After leaving the treacherous Korcari Wilds, the two wardens and Morrigan begin to make their journey north toward Lothering. With heavy hearts, the trio silently enter the Tevinter ruins, unsure of the magnitude of carnage they were about to find.

Ana thought back to that moment when she had first arrived. As Duncan left to speak with the King about Howe's betrayal, she stood at the bridge, taking in the magnitude of ruins of Ostagar. At the time, everything seemed like some bizarre dream and the blight seemed like some made-up scenario that, any minute, she'd wake up in her bed chamber at Cousland Castle. She'd leave her room with her mabari at her side, roused from his slumber by the sound of his mistress padding around the room to get ready for the day. She could imagine walking to the dining hall and having her mother gently reprimand her for her usual tardiness before offering her a seat beside her. She envisioned seeing her father's concealed smirk as he bit into a piece of toast while Rendon Howe droned on about the day's events beside him; An annoyed grunt escaping from him as Bryce interrupted him to greet her with a cheerful, "Morning, Pup."

Now, they walked through the archway and the world suddenly seemed a dull grey that matched the dreary darkened skies which the pale sun did little to improve. Crows cawed overhead as they crossed the bridge, passing the occasional mutilated body amongst the streaks of dried blood.

After fighting the few darkspawn that had lingered after the battle, Alistair sheathed his weapon and combed the battlefield and surrounding areas for signs of his mentor's demise. Holding a gloved hand over his mouth, he walked past the bloated and festering bodies scattered everywhere, becoming increasingly desperate as he found none. Ana walked a little ways away from him, scanning the bodies for signs of Hawke, her heart falling with every passing second. The bodies and what was left of them made her sick to her stomach but she forced herself on. "Where is he?" She mutters to herself, just loud enough for Alistair to hear a few steps back.
"Duncan?" Alistair asks.
Her cheeks burn as she shakes her head. "No. Hawke."

"Perhaps he managed to survive?" Alistair said helpfully, his words muffled by his arm as he covered his nose to guard from the stench.

"Or his body is elsewhere." Ana says, grimly. Tears begin to well up in her eyes and she stealthily wipes them away with her sleeve as she turns away from the gory scene. "We should get going."

"Not yet."

She turns to gape at him, taken aback by his defiance. "Why not?" She motions around them. "Can't you see that nobody save us survived?"

Lowering his arm, he winces at the putrid stench surrounding them but raises his chin. "I want to find Duncan's..." He begins to say before he gets choked up with emotion. Averting his gaze, he clears his throat. "I want to give him a proper send-of. He deserves that much."

She watches him as he turns and begins to walk away before glancing around once more. Conflicting emotions surge through her as felt a wave of grief for all the men and women who fought and now laid at her feet. Many of these soldiers were lowborn like Alistair or even criminals; people below her in station and yet, as she stood here among their corpses, grief weighed her down. Alistair was quite some ways away now, his head bent as he checked the corpses he passed for the familiar face of his mentor. Disgusted and antsy, she jogs after him.

Striding alongside, she glances over at him. "I know you probably don't want to hear this," She begins, earning a questioning look from her brother-warden. "But perhaps, while we look for Duncan, we should pick up things we can sell for coin." His eyes narrow at her as he comes to a halt.

"These people were massacred because of Loghain's betrayal and you want to loot our former brothers and sisters in-arms and our camp?" He asks, incredulously. "Are you mad?"

She crosses her arms with a huff. "I'm trying to be practical here! I don't know if you've noticed but we're all on our own, Alistair. We're the last two surviving wardens in all of Ferelden and all we have left are some old treaties that we're expected to use to raise an army to fight the Blight! How do you expect to do that if we have no food, no proper equipment or no coin to get either of these things?"

Before he has a chance to argue, Morrigan appears from Maker knows where with a large pack strung across her scantily clad chest. "Quarreling again, I see." She says coolly, coming to stand beside them. Her golden gaze sweeps between them. "Are you two finished? I suggest you find your treaties so we can continue on our way. We still have quite a way to go before we get to Lothering."

