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All was quiet that evening in the lower apartments and Duncan was wide awake staring at the slats on the bunk above him. Just like the night before. And the night before that. This evening at least he couldn’t blame the vermin; The unseasonably warm Harvestmere weather encouraged the mice to seek shelter elsewhere, saving him from their incessant squeaking as they wandered the dormitories in search of scraps. New Grey Warden initiates got the worst room assignments—or so he was told, in not so many words, the first time he inadvisably raised the subject with one of the senior Wardens.
“Oh, you are bold,” the Warden sneered after Duncan caught him by the elbow walking into the mess hall. The older man sniffed once, snot gurgling in his nostril as he looked Duncan up and down, clearly finding nothing of worth to him. He put on a strained smile, dripping with condescension. “Take it from me, filth. Just be happy that Genevieve still lets you live, eh?”
The senior warden, just as slow as he was stupid, raised his hand to pinch at Duncan’s cheek, which the streetwise rogue easily avoided. Undeterred, the Warden and his friends only laughed, turning back to enter the mess, leaving Duncan alone, clogging the flow of bodies into the dining hall.
Sighing heavily, Duncan shelved that recent memory further back in his mind—nearby the stage-whispered insults, the conversations that silenced as he walked past, the stares and distrust. Frowning to himself in the dark, Duncan shelved all of those a little higher and a little further out of reach as well. But not so far away that he couldn’t find them again.
The minutes ticked by painfully slowly. Duncan’s eyes were dry, begging to close and rest after another long day. But he couldn’t give in. Wouldn’t give in. Not again, not if he could help it.
Most nights were that way since his Joining. Sleepless, restless, leaving him exhausted and ill-fit for the physical exertions of Warden initiate training come morning. But when the alternative was watching the fiery destruction of the world and everything you ever hoped to hold dear play out behind his eyelids in real-time—well… perhaps a haggard expression and a sleep-deprived mind was a fair exchange for maintaining his sanity.
The clouds shifted in the night sky and Duncan watched as a thin beam of moonlight illuminated the shabby dormitory. He counted four dozing lumps in their covers, plus the one above him that he couldn’t see. His bunkmates didn’t seem to have the same issue, he noticed, darting his eyes around the moonlit room as they snoozed comfortably in the warm autumn weather. He never heard anything from them in the night—not a sniffle or a yelp or even a whimper to suggest they saw anything like the horrors visited upon him every night when he dared shut his eyes.
They were mostly older, save one who was conscripted as a squire, though he didn’t know the full story there. He didn’t even know all of their names. How could he if no one ever deigned to speak to him? Duncan, the Warden Killer.
Maker. He was as frustrated, near-deliriously tired, and lonely as he could ever remember being. Heaving a great sigh, Duncan turned in his cot to face the wall, pulling the scant covers up to his neck. Every evening was a new torture, building on the day’s insults and borrowed time from the night before. Perhaps this what Genevieve wanted for him? To suffer every evening, dogged by this dragon and its sickly darkspawn acolytes as they tore the world asunder. Maybe that was her revenge for Guy? A cruel play, if that was indeed her intent… but uniquely effective.
Because as it turned out, the silence didn’t much help keep the dreams at bay. And as the hours to daybreak stretched on, Duncan began to dearly miss the cheeps of the mice.