With a bit of concentration she willed her staff to glow. Not so brightly as to wake the others, but enough so she could see where she was stepping. She didn’t want to travel far, just enough to get some breathing room. The dream awaited her if she went back to sleep, or perhaps other nightmares even worse. It was better to walk.
She stopped at the edge of the cluster of rubble that lay strewn over the ground in the crumbled passage. Farther on there was only more of the moist darkspawn filth, and she didn’t want to touch that again. She had seen enough of the corruption to last a lifetime, and somewhere off in the far distance was that strange sound, the beautiful whispering.
She didn’t want to listen to it, but couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out what the whisper was saying. Was it a song? Was it a name? It almost seemed that it was calling out to her, stroking her soul ever so softly… .
Fiona heard someone approaching behind her and she jumped. She turned around to see Maric approaching cautiously. “You can’t sleep either, I see,” he whispered.
“I thought you could.”
“No,” he said. Then, more emphatically: “No, not at all.”
“I wish I hadn’t tried.”
Maric removed his fur cloak and spread it on a part of the ground where the rubble was mostly absent. He seated himself on the edge, leaning against the wall and issuing a tired sigh. Then he looked over at her and offered her a seat on the other side. She hesitated only briefly, propping her staff up against the wall. She didn’t need to maintain direct contact to keep it lit, after all.
They sat in silence for a time. Finally Maric turned to speak to her, but before he could say anything she interrupted him. “Thank you,” she blurted out.
Maric paused, tilting his head a little to the side as if she had caught him completely off guard. “What for?”
“For coming to get me. Duncan tells me that you were the first one to break out of the trap, and that you insisted on finding me.” It was a bit difficult for her to get the words out, considering how rude she had been to the man on several occasions now. If he would simply stop staring at her, this would be much easier. “How did you do it?” she asked him.
He shook his head as if clearing it, and stared at her in confusion. “How did I do what? Find you?”
“How did you break out of your dream?”
“Ah.” He nodded soberly. “I promised you that I would repay you.”
“And you always keep your promises?”
“I try. It was enough to remind me that I couldn’t stay where I was, even if I wanted to. I knew I had to try to help you, if I could.”
His sincerity was enough to move her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away quickly, feeling even more foolish. She had completely misjudged the man, it seemed. All the expectations she had laid on him for being this king and this figure of legend, and it turned out he was simply a good man. How unexpected.
Maric glanced away, allowing her a moment to compose herself. “Thank you, then,” she repeated. “I … didn’t expect you to repay me this way, or any way, but it means a great deal.”
He nodded slowly, and then turned back toward her. His demeanor was completely serious, and his gaze intense. “I wanted to speak to you,” he said, “to tell you something. That man from your dream. I am not him. I know what you think of me, but I am not like that.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what he did to you, but …”
“I was a slave,” she answered, as easily as she could. “The Count bought me from slavers when I was seven years old, and I was his pet until I was fourteen.” The words came out in a rush, and she felt the flush crawl up her cheeks. She had never spoken of this to anyone. It was a part of her life she had buried, pushed down into shadows never to be thought of again. Yet she felt like she had to tell him. “What you saw, that was my life until I finally murdered him and escaped to the Circle.”
Maric’s eyes were wide with horror. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What is there to say?” She shrugged. “Slavery is illegal in the Empire, but it still goes on. Nobody pays attention if an elf disappears here or there. Nobody cares what happens to us in the alienage. Wealthy, powerful men like the Count get to do what ever they like, to whomever they like, so long as nobody cares.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I was lucky. I had the talent for magic, a curse for every other person and yet for me it meant freedom. It meant an escape to the Circle, the lone elf in the tower, uneducated and frightened of anyone who even came near me.” She grimaced at the memory. “The mages were just men, I discovered. Capricious and sad and bigoted just like everywhere else. I swore I wouldn’t let them keep me, and I escaped them, too.”
“To the Grey Wardens.”
She nodded. “Some people look on becoming a Grey Warden as a duty. Maybe even a punishment. Duncan had to be forced. I begged to be recruited.” The memory was an unpleasant one. The Joining ritual that had followed it was even less so. Drink the blood of darkspawn, they said, and if you survive it will only be for a time. You will be a Grey Warden until the Calling comes at last. And she had drunk it gladly. And she hadn’t looked back.
They sat there on the cloak, staring out together into the shadows. Finally it was Maric who spoke. “My mother was killed in front of me,” he said quietly. “I had to become the leader of her rebellion, something I felt completely unprepared for.”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” she murmured.
“No, I do.” He looked at her, his expression grim. “There was an elven woman named Katriel. A spy from Orlais that I fell in love with, and she with me. She saved my life, and yet when I found out what she was, I didn’t give her a chance. I killed her.”
“I didn’t know about that.”
He chuckled ruefully. “You must be the only one.”
“Was she … the one in your dream?”
He nodded. “I would have done anything to take back that day. Yet I couldn’t. I had to go on, because Ferelden needed me. I married a woman who was in love with my best friend, because Ferelden needed me. And when she died I kept going, despite the fact that everything in my life felt empty, because Ferelden needed me.” He looked at her again, his eyes sad. “Everything was because Ferelden needed me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Everyone has nightmares, Fiona.”
She felt Maric take her hand, and he squeezed it. She was drawn to him almost magnetically, and found herself leaning to give him a tentative kiss. She pulled away only a fraction afterwards. He looked as surprised as she did, though not displeased.
Then she leaned in again, more urgently, and their kiss had passion. She felt him breathing against her, and accepted his arms as they closed around her.
She wanted this. She wanted to be with a good man, and forget for just a moment about where they were, and what had happened to them. She needed a moment’s solace, and she suspected he did, too. Pulling away from the heat of his touch, she tugged desperately at her chain mail, undoing the leather straps that held it down. She pulled at the padded undershirt, sighing with relief as she finally got it off.
Maric hesitated. “Fiona, I … perhaps we shouldn’t …”
She ignored him, reaching over and undoing the straps that held his breastplate in place. He seemed pained, struggling with himself despite his obvious desire. “But what about the others?”
“I don’t care.”
“But … here?”
“Forget where we are.” She pulled the breastplate over his head and he let her, staring helplessly. When it was done, she starting working on the straps for his pauldrons, and after a moment’s hesitation he began to help. They tugged and pulled and twisted until slowly they got his bulky, heavy armor off.
She untied his stained and soiled undershirt and removed it, unveiling bare skin. He was covered in bruises and cuts, as no doubt was she. His blue eyes were locked on her with an intensity that threatened to burn her up. The King was a handsome man; she had to give him that. But not all handsome men were also bad men.