duncan quipped.

Maric ignored him. “After my mother died, Loghain and I were lost in the Korcari Wilds trying to get away from the Orlesians,” he began, his voice solemn. “We met an old woman, a witch who saved us. She gave me a warning. She told me that a Blight was coming to Ferelden.” There was something more to his story, Fiona could see it. But he stopped there, snapping his mouth shut.

Genevieve pondered the tale, and looked at Maric curiously. “A witch hiding in the Wilds? And you believe what she said?”

“There were … other things she said that were true.”

“Magic cannot see the future, Maric,” Fiona told him.

“But there are visions. Mages can see them; you said so yourself.” He let out a long, ragged breath. “I don’t know if I trust her. I paid a high price for the witch’s words, however, and it just seems like too much of a coincidence if it isn’t true.”

Fiona saw the shadow behind the man’s eyes. She didn’t know the full story of this witch, but she could see that its implications disturbed him. And he believed in what he had been told. But that was not so incredible, was it? Fiona believed in Genevieve’s vision. They all did. It was not difficult to believe that at the root of these visions lay the Blight, warnings against the coming disaster.

Genevieve nodded firmly. Her conviction had returned redoubled; Fiona could see the zeal burning in her eyes. “This is no coincidence,” she declared. “We proceed with the mission. Carefully.” The last she said with a sour glance at Kell.

He shook his head, frowning. “We are exhausted, Commander. You are exhausted. We have been through a great deal. Let us take a rest before we head below.”

“But we are here! We must press on, quickly!”

“The brooches continue to hide us from the darkspawn,” Kell said, pointing at the onyx brooch on his vest. “And we will need our strength. We rest here.”

Genevieve stared at him as if he had gone mad, but finally she relented. “If you insist,” she said stiffly. Without another word, she marched over to the nearest wall and unslung her pack.

It seemed they were stopping after all. The dream, when it came, was similar to the hundreds of dreams Fiona had suffered since she’d become a Grey Warden. Before, however, it had always felt as if she was looking on the dream from afar, hazy and easy to forget. Now it was crystal clear.

Fiona stood on a battlefield littered with dead men. All of them were soldiers in heavy armor, knights wearing the griffon standard of the order. Each had been brutally slaughtered. The smell of blood and decay hung thick and cloying in the air, the buzzing sound of flies nipping at her senses.

Overhead, the sky filled with an endless, roiling black cloud. It looked like ink spreading slowly in water, a great stain that blotted out the horizon. She had been told about this. The first sign of the Blight, said the Grey Wardens, is found in the clouds. When the mighty dragon rises, its corruption touches the world and spreads.

She was alone on that field of corpses. All alone. The wind picked up, a sickly breeze that carried with it the stench of carrion. A gloom fell upon her, and she stumbled as she watched something rise from out of the field of bodies nearby. It was enormous. A great, black thing that was as cold and terrible as anything she could have imagined.

Fear pulsed through her. Her heart raced, and she looked away. She didn’t want to see it. She threw her hands up in front of her eyes not to see it. Yet still she felt it coming. Her foot caught between two corpses and made her fall back on top of them. Dead flesh pressed against her and still she covered her eyes. Still she felt the darkness surging ever closer to her.

It was coming. And it was coming for her.

Fiona screamed in terror—

—and then awoke. It took her a moment at first to realize where she was, and that the darkness was expected. The campfire had died down to small flames, offering only the faintest illumination. She could see someone lying on the other side of the fire, facing away from her and shrouded in shadow. Perhaps it was Kell? Hafter lay nearby, easily identifiable by his mound of fur and his heavy breathing. Otherwise the silence was almost oppressive, as if it forced in around her from all sides.

“Are you all right?” a voice whispered behind her. It made her jump, and a gentle hand touched her shoulder to calm her down. “I’m sorry. I just heard you thrashing.”

It was Maric. Her heart beat a little too fast for her liking and she sat up. Sweat covered her face and had soaked into the padding under her chain, making it uncomfortable and itchy. The man looked up at her from beside the fire, his eyes bleary with sleep and his blond hair askew. His normally silvery armor was now dull with dried blood and grime. “I’m fine,” she whispered back. “I apologize for waking you,” she added as an afterthought, and heard him settle back to sleep.

