W/N - Many many thanks again for all of your reviews and input. It really helps me to script the story and improve my writing as well as loving the support. Let's enter the temple now and come back to the Warden's POV. I changed and tailored a bit of the trials for flow sake. There's a little bit of whimsy, a little bit of horror, a bit of poignancy and a little bit of romantic foreshadowing to come. I still haven't decided on a romantic outcome, but when I played this character, I was the skank of skanks, having Dairren, Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, and Isabella. This may be a turning point in the Warden's character.
CODEX - I forgot one from the last chapter. Bevor - a curved metal plate that fits over the chin and throat that you can pull down for air or better communication. Faulds - metal hoops that fit over the waist and hips. Cuisses - armored plates for the thighs. Quillons - metal part of the hilts that often turn up to hook or trap weapons.
The Mountain Temple
The party heaved on the massive doors to the temple and they parted with a deep, awful groan, a testament to their having been untouched for centuries. Sten and Alice grasped one of the thick bronze handles and grunted with effort, their faces straining until the hinges creaked and crackled and finally gave way, swiveling the ancient oak doors open.
Alice led the way in, her armored boots stirring the dust of uncounted years, but yet, the air was cool and crisp inside, not the fetid rotting smell of other ruins she had been in. "Lanterns," she said and beams of light pierced the darkness ahead, revealing a wide staircase that penetrated deeper into the mountains.
"So," Zevran said, holding his lamp just above his head, "Didn't that Kolgrim fellow say that no one has been here in ages? I get the feeling that someone is here now." As always, he seemed to get in right behind her, his codpiece poking into her thigh.
She just ignored that. "You get that too? I thought it was just me. He did say something about a guardian though. We best be careful." She inched along at first, trying to soften the footfalls of the hard leather soles of her boots, making quiet clunking noises. She looked back to see Zev and Leliana nod that the way was clear and she shuffled along, Alistair at her side. This whole place had already been filled with nasty traps and she wasn't taking any chances.
At the base of the stairs, Alice waved the rest of the party up and her two scouts took flanking positions, their bows drawn and ready. Cyrano continually poked his nose between her legs, sniffling and woofling. He sensed something too.
"I always thought he was big enough to ride," Alistair told her, trying to lighten the dark mood. "He'd make a wonderful horse."
The hound let out a little growl to show his displeasure and Alistair took a step away, apparently afraid he might bite. Alice ignored the two and carefully went up the steps, one by one, until she peered over the top of the ledge. "Give me some light," she said, but then, torches in the room ahead unexpectedly burst into flame. "What the…. Douse the lanterns." Someone was already here.
Her muscles kicked in and she crouched down, only the top of her helmet showing into the room. She could just make out one person, standing immobile in front of another door. "I think it's the Guardian. Hold a moment." She squinted her eyes and focused on what appeared to be a knight in magnificent silver armor, plates integrated with riveted mail. A thick, pointed beard poked out through the open face of winged bacinet that glittered in the flickering lights of the torches.
Cyrano prodded her in the behind with his nose and made a whine, but she waved him back. "I know, I know. I'm not afraid. I'm just thinking."
The knight didn't appear to have seen them yet so she motioned everyone back down and then turned to Alistair, a man she had really come to trust in all of this insanity. She really needed some words of encouragement about now – the fight with the High Dragon had taken a lot out of her and her will was flagging. Besides, they all needed a break to refresh. She raised the visor of her sallet. "I can't imagine that Duncan ever envisioned this; you and me, all that remain of the fabled Wardens, creeping through some mountain temple, looking for a fabled pinch of ashes."
Alistair raised his visor as well. She expected an off-key quip from him, but his face was serious and his eye contact sincere. "Perhaps not, but he could not have chosen a better person to lead us and I think that is what he envisioned."
She snorted a bit dismissively. "You must have thought I looked rather pathetic when I arrived at Ostagar."
"I…saw you and Duncan ride up," he began slowly, obviously trying to be diplomatic. "He said he would bring back twenty recruits, but there was only you, looking pretty ragged," he added, eliciting a chuckle from her. Then, his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. "I don't know if you saw Daveth and I when you went to the Warden's tent, but I…saw you, sitting outside, crying…it broke my heart to see you like that."
