The journey to Haven takes a few weeks, as it sits on the opposite end of Ferelden from Denerim, and we have to keep pausing as darkspawn and the occasional band of highwaymen lie in wait on the side of the road. We trade stories; Leliana and Zevran have the most to share by far, given their careers as a bard and an assassin respectively. I also notice Neria blushing whenever Zevran speaks directly to her, so there's definitely something going on there. He bombards her with compliments at every opportunity, even more than he does with everyone else.

We make camp at the base of the mountain that Haven is supposed to be situated on. Sten and Morrigan both decide to stay behind, with Sten acting as camp guard and Morrigan too busy reading her mother's grimoire to care about finding "the remains of an absent god's equally absent bride." Each to their own.

There's a guard standing at the entrance to the village, obviously very irritated that we're there at all, but he begrudgingly allows us through for the sole purpose of making use of the local shop. The only shop, it looks like- this is a very small village. Or, I think it is; I've never actually been to a small village like this before. The man at the shop insists he's never heard of a Brother Genitivi when Neria asks, which is suspicious, because it's very obvious this place isn't used to unfamiliar faces, so you'd think they'd have noticed. There's faint music floating down from the top of the hill, so we climb up to investigate, and find the local chantry; the majority of the village must be in the middle of a service.

We try to make a quiet, subtle entrance, but the chantry doors betray us immediately, creaking loudly enough that the music and singing dies down as everyone turns to look at us. Awkward… The man at the front, who must have been leading the service, (although that's strange in itself) puts his hands on his hips and frowns.

"You are obviously new here, but common courtesy dictates that one shouldn't interrupt."

"My apologies, we didn't mean—" Neria starts, but the man holds a hand up.

"No matter. We were just about done here, anyway."

A woman steps out of the pew, alarmed. "But your Reverence, we have not completed the Sacraments of the Holy Mother or…or sung the Invocation-?"

"Be calm, Nuada. We have honoured guests. Surely the Sacraments can wait." The revered…father, I guess, reasons with the woman.

In front of me, Zevran sighs, muttering to Leliana beside him. "How nightmarish to live in such a rural village, the only entertainment being priests who go on about the chant of this and that."

"Shh."

"What? Just once I'd like to walk into one of these places and discover a lively dance, or a drinking game. Or an orgy. But alas, no."

I giggle, and Zevran shoots me a wink.

"That is all for today, my children," the revered father proclaims. "I shall see you tomorrow. For now, I should see to our visitors."

As the villagers file out of the chantry, Neria and the others walk down the centre aisle towards the revered father and his accompanying musicians. I go to follow, but Leliana puts an arm out in front of me, putting a finger over her mouth. Staying out of the way, got it. I don't miss anything anyway, because voices carry in the mostly-empty chantry.

"There was no need to end the sermon, revered father. I am sorry for our intrusion," Neria apologises again.

The revered father shrugs. "It is better this way. Many of the villagers are uncomfortable in the presence of strangers."

Uncomfortable is one word for it. Several of them outright scowled at me as they left.

"Is there a Brother Genitivi here?"

The revered father, who has been shuffling the parchments on the lectern, pauses. "We find outsiders… disruptive." Yep, got that.

"They bring others, and before long, Haven is changed. We will go to any lengths to prevent that." Suddenly the revered father swings around and lunges at Zevran with a dagger in hand. Bad move, revered father. The musicians take this as their cue to draw their own hidden weapons, but our party moves faster.

Within a minute, the revered father and his musicians are all lying motionless on the ground. I really didn't expect things to turn this violent in a chantry, but given the last few months of my life, I shouldn't be so easily surprised. Neria and the others set about searching for clues to Brother Genitivi's whereabouts, but we don't have to look for long, because Leliana deftly picks the lock on the chantry office's door to reveal the missing Brother Genitivi, bound with his mouth gagged. Neria removes the gag while Leliana sees to the ropes tying Genitivi's wrists and ankles.

"Who… who are you? Have you come to finish it?" Genitivi sputters, confused.

Are you Brother Genitivi?" Neria asks, just in case this is some other unfortunate new face in Haven.

"Yes… Oh, you're not one of them…thank the Maker," he says, relieved.

"I am Neria, a Grey Warden. We read your notes, back in Denerim."

"So it seems," Genitivi groans, stretching. "They take great pains to keep this whole place hidden, I…ungh!" he winces, then sighs again. "The leg's not doing too well and…and I can't feel my foot," he admits.

"I'll try to heal it as best I can, and we have some bandages. Faellathi?"

"Bandages, coming right up," I hurry forward, digging through my satchel. I watch, fascinated, as Neria's hands produce cool blue healing magic to surround Genitivi's foot.

