Duncan hung his head sadly. Maric looked at him and wondered if he thought of his own family. He saw Katriel standing not far away, watching the group but unwilling to join them. He wondered how terrible it would have been just to stay with her for a time, to enjoy that lie just a little bit longer. He longed to talk to her, to make her understand… .
But these were thoughts he needed to banish. He had made a promise. Their lives hung in the balance.
They needed to move on. A cabin made of logs stood at the top of a hill, amid a verdant forest that appeared to stretch on forever under a clear blue sky. The trees here were enormous pines shooting straight up into the sky, rows upon rows of towering sentinels that made the cabin look like a tiny thing in comparison. It wasn’t, of course. As they drew closer, they could see that the building was significant, with a large pile of chopped wood outside and a warm trail of smoke leading up from a chimney. A furry hide stretched over a drum next to the doorway, and a large fire pit still smoldered from recent use, a spit over it stained from what ever carcass had been roasted there.
“We are in the Arbor Wilds,” Kell surmised, studying the terrain. “In the south of Orlais. Dangerous country. A difficult place to live, to be certain.”
Duncan looked up, interested. “Dangerous? Because of the animals?”
“Because of the dryads.”
“Whoever lives here seems to be doing fine,” Maric noted. “And there’s someone now.” He pointed off in the distance toward the side of the cabin, where a shirtless man with short dark hair and a beard was busily chopping wood on a tree stump. They walked up the dirt path, the rhythmic sound of the chopping echoing over the countryside. A flock of crows burst into flight from one of the nearby trees, cawing loudly as they vanished into the sky.
The chopping sounds halted.
As the group came around the side of the cabin, they encountered the dark-haired warrior facing them warily with axe in hand, still sweating and heaving from his exertions. He looked on them as one might regard a pack of wild dogs, uncertain whether they were actually going to attack or slink away. What ever he thought, he said nothing. It took Maric a moment to realize that he knew who this was.
“Julien!” Duncan cried in amazement.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”
“Of course you do!” Duncan replied. “We’re—”
“Friends of Nicolas,” Kell interrupted, placing a hand on Duncan’s chest to hold him back. The lad looked confused for a moment before he realized why. This wasn’t Julien. It couldn’t be. Julien was dead.
“I find that hard to believe,” he responded, holding up his axe a little higher. “Nobody knows we’re out here, not even my relatives. You don’t look like the normal sorts of bandits we get, but I’ll tell you the same as I told the last: Leave now, or face the consequences.”
“We’re not bandits, I assure you,” Maric told him.
“Then what are you?”
“If we could speak to Nicolas, that would be easier to explain.”
Julien assessed them carefully. His gaze went from one to the next before he finally lowered his axe. It was done only reluctantly, and likely only because all of them kept their weapons sheathed. “We will see” was all he said as he swung the axe hard into the tree stump, lodging it there. He walked back toward the cabin, snatching up a damp linen shirt from on top of the woodpile and throwing it over his shoulder.
The inside of the cabin was a single chamber, filled with evidence that it had been occupied for a long time. A stone hearth dominated the room, two worn chairs in front of it surrounded by several wine bottles askew on the floor. A bookshelf overflowed with dusty tomes, and a desk sat next to it covered with reams of papers, many of them crumpled into wads, and an elaborate quill-and-ink set made of gold. The kitchen was a mess of iron pots and dishes scattered about the stove, and beyond it lay a single sizable bed in the corner covered by several thick bear furs.
Nicolas sat inside in front of the hearth, the fire roaring and filling the room with warm light and a smoky smell. He wore a long black shirt and leather trousers, and stared into the fire with the air of a man weighing a heavy burden. He barely glanced up as Julien and the others crowded in through the door.
“You heard?” Julien asked him.
Nicolas continued to stare into the fire, his face haggard and worn. “I did.”
“And do you know these people?”
Maric stepped forward. “Nicolas, I know this may be hard to believe, but—”
The blond warrior stood up, interrupting him with the heavy scrape of his chair as it was pushed back. He looked at Julien solemnly. “You need to leave me alone with them, Julien.”
“What? You’re mad! Tell me who they are first.”
Nicolas walked toward him. Ignoring the presence of the others nearby, he took Julien’s chin in his hand and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Julien seemed chagrined at first, and then accepted the gesture. It was sweet, and had the air of a couple that had been together for a great long time.
Maric glanced away, embarrassed by the intimacy, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t quite realized the nature of the two warriors’ relationship earlier. Not just comrades, then, and far more than close friends. The other Grey Wardens seemed unsurprised.
“I’m not mad,” Nicolas whispered. “But you need to trust me.”
Julien was clearly confused, but he reluctantly nodded. Giving one final suspicious glare at Maric, he said, “I’ll be right outside, then.” Marching across the room, he opened a large wardrobe next to the bed and removed his greatsword. It was dull and looked as if it had not been used in some time. The man hefted it onto his shoulder and walked back outside, still glaring the entire way.
Nicolas watched him go, frowning sadly. As soon as Julien was out the door, he sighed. “He doesn’t know.”
“But you do?” Maric asked him. “You know this is a dream?”
“I know this is the Fade. I knew it instantly. To see Julien alive, I knew it couldn’t be true. I held his body in my arms. You don’t forget that.”
“Then we don’t need to explain,” Duncan said, relieved.
An awkward silence ensued as Nicolas turned back toward the hearth. He walked to the wooden mantel and ran his hand along its length, as if testing its smoothness. His eyes looked haunted, Maric thought, and for a long moment they all watched as he stood there. The only sound was the crackling of the flames.
“We’d talked about this,” the blond man murmured. He didn’t look at them. “Leaving the Grey Wardens, and coming out here on our own. We’d have a few years left before the taint caught up to us, and we could spend it with each other. We could truly be together.” He gently ran his hand along the mantel again. “It was a fine plan, down to every detail… .” His voice trailed off and he became silent again, staring into the fire.
“You mean to stay,” Kell said. It wasn’t a question. The hunter and Utha exchanged a sad, knowing glance.
Nicolas nodded. “I mean to stay.”
“You can’t!” Duncan objected, his dawning horror evident as he realized what was being suggested. “You can’t do that! You know that isn’t him, right? It’s a lie!”
“It’s not a lie.”
The warrior seemed resolute. Maric walked toward him and tentatively put his hand on the man’s shoulder, looking at his eyes to get his attention. “But it is a dream. Your body is back in the real world, just like ours. If you stay here …”
“Then I die?” Nicolas smiled, abashed. “We knew it was possible one of us could fall in battle. I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t.” He turned back to the mantel, unable to meet Maric’s gaze. “I love him. Tell me I should return to a life where I can’t be with him. Tell me this isn’t better.”