AN: I'm BAA-AAAACCCCKKKKK!

Wheeeww! It's been literally two years since I updated this thing. School kind of sucks, you see, and it's not like I've just specifically neglected this story - I've had pretty awful writer's block for pretty much the entire time, only writing a few short little thingies here and there. But recently, you see, I've gotten back into Inquisition, which led to me NOT EVER PLAYING DA2 AGAIN THANK YOU VERY MUCH THAT THING IS TRASH, which led to me reading Origins fanfics and playing the game a little more, researching lore and stuff, and I fell absolutely in love all over again and I was finally, finally able to write something for this story.

So, you know, two years in the future, my writing style's changed a bit. It's probably a little more, uhh, mature in its humor now? I've tried to keep the spirit of the fic alive (if a bit serious in this specific chapter, simply because of the situation) though; I also hope there's enough cutesiness for you here. But that's enough about that; enjoy! I hope I've not lost my touch...

Aedan hated snow.

Aedan hated creepy old ruins.

Aedan hated cultists.

All things considered, their trip to the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been less than pleasant for him.

Finally, however, they'd finished. They'd cleared out all the cultists, managed to get past the high dragon without disturbing her (Oghren was really itching to blow Kolgrim's horn, but he, Alistair and Morrigan were not inclined to do so), and now they were at the end of the pass. Through this door, he thought, would be the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Through here they'd go up to the Urn, take a pinch of the ashes, spit in it for the colossal amount of figurative druffalo excrement they'd had to slog through to get here (at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if there were literal druffalo excrement they'd have to slog through), and be on their merry way back to cure Arl Eamon. Easing open the door, Aedan actually found himself smiling. It was almost over.

But then of course it wasn't over because why would it be over? The world obviously wasn't done pissing on them. Soon after entering, Aedan and company saw a dark-bearded man in full silvery gear standing in front of a small doorway, his form not quite opaque. Getting closer, Aedan could make out something slightly off about his brown eyes – there was no twinkle of emotion in them. The man was clearly not human.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrim," the man said, his voice deep and reverberating, otherworldly. A spirit, then. Aedan wasn't quite sure what to say. "Erm, ahem, yes," he began. 'Oh, yeah, sure, great start.' "We've come here for the Urn of Sacred Ashes." 'Well, no bloody duh; what else would we be here for?' Fortunately, the spirit didn't seem to mind.

"You have come to honor Andraste," it said, "and you shall… if you prove yourself worthy."

Morrigan groaned. "Of course. Pilgrimage, worthiness, all very Chantry of you, isn't it?" Glancing back, Aedan saw Alistair's eye twitch at her comment. He smirked slightly.

"So… given the massive hammer on your back… does that mean I'm going to have to fight you? Because personally, I feel like that's a somewhat harsh trial for… you know… harmless pilgrims." Aedan cringed at the thought.

"It is not my place to decide your worthiness," the spirit said. "The Gauntlet does that." The way he said it was so ominous. Which he supposed was the point. Blocking the way to the ashes of the Maker's wife and prophet, and all. "If you are worthy," the guardian continued, "you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…"

"I've a feeling, Warden, that it would be in our best interests were you to be found worthy," Morrigan chimed in.

"Well, spirit," Aedan said, somewhat nervously, "Let's get it over with then." He began to move forward, but the guardian held up his hand.

"Before you go," he said, "There is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy." Aedan felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others."

Aedan could tell where this was going. "Hold on, wait a minute-"

"You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy… Do you think you failed your parents?"

The Warden's memories came flooding back – memories he'd hoped not to have to remember. His father, injured on the ground, his mother kneeling beside him… urging, pleading Aedan to go on, and himself standing there conflicted. What to do? His parents, these amazing people, waiting to be slaughtered… Duncan yanking his arm, forcing him to look away and escape, the tears in his mother's eyes, his eyes –

Aedan composed himself. "I…" he began. "… No. No, I don't think so. What would have happened if I'd stayed with them, really? I'd have died along with my parents, as would have Duncan. It always hurts to think about, and sure, I wonder if something could have been done… but no. It's best that I left."

