A/N: This had to be written. We all knew it was only a matter of time.
Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age I wouldn't be here. I would be rich. I would have a flat in Spain and be tended to by a legion of handsome Spanish men.
Cast off the trappings of worldly life
and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit.
King and slave, lord an beggar;
be born anew in the Maker's sight.
The Warden braced herself before the formidable barrier of fire. This trial of the Ashes was not so enigmatic in comparison to the others. Before it was simply stepping stones and answering riddles – Now it's imminently more toasty. Even from where the Warden was standing, she could feel it's heat pressed against her dirt-smudged face.
This fire was no joke.
Obeying the inscription, the mage laid down her staff and began removing her armor. She had no intention of asking her companions to join her in this sacred barbecue (although she silently hoped Morrigan had 'Cone of Cold' on queue). Finally the mage placed her last article atop the altar and stood wearing nothing but the "goodness of spirit" – As the Maker intended. Suddenly a bronzed hand reached out and contributed a fine pair of Antivan leather boots to the pile. The Warden's hard and focused expression softened at the sight. Who knew the assassin would be so selfless?
"You're a good friend, Zevran-" She offered a warm smile. "-But, this test only requires one to pass."
The shirtless Antivan had just finished pulling out his belt when he met the Warden's gaze with a puzzled look. "...Test?"
Alistair planted his palm swiftly against his forehead. "Maker's breath – You do know that she's going to walk through the holy fire, right? Holy fire."
"He'll burn into a deviant little crisp, tis certain," chimed Morrigan, not entirely opposed to the prospect.
"What? Oh no, I have no such intentions, I assure you," clarified the Antivan. "I merely want to provide... moral support for our fearless leader."
"How noble of you." Alistair rolled his eyes.
"It is a very worthy cause," the elf reiterated. "Andraste forbid our lovely, unclothed Warden get stage fright up on those stairs, so self conscious that we all are watching her-"
"-Hello. Right here-" The unclothed Warden gave a half-hearted wave.
"-The only way to cure such shame is for her to imagine her audience in their underwear. I, however, intend to make such wild dreams a reality!" There was a collective groan across the party. "I'm a revolutionary, I know," he added with a proud toss of his hair.
Having had quite enough, the female Warden took a stand against his shenanigans. "Zevran, put your pants back on. You're scaring the Guardian."
Zevran waved his hand dismissively. "I highly doubt that. For there is very little our voyeuristic Guardian has not seen, yes?"
The Guardian (who has been at the scene for quite sometime) gave a sagely nod. "It has been allowed to me."
Again, Alistair's palm found solace against his forehead. "I cannot believe we're disgracing Andraste's final resting place like this..."
"I can," drawled Morrigan. "I find it thoroughly amusing."
The Warden appeared as though she had something indignant to say, but she let it go with a heavy sigh. And with that, she unceremoniously schlumped through the fire.