Author's Note: A little bit at a time, loves. Also...pardon mistakes and such, I wrote this in like twenty minutes. Just wanted to get it up.

Disclaimer: Stuff's not mine.

Warning: Swearing in this chapter, mention of child abuse.


We pushed onward and backward – or it felt backward, at least – until we reached a place that seemed untouched by time. The archways were solid still, the stone unharmed by water or wind. In the far corner of the room, in front of a massive and ornate door, stood a man. His armor was as impressive as the door, if not moreso in its shiny-ness. Yes. Shiny-ness.

Anyhow. He introduced himself as The Guardian, called me a pilgrim, and told me that we were, in fact, on our way to the Urn. And that he was really, really old. When he spoke, it kind of reminded me of the possessed version of Connor – only less scary. No less intimidating, but less scary. And loud. Booming.

Unbidden, he told us the story of the Guardians – the Andrastaens that guarded (redundant, I know) the Urn. Told us about how the crazy people in Haven had been like him once, but had forgotten Andraste – or who she really was, I guess. Well, he didn't say it was the crazy people on the mountain but I inferred. It made a lot of sense, considering.

I digress.

He had been around when Andraste was alive, or so he led me to believe. Mind you, I wasn't particularly up on my Ferelden religious lore or information or whatever, but this seemed pretty impressive. Either he was crazy, or this lady was real. Which was all fine and dandy, because it implied that the ashes were real.

Which was very, very good.

I started to get a little nervous when he talked about the faithful, though. I couldn't very well be faithful to a religion I didn't know anything about – and I wasn't particularly religious to begin with.

"I…" I started, unsure of myself suddenly. Well, it wasn't that sudden. I was pretty much always unsure of myself. I swallowed and set my shoulders straight, trying to smile at the ethereal, should-be-dead dude. "We have come to…see the Urn, Guardian."

"You have come to honor Andraste," he correct, somehow. How he knew what I intended to do, one way or the other, I was unsure. But I didn't change his mind. "And you shall, if you prove yourself worthy."

Shit.

"How…how do I prove I am worthy?"

"It is not my place to decide, the Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be permitted to take a small pinch of ashes."

Perfect.

"But?"

"You will meet the Maker otherwise."

"What…is this Gauntlet?"

"It tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith and see how your soul fares."

Double-shit. Triple-shit. Fuck.

I let out a shaky sigh and nodded slightly, smiling sheepishly at him before I adjusted my belt.

"Well..then…"

"Before you go, there is something I must ask."

I stopped mid-step and looked back to him, nearly on top of him as I had moved and he had not. "O-of course."

"There is an immense amount of suffering and confusion in your past. You abandoned your younger sister to a fate worse than death when you chose to leave, yet you try so hard to believe that she did not suffer as you did. I see the long, arduous path you have travelled in the lines of your face and the scars on your heart. Tell me, child, do you believe that she is all right?"

"Yes," I blurted before I could stop myself, furious and crying but shaking with the attempt to stay calm. "It was me they hated," I offered, trying to bite my tongue but failing. "They never harmed her. Never would."

And it was true. It was the truest thing I had ever felt about my life before; I believed with everything I was that my half-sister was safe with my mother and the man that had raised me, her father. It was me they hated, me that had broken our family, me that had deserved (and received) the entirety of the abuse. And as long as she was safe, I would do it again and again until it killed me. When I was gone, everything went back to normal. They were a happy family with only one daughter when I went to college. We never spoke again.

He looked at me for a long moment, eyes boring into mine before he stepped aside. "Thank you. That is all I wished to know."

I felt sick as we stepped forward; I could hear everyone's footsteps behind me although I swear I had proper tunnel vision as we pushed through the doors, leaving the Guardian behind.

Just before Alistair's hand made contact with my shoulder, I saw the ghosts. I stopped cold, staring at the eight figures around the room. I felt frozen. I had seen plenty, but this was something else entirely.

Hesitantly, I approached the first one. After a brief second of hesitation, I heard footsteps behind me. I continued on to the first specter and said, "Um, hello?"

I was smooth.

As if on cue, the woman's figure began to speak.

"Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?"

I gawked a moment and quickly tried to replay what she had said in my head. It was a riddle. A freaking riddle.

How was this religious?

Whatever. Echoes, shadows, whispers, future…thought, night…

"D…dreams?"

And then she began to speak again, this time a story and not a question.

This continued on and on. Every time I answered, I held my breath. I was unsure of what would happen if I answered incorrectly. Would we die immediately and without question? Would our journey end? Would I fail before I truly began?

But, after seven more riddles and seven more stories, I could finally breathe again.

I stopped for a moment before continuing, still shaken to the core.

Alistair's hand made it to my shoulder this time, "That was brilliant, Gwen." His voice was soft and I smiled, although weakly.

"Thanks, Alistair. I was terrified to find out what would happen if I got it wrong."

"I knew we'd be fine," he grinned at me. And, for a moment, I believed him. He had faith in me. That was an odd thing to acknowledge.

"We're not out of the woods yet."

"Of course not. We are in a mountain," Sten spoke, his voice sounding as if he was raising an eyebrow though I doubted he would show so much emotion.

I snorted a little, feeling a little lighter. "It's an expression. Like…we're not safe yet. We're not in the clear."

"It is an odd expression."

"Well, I'm an odd duck."

"You are not- oh. Is this an expression too?"

"Yes."

"Very well."