Sitting up was a slow pro cess for him, and the same questions followed that Duncan had asked before. Fiona seemed relieved to see that Maric was awake, at least, and with the passing minutes he seemed to get stronger and stronger. “What was that spell at the end?” he muttered. “Who cast that?”
“It was an emissary,” Fiona answered. “I didn’t see it, however.”
“They’re the ones that can talk, right? Well, if we’re lucky we’ll see it eventually.”
More time passed, and they took turns getting some sleep. Not that any of them rested much. The cell was cold, and their injuries ached. Duncan wanted nothing less than to rip off those bandages and what ever itchy mixture was applied to his skin beneath them. If darkspawn had truly mixed it together, he didn’t want it on him. He could only imagine what it was actually doing, mixing with his blood. The idea made him want to vomit.
Eventually there were new sounds. They perked up as footsteps approached the door. More than one set, Duncan thought to himself. Three creatures, at least. Definitely darkspawn, as he could sense their taint. The door swung open with a loud, wrenching sound—though he didn’t hear a key turning at all. Not locked, then? An odd cell, to be sure.
The first darkspawn who walked through the door was an emissary. Duncan had never seen one before, but the creature looked just as he imagined a darkspawn mage should: dirty robes, blackened staff, and a small, withered head complete with toothy grimace. As evil as it looked, however, it walked with a calmness and sense of self-awareness that spoke volumes of its intelligence. This was no simple, raving monster. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
The other two darkspawn who followed the first were much more heavily armored. They looked strange, however. Their withered flesh was not quite the same, and their eyes were bloodred rather than pale white. Were these ghouls, then? Neither had any hair, but even so, Duncan could see that one of them was clearly female—
He paused, shock registering even though he couldn’t quite believe it. The female stared directly at him, her gaze intense. The hard lines of her face were familiar, as was the grim set of her jaw. She wasn’t wearing her black Grey Warden tabard, but her armor still looked the same, simply tarnished now rather than silvery bright as it once had been.
“Genevieve,” he breathed.
Maric’s eyes went wide, as did the others’ when they realized it was true. Hafter raised his head and growled nervously. “What has happened to you?” Kell murmured in disbelief.
Genevieve held a hand up to the robed emissary and the male darkspawn with her. “Wait,” she said. Her voice sounded strange, Duncan thought. There was a sibilant quality to it, a faint hiss that accompanied her words. It made him shudder. She turned and knelt down before them, looking at each in turn with her bloodred eyes. “Please do not be frightened,” she said.
“You’re joking, surely,” Maric scoffed.
“I know that my appearance is horrific. I know that your senses say that I am a darkspawn, but I am not. This is what a Grey Warden becomes, given enough time for the taint to ravage our bodies.”
Kell looked up at the armored figure beside her with recognition. She nodded. “This is Bregan, my brother.” Bregan nodded to them, but said nothing. They could only stare back, dumbfounded. Duncan had never met the man, so he’d had no idea what to expect, but this wasn’t it. “And this is the Architect.” She indicated the robed emissary, and it bowed politely.
“The Architect,” Fiona repeated suspiciously.
“I was lucky to find you when I did,” the creature stated, far more eloquently and softly than Duncan would have expected from a darkspawn. “My ability to direct my brethren is limited, and lacks efficiency. Once their bloodlust was aroused even I could not keep them from you. I apologize for how very close you came to perishing. That would have been unfortunate.”
“You apologize?” Fiona glared at the creature.
Genevieve held her hand up at the emissary once again, frowning. “I know how this may look, but all I ask is that you give me the chance to explain as it was explained to me.”
The group was silent. Duncan had no idea how they could even respond to that. He was too caught up in staring at the Commander, or his former commander, perhaps. One couldn’t rightly be a Grey Warden and a darkspawn both, surely. Her white hair was completely gone, and her flesh dark and withered. Yet the mad intensity had disappeared. It was replaced with a calm sense of iron purpose that suffused her entire demeanor. He wondered if the others could see it.
“I don’t understand,” Kell said slowly. “We were brought here, then? On purpose? And now that you have found your brother, your plans have changed?”
“They have not changed,” she avowed.
“If you actually wish to speak with us, then free us. Why keep us prisoner?”
Genevieve exchanged a look with the Architect. Duncan couldn’t see anything in the creature’s expression, but she sighed heavily and turned back to the hunter. “Until we’ve had a chance to explain, this is for your own good.”
“I see.”
There was nothing else to say. “The Architect is not like others of its kind. It is not controlled by the same impulses, and wants to see the rest of its kind free as it is free.”
The creature tapped its chin thoughtfully. “If we were not subject to the call of the Old Gods,” he said, “there would be no reason for us to search for them. No reason for us to ascend to the surface, and thus no Blights.”
Utha’s head shot up, as if her interest had suddenly been gained. Kell seemed intrigued, as well. Fiona gasped. “No Blights? You mean not ever?”
Genevieve actually smiled, displaying rows of sharpened teeth stained yellow by corruption. “Do you see? The Architect has a plan, one that only Grey Wardens can see carried out.” She took a deep breath. “We exist halfway between humanity and darkspawn, tainted but never controlled by it. The Architect has the ability to advance the state of our corruption, to push us to what we would become in time if we never went to our deaths as Grey Warden tradition commands.”
“But why?” Fiona asked, horrified.
“Because the darkspawn ignore us now,” Bregan answered. Genevieve looked up at him, and he stepped forward to stand beside her. He seemed fierce, resolute. His red eyes burned in his skull. “I know where the Old Gods are. The Grey Wardens have always known. The problem is that they have always lain well beyond our reach, in lands we are unfamiliar with and which are full of darkspawn.”
He paused to let the implication sink in. Utha made several agitated gestures, and Genevieve nodded eagerly. “If there were enough Grey Wardens like us, aided by a darkspawn who knew the underground, we could find the Old Gods and kill them before they were ever tainted. We could stop the Blights before they began and end the Calling.”
“Thus freeing my brethren,” the Architect added softly, almost reverently. The way it steepled its fingers together in front of its chest made it seem almost like a priest to Duncan. Was that intentional? Was it an act?
“You mean to tell this creature where the Old Gods are!” Fiona shouted.
“I already have.” Bregan’s answer stunned the group and they stared at him in shock. He folded his arms defiantly and refused to explain himself further.
“We have an opportunity,” Genevieve explained slowly. “We can do what the Grey Wardens have existed to do for centuries, centuries which have been filled with Blight after Blight, each of which has slain countless people and threatened the destruction of our world. We can stop it!” She punched her hand into her fist emphatically. “As Grey Wardens we have sworn to do what ever is necessary to combat the darkspawn. We sacrificed our own lives the moment we took the Joining and drank that blood. The fact that the Architect even exists gives us a chance now to do the unthinkable!”