Before Duncan could respond, Maric held up his hand. He stepped forward and touched Kell’s shoulder, looking into the man’s eyes. There was confusion there. He wasn’t certain that what they were saying was the truth, and perhaps that was enough. “Do you remember that dream?” Maric asked him. “You were a Grey Warden, just like Duncan here. We encountered a demon that trapped us in the Fade.” He waved at the room around them. “That’s what this is. This is your dream.”
A dark cloud passed over Kell’s face and he jumped up from his chair, pulling his shoulder from Maric’s grasp. Disturbed, he walked over to the curtain leading into the other room, but stopped short of opening it. He bowed his head and listened for a moment to the crying of the child next door. “How did you get here, then?”
“You can end the dream,” Maric told him. “That’s what I did, when I realized what it was. And I came looking for you. We can’t stay here, and Fiona needs us.”
“Fiona,” Kell tested the name out. “The mage.”
Maric nodded. “We’re asleep, I think.”
“We could be dead. This could be the Beyond.” Kell seemed almost hopeful. “You could both be demons sent to tempt me from my final rest.”
“Is that what you think?” Duncan asked him.
The hunter thought about it, and then closed his eyes. “No,” he said grimly. “I know what happened to this place, to its people.” His eyes were bright as he opened them and took one final look around. “I will not accept a lie.”
The infant in the other room suddenly began to wail, and Kell flinched as if struck. He stood there, his face ashen as he listened. None of them moved. “Do you need to say good-bye?” Maric asked him cautiously.
He shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “I did that long ago.”
The man was replaced by the figure Maric knew: clean-shaven and bald, with the hooded cloak and the hunter’s leathers. His eyes shone from beneath his hood with grim intensity. A moment later the hut vanished, replaced by the empty landscape of the Fade. The three of them walked through a door into a dwarven home. The ceiling was low, and the air filled with the smell of coal smoke and meaty dishes. A large family lived here; solid dwarven chairs were mixed in with children’s toys and rolled-up furs and a table covered in vellum scrolls. Maps adorned the walls, at least one of them a map of Ferelden that Maric recognized. A large brazier filled with coals lent a warm orange glow to the chamber.
A dwarven child ran in, perhaps ten years of age with a mop of unruly coppery hair on his head. He skidded to a halt, clearly having expected someone other than a trio of three humans to be at the entrance, his expression turning from excitement to horror. “Mam! Pap!” he squealed. “There’s cloudheads come!”
“Humans?” A matronly dwarven woman walked into the chamber from a dimly lit kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Maric could hear something bubbling in a large pot, and noticed several other children behind the woman looking past her skirt. The woman’s black hair was streaked with grey and pulled back into a bun, and she wore spectacles. Much the same as Maric’s grandfather had, he remembered. “By the Ancestors! It is humans!”
Several more people entered the room. An older man walked in, a fat dwarf almost as wide as he was tall, with a bald head and a bright coppery beard going halfway down his chest. He walked with a cane and possessed the air of a distinguished gentleman, perhaps a scholar. A fit young man walked beside him, his own coppery beard short but lovingly cultivated with braids.
The young man looked outraged at the presence of intruders and rushed forward, his fists out. The older dwarf grabbed his shirt and hauled him back forcefully. “Wait, Tam! Don’t be stupid.”
“Why are you here?” the young man demanded angrily.
The woman stepped forward, waving the children behind her back. They retreated into the kitchen but didn’t go very far. The tension in the room made them terrified, however, and the woman wasn’t far from it herself. She nodded cautiously at Maric. “We don’t have anything someone like you would want, human. There’s no reason for you to hurt anyone.”
Maric put his hands up. “Please calm down. We don’t mean any harm.” He looked back at Kell and Duncan, who nodded. None of them wanted to start any trouble with these people.
“Then answer the boy,” the man grunted. “Why are you here?”
“They have come for me, Father,” came a new voice. Maric turned, and was shocked to see Utha enter the chamber from a short hallway. Her long braid had been undone to reveal a luxurious mane of coppery hair, and she wore a simple dwarven dress with a fine leather mantle. Her expression was forlorn. “There’s no reason for you to be frightened. These are friends.”
“Friends?” the older woman interjected, confused. “Since when do you know humans, Utha? What strange business is this?”
“I’m sorry, Mother, it would be difficult to explain.” Utha turned toward Maric and the others and nodded. “I trust you are all well?”
“You can talk!” Duncan exclaimed.
“It seems that here I can, yes.”
“And you remember us? You know who we are?” Maric asked her carefully.
“You are the King of Ferelden,” she stated, reciting the fact with a sad sigh. “The men with you are Grey Wardens, as am I. Yes, I remember.”
The dwarves in the room looked fearful and confused. The older man stepped forward, glancing at Maric as if he were a snake ready to bite, but walking up to Utha in order to take her hand in his own. “Utha, what are you speaking of? This is madness!”
She looked at her father, tears welling up in her eyes, and she reached up to fondly stroke his cheek. “I know it is, Father. It’s time for me to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
Her mother marched toward them, the woman’s concern overriding her fear of Maric and the others. The rest of the family piled in behind her, babbling confused questions. “What do you mean you’re going?” she asked. “Why would you leave with these people?”
Utha pressed her lips into a thin line, controlling the tears that clearly threatened to overwhelm her. “I must,” she whispered, her voice thick. She hugged her father and then her mother, each of them returning her gesture warmly even if they didn’t understand what she was doing. The children gathered around Utha, hugging her legs and shedding panicked tears as they realized what was happening.
“You won’t stay for dinner, even? You and your friends?” her mother asked with faint hope, tears streaming down her face.
Utha kissed her mother tenderly on the cheek, saying nothing, and did the same to her stammering father. Then she turned to face the young man who stood grimly nearby. She began to speak to him, but a wave of grief held her tongue. She paused, collecting herself even as the young man stared at her, not comprehending.
“You fought well, Tam,” she finally forced out. She made herself look him directly in the eyes, though it was clearly difficult for her. “I was very proud of you. Very proud.”
“You … were?”
“Oh, yes,” she said fervently. “I swore an oath to avenge you.” She turned and looked at the others, new tears welling. “I swore an oath to avenge you all. And I shall.” Her tone was resolute, and with that the chamber vanished. They were back in the Fade, standing in a field of impossibly tall rock pillars, and Utha stared off into the distance. She looked as she did before, dressed in simple brown robes with her hair braided down her back.
She turned back to the others, her eyes red from tears. She made several emphatic gestures, ending with her fist clutched over her heart. Her expression was so desperately sad that Maric didn’t know what to say.
Kell walked up to her. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she hugged him tightly around his waist. He stroked her hair fondly. “We do not blame you, Utha,” he said. “You stayed as long as you could.”