"I want to find Duncan first. He deserves a proper burial after all he's done for the Wardens." Alistair's gaze travels down to the pack and he casts her a suspicious glance. "What's that?" He says, tensely.

Her darkly painted lips curl up into a smug grin. "While you two were busy arguing, I was gathering supplies for our journey."

"That's grave-robbing!" Alistair exclaims, his eyes widening. "Put it back!"

"I did not take them from any bodies." Morrigan scowls.

Her eyes narrow at him as Ana rolls her eyes. "Maker's breath, Alistair!" She exclaims, shooting him a glare. "They're gone! Nobody here is going to care if we take what we need. It's a matter of survival! I thought that of all people, you'd understand that!" She fumes.

"Why? Because I'm 'lowborn'?" He sneers, making air quotes. "I do understand survival but this…" He motions to the pack. "This is criminal! It's a matter of dignity and integrity! Being Fergus' sister, I figured you'd know something about that! Apparently, I was wrong."

"Leave my brother out of this." Ana growls, coming to stand toe-to-toe before him. "Do you really think that I want to sell scrap for money like a commoner? I should be in a castle, dressed in fine clothes and eating fine meals while my parents-" She cuts off as tears threaten to fall. She looks away, bitterly. "My point is that I never wanted this life."

"Neither did I but, unfortunately, this is our life now." He replies. "We may be down on our luck but it doesn't mean we need to resort to grave-robbing."

Shooting him a glare, she turns her gaze to Morrigan. "What were you able to find?"

"Basic necessities" She shrugs. "Some cookware and a few various items to sell, amongst other things." She casts a sideways glance at Alistair who crosses his arms across his chest. "Although, if we don't sell anything to make some coin for food or supplies, I'm afraid the cookware will be of little use."

"You can melt snow and make nestle tea." He mutters, glancing around. "That doesn't require looting the dead." With a dismissive wave of resignation, he turns on his heel and starts off in the direction of the collapsed Tower of Ishal. Exchanging an annoyed glance, both women follow.

Passing through what used to be the main encampment, Alistair's heart sinks. Like many of the other tents and structures, Duncan's tent was shredded;the furniture inside broken or gone. Pulling aside a couple shredded strands, Alistair enters what remains of his Warden-Commander's tent. The adjacent meeting area gone, torn away with little evidence of its existence save the old wooden war table which lies split in two. Among the old rushes, shattered glass and splintered wood cover the floor. Alistair touches the bed post of the now broken bed with shredded sheets. His hand remaining on the bedpost, he kneels as tears spring to his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Duncan." He mutters. "If only it had been me instead."

Through tear filled eyes, he glances around. It was only a week ago when his mentor was here, alive and reading over his reports and writing correspondences. From the corner of his eye, he spots something beneath a worn Grey Warden banner. He wipes his eyes and moves over to it, lifting the banner to reveal a large chest. His gauntleted hands run over the wood, the surface marked with deep scrapes and smeared with what looks like blood. Glancing downward, his eyes move to the lock which is also scraped up. Looking closer, these scratches are not from whatever creature scratched at the wood but look to be the work of a failed attempt at lockpicking. Anger surges through him. Could somebody have come looking for loot and attempted to find treasure within the Warden-Commander's personal chest? The idea only made him angrier. Luckily, a smear of blood on the chest and nearby canvas was a good indicator that the potential thief was unsuccessful in escaping.

With some effort, Alistair pulls the chest to the center of the room and kneels before it, examining it for signs of possible access. Near the right hand corner where the lid lifts, he notices a medium sized hole and turns the chest to look at it. His hand is too big so he looks around for something to hit it with. He unsheathes his sword and hits it a couple times with the pommel until the splintered wood gives way. Setting it aside, he pulls pieces away until he finds the stacks or papers, parts already mildewed from exposure. Pulling out the stack, his eyes move over the familiar handwriting.