"I see," the spirit said. "You are not one to dwell on past events. Thank you. That is all I wished to know."

"Is there any religion that does not thrive upon guilt like a glutton at his lunch?" Morrigan inquired, visibly annoyed. "No? I thought not."

"And what of those that follow you?" the spirit asked. Alistair was extremely regretful about the Battle of Ostagar; he thought he should have died, not Duncan. Oghren was bitter about Branka's leaving him for the Anvil and wondered if he could have done something to stop it, and came to the surface because he'd lost everything; what else was there to lose? And of course Morrigan completely deflected the question – "Be gone, spirit. I will not play your games."

"The way is open," the guardian finally said. "Good luck, and may you find what you seek." He began to glow white, and swiftly flashed out of existence. The door behind him opened of its own accord.

"Well… shit," Oghren said. "Let's go."

The gauntlet was complete hell. Apparently not a single one of the people in their little band had any mind for puzzle solving. They had to "kill" five out of the eight spirits giving riddles after giving them the wrong answer, much to Alistair's horror and Oghren's uproarious laughter. Aedan could feel his nerves wearing thin. When they'd finally worked their way through all the spirits, Aedan pushed through the door at the end of the hall with renewed strength and hope. Surely that was enough of a trial. Surely there wasn't-

"Oh, Maker's Balls!" he yelled as he stepped into the next room. There was the door, across the room – but of course it had to be blocked by a puzzle. A huge round hole dropping off to nothing, surrounded by what looked to be pressure plates. Oghren, taking a swig from his flask, spat it out in laughter at Aedan's response. Morrigan gave him a concerned look. The Warden had not been his normal self during this entire venture to the Temple, what with his obvious dislike of the environment and its inhabitants. She worried that the guardian's questions had been too much for him. He was normally so jovial… she missed it.

Ten minutes later, Aedan was standing out above the abyss, on a stone block that was barely even there, his legs shaking. He was trying to relay orders to the other three, but as he'd already figured out, there was no point in trying. "Alright, Alistair, move over to that plate – no, not that one, the second one. Oghren, please, would you stop swaying so much? Why'd you even bring booze on a trip to a sacred temple? I can't – NO, DON'T STEP OFF THE PANEL! Why not? Because I'll die! Look, if we can just-"

"Oh, by all that you perceive to be holy!" Morrigan exclaimed in annoyance. Her form suddenly began to shrink and contort until she was in the form of a raven, and she swiftly flew across the hole, shifting back into the form of a human on the other side. There was a magical hum and a distant clunk, and the entirety of the bridge became solid. The men were dumbfounded. "Oh, don't look so surprised," the Witch said. "After all, where would men be if not for women? Let's move on, now." She turned and walked through the door, which had once again magically opened.

'Maker's breath, but that was genius,' Aedan thought. He felt his lips begin to curl into a smile, but quickly shook himself back to reality and followed her through the door.

He was immediately hit by the heat, feeling it even before he could fully process what was in front of him. There was the pedestal with the Urn, right over there – blocked only by a convenient wall of flame. It was rather impressive, really; the flames rose up to almost his height, burning without a perceptible fuel source. The whole thing screamed magic. In front of the flames was a small altar, little more than a dusty stone slab. Approaching it, he could make out an inscription carved into its face.

"Cast of the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit," Aedan read. "King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker's sight." He sighed. "Guess what, everyone? A puzzle. We all love those, don't we…?"

"Cast off the trappings of worldly life…" Alistair mumbled. "Worldly trappings, hmm? What does it-" He suddenly had to stifle a chuckle. Everyone looked at him inquisitively. "Oh, it's nothing," he said, still grinning. "It's just… worldly trappings, right, what are we carrying that's trapping us, something that we didn't have when we were born?" Everyone looked at him further, and the Warden just began to laugh out loud. "Oh, Maker, I've got to explain it to you, have I? That's perfect!"

"Alistair!" Morrigan shouted. "Just tell us what you mean!"

