“And that’s why you’re here?” Maric asked him.
“I have most of your army searching for you. The rest are here.” The Teyrn shook his head at the King. “It truly figures that you would wind up here, in the middle of things, and yet still unharmed. I expected to learn you were halfway to Orlais, in a box.”
He turned to the soldiers behind him and gestured toward Bregan. “Secure the chamber. Make sure that … creature does not leave.” The soldiers did as they were ordered, spreading out. Several rushed past Duncan to surround Bregan, though he did nothing to oppose them, merely remaining where he was.
As the soldiers moved, however, Duncan scanned the rest of the chamber and paused. “Where is the Architect?” he asked aloud. “And Utha? Where did they go?”
“Gone,” Bregan rasped.
“Find them!” Loghain barked. “Nobody leaves the tower!”
One of the lieutenants present nodded and waved to a number of the soldiers, and they ran out of the room in a hurry. Duncan could hear a large amount of yelling out in the halls. The sounds of battle, it seemed, were mostly gone. Had they won? If the Architect was really gone, did that mean this was over? Strange how it was difficult to tell. All the old stories claimed that victories came with blaring trumpets. Wasn’t this a victory?
Maric helped Fiona walk toward Bregan, Loghain following behind and studying the former Grey Warden with a dubious eye. The soldiers surrounding Bregan had their spears poised, ready to strike, most of the men looking frightened and no doubt certain they were in the presence of some horrifying darkspawn. Bregan ignored the spears and looked up at Maric and Fiona, his expression almost calm.
“Why didn’t you try to escape during the fight?” Maric asked him.
Bregan studied him with those bloodred eyes. “And where would I go, King Maric? Shall I return to the Deep Roads with the Architect?”
Fiona stared at him suspiciously. “So you’re really done with that?”
“I was blind.” He lowered his head sadly. “I think I know why the Wardens created the Calling, now. Better that than to let the taint fill you up, until all that’s left is hatred and bitterness and regret, until you start to think that’s all there ever was.”
Maric glanced at Fiona, and then licked his lips nervously as he looked back at Bregan once more. “And? What now? Will you help us search for the Architect? He will need to be found.”
Bregan closed his eyes. “With your permission, I would like to do what I should have done when I began my Calling. I would like to die with what dignity I have left. I would like to join my sister in the Beyond and … apologize.”
Loghain looked as if he was about to angrily protest, but Maric held up a hand to forestall him. The King glanced at Fiona, looking for her approval, and she nodded. With a wave of his arm to the soldiers, he gave them the command.
The soldiers carried it out, stabbing Bregan with their many spears.
He did not stop them, and did not cry out. He twitched once, ichor spilling out of him and pooling on the floor in the sunshine, and then he slowly slumped over. The soldiers pulled their spears free and his body fell to the ground, lifeless.
Maric turned and held Fiona, hugging her tightly in his arms as she buried his face into his shoulder. Duncan stared at the corpse on the ground.
He wasn’t certain if it was right to feel sorry for the man. Or for Genevieve. Or for Utha. But he did. Despite all they had done, he still felt grief like some gaping hole that had opened up inside his heart.
Perhaps that was what victory felt like.
EPILOGUE
“Your Majesty, Duncan and Fiona of the Grey Wardens have arrived.”
Maric looked up from his throne and nodded at the chamberlain, who was wearing his night robes and carry ing a lantern and looking more than a little confused as to why he was up in the middle of the night announcing guests in the throne room.
“I know,” he said. “Show them in immediately, and then leave us alone.” The man bowed and quickly withdrew. Normally Maric imagined that the chamberlain would have reported the unusual activity to Loghain, but he had ordered the man not to in the most forceful manner possible. Considering that Loghain was also conveniently in Gwaren for at least another month, it would be difficult for the man to disobey.
Convincing Loghain to leave without arousing his suspicions had been a challenge. After leaving the mage’s tower, the man had been completely unwilling to let Maric out of his sight for even a second, not that he didn’t have plenty of justification. Maric had snuck out on Loghain, after all. He had snuck out on the kingdom, and on his son.
During the entire ride back to Denerim, the man had been tight-lipped and furious and had not spoken to Maric at all. Then, after days of silence, when they arrived at the city gates, Loghain had turned to him and made one terse statement: “There will be no Blight, Maric.” It was as much a promise as it was a condemnation.
No, he had not forgotten the witch’s words, had he? He probably never would.
It had been many months since Fiona and Duncan had left. They had been recalled to Weisshaupt Fortress in the distant Anderfels to explain the incident with the Architect to what ever powers that be existed within the Grey Wardens. Maric had been reluctant to see Fiona go. With the flurry of activity following his return to Denerim, they’d had precious little time even to see each other.
So she had left him with only the briefest of farewells. He thought then that it might be the last time he ever saw her. With the state of her corruption, it seemed almost certain that the Grey Wardens would send her on her Calling. She would be dead and it would be doubtful if he would even be told. So she had said good-bye, and that was that. The fact that Duncan had sent word that Fiona was returning with him had been surprising.
The doors to the chamber opened; the chamberlain ushered Fiona and Duncan in before withdrawing with another bow and shutting the doors behind him. Both of them looked different. Duncan had grown a short beard, and it looked good on him. He was no longer in his dark leathers, but now wore a suit of heavy armor and a tunic with the Grey Warden’s griffon emblazoned on it.
Fiona, meanwhile, was wearing a long red cloak that covered her entire body. Her black hair was slightly longer, and her pale skin looked reddened, as if she had been spending a great deal of time in the sun.
“Come in,” he called to them. “I can barely see you in this light.”
They walked forward, both of them solemn, until they stood before the throne. He got up and strode down to meet them personally, shaking Duncan’s hand and then turning to Fiona. He hesitated. Those dark elven eyes of hers were looking at him cautiously, even guardedly. Their entire manner was strangely reticent.
“I suppose you have bad news for me, then,” he said with a sigh.
“Not … exactly,” Fiona murmured.
Duncan looked around at the dark throne room. There were just a couple of torches lit, bathing most of it in shadow. “Strange time to ask us to come, Your Majesty. I must admit, I’ve never felt more a thief than creeping through these dark halls in the middle of the night.”
“I’d rather Loghain not hear about you coming. He’s still not convinced the Grey Wardens weren’t in league with Remille, and I’m not sure he’ll forgive me for telling your order it could return to Ferelden for good. I think you can expect he’ll be watching your every movement like a hawk when you do.”
Duncan nodded. “There’s only going to be a handful of us, at least until we recruit some new members.” He smiled almost bashfully. “I’m to be second-in-command. It feels a bit strange, actually.”
Maric arched a brow at Fiona. “Oh? They made you Commander?”
Again the dubious look. “No,” she said. Then she turned and put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Could you … ?” He nodded as if this was expected, and with a brief bow to Maric he turned and walked out of the chamber.