I take a breath before opening the door, steeling myself. I gasp when I see the person waiting for me. "Orla?!" How did she get here? It's impossible—wait, actually it is impossible. This can't be Orla. She smiles at me. "Hiya, shortie." No, the real Orla calls me that. Whatever this spirit is, it doesn't get to call me that. "You're not Orla," I frown at her.

"No? Ah well, I always said you were talented."

"Who are you, really?"

"A spirit, I suppose. I am part of the Gauntlet. I am Orla. I am you. Who's to say?" she shrugs.

Alright, I'll play along.

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you, of course. And to offer some advice. When you begged Neria to help you escape from the Circle, you did so knowing you were leaving the rest of us behind to contend with the abominations, and the templars, and the demons slipping through from the Fade."

"I know," I bite my lip, which is already trembling. "I'm sorry. I was so scared… but we were all scared, and I abandoned you, when you were my only real friend there… I don't even know if you're alive…"

"Listen to me, you dolt. You did what you had to, to survive. I would have done the same thing if I was in your position and you know it."

"I know, but—"

"No buts. It wasn't your job to save us, and you were a good friend, damn you. What's happened has already happened. Let it be a bad dream that you got to wake up from," not-Orla insists. Like a bad dream… that is kind of how it feels, when my mind wanders back to the events at the Circle, over and over again.

"Ok," I agree.

"Good. Here, take this," Not-Orla says, handing me a dark silver amulet. "When you think of that bad dream, let this remind you to wake up. Now go and be that brilliant mage you said you couldn't be in the Circle. Shoo," she says, pointing at the door behind her. Bossy, as always.

There's another wispy spirity figure in the next room, too, like the Guardian and the ones from the first test. Except the form this figure takes is mine. The me-imitator grins at me, raising her staff. Oh no, you don't. I block the fireball she sends my way with a barrier, and fling a bolt of lightning down on her. I make a mental note thank Morrigan for that trick, later, as I kick the pile of fake-me ashes for good measure. Also, I'm still spooked, and it makes me feel better.

At first the others don't notice me when I enter the room; they're too distracted with… are they setting off traps? I'm not actually sure what they're doing. Then Wynne looks up, notices me standing in the doorway, and gasps.

"Faellathi?" The others look my way too, gobsmacked by the looks of it. I'm immediately bombarded by questions as they all swarm me.

"How did you get here?!"

"Have you been following us the whole time?"

"How did you get this far into the Gauntlet on your own?"

"What were you THINKING?" Neria looks like she's not sure whether to embrace me or smite me where I stand. Luckily for me, she picks the former, squeezing me tightly. I only manage to get a word in when she finally lets go.

"I haven't been following you the whole time, exactly. You were already gone for a few hours before I…uh, snuck away…"

Neria looks like she's leaning back towards the smiting option.

"The Guardian let me try the Gauntlet, too." They all stared at me, speechless. "What?" I shrug helplessly. "I like riddles."

Leliana looks back towards the low marble tiles I found them stepping on. "Actually… This is perfect. Weren't you just saying we needed an extra person standing on this one to keep the third bridge segment solid, Wynne?" She exclaimed, pointing to one of the tiles.

Wynne starts. "Oh! Yes, yes I was."

"See? The Maker must have guided you here, knowing we needed you with us! Perhaps it was even the will of Andraste Herself," Leliana proclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Neria and I exchange glances. "Sure, why not?" Neria concedes.

So, the group hasn't been trying to set off traps, they've been trying to solve a puzzle. There's a big gap in the room which we need to get across to reach the next door. So far, they've worked out that you have to have people standing on specific tiles which are lined up on either side of the gap. Figure out the pattern, and a bridge solidifies across the gap one segment at a time. With me standing on my designated tile, the rest of the group soon works out the rest of the pattern, and voilà; the bridge completes itself, allowing us to cross and get through the next door.

The door leads into a hallway, which leads into the next room. As we get closer, we all realise that this is the final chamber; at the front of the room is a short podium with a plaque, and directly behind the plaque is a wall of flames stretching from one side of the chamber to the other. A little further back still is a staircase flanked by two massive statues of ancient warriors. At the top of the staircase, on the landing, stands a beautifully carved statue of a woman, and in front of her, on a low table, stands the Urn.

"By the Maker," Alistair breathes. "It's the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

Neria reads aloud from the plaque: "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight."

"So… take off all our clothes," Zevran translates, only half-jokingly.