Aedan had figured it out. Alistair was too busy trying to calm himself and failing, much to the Witch's annoyance, and Oghren was not really paying much attention. He could feel himself begin to redden. Surely not. The Gauntlet required them to… to be as they were when first born? Surely not. Not with a female around, of all people. "Warden," Morrigan said exasperatedly, turning to him. "Have you figured out what he's yammering about?"

"Yes, well, erm, you see," Aedan began, tripping over his words, "We weren't born with… anything. Nothing. We were all wet and gross and… well…"

"Spit it out, Warden!"

"We didn't exactly have much in the way of clothing, now did we?"

At this, the Witch raised her eyebrow. "Well, I suppose that makes sense, doesn't it?" she looked away from him, as if in thought, but Aedan thought he could see… rosy cheeks?

'No,' he thought, 'Not possible. It's the fire playing tricks on me, that's all.' He searched around for a place to disrobe. Oghren, in the meantime, saw fit to drop his plate leggings in the middle of the hall, much to everyone's dismay. Aedan was very confused as to why the dwarf had neglected to wear drawers. The next five minutes proved to be very awkward for everyone involved, besides the dwarf, of course, who was growing impatient with everyone else's comparative lethargy.

"By the Stone, you three, you'd think your fingers were cut off with the way you're moving. Let the uglies out and let's move." Alistair groaned at the comment, but an increased shuffling could be heard. Eventually, the four of them were all lined up in front of the flames, clad in absolutely nothing, their gear stored in their packs and the packs, along with weapons, thrown over the flames. Aedan felt rather exposed, and was sweating profusely; he had a feeling it was not only from the fire. Speaking of which, he really hoped that he and Alistair were correct in their prediction that this was what the altar meant; being burnt alive crotch-first was hardly the most dignified way to go.

"Everyone ready?" he asked, desperate not to turn his head at all, especially to the left – Morrigan was over there. The party grunted in agreement, Aedan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and they all stepped forward into the fire.

Fortunately, their guess was correct; it was rather unpleasant in the fire, to be sure, but no one suddenly screamed in agony so Aedan guessed they'd done the right thing. Luckily, the flames were only a few feet thick and they weren't required to be exposed for very long. Aedan and Alistair collectively sighed in relief and rushed for their packs, quickly taking their clothes and gear out and beginning to get dressed. Oghren began to chuckle at their haste to clothe themselves again. "Got something you're ashamed to show the lady, Wardens? Heeheeee!"

Aedan scowled, glancing up at Oghren. "You're hardly one to make jokes, Oghren. I've seen a more impressive displays from beggars outside Highever." Oghren began to sputter, his frame quivering, and Alistair have a snort. More importantly, however, Aedan heard an amused sound come from his left. Aedan began to smile and glanced left, only to quickly remember everyone's current situation and quickly look away. Morrigan was kneeled over her pack, fishing her clothing out, and, well, it was currently all still inside the bag. Aedan couldn't help but begin to blush. He also couldn't help but feel an unexpected presence in close proximity to him – very close, in fact – one that was certainly not invited. He felt the urge to give it some sort of command like he would the dog.

There was a great deal of tension in the room as the party finally got fully clothed and began to make its way towards the grand staircase at the end of the room. Before they could take ten steps, however, Aedan was stopped by a familiar voice coming from behind him. He turned around as the guardian began to speak in his slow, deliberate tone. "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim." As he began to glow a brilliant white once more, he simply said, "Approach the Sacred Ashes." He then flashed out of existence, and Aedan figured they'd not be seeing him again.

Climbing up the lengthy staircase to the Urn, Aedan couldn't help but feel like there should be some monks in the background, chanting, or something. The Urn itself… was not impressive. Oh sure, it was the corpse of the Maker's wife and all that, and he supposed it was a pretty nice vase – Zevran would probably love it. But he'd never been particularly faithful; it was half so he could come up with exclamations involving this very ash pile's body parts. Particularly devout people would likely be astounded – "I didn't think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place…" Alistair said in an awed voice, "but here… here she is," – he wasn't much moved. It also probably had something to do with the absolute torture they'd had to endure to get here.

