The weary guard waved Duncan inside, and he had little choice but to go. Maric met his gaze as he passed, and that look seemed to say, It’s all up to you now, lad. Which was wonderful, really. Just excellent. Duncan should have learned a long time ago when to keep his fool mouth shut.
He waited in the mud as they closed the gate behind him. It made a loud and final thoom as it shut. The guard walked up to him and waved at another standing nearby. This was a much younger man, younger than Duncan even, with his armor looking as if it were made for someone much larger. His helmet kept falling in front of his eyes, and he kept needing to push it back up.
“Take this one up to the seneschal’s quarters,” the guard barked. “No dawdling!”
The younger guard bobbed his head nervously and began trotting off toward the keep. He didn’t look back to see if anyone was following, so Duncan sighed and ran after him.
Their path took them under the keep’s portcullis, so rusted he doubted whether it had been lowered in years. Tall reeds grew along the wall. Inside the keep things were much tidier, if dark. There were few windows, and the low ceilings made the passages feel cramped, but the young guard seemed to know where he was going. He urged Duncan to keep up with him as he steered clear of the small inner hall with all its tables and chairs and instead took them down a narrow side passage to a long set of stairs.
“So what is this place called?” Duncan asked as they climbed.
The young man looked at him, surprised. “This is the Garrote. Don’t you know?”
“Is that really its name?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I can’t remember what it’s called on the map. Even His Lordship calls it the Garrote. They say the Nahashin Marshes will choke the life out of you.”
“Clever.”
The stairs led up to the floor where Duncan assumed the lord and his family lived, as well as senior members of the castle staff. A tiny sitting room appointed with a fancy Antivan rug opened up onto several groups of cramped apartments. A young girl with red pigtails and a plain grey dress sat in the corner and looked up at them with interest, but the young guard ignored her and took them into one of the apartments.
The oaken door was open, and inside was another chamber, this one with barely room to move in. It was filled with a small desk piled with papers, with only a stool to sit on. Several swords leaned against a wall, and a lone lantern hung from a hook to offer a bit of light. Two doors led farther in, but both of them were closed.
“When you’re done, ser, I’ll be just down the stairs.” The young guard spun on his heel and marched unceremoniously out the door, closing it behind him.
Duncan looked around the room. He didn’t see much that reminded him of Genevieve, apart from the swords. She obviously wasn’t the seneschal, so what was she doing here at the castle? Was she still a Grey Warden? Was she just part of the garrison here, or maybe a bodyguard to the local lord? He couldn’t picture a proud warrior doing something so unimportant, but he supposed her dream was her own.
One of the doors opened, and Duncan turned to see a figure in plate armor walk in, distractedly carry ing several long scrolls under one arm and trying not to drop them. This was no woman, however, but a man. He had piercing blue eyes and black hair with grey at the temples, as well as a distinguished-looking short beard. He stopped and regarded Duncan curiously, and Duncan suddenly realized who it was.
Guy. The Grey Warden he had murdered.
“You’re not Bregan,” the man said in a friendly, if puzzled, tone. He walked over to the small desk and unloaded the scrolls on top of all the papers already there. Several of them were pushed off and floated lazily to the ground. He studied Duncan again, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “I told them not to bring anyone else inside. Bregan is here, is he not? Does he not wish to see us?”
Duncan opened his mouth and tried to form words, but he couldn’t. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that he would find the man here. Guy had been Genevieve’s fiancé when he died. It’s only natural that her fondest wish would be for him to have lived, and for her to have married him. Duncan knew almost nothing about him, however. For understandable reasons the other Grey Wardens had been reluctant to discuss the man with his murderer. He was well thought of, a good man who had known Genevieve most of her life, and who followed her into the order. That’s all he knew.
Guy’s puzzlement increased as Duncan remained silent, then he became alarmed. “Has something happened?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Bregan … he still lives? Has something happened to him?”
“No, he’s … fine,” Duncan managed.
“Ah.” The man nodded and then looked expectant, waiting for the real explanation. He was interrupted by the other door opening and a woman walking in. She wore a long grey dress, and had long white hair that cascaded down her back. She was full-figured and kind-looking, her face worn with smile lines, and Duncan did a double take as he realized this was Genevieve. Not the warrior he knew, with her cropped white hair and hard, muscular features, but merely Guy’s wife.
She smiled at Duncan, but seeing his stunned expression and his gaping mouth, she looked quizzically at her husband. “Is something amiss?” she asked him.
“I can’t truly tell. I was told your brother was here, and I thought it a surprise so I didn’t tell you. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Bregan?” she exclaimed excitedly, her smile lighting up her face as she turned back to Duncan. “Is he really here? Is there news? Oh, do tell me! It’s been ever so long since I’ve heard from him!”
The warm-hearted gushing was too bizarre. She might as well have grown antlers on her head; he couldn’t stop staring. They were both waiting for a response, however, so he had to pull himself together. “I, uh,” he stammered, “need to speak to Genevieve. Alone.”
Concern crossed her eyes, and she glanced at Guy. “Bad news, then,” he said grimly. “I need to speak with Lord Ambrose anyhow. Shout if you need me, love.” He kissed her warmly on the forehead, though she hardly noticed, she was staring at Duncan so intently. With one final wary look his way, Guy walked out to the sitting room, softly closing the door to the apartment behind him.
Genevieve stared at Duncan with dread. He felt immeasurably better now that Guy was gone, but he didn’t know what to say. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked, hoping beyond hope that he was wrong.
If anything, her stare intensified. “I don’t know what, exactly?”
“That this”—he gestured around him—“is a dream. It’s not real.”
She peered at him, trying to piece together what he was actually saying, as if it couldn’t possibly be what she thought. Then she frowned. “This is what you came to tell me? Is this some form of joke?”
“It’s not a joke. Don’t you remember me? My name is Duncan.”
“Is Bregan even here? Do you even know my brother?” Genevieve angrily strode past Duncan to the door behind him. “I’m not going to put up with such nonsense, I’ll tell you that. My husband will have you put in the dungeon!”
“Wait!” He grabbed her by the shoulder. She spun around, not frightened but instead glaring at him in outrage. “Tell me you haven’t had a dream where you were a warrior!” he pleaded. “A Grey Warden, leading the rest of us on an important mission!”
“That was just a dream.” The doubt in her eyes, however, told him differently. She didn’t pull away from his grip, and she didn’t open the door to leave.
“Are you sure? How would I even know about your dream other wise?”
“No, this can’t be.” She shook her head, and when she finally noticed that he was holding her shoulder, she pulled it free. She paced to the other side of the room, anxiously wringing her hands. “That dream, it was horrible! This must be some kind of trick!”