Fiona stared into the fire. Utha was also nearby, sleeping quietly, as was Duncan. Genevieve was obviously on watch, no doubt out there in the thick shadows that lurked not a foot away. The group seemed so few now. She clutched her arms around herself and shivered. She hadn’t thought it was so cold down here before. Perhaps Duncan’s complaints were finally getting to her.

She picked up her staff and very quietly stood, not wanting to disturb the others. Utha stirred in her slumber, shivering and pawing her hands at some invisible enemy.

Fiona could sympathize. What the others were going through, she couldn’t even imagine. As they had retired, she had carefully inspected herself as well as she could without completely removing her armor and her skirt. She found no traces of the corruption on her skin, and that was a relief. Really, there shouldn’t be any. She had been a Grey Warden only a little longer than Duncan—her Calling was so far away she shouldn’t even have to think about such things. Yet in Genevieve’s own words, some other force was at work here.

With a bit of concentration she willed her staff to glow. Not so brightly as to wake the others, but enough so she could see where she was stepping. She didn’t want to travel far, just enough to get some breathing room. The dream awaited her if she went back to sleep, or perhaps other nightmares even worse. It was better to walk.

She stopped at the edge of the cluster of rubble that lay strewn over the ground in the crumbled passage. Farther on there was only more of the moist darkspawn filth, and she didn’t want to touch that again. She had seen enough of the corruption to last a lifetime, and somewhere off in the far distance was that strange sound, the beautiful whispering.

She didn’t want to listen to it, but couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out what the whisper was saying. Was it a song? Was it a name? It almost seemed that it was calling out to her, stroking her soul ever so softly… .

Fiona heard someone approaching behind her and she jumped. She turned around to see Maric approaching cautiously. “You can’t sleep either, I see,” he whispered.

“I thought you could.”

“No,” he said. Then, more emphatically: “No, not at all.”

“I wish I hadn’t tried.”

Maric removed his fur cloak and spread it on a part of the ground where the rubble was mostly absent. He seated himself on the edge, leaning against the wall and issuing a tired sigh. Then he looked over at her and offered her a seat on the other side. She hesitated only briefly, propping her staff up against the wall. She didn’t need to maintain direct contact to keep it lit, after all.

They sat in silence for a time. Finally Maric turned to speak to her, but before he could say anything she interrupted him. “Thank you,” she blurted out.

Maric paused, tilting his head a little to the side as if she had caught him completely off guard. “What for?”

“For coming to get me. Duncan tells me that you were the first one to break out of the trap, and that you insisted on finding me.” It was a bit difficult for her to get the words out, considering how rude she had been to the man on several occasions now. If he would simply stop staring at her, this would be much easier. “How did you do it?” she asked him.

He shook his head as if clearing it, and stared at her in confusion. “How did I do what? Find you?”

“How did you break out of your dream?”

“Ah.” He nodded soberly. “I promised you that I would repay you.”

“And you always keep your promises?”

“I try. It was enough to remind me that I couldn’t stay where I was, even if I wanted to. I knew I had to try to help you, if I could.”

His sincerity was enough to move her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away quickly, feeling even more foolish. She had completely misjudged the man, it seemed. All the expectations she had laid on him for being this king and this figure of legend, and it turned out he was simply a good man. How unexpected.

Maric glanced away, allowing her a moment to compose herself. “Thank you, then,” she repeated. “I … didn’t expect you to repay me this way, or any way, but it means a great deal.”

He nodded slowly, and then turned back toward her. His demeanor was completely serious, and his gaze intense. “I wanted to speak to you,” he said, “to tell you something. That man from your dream. I am not him. I know what you think of me, but I am not like that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what he did to you, but …”

“I was a slave,” she answered, as easily as she could. “The Count bought me from slavers when I was seven years old, and I was his pet until I was fourteen.” The words came out in a rush, and she felt the flush crawl up her cheeks. She had never spoken of this to anyone. It was a part of her life she had buried, pushed down into shadows never to be thought of again. Yet she felt like she had to tell him. “What you saw, that was my life until I finally murdered him and escaped to the Circle.”

