“Nothing’s happening,” Genevieve said flatly. She didn’t look at him, either.
His gaze fell upon the sword on the desk, and his mouth thinned. He glanced at Duncan suspiciously. “Are you certain?” he asked Genevieve. “I can have this young man sent away; there’s no need to have him here upsetting you, love.”
“No,” she said. Then she simply stood there, staring intently at the ground. Duncan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. Was he supposed to leave? Was she ignoring him now? Guy glanced at him with a mixture of confusion and questioning. He didn’t know any better than Duncan did, but clearly he knew something was very wrong.
He leaned in close to Genevieve, putting a hand on her shoulder until she looked up at him. Tears reddened her eyes. “What’s wrong, my love?” he pleaded. “Please tell me.”
“I need to go.”
“Go? Go where? When will you be back?”
Genevieve wiped away her tears and clenched her teeth. She put a hand on Guy’s face, staring at him as if she was memorizing his every feature. Then she kissed him on the lips, tenderly. His brow knotted in confusion. “Soon, I hope,” she whispered.
And with that the keep around them vanished. Duncan was almost startled by the transition, stumbling as the wall behind him faded away. They were back in a plain of rock, with the endless skies of the Fade overhead. Genevieve was in her heavy armor and her Grey Warden tunic, her white hair cut short once again. She stared at the ground, clenching her jaw, and did not move.
From not far away, Maric and the others ran up. “You did it!” he shouted.
“I guess I did,” Duncan muttered. He kept his eye on Genevieve, however, and saw her close her eyes and collect her will. The hard edges had all returned, but then perhaps they had never quite gone away, had they?
Behind the others, he saw the elven woman with the blond curls, Katriel, slowly approach. Maric stiffened, spotting her at the same time that Duncan did. Genevieve noticed her, as well, and when she did she drew her greatsword in alarm.
“Wait!” Maric shouted, holding up a hand to stop her.
Genevieve’s didn’t lower her sword. “Why? Who is this?”
“Someone I … once knew.”
“Then it is a demon!” She charged toward Katriel, who remained where she was and barely looked at her attacker. Instead, she watched Maric with her sad green eyes. The elf had met them each time they had returned from a dream, and each time she had seemed more desperately sad. Maric was the same way. Duncan could see his heart breaking each time he saw her.
Maric ran after Genevieve now, catching her just before she reached the elf. He grabbed hold of her armor and pulled her back, though it was a struggle. “Stop! She can help us!” he insisted. Kell and Utha looked on, concerned, but did not intervene.
The Commander stared at Maric as if the man were mad. “Help us? A demon?”
He paused, and looked unhappily toward Katriel. For her part, she continued to simply watch him. Genevieve stepped back, scowling with disapproval but keeping her sword at the ready. Maric approached the elf closely, apprehensive and fearful all at once. “Will you help us? Face the demon?” he asked her, his voice small.
She looked at him, her expression pensive. “No,” she admitted. “And you should not go to face it, either.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you.” When he recoiled from her words, anguished, she rushed forward to him. Tears streaked down her face and she became frantic. “Maric, the demon will kill you! Don’t go to your death, not for duty! Not always for duty!”
“I made a promise,” he mumbled.
He tried to look away from Katriel, but she reached up with her hands and clutched at his chin, attempting to make him look at her and crying even more forcefully. He fought against it, but weakly, and when she finally looked him in the eyes, tears were streaming down his face, as well.
“Let them go and do this task,” she whispered urgently, her voice racked with emotion. “Have you not sacrificed enough?”
“I need to save her.”
“There are others to save. Others trapped in the Fade, living in an endless dream.” She kept her eyes fixed on his, her plea desperate. “You mother is here, Maric. We could save her together. Please … don’t go.”
Maric flinched, his eyes filled with stark pain, but he didn’t look away from Katriel. For a long moment there was only silence. Then her expression slowly became resigned, and she nodded desolately. More tears streamed down her cheeks. Duncan felt almost embarrassed to watch, and even Genevieve turned away with a grimace. “I understand,” the elf whispered.
“I wish I could ask you to forgive me.”
She reached up and tenderly brushed aside his hair with a sad smile. “Forgive yourself,” she said. “And forget me.” Then she turned around and walked away. Maric remained where he was, watching her leave. He seemed calm, almost serene. Duncan wasn’t certain why.
It made him doubt. Maybe there were good spirits in the Fade and not just demons. Maybe ghosts were real. Maybe the Maker truly did watch over His children and helped the ones that needed Him the most.
Or maybe it had all been one last trick to try to lure Maric away.
Duncan was suddenly glad they were going to face the demon now. Let them get away from this place or die trying. He was tired of nightmares. The group walked into an elven alienage, a walled-off part of a larger city. The buildings here were mostly hovels, crammed close together and sometimes even on top of one another. It was a haphazard pile of tenements and dirty shops, washing lines strewn across the street sometimes going up two or even three stories high. The street itself was mostly mud, the worn paths filled with stale water and smelling of dung. The only spot of color in the entire quarter was the central square, where a well-tended oak tree spread its branches wide, its vibrantly green leaves forming a canopy that left much of the ground beneath it dry. A wooden stage had been built there, adorned with poles that were covered in bright blue garlands. A place of celebration, Duncan imagined, even if there was nothing on the dusty stage now.
The odd thing, he noted, was that there wasn’t a single person throughout the entire alienage. The street was bare, and not a single elf poked his or her head out of any door or window. Dark clouds billowed overhead and threatened rain, but no one ran about to collect the laundry from the lines. Window shutters clacked rhythmically in the breeze. It looked as if the entire place was deserted.
Duncan drew his daggers. There was an unease to the silence, a strangeness to it that raised the hackles on his neck.
Utha squinted as she looked around and made quick gestures toward Kell.
“You are right,” he murmured. “This seems very different from the other dreams, and it is not solely for the lack of people.”
Duncan had to agree. There was a strange distinctness to his vision, here. It made everything look slightly unreal, as if he were seeing at it all through a pane of glass. Everything also appeared slightly washed out, and that wasn’t just the dinginess of the elven homes. Even the sky was lifeless, nothing but grey clouds from one end to the other. He half expected the clouds to part and reveal the Fade sky with its floating islands on the other side.
“Then where do we find the demon?” Maric asked.
Nobody had an immediate answer. The iron gates leading out of the district were closed up tight. They were solid and forbidding-looking, as apparently the elves were not even permitted to gaze upon the rest of the city and its superior conditions.
Not that the slums of Val Royeaux were much of an improvement over this, Duncan thought. The fact that they were an improvement at all was bad enough—the alienage had the feel of neglect, like the buildings and its people were the refuse that was brushed off the rest of the city. The elves here obviously made the best of it they could, but he imagined even the most down-on-his-luck thief he’d run with in the slums would have turned up his nose rather than stay here.