"I stand in awe," Morrigan said, sarcasm dripping from here voice. "Really."

"That's it?" Oghren asked, chuckling. "Thought it would be bigger."

Aedan was absolutely finished with this place. Taking a pinch of the ashes and putting them into a small leather pouch, he whipped around practically leapt the twenty feet back down to the floor, taking the steps three at a time and throwing Alistair off guard. He was amazed he didn't hurt himself. Morrigan giggled faintly at the top of the stairs before leisurely descending. The presence came back. 'What the hell, self?'

Aedan felt himself tapping his foot impatiently as everyone came down the steps at their own pace; Oghren nearly broke his nose. Taking a passage to the side of the altar, he practically sprinted through it and barged right out the front door into the mountain pass. He didn't stop plowing ahead all through the pass, barreling towards a door he'd not noticed before; he hoped it went where he thought it went. He'd gotten himself really worked up all of a sudden and he knew it wasn't fair or logical, but he ignored it for now and kept on moving despite the shouts from Oghren and Alistair to hold up. He wouldn't have stopped had it not been for the sudden feeling of slender, delicate fingers grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. He turned around and looked at Morrigan, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?" he asked, annoyed.

"That is what I was about to inquire myself, Warden!" the Witch said, yellow eyes narrowing. "What is wrong with you? Your attitude this entire excursion has been completely abhorrent! I demand to know what has happened with you!"

Aedan paused. Looking into her eyes, he definitely saw annoyance, but he also saw what he might have thought to be concern if he didn't know better. Nevertheless, looking at her, and at the hand she had wrapped around his forearm, some of his tension melted. "I…" Aedan sighed. "I don't know, it's just… well, the guardian… got to me." The Witch arched an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, he continued speaking rapid-fire. "Look, I know you don't like dwelling on the past and all that stuff but you don't understand what it's like to have to abandon both your parents there, knowing with complete certainty that they're going to die and there's nothing, nothing at all you can do about it and I just, well, Maker, Morrigan, I know it's dumb but that's what I feel and the Urn wasn't even worth it, the trip was so cold and creepy and terrible and it's just some ancient dead prophet in a pot and I-"

"Aedan!" Morrigan said, shocking him out of his tangent. She never used his name. The Witch had an almost pained look on her face, her eyes softer than usual, lacking some of their predatory gleam, their indifference. "It's alright. You're right, I don't understand. Tis… okay to be uncomfortable at the memory of these things." Her eyes grew harder. "But Warden, you cannot behave like such a child. Storming off like this is completely ridiculous! Consider for a moment, if you would, that you are our leader."

The logic of her words struck home, and Aedan sagged visibly. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Morrigan tried to give him a small smile. "If it is any consolation, at least you had parents that cared about you. My mother was only there to teach me magic, and after that she was in essence just a source of annoyance."

Aedan smirked, some of the levity coming back. "Hey, she's not so bad. You have to give her credit."

Morrigan cocked her head to the side. "For what?"

"For going about her business with a stick so far up her arse."

Morrigan gave a short laugh – a sweet, high-pitched thing that brought a smile to Aedan's face. "I will concede that, Warden. I am admittedly somewhat responsible for the placement of said tree limb. Twas difficult to raise me, curious and mischievous as I was."

"You? Mischievous? Perish the thought."

They chatted a while longer as Oghren and Alistair caught up with them, and as they walked through the door and through a passage, back into the Temple's "foyer." Brother Genitivi was ecstatic at what they'd done, thanked them for their help, and asked that he be allowed to spread word of this place so pilgrims could come and take the Ashes. Aedan agreed, but wondered in the back of his mind how much Andraste there was to go around. Either way, Aedan was in a noticeably better mood than he had been, one which accompanied him back to camp and all the way through dinner. Perhaps it was the ability to finally feel his toes, or Sten's surprisingly magnificent stew. But Aedan had a feeling it wasn't quite as simple again, ever.