The Calling

EPILOGUE

“Your Majesty, Duncan and Fiona of the Grey Wardens have arrived.”

Maric looked up from his throne and nodded at the chamberlain, who was wearing his night robes and carry ing a lantern and looking more than a little confused as to why he was up in the middle of the night announcing guests in the throne room.

“I know,” he said. “Show them in immediately, and then leave us alone.” The man bowed and quickly withdrew. Normally Maric imagined that the chamberlain would have reported the unusual activity to Loghain, but he had ordered the man not to in the most forceful manner possible. Considering that Loghain was also conveniently in Gwaren for at least another month, it would be difficult for the man to disobey.

Convincing Loghain to leave without arousing his suspicions had been a challenge. After leaving the mage’s tower, the man had been completely unwilling to let Maric out of his sight for even a second, not that he didn’t have plenty of justification. Maric had snuck out on Loghain, after all. He had snuck out on the kingdom, and on his son.

During the entire ride back to Denerim, the man had been tight-lipped and furious and had not spoken to Maric at all. Then, after days of silence, when they arrived at the city gates, Loghain had turned to him and made one terse statement: “There will be no Blight, Maric.” It was as much a promise as it was a condemnation.

No, he had not forgotten the witch’s words, had he? He probably never would.

It had been many months since Fiona and Duncan had left. They had been recalled to Weisshaupt Fortress in the distant Anderfels to explain the incident with the Architect to what ever powers that be existed within the Grey Wardens. Maric had been reluctant to see Fiona go. With the flurry of activity following his return to Denerim, they’d had precious little time even to see each other.

So she had left him with only the briefest of farewells. He thought then that it might be the last time he ever saw her. With the state of her corruption, it seemed almost certain that the Grey Wardens would send her on her Calling. She would be dead and it would be doubtful if he would even be told. So she had said good-bye, and that was that. The fact that Duncan had sent word that Fiona was returning with him had been surprising.

The doors to the chamber opened; the chamberlain ushered Fiona and Duncan in before withdrawing with another bow and shutting the doors behind him. Both of them looked different. Duncan had grown a short beard, and it looked good on him. He was no longer in his dark leathers, but now wore a suit of heavy armor and a tunic with the Grey Warden’s griffon emblazoned on it.

Fiona, meanwhile, was wearing a long red cloak that covered her entire body. Her black hair was slightly longer, and her pale skin looked reddened, as if she had been spending a great deal of time in the sun.

“Come in,” he called to them. “I can barely see you in this light.”

They walked forward, both of them solemn, until they stood before the throne. He got up and strode down to meet them personally, shaking Duncan’s hand and then turning to Fiona. He hesitated. Those dark elven eyes of hers were looking at him cautiously, even guardedly. Their entire manner was strangely reticent.

“I suppose you have bad news for me, then,” he said with a sigh.

“Not … exactly,” Fiona murmured.

Duncan looked around at the dark throne room. There were just a couple of torches lit, bathing most of it in shadow. “Strange time to ask us to come, Your Majesty. I must admit, I’ve never felt more a thief than creeping through these dark halls in the middle of the night.”

“I’d rather Loghain not hear about you coming. He’s still not convinced the Grey Wardens weren’t in league with Remille, and I’m not sure he’ll forgive me for telling your order it could return to Ferelden for good. I think you can expect he’ll be watching your every movement like a hawk when you do.”

Duncan nodded. “There’s only going to be a handful of us, at least until we recruit some new members.” He smiled almost bashfully. “I’m to be second-in-command. It feels a bit strange, actually.”

Maric arched a brow at Fiona. “Oh? They made you Commander?”

Again the dubious look. “No,” she said. Then she turned and put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Could you … ?” He nodded as if this was expected, and with a brief bow to Maric he turned and walked out of the chamber.