As Alistair sifted through the documents, Ana had wandered off toward Cailan and Loghain's tents with Morrigan. Putrid bodies of servants slaughtered as they tried to flee laid near the edges of Cailan's tent. Ana covers her nose and mouth with her arm reflexively, trying not to gag. She moves to the adjacent room which is surprisingly intact save the shredded bedding and a particularly large, wicked looking axe embedded in the center of the mattress.

Morrigan strides over to the king's personal desk, sifting through the papers within. "Well, well…" She says, her darkly painted lips curly ng up into a smirk. "What have we here?"

Ana turns from the bed. "What?"

Slinking over, she hands Ana three papers. The young Warden eyes her curiously. "Read this." She says.

Taking the letters, Ana moves over to where there's more light. Her eyes scan the page:

To his Majesty, King Cailan of Ferelden:

My Warden-Commander assures me that we face a Blight. This thing threatens us both, and we must work together to fight it, lest it devour all. Our two nations have not had a happy history, but that is all it is-history. It is the future that is at stake now. Let us put aside our fathers' disagreements so that we may secure the future for both our countries.

My Chevaliers stand ready and will accompany the Grey Wardens of Orlais to Ferelden. At your word the might of Orlais will march to reinforce the Ferelden forces.

Sincerely,

Empress Celene I

"This is just a letter from Empress Celene telling the king that she's ready to send her chevaliers with the Orlesian Grey Wardens." She shrugs. "We already knew about this." She prepares to put the papers down when Morrigan motions stops her.

"There's more." She urges her.
Ana sets the first page aside. The second page was yet another letter in the same elegant handwriting yet this one looked as though it had been crumbled up then smoothed out and neatly folded. She reads the uncharacteristically familiar toned letter:

Dearest Cailan,

The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course?

The darkspawn have odd timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done, we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden.

Yours,
Celene

Ana's eyes widen. "Cailan was having an affair with Empress Celene?" She gapes. She turns away from Morrigan and perches herself on the very edge of the bed. "She spoke of marriage but that couldn't happen unless…." Her eyes widen further. "Maker's breath! Was he going to divorce Anora for her?" She touches her lips thoughtfully. "The people wouldn't stand for it surely, wait…" She glances up at Morrigan, her encounter with the king replaying in her mind. "When I last spoke to the king one-on-one, he said something about being promised to somebody else!" She waves Morrigan's suspicious glance away dismissively. "I always thought he was referring to Anora but he must have been speaking of the Empress!" She rests the papers on her lap as she lets the information sink in. For a moment, Morrigan watches her with her golden eyes.

"If you think that is astonishing, you should read the next letter from his uncle. An Arl Eamon, I believe his name is?"

"Eamon?" Picking the papers back up, Ana glances once more at Celene's before setting it aside. She looks down and begins to read:

Your Majesty,

My men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun.

Ana winces. If only it were that easy .

Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, not to join the Grey Wardens on the Field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death-and it pains me even to think of it-would plunge Ferelden into chaos.

And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed.

For your consideration, I've heard reports that the Teyrn of Highever's daughter, Analise Cousland, is still unmarried. It was your father's wish for you two to wed before he passed. I believe we should once more discuss the possibility of uniting the Cousland and Theirin lines since they are, after all, second in line to the crown as it is. The Cousland girl is a few years younger than Anora and I believe that she presents a chance of producing an heir for Ferelden!

Please, nephew, consider my words, and Andraste's grace be with you.

Your Humble and Obedient Servant,

Arl Eamon Guerrin

The letter almost falls out of Ana's hands as she stares blankly at the hasty, yet precise script of Eamon's letter. She reads it over and over. ' I believe we should once more discuss the possibility of uniting the Cousland and Theirin lines since they are, after all, second in line to the crown as it is. The Cousland girl is a few years younger than Anora and I believe that she presents a chance of producing an heir for Ferelden'. Eamon - a man she's met maybe a handful of times and only spoke to once or twice suggested to their king that she should be his Queen and provide an heir for Ferelden!

