“Your Majesty,” Loghain corrected him.
“My guards can be a little overzealous at times,” the King explained amiably. It took Duncan a moment to realize that the man was actually speaking to him and not to Genevieve. “Loghain is determined to turn Denerim into the most orderly city in the south. Truly I think all it’s done is drive the criminals underground.”
“I’d have been tempted to go there, myself,” Duncan joked, and then quickly quieted as Genevieve clenched her gauntleted fists tightly enough for him to hear the faint grinding of metal. He did his best to look meek.
“He is quite skilled, King Maric,” Genevieve offered tersely. “I believe, however, that the young man thinks if he misbehaves we will release him from his duty. He is wrong.”
The King seemed intrigued by this. “You do not enjoy being a Grey Warden?” he asked Duncan.
Duncan was unsure how to respond. He was surprised that the King was speaking directly to him again. Even the lowliest baron in Orlais would have sooner been covered in oil and set on fire than be caught noticing a peasant. It made them much easier to pickpocket. Maybe this man couldn’t tell he was a commoner, on account of them all being Grey Wardens? He assumed he should feel flattered, though he wasn’t certain all this attention was necessarily a good thing.
Genevieve kept her eyes focused on the King, her expression pointedly neutral. So Duncan shifted from foot to foot and said nothing, while the King stared at him curiously and waited for an answer. Couldn’t he interrogate someone else? Anyone? Finally Teyrn Loghain cleared his throat.
“Perhaps we should move on to why they’re here, Maric.”
“Unless the King wishes to have the boy arrested,” Genevieve offered, completely serious. “We are in your land, and it is your law we must abide by. The Grey Wardens will comply with your wishes.”
Duncan’s heart leaped into his throat, but he needn’t have worried. The King dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “No, I think not. The cells in Fort Drakon are full enough as it is.” Loghain was clearly biting his tongue, but said nothing. Duncan bowed a few times as he retreated to the back to stand once again with the other Grey Wardens, sweat beading on his forehead.
Genevieve nodded graciously. “Thank you, King Maric.”
“I am more interested in why you’re here. If you will?”
She paused for a moment, clutching her hands together in a thoughtful gesture that Duncan recognized. She’s trying to decide how much she should tell him. He also knew what her answer would be. The Grey Wardens had many secrets, and never said more than they absolutely needed to. He had learned that much very quickly.
“One of our own has been captured by the darkspawn,” Genevieve said slowly. “Here in Ferelden. Within the Deep Roads.”
“And?” Loghain frowned. “How does this concern us?”
She appeared reluctant to continue. “This Grey Warden … has the knowledge of the location of the Old Gods.”
Both the King and Teyrn Loghain stared at her, stunned. The air in the hall became thick with tension as nobody immediately spoke. The First Enchanter stepped forward, tugging at his curled mustache anxiously. “As you can see, my lords, this was why I thought the matter of utmost delicacy. If these darkspawn prove able to learn the location of an Old God—”
“Then a Blight begins,” Genevieve finished.
King Maric nodded gravely, but Loghain shook his head in disbelief. “Do not believe it.” He scowled. “There has not been a Blight for centuries. We barely see the darkspawn on the surface at all, never mind a full-scale invasion. They are trying to scare us, nothing more. This order has been waning in importance since the last Blight and would do anything to frighten the world into believing they still have relevance.”
“I assure you, it is true!” Genevieve shouted. She strode forward to the throne, dropping to one knee before the King. “There are only a few Grey Wardens who possess this knowledge, Your Majesty. If these darkspawn somehow know that he is one and wrest this knowledge from him, they will rise to the surface in a new Blight. And they will do so here, in Ferelden.”
“Are you certain?” the King breathed.
She looked up at him, her eyes intense. “You have seen the darkspawn with your own eyes, my lord, have you not? You know that they are no legend. Neither are we.”
Her words hung there, and King Maric paled visibly. Duncan could tell by the man’s horrified expression that Genevieve was correct. He had seen the darkspawn for himself. Only someone who had would look like that. The King rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I assume you are asking after permission to enter Ferelden to search for this missing Grey Warden?”
“No.”
The King and Loghain looked at each other, nonplussed. “Then what is it you need?” Loghain asked her.
Genevieve got to her feet, retreating a step from the throne. “If all we needed to do was search, we could have entered the Deep Roads at Orzammar and you would have been none the wiser. Your domain, King Maric, encompasses only the surface, as I’m certain you well know.”
Loghain looked as if he were about to object, but Maric held up a hand. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone even.
“We have a good idea where to search for our missing comrade. What we don’t know is how to get there. We believe that the two of you are the only ones alive that do.”
“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Loghain asked incredulously.
“Eight years ago, both of you traveled in the Deep Roads,” Genevieve explained. “You encountered a unit of the Legion of the Dead, led by Nalthur of House Kanarek, and they assisted you in your revolt against Orlais. We know you did this, because you told King Endrin during your visit to Orzammar three years ago, and it was entered into the Memories by the dwarven Shaperate.”
“Everything you say is true.” The King nodded.
“You journeyed through the Deep Roads under eastern Ferelden, a place no dwarf has traveled in well over a century. Or at least lived to tell the tale.” Genevieve sighed, her expression grim. “You two are the only ones alive who have been to Ortan thaig. That is where we need to go.”
For several long minutes the throne room was quiet again. Duncan could hear the shuffling of the other Grey Wardens as they remained on their knees behind him. He glanced back at Fiona, but the elven mage refused to look his way. No doubt she was pleased simply to remain in the background. He wished he could have done the same.
The First Enchanter clenched and unclenched his hands, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill in the air. Genevieve waited patiently as the two men on the dais digested what she had told them.
“Surely the dwarves must have maps … ,” King Maric began.
“Insufficient” She shook her head. “The Deep Roads have changed, and we may need to travel beyond Ortan thaig. We need a guide, someone who has been there.” She turned toward Teyrn Loghain. “We were hoping to ask for your assistance, Your Grace. You are well known as a fine warrior and in no—”
“Absolutely not,” Loghain stated flatly.
“Can you not understand how vital this is?”
“I understand how vital you think it is, or at least how vital you would like us to think it is.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Who knows what you are really up to? Wouldn’t it be wonderful for the Hero of River Dane to find himself surrounded by Orlesians in a place where his death could be ascribed to anything at all?”
“Don’t be a fool!” Genevieve stormed up the steps toward him. Duncan tensed and waited for the guards to jump out of hiding and attack before she reached the Teyrn, but none did. He had to wonder just how many rulers would agree so readily to a private audience alone with a group of armed Grey Wardens. Not many, probably. Even so, neither man on the dais seemed alarmed, so much as angered, by Genevieve’s sudden advance. “We do not ask these things lightly! Have you no concept of what a Blight would mean to this land if it began here?”