So that left Fiona and him alone. Now he wasn’t sure what to think. She gestured to the steps that led up to the throne and they sat down on them. For a moment they were simply silent, and the only sound was the crackling of the torches nearby. She looked beautiful in the firelight. The sunburn had left her with freckles, he noticed, but he didn’t see any sign of the taint on her neck or her hands. Had it not spread?

“How are you?” she finally asked him. The way she looked at him with concern told him the question was more than an inquiry after his health.

“Ah,” he nodded slowly. “I’m … better. Cailan was as upset as you can imagine. He still can’t believe that I’m not just going to disappear again; the matron has to coax him off of my legs every time I see him. He’s like me in a lot of ways. I can’t believe I didn’t see that before.”

“And how is it being king?”

“I’ve thrown myself back into it since I left. Loghain isn’t sure whether to be impressed or infuriated, I think. He’d taken over so many of my responsibilities, not that I’d left him any choice. I’ve invited the new Empress of Orlais to meet with me next month; that had him ranting and raving about here in a fit. Still, I think it …” He paused, watching Fiona’s eyes tear up as she looked at him affectionately. “You don’t want to hear this,” he said. “It’s boring. I’m boring you.”

“No, I’m glad you’re doing so well. The way you talk about these things, you sound excited about them. You should hear yourself.” She smiled at him and wiped away the tears, even though more came.

“Well, I guess I like boring things.” He grinned at her. “But I’d rather hear about you. The taint … when you left, you said …”

“It’s gone,” she said flatly. “The mages at Weisshaupt weren’t sure if it was because the First Enchanter’s brooch sped things up artificially, or … at any rate, all the corruption vanished. They don’t think it’s going to come back, either. There was test after test, but they think I may be the first Grey Warden that never has to endure the Calling again.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “They’re keeping the brooches, in case they can figure out how they worked, but in the meantime they want to keep an eye on me.” She hesitated only a moment before adding, “I’m being recalled to Weisshaupt. For good.”

Ah. This was it, then. For all that he had feared her reason for returning might be to tell him she was beginning her Calling, a small part of him had hoped for something more. Their time together in the Deep Roads had been brief, but it had meant a great deal to him. It still did. “And you’re going?”

“The order isn’t leaving me much choice. Plus, they need someone to head the search for the Architect, and to make sure its plan didn’t go any further than Remille. Who knows what other allies it didn’t mention?”

“Oh,” he said, crestfallen.

Fiona smiled warmly at him, reaching out and smoothing the hair out of his eyes. She seemed almost sad again, and doubtful. “Maric, I have something to tell you.”

“Something else?”

“When I heard that Duncan was returning to Ferelden, I asked to come with him. I needed to do this in person.” She sighed heavily, as if gathering her nerve, and then stood. He stood, as well, growing more nervous by the second. She turned toward the doors and called out more loudly: “Duncan, you can come back in.”

The doors opened and Duncan quietly walked back inside. This time, however, he was carry ing a small package wrapped in a cloth in his arms. As he drew closer, Maric realized that what he was carry ing wasn’t a package. It was an infant.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Duncan said with a grin. “It’s a boy.” He carefully handed the child to Maric, who took it numbly. He stared down at this tiny baby, shock more than anything else running through his mind. The child had a wisp of blond hair and rosy pink cheeks, and was sleeping soundly. It was definitely his, however. The boy even looked a bit like Cailan. Maric also noticed that the boy’s ears were quite round.

“He’s human,” he exclaimed out loud. Really there should have been something better to say, but that was all he could think of at the moment.

Fiona nodded. “That’s why we stay together in the alienages, mostly. The children of humans and elves are human. If we interbred, we would die out.”

“I hadn’t thought of it.” He shook his head, still stunned.

She reached out to relieve him of the child, and he allowed her to. The boy stirred only slightly, scowling in his sleep and wiping his tiny hands across his face. She smiled sadly down at him and shushed him quietly, rocking him in her arms. “The chances of a Grey Warden conceiving are not very large,” she said quietly. “Yet here he is. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Maric sat down on the steps before his legs simply gave out on him. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to organize his bewildered thoughts. Then he let out a long, ragged breath. “Andraste’s grace, but Loghain isn’t going to like this.”