It had been a while since Alice had felt that kick to the gut sensation that was her constant companion for months after Highever. Then, that became glossed over with numbness and despair, soon to give way to blind rage and blood thirst. She could not now recall a night in which she did not close her eyes to the sight of her putting Arl Howe's head on a pike. She had agonized over every detail of how she would visit vengeance upon him and how he would beg for mercy and be denied. But, upon Alistair's words, she found herself a lost little girl again, afraid and alone. She took a breath and tried to speak, but no voice would rise to her lips. She downed a quick swig of Oghren's swill from her flask and this time, she was not silent. "No, I didn't know you were there. Alistair, am I lost? All I desire now is blood and vengeance. I know nothing else now. I don't even know who I am anymore."
"I understand. I hid who I was for so long, the bastard son of King Maric. You know, I lost myself to games and stupid jokes to deflect the truth. I…we will find who you are, Alice."
She grasped his gauntleted hand. "I want the truth. What must I change?"
He gulped hard and looked away and she knew he was always afraid to say something negative. Even when they met his shrew of a sister, Goldanna, he joked at and minimized her scathing, greedy commentary. Did Alice do the right thing in telling him to grow a pair? She could still vividly recall throwing a handful of coppers in Goldanna's face and spitting on the ground in front of the laundress. Well, it was better than spitting her on a poleaxe. She tugged on his hand again.
He looked back at her. "I am concerned about your anger. You've put far too many people to the sword. Not innocents, mind you, but many who have begged for mercy. I…I wish you would soften your heart."
Alice sat back on her behind and rubbed Cyrano on the head. She pondered his words deeply, thinking back to a carefree girl that ran around Highever with a laugh like the tinkle of bells, a girl who would never have dreamed of killing someone in cold blood. She wanted to tell him that he was right and to find that girl again, who was lost in the woods or even dead now, but it was her turn to say something stupid. "That Oghren…I don't know what he puts in that vile concoction. If he added some of the piss of that High Dragon, I wouldn't be surprised."
She could see the disappointment in his eyes, but she bit her lip, pushing out any remorse for now. The discussion was over. It was time to finish this and get those cursed ashes. She let out a big sigh. What did they have to lose by facing this guardian? If she had to kill one more poor soul to end all of this, then so be it. But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to draw sword.
She stood and crept back up the steps, letting the torches ahead light her way. The man had not moved an inch since she last saw him – it was downright eerie. She looked back down the steps a moment. "I think he's expecting us. I'm going to talk to him. Alistair, Cyrano, Leliana and Wynne, come with me. The rest, keep us covered."
Dampening any earlier doubts that she had, she walked confidently into the room, right up to the magnificent knight. Only then, did he stir.
"I bid you welcome, pilgrims," he said in an inhumanly resonant voice.
Alice knew then that they were dealing with someone entirely preternatural. "You must be the Guardian? I am here for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she said, her voice just wavering slightly. No sense in being subtle here as there was only one reason to come to this place.
His expression was one of utter serenity and she found herself envying that state of mind. "I have waited a long time for this. For years beyond counting I have been here and shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."
Alice told him that the Imperium was only a shadow of its former self and he seemed to smile at this. He told them that he was one of the disciples of Andraste herself who had carried her body to this temple and established a group of followers to guard her holy remains. His eyes became downcast as he recounted how, over the centuries, the loyal followers lost their way and became the dragon cultists. "They have forgotten that Andraste was only a messenger. They have forgotten the Maker and worship their false Andraste and revel in sin."
"I have dealt with those in Haven," she said. "May I go forth?"
"You have come to honor Andraste and you shall," he said, his voice echoing as if from beyond the Fade, "if you prove yourself worthy."
Again, she knew that there was no sense beating around the bush. "I need the ashes to cure a noble man."
"Still, you must prove yourself. That is not my place to decide and only the Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will be allowed to see the Urn and to take a small portion of the ashes. If not…."
Perhaps there was something to Zevran's constant quips of wanting to walk into a dance or a play or even an orgy. "What must I do?"
"The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo tests of faith and we shall see how your soul fares. You will only understand what it is when you face it."
Alice looked over to the three that stood by her side and all gave her a resolute nod, Wynne placing a warm hand on her shoulder. The old mage too, had expressed concerns about her fury, but she had dismissed them up to now. Only Sten and Shale seemed immune to the bloodletting. But, the look in Wynne's eyes gave her strength now and she returned a nervous smile. She looked back at the Guardian.
"We are ready."
She half expected the Guardian to step aside, but he crossed his arms. "Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past…your suffering and the suffering of others," he said and she crossed her arms as well, leaning back.
"And…," she said a little defensively.
"You abandoned your parents, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy."