Maric’s eyes were wide with horror. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What is there to say?” She shrugged. “Slavery is illegal in the Empire, but it still goes on. Nobody pays attention if an elf disappears here or there. Nobody cares what happens to us in the alienage. Wealthy, powerful men like the Count get to do what ever they like, to whomever they like, so long as nobody cares.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I was lucky. I had the talent for magic, a curse for every other person and yet for me it meant freedom. It meant an escape to the Circle, the lone elf in the tower, uneducated and frightened of anyone who even came near me.” She grimaced at the memory. “The mages were just men, I discovered. Capricious and sad and bigoted just like everywhere else. I swore I wouldn’t let them keep me, and I escaped them, too.”

“To the Grey Wardens.”

She nodded. “Some people look on becoming a Grey Warden as a duty. Maybe even a punishment. Duncan had to be forced. I begged to be recruited.” The memory was an unpleasant one. The Joining ritual that had followed it was even less so. Drink the blood of darkspawn, they said, and if you survive it will only be for a time. You will be a Grey Warden until the Calling comes at last. And she had drunk it gladly. And she hadn’t looked back.

They sat there on the cloak, staring out together into the shadows. Finally it was Maric who spoke. “My mother was killed in front of me,” he said quietly. “I had to become the leader of her rebellion, something I felt completely unprepared for.”

“You don’t need to tell me this,” she murmured.

“No, I do.” He looked at her, his expression grim. “There was an elven woman named Katriel. A spy from Orlais that I fell in love with, and she with me. She saved my life, and yet when I found out what she was, I didn’t give her a chance. I killed her.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

He chuckled ruefully. “You must be the only one.”

“Was she … the one in your dream?”

He nodded. “I would have done anything to take back that day. Yet I couldn’t. I had to go on, because Ferelden needed me. I married a woman who was in love with my best friend, because Ferelden needed me. And when she died I kept going, despite the fact that everything in my life felt empty, because Ferelden needed me.” He looked at her again, his eyes sad. “Everything was because Ferelden needed me.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Everyone has nightmares, Fiona.”

She felt Maric take her hand, and he squeezed it. She was drawn to him almost magnetically, and found herself leaning to give him a tentative kiss. She pulled away only a fraction afterwards. He looked as surprised as she did, though not displeased.

Then she leaned in again, more urgently, and their kiss had passion. She felt him breathing against her, and accepted his arms as they closed around her.

She wanted this. She wanted to be with a good man, and forget for just a moment about where they were, and what had happened to them. She needed a moment’s solace, and she suspected he did, too. Pulling away from the heat of his touch, she tugged desperately at her chain mail, undoing the leather straps that held it down. She pulled at the padded undershirt, sighing with relief as she finally got it off.

Maric hesitated. “Fiona, I … perhaps we shouldn’t …”

She ignored him, reaching over and undoing the straps that held his breastplate in place. He seemed pained, struggling with himself despite his obvious desire. “But what about the others?”

“I don’t care.”

“But … here?”

“Forget where we are.” She pulled the breastplate over his head and he let her, staring helplessly. When it was done, she starting working on the straps for his pauldrons, and after a moment’s hesitation he began to help. They tugged and pulled and twisted until slowly they got his bulky, heavy armor off.

She untied his stained and soiled undershirt and removed it, unveiling bare skin. He was covered in bruises and cuts, as no doubt was she. His blue eyes were locked on her with an intensity that threatened to burn her up. The King was a handsome man; she had to give him that. But not all handsome men were also bad men.

“Are you certain?” he whispered, his breathing husky. “There are … bad memories for me down here. I don’t know if …”

“Shhhhh,” Fiona hushed him quietly, putting a finger to his lips. He stopped and looked at her with such an ache of loneliness it almost broke her heart. She slowly stroked his cheek. “I am tired of pain. So tired. Aren’t you?”

His answer came as he leaned in, his kiss gentle as if he thought her fragile. And then another followed, and then another.

Damned be the darkness, she thought.

She let the light of the staff extinguish.