“So don’t tell him,” she said. Fiona handed the child off to Duncan and then sat next to Maric, her expression grim. “I didn’t bring him here to provide you with another heir, Maric. You already have an heir. Nor did I come to give you an illegitimate child by an elf. You don’t need that, either. I want him to have a life, a good life. The kind of life I didn’t have.”

He turned and stared at her, suddenly realizing what she was saying. “You don’t mean …”

“I can’t raise him,” she said simply. She took a deep, ragged breath and let it out, and he realized this was not easy for her. In fact, it was tearing her up inside. This was why she had come.

“You could come here,” he offered. “You could leave the Wardens.”

Fiona nodded, but it seemed like she didn’t really believe it. “Even if I could,” her tone was harsh, “what would I do? Be your mistress? The elven mage? Or would I live at the Circle of Magi’s tower? Or maybe I would live in the city somewhere, and you would send me money from time to time and hope nobody would find out?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested.

She relented, sighing. “I know. I’m sorry. Outside of the Grey Wardens, I’m no one. I’m either a mage with no freedom, or an elf with no skills.” She turned to him and smirked in grim amusement. “Perhaps I could become a washerwoman? Hide from the templars in the alienage, using my magic to stoke the fires? I bet I’d be good at it.”

“Maybe not, then. What do … what happens normally when a Grey Warden has a child? It must happen, surely.”

“It does. We give the child up. I told them I already had a place in mind.”

“There isn’t another way?”

“I wish …” Fiona shook her head firmly. “No, what I want is for him to be human. I want him to be fully human and not in line for your throne, not competing with your other son and tied to this royal blood that has brought you nothing but grief. I want him to have a fresh start.” She looked at him hopefully. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“I can have him raised away from the court,” Maric said, considering. “But people are bound to wonder who his mother is. Loghain will want to know. The child will almost certainly want to know… . What will we tell him?”

“Tell him nothing. Let him think his mother human, and dead.” She reached over to where Duncan gently cooed and rocked the baby, patting his head with a melancholy smile. “It will be easier, for him and for you.”

“What about for you?”

She made no response, simply continued to stroke the child’s forehead. He noticed that her eyes glistened brightly, however. No, there wasn’t any way this would be easier for her.

“I’ll watch him,” Duncan vowed. “I can do that without arousing suspicion, make sure he’s doing well. Keep him safe. I can even bring you news, from time to time.”

Maric looked up at him, surprised. “You would do that?”

“For you, Your Majesty, without hesitation.”

It was almost too much to take in. First Fiona had returned and wasn’t dying, and now he had a son, and he was losing them both. Yet he understood what she was saying. If he recognized the boy and raised him in the palace, he would be subject to the constant politics and struggles. He would be seen as competition for Cailan. Better to have him raised somewhere quietly, out of sight and allowed his own destiny. But to have the boy believe he was never wanted, to have him never know his true mother? Was being of elven blood truly so terrible?

The ache in his heart threatened to make it explode. Maric knew nothing of being elven, and if Fiona wanted her son to be free of the struggles she endured, he wouldn’t deny her that. Let the boy have his chance to be free of them both.

He looked in Fiona’s eyes and slowly nodded. “If that’s what you want. Yes, I can do that.”

“Thank you, Maric.”

“And what about you?” he asked her. “Will I see you again?”

He could tell by her expression that the answer was no. Yet she nodded anyway. “If the Maker wills it,” she breathed. Then she leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back. It felt sweet, and sad, and right. He had this moment, the two of them sitting in the warm firelight as Duncan tactfully wandered with the child to the other side of the room. Even though the parting had the air of finality, somehow Maric still couldn’t bring himself to feel sad. This didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like a beginning.