How does he know? How in Andraste's good name does he know that? The psychic kick to the gut was sharp and fierce and it was as if she were back in that larder in Highever, Duncan pulling her away as she screamed at him and clawed at his chest. She could see her mother's eyes, tearful yet brave, her head nodding as Duncan shut the secret door. She could still hear that door shut as if it were the lid of her coffin. Her hand gripped the scabbard of her sword at her hip until her knuckles turned white.
"You think you failed your parents?" he asked calmly as if asking for the time.
Alice's muscles tensed and her fingers slid up onto the grip of her sword. She flared her nostrils and clenched her teeth as she trembled in anger and shame. For the longest of moments, she thought her body might spring on its own, cutting the man down where he stood, but she forced out a shaky breath and held her ground…for now. But, her words came out like a flood. "Yes, dammit, yes, I failed them! Is that what you want to hear? I should have fought to the death. I should have taken as many of Howe's swine with me as I could have."
The Guardian did not even blink in the face of her tirade. "The past weighs heavily on you and you dwell on mistakes, yours and those of others."
Alistair put his hand on her other shoulder. "It's easy for others to judge your actions from hindsight, but it doesn't make it any better." Her knees wobbled, but he bolstered her will. She couldn't tell him how much she appreciated his support.
"What's past is past," Leliana weighed in. "Why bring it up and open old wounds?"
The Guardian then brought his serene inquisition to the other three. Alistair withered under the accusation that he failed to save Duncan and that now, the Wardens were lost. Leliana shed tears as her visions of the Maker were ridiculed and she was called arrogant for assuming herself equal to Andraste. "I never said that!" she said, biting back at the inquisitor. Only Wynne maintained an air of self confidence, tackling his questions about her doubts head on.
Unexpectedly, the Guardian crossed his arms in front of his chest and bowed. He stepped aside and swept his hand back towards the door behind him. "The way is open. May you find what it is that you seek."
Alice took three steps towards the door and then looked back, but the Guardian was gone. The churning feeling in her gut had lessened now and she waved back towards the rest of her party, but only the three around her remained. "What's this? Where's Zevran and the others?" The three looked around, but no sign of the others could be found. Alice took a few steps back, but a shimmering barrier blocked her way. "It seems that we have no choice but to go forward," she said bluntly and then headed through the door.
The following chamber grew even colder and Alice could see her breath steaming through the gap between her visor and bevor. There was movement in the chamber and spectral images flitted from place to place. She slid, foot after foot, forward, hand on the grip of her sword, ready to draw at a moment's notice as ghostly laughter and sobbing echoed through the room. This was more eerie than the Fade had been and a frozen knot formed in her stomach. "Stay your weapons," she said softly. "Let's not provoke anything."
The translucent image of a woman floated by, singing a preternatural lullaby as another woman, heavy with child, rubbed her belly. Alice slowly walked by them as the ghost of a decaying elf knelt and raised his hands up, begging for a home for his people. Then, another woman glided up to her and put her hands on her hips. Her face was full of wrath, nostrils flared and teeth bared in a snarl. For a moment, Alice was reminded of herself. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"
Alice felt her face twisting up in mirror of the woman and the fire of rage spread through her limbs. She could see Arl Howe's face again and her hands around his throat. "Vengeance."
The woman floated back a pace but her seething tone intensified. "My husband Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die, publicly with her warleaders, so that all would know the Imperium's strength," she said proudly, her nose turned up. "I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood."
From Brother Aldous' long teachings, Alice knew that this was the ghost of Lady Vasilia, the wife of Archon Hessarian, who had put Andraste to the flame. She knew too that the lady died in madness, shrieking and gibbering about vengeance at unseen spirits until she threw herself from a tower in Minrathous. Would Alice end up like that too? With the taint, all that the future held was madness and death.
Another ghost walked by, his arms held as if he were carrying someone and another floated by, skeletally gaunt as if starving. Alice crept past a brawny man, dressed in barbarian armor, kneeling on the ground and sobbing, begging forgiveness. This was a place of icy cold despair.
One final spirit barred her way and she approached with hesitation. He was a tall man, with a prominent aquiline nose, dressed in the ostentatious black and gold robes of an Archon. This had to be Hessarian, the man who had sent Andraste to the Maker through flame. Unlike the fire of Lady Vasilia, Hessarian seemed shrunken, his shoulders bowed as if he bore a massive weight. He looked into Alice's eyes and spoke as if only to her, "She wields the broken sword and separates true kings from tyrants. This is something that lies dormant in your heart, Alice Cousland. Of what do I speak?"