"Yes, and, I think we're supposed to walk through the flames," Leliana says nervously, eyeing said flames.

"There's nothing I can see that would keep the fire going normally, and there's no smoke, so like everything else in this place, there's some kind of magic involved. Definitely seems like real fire, though; everyone else can feel the heat off it, right?" Neria rationalises.

"I think that may be the point of the test; we have to have faith and trust that the flames will not harm us," Wynne explains. "After all, the Guardian did say if we were worthy we'd be allowed to take a pinch of the Ashes; there would be little point in saying so if every pilgrim was expected to die at this point in order to prove themselves."

"Good. That settles it," Zevran says, promptly beginning to strip down. The rest of us followed suit.

"Should we pass through altogether at once, then?" Neria asks, staring determinedly ahead at the flames. I take her hand, ready to take the plunge, but she shakes it off. "Absolutely not."

"I got through the rest of the Gauntlet on my own!"

"Exactly! You've put yourself in enough dangerous situations for one day, da'len!"

I roll my eyes. "Then what's one more?" I dodge Neria's hand reaching for me, and walk through the flames. It feels warm, but I don't feel the fire touch me at all, and within a moment, I'm on the other side of the flames, completely unharmed.

"Faellathi Tabris!" Neria exclaims, equal parts relieved and outraged.

"Well, if the child can do it, so must we, no?" Zevran steps through as well, along with everyone else in their own time. Neria walks through and promptly flicks me on the forehead before pulling me into another hug. Ow. Fair enough, I suppose; now that my moment of bravery is wearing off, I'm already starting to feel bad for scaring her.

"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed," a familiar voice sounds behind us. The Guardian stands in the flames. "You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims. Approach the Sacred Ashes," he commands. I blink, and he's gone.

We ascend the stairs in silence, and gather around the Urn. "I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes…I…I have no words to express…" Leliana fumbles.

Alistair nods, equally awestruck. "I doubted anyone could succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place…but here…here She is."

"I could not have asked for a greater honour than to be here. I will never forget this feeling," Wynne adds softly.

Neria gingerly takes the lid off the Urn. "With your blessing, uh, my Lady," she says awkwardly, carefully taking a pinch of the Ashes and closing them in her other palm. The wall of flames has disappeared now, so I hurry back to our belongings and grab a small leather pouch from Neria's pile and bring it back up the stairs. Leliana steadies my hand while Neria deposits the ashes carefully in the pouch, then seals it tightly. She lets out a shaky breath. "Done."

We make our way back to the entrance hall of the temple in silence; even Zevran doesn't offer any of his usual banter. Brother Genitivi is of course, thrilled when we tell him what happened, even asking to hold the pouch for a moment. Neria is a little upset with him for not noticing that I'd slipped away. In fact, he hadn't even noticed I was gone all this time, but he's too busy fawning over the Ashes to care.

"Oh, Maker… I'm not worthy to look upon…What…What was it like? Coming to the Urn, I mean?"

Neria gives up on being mad at him. "Nothing has ever touched me quite so deeply," she admits.

"You are a very fortunate person. And so am I," Genitivi nods. "Perhaps my research will not seem so much like blasphemy to the Chantry now. We must organise an expedition. There is so much history here! It must be studied, and…and pilgrims should be allowed to come to the Urn!"

Neria bites her lip. "That may not be wise. Many would try to exploit this discovery."

"But the Urn belongs to all the faithful, how could you deny this to them?" Genitivi protests. "No, we must share it."

"I agree," adds Leliana. "We cannot withhold this from others. It is not our place."

"So, everyone comes by and takes some Ashes from the Urn?" Alistair crosses his arms.

Brother Genitivi frowns. "I will spread this good news, or die trying," he insists stubbornly.

Neria rolls her eyes. "On your head be it, then; if something bad comes of this, it's on you."

Genitivi is pleased with this answer, despite Neria's warning.

"I must return home. I have much to do. If you ever find yourself in Denerim, please do visit me. I am not a rich man, but I do have a small collection of… interesting artifacts, and I do owe you a great deal for coming to my rescue."

Neria shakes her head. "Not at all, if it were not for you, we could not have found the Urn. Will you be alright getting back to Denerim on your own, with your injury?"

Genitivi scoffs. "My dear, I have been getting into scrapes on my own since before you were born. I'll be just fine, thank you. Give the arl my regards and well-wishes for his recovery when he wakes, won't you?"

"Of course."