"It seems this Eamon had big plans for you before your king's demise." Morrigan smirks.

"Apparently so." Ana says, trying to digest this information. It's a good thing she's already seated. "It's too bad that his judgement and timing were off. The last Theirin and my family are dead because of betrayals and I'm a Grey Warden. The future he envisioned is dead in the water."

As she says this, she hears Alistair call for her from somewhere nearby. With a sigh, she rises from her perch and tosses the letter on the bed. If a Cousland and Theirin were supposed to unite and save Ferelden, it seems fate had different plans.

Exiting Cailan's tent, Ana finds Alistair looking warily in a nearby building. Seeing her, he jogs over. "I got the treaties." He says, giving his pack a pat.

"Good." She says, Eamon's letter still at the forefront of her mind. Noticing her pensive expression, he raises a brow.

"Are you all right?" He asks. "Where did you go?"

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. "Morrigan and I were in Loghain and Cailan's tents."

Alistair's gaze darkens. "Does your depravity have no ends? Our King is dead."

Snapping out of her trance, Ana glares at him. "We weren't in there to loot. Seeing the destruction of Duncan's tent, we figured we'd see their quarters got the same treatment." She points behind her at the tents. "Do you really think I wanted to see the decaying bodies in there? No."

He glances warily at the tents. "Bodies? Is…. Cailan in there?"

"No. Just servants."

"Maker's breath." Alistair mutters as he makes the sign of the Maker. "Those poor, innocent people…cut down for nothing more than serving their Lord."

Ana nods. "It's unfortunate how many people were taken away due to Loghain's treachery."

Alistair nods, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "Let's go find Duncan so we can get out of here."

As they begin to walk toward the bridge leading out to the Tower of Ishal, Alistair mutters something under his breath before breaking into a run.

"Alistair, wait-" Ana calls out to him before she sees the reason for the upset. She and Morrigan start running, carefully watching for the large chunks of stone gone from the massive bridge. Debris and half ravished bodies pepper the surface as they jump or run around before slowing to a stop at the center where a large construct sits, made from various debris. Both Wardens look up at their king, his half bloated, bloodied body hanging from where he's strung up. His armor had been removed, leaving him in just his ill-fitted and stained small clothes.

Ana turns away while Alistair gaze sweeps over the scene. "We have to get him down."

Ana's eyes widen as they fill with tears. " mad?"

Without looking at her, he steps closer to Cailan's body. "We can't leave him like this. He was our king." Climbing up onto the construct, he reaches for the binding on one of his wrists. "Come, help me."

"Alistair-" Ana begins to argue but stops as Alistair turns on her.

"No. We can't leave him like this!" He exclaims, motioning to Cailan's body. "Now, help me!"

Tentatively, she nods and steps up on the construct, trying not to gag at the king's stench. She winces as she fusses with the bindings on his enlarged forearm and wrist, squealing once it comes loose. At that exact same moment, Alistair releases his side and the king topples over onto Alistair as Ana dips out of the way. Cailan's legs are still bound as Alistair calls out for Ana's help as Ana breaks down off to the side, averting her gaze as the smell and feel of their former king occupies her thoughts.

With an annoyed sigh, Morrigan raises her staff and watches as Cailan's body lifts enough for Alistair- who is covered in some unknown green goo- to remove himself to work on the binds on the king's legs. Once free, the body falls and slides down the construct as Alistair looks on, horrified.

With the help of Morrigan, they manage to get the body to the other side of the bridge where Alistair builds a makeshift pyre. Lighting a fallen torch from nearby, he lights the pyre and steps back as the king's body is slowly engulfed in flames. Kneeling before the fire, he bows his head. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next." He mutters. Coming to kneel beside her brother-warden, Ana makes the sign of the Maker and bows her head. "For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light." She continues. "The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

After the words have been spoken, both Wardens remain kneels for a long moment in silence until Morrigan clears her throat impatiently behind them. They rise.

"We should go try to find Duncan." Alistair states solemnly. "Our best bet is to check the valley up ahead.