The question seemed a mystery to her and it was as if she were searching for something in the mists of her mind, a thing just beyond her grasp. Images of heads on pikes flashed in her consciousness and she saw ghastly, accusing eyes staring back at her, some sobbing, some pleading. Many were just bandits on the road who had the misfortune to cross her. Others were Howe's or Loghain's soldiers whom she had tricked into ambushes. One belonged to Prince Bhelen Aeducan, who had murdered his own brothers to usurp the crown of Orzammar. Surely, that man deserved no –
"Mercy…it is mercy that you speak of."
Hessarian took a spectral breath and seemed to grow as if her answer infused him with energy. "I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering and mercy bade me end her life. I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him." In a flash of white light, he vanished, leaving the room empty except for the four pilgrims.
Something drew Alice on now and it seemed as if she could not hold herself back. The clomp of her boots on stone accelerated through the halls as she thought about the meaning of Vasilia and Hessarian's words. How could she find mercy through all of this blood? What did that word even mean?
As she led the way into the next chamber, she could see another man, outlined by the light behind. There was something familiar in the way that he stood, the outline of his head. She walked into the light and saw his face and her knees buckled as Cyrano let out a happy yelp.
"Father….how?" she asked as she sagged to her knees.
Teryn Bryce Cousland reached his hands down and grasped hers. The warmth of his skin could be felt even through the leather palms of her gloves. "My dearest child," he said, his voice a ghostly resonance through the room. Yes, it was the same voice though, his wonderful, baritone voice that was filled with love and kindness.
Alice's muscles spasmed and she shook her head slowly, unable to meet his gaze. A hot, moist feeling flooded her cheeks and her breath streamed out in ragged gulps. "I wish it were not so, but I know you are dead."
He squatted down before her and tugged at her hands, getting her to look up. "You know that I am gone and all your wishes and prayers will not bring me back. Pup," he said, using the nickname that always annoyed her as a teen, "I know that you miss me but, my death and my life no longer have any hold over you. This is how it should be. Set your eyes on the horizon and do not look back or falter."
She wanted to say something, but she was afraid to stop him or he might vanish like the other ghosts. She let him pull her to her feet so that they might stand, face to face.
"You have such a long road ahead of you," he continued. "And you must be prepared. And so, I leave this in your hands…I know that you will do good things with it." He brought his hands up to her head and undid the straps to her sallet. He removed the helmet and throat guard and handed it to Alistair with a soft smile and a nod. "As I once did with Duncan, I now entrust the care of my daughter to you, my king."
Bryce then reached around Alice's head and flipped her black hair up so that he could tie a pendant around her neck. She could feel the warmth of his fingers on her skin now. She could feel his breath on her ear and his cheek on hers.
How could this not be real? "Keep this in remembrance of our family and find what is in your heart," he told her. He began to step back, but she wrapped her arms around him, refusing to let go. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the flood of emotions from cresting over the dam that she had built, day after day, week after bloody week since Ostagar until the stones of that dam collapsed under its own weight. She dug her fingers into her father's back and clung to him like a wet rag, sobbing like an infant.
Tears flowed down onto Bryce's satin doublet, soaking the crimson and gold material. "I can't leave you again, father, I can't."
"Forgive me, pup. Forgive yourself," he said softly into her ear and then, like a thousand grains of sand, he slipped through her fingers into a mist.
She toppled back into Alistair's arms and began thrashing around, searching for her father. "Where? Where did…no!" She crumpled to the ground, fighting against Alistair's grip and clawed at the ground, her metal gauntlets scraping on stone.
"Shhh, shhh, Alice, it's all right. I've got you," Alistair said in a cooing voice, wrapping his arms around her as Cyrano licked her face. All of her will left her then and she let out one last moan before falling limp, weakly pounding the ground with her fist. Like at Ostagar, all she could do now was rock back and forth, her hands over her face.
A clapping sound broke into her pitiful wailing and she wiped her eyes with the palm of her gloved hand. "What a wonderful play," a surly, sarcastic voice cut in. "Bravo…bravo. The Couslands were ever the dramatic bunch."
Alice snarled, snot and spit spraying from her face. "Arl Howe! I'll have your head!" she shouted and broke free of Alistair's grip with a twist of her body. The strength and speed that she had acquired in the Fade were frightening and she bolted at the Arl before anyone could move, but he turned and ran just as quickly.
"Alice, no!" she heard Alistair shout and saw Leliana and Cyrano try and follow, but she chased the murderous traitor through twists and turns in the hall.
To be continued