Genitivi coughs. "Thank you. That…that feels much better."

"Good. I've done what I can, but you should rest it for the time being."

Genitivi shakes his head adamantly. "I don't have time to rest now, I'm so close. The Urn is just up that mountain." Neria's eyes light up.

"We need to find the Ashes. Arl Eamon gets sicker by the day," she confesses.

Genitivi frowns. "The Arl is sick? Will he live?"

"We hope so. He was poisoned under Loghain's orders," Alistair explains bitterly. Genitivi scoffs.

"Politics. Never did anyone any good. The Arl is a noble soul, however. The Ashes would surely cure him." Genitivi falls silent for a moment, thinking, and then he continues.

"Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn. There is an old temple there, built to protect it. The door is always locked, but I know what the key is. Revered Father Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door, I've seen how he does it."

Zevran leaves the room for a moment, then returns with the medallion in hand. "This medallion?"

Genitivi nods. "Yes, that's the one. Take me to the mountainside at the far end of Haven, and I will show you."

"Are you sure you can make the journey?" Neria asks hesitantly. Genitivi smiles wanly.

"It is not so far, if I could lean on someone? For the Urn, any pain is worth enduring." Alistair and Leliana help Genitivi back onto his feet—well, his foot, and put an arm each around their shoulders.

"I'll try not to slow us down," Genitivi laughs apologetically.

Genitivi directs us to the entrance of the temple, which is built directly into the mountain itself. The lack of interruption from villagers is disturbing; not one person outside, even though it's only early evening. "They follow a strict schedule on Sundays, even after Chantry service," Genitivi explains as we pass through. Weird, but it suits our purposes so I can't complain.

At the door, Genitivi has Alistair and Leliana lean him against one side of the stone temple doors. "Here we are. Give me the medallion, and let's see if I remember."

He presses the medallion into a groove in the door. The design is elaborate, and covers both doors. "Yes, you see, it can be manipulated, just like this…" He turns the medallion clock-wise, and there's a loud click, then a thump, and the doors shift open slightly. "And there. The way is open," Genitivi announces triumphantly. "There are very few keys like this left, you know."

Alistair pushes the door open wide enough so we can all enter, and Leliana offers her shoulder for Genitivi to lean on, which he accepts gratefully.

The entrance hall is bigger than I can fathom; I can barely see the ceiling. It's held up by giant stone pillars, and there's remnants of what was once an enormous carpet blanketing the floor. Other than that, though, the only decoration is piles of snow here and there, which must mean the ceiling isn't completely intact. Genitivi gasps. "What I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendour, as it was meant to be…" He lets go of Leliana's shoulder and hobbles over to a wall, inspecting it.

"We can't really afford to linger," Neria says uncomfortably.

Genitivi starts, already lost in reverie. "I'm sorry… what? I seem to have got distracted, I apologise." He indicates to the wall beside him. "These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know… He looks at Neria, then back at the carvings on the wall, then back to Neria. "I think I need more time to study these. I could not keep up with you all with my injuries, anyway. I should be safe, there are no villagers around here."

Neria looks relieved. "If that's alright with you…" Genitivi nods, already decided. "I will be alright. Perhaps my destiny was only to lead you to the Urn, after all."

"Is there anything else we should know about this place?" Wynne asks.

Brother Genitivi scratches his chin. "Hm… It was designed to protect the Urn from those who would steal it, or do harm to it—namely, the Tevinter Imperium."

Neria glances at me. "What kind of dangers are we talking about, here?"

Genitivi shrugs. "I'm not sure. The legends are not very specific on that point. How did they go…" He clears his throat. "'Only the faithful shall lay eyes upon the Sacred Ashes; death and misfortune await the unbeliever," he quotes. "'The Maker's gaze has fallen on Andraste's final resting place. He weeps for His Beloved, and His wrath at Her betrayers endures."

Neria raises an eyebrow. "So it is the wrath of the Maker that strikes unbelievers down?"

Genitivi shrugs again. "That is what the legend says, and the Maker may indeed watch this place. Read between the lines, however, and you'll understand that it is merely a simple truth draped in hyperbole and metaphor. After all, no one wants to hear something like 'Willy toiled for many a year to perfect the curious mechanisms that would send a sharpened pike up the arse of the unwary traveller,'" he jokes.

"So, traps." Zevran confirms.

"That's settled, then." Neria turns to me. "You'll stay here with Brother Genitivi, Faellathi."

"What?!"

Neria won't hear an argument, however, as she turns on her heel and walks away. "If you think I'm going to bring you in a booby-trapped ancient temple guarded by the Maker Himself, you've got another think coming," she waves cheerily as she practically skips up the stairs.

Rude.

"The brothel was bad enough," she mutters. Hmph.