With Wynne drained even before having entered the gauntlet, the party shared health potions and Morrigan's healing spells between themselves before tackling the next room. Fortunately, only an extreme test of trust awaited them.

"It's a puzzle," Carver pointed at the gaping chasm that no boulder from Shale could fill. "Each of us has to step on a tile around that hole in order, and a bridge will manifest accordingly."

Elissa squinted at the archaic etchings on the ground and readily accepted his interpretation. "Any idea on the order?"

Carver hesitated. "Only experimentation can solve that."

The party tested countless patterns of stepping on tiles until they believed they found the answer. Then Carver told them that for the bridge to manifest permanently, someone had to cross it during construction at least once.

Alistair stepped up. "I'll go."

Carver blinked and glanced at Elissa, but the woman wasn't looking at Alistair. In fact, her eyes strayed anywhere but to him.

Uh.

"I'm going." Alistair moved for the start of the bridge. "I trust all of you."

Elissa wordlessly pivoted to a tile, spurring the rest of the party to complete the puzzle. When the bridge permanently solidified, everyone crossed it and joined Alistair on the other side. A long stretch of stone awaited them, and the party began to trek the endless hallway.

Carver trailed at the back of the party and murmured to Wynne. "Warden Elissa and Alistair aren't talking?"

The elderly woman quietly sighed in surrender. "Elissa was unhappy with Alistair's confession to the guardian. Alistair doesn't wish to change his mind about his regrets."

Carver noted how the party had split up for the riddles. "So now we're like children in a divorce," he deduced.

Ahead of Carver and Wynne, Zevran muffled a cough. Next to him, Shale spoke. "What do you mean?"

Unfortunately, the golem lacked the ability to whisper.

"What's that?" Elissa glanced back.

Carver remained straight-faced. "I was just catching up with Senior Enchanter Wynne on the temple."

"Right," Alistair remembered. "When you efficiently went on ahead."

"I still needed help," Elissa tersely said.

"You've obviously had this in the bag," Alistair corrected. "The guardian was even happy with your answer. You don't regret past mistakes."

"I can." Elissa finally looked at Alistair. "I have. Everyone has gone through childhood before. I just won't regret living."

"Oh, so now I'm a child?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

In sync, Elissa and Alistair removed their helmets to see each other properly.

"It's a fact that the other wardens were more experienced—"

"I don't care! I'm glad to have you—"

"You don't care—?"

Sten lifted each warden with one hand and separated them as they walked. "Parshaara. If nothing constructive will arise from this chatter, then collect yourselves and revisit the subject later."

An awkward silence fell, punctuated by everyone's echoing footsteps.

Elissa broke it. "I'm sad for the other wardens, of course I am. But if I had to relive the blight a dozen times, I would always choose to face it with you."

"You don't know what you're saying." Alistair shook his head. "Grigor was—"

"Straight from the Anderfels," Elissa intoned. "I know. In another world, if you went down the tower to help him, I would have followed you, signal or no."

"That can't be, you have to live," Alistair rejected.

"On what basis?" Elissa fumed. "Because I'm the newer warden? The weak one who needs the help of seasoned wardens?"

"It's the complete opposite," Alistair defended.

"I don't care for your reasoning," Elissa stated. "I just wish you'd treasure your life at least a little as much as I do."

"Morrigan is right!" Alistair burst. Behind him, the witch blinked. "I'm a follower! I'm only in the Grey Wardens because of Duncan. You deserve so much more by your side!"

Elissa grabbed his armour. "And as I've said, I choose you!"

A different kind of silence fell.

Elissa and Alistair whipped their heads to the side, yet didn't move away from each other as they walked. Even from where Carver trailed behind, he could see their ears burning red. Then the hallway opened up to actual flames.

"What in Maker's name…?" Wynne gaped.

A wall of fire roared before the party, unfaltering even under Morrigan's best spray of ice. No creature stood a chance of curbing the heat, much less creating a gap large enough to let them pass. A humble pedestal stood in front of the fire, barely more than a stone slab and yet patiently etched with a message.

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.

Zevran rose a brow. "We have to die to pass this test?"

"Carver?" Wynne turned.

Everyone directed their gazes his way. When Carver removed his helmet, he felt them shift at the unexpected action.

"This entire test has been a reflection of Andraste's life." Carver lowered his helmet to the ground, then removed his gauntlets. "She connected with others, faced her own strengths and weaknesses, and came to trust her allies with her life."

Eventually, Carver shed his armour until he was only in a tunic and smallclothes. He felt and looked like a little boy. Still, he lifted his chin.

"We all know what happened next for her," Carver said, and strode through the wall of fire.

"Carver!"

On the other side, Carver slowly opened his eyes and released a gust of air in relief. The flames had barely felt like a whisper. Then he looked ahead of him and froze, stunned.

There rose a stack of brilliant marble steps leading to an elevated platform, and a pale statue so lifelike — so beautiful — that Carver nearly forgot about the fire. The tall stone figure had been lovingly carved such that its flesh seemed to quiver under the sunlight filtering through the ancient temple's roof. The figure's robes seemed caught in mid-furl. The statue's eyes were closed and its lips were gently curled as if the figure was basking in the sun's warmth. At any moment, it seemed the statue might start humming with a voice that had famously captivated the Maker.

Andraste.

Who else could the statue be of? It seemed foolish to even consider otherwise. The truth rang through Carver like a struck gong.

"Carver…? Oh…!"

Behind him, the rest of the party followed through the fire in their simplest garments, quickly drawn to the same sight that had captured him. On a pedestal in front of the statue was an equally beautiful urn.

The guardian strode through the flames last, his armoured self untouched by the heat.

"You have walked the path of Andraste," the man stopped past the fire, "and like her have been cleansed. You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims. Approach Andraste's ashes as you wish."

The guardian stepped back, vanishing behind the wall of fire which itself then sighed and flickered out.

Everyone distractedly slipped back into their full clothes, most of them still staring at the softly lit altar around them.

"I didn't think we'd find Andraste's actual resting place," Alistair couldn't stop gaping.

Wynne's voice fell reverently. "I could not ask for a greater honour than to be here. I will never forget this feeling."

"I stand in awe," Morrigan commented. "Really."

Carver approached the urn while a few others were still dressing up.

Zevran joined him. "Nice vase."

Sten followed, barely blinking. "Congratulations, you've found a waste bin."

Carver side-eyed the two of them but said nothing as he took two pinches of the ashes that went into a vial. He hid it away just as Elissa and the rest caught up.

"You taken a pinch yet?" Elissa asked.

Carver stepped back to give her space. "No."

"How could he," Alistair reminded and passed Elissa a vial. "He doesn't have a container for it."

"Right, right."

Elissa grabbed the vial and startled when her fingers overlapped with Alistair's. The two wardens paused, then cleared their throats as the vial moved between them. No one noticed Carver's departure from the platform, or at least no one commented. Once the vial was secured, the party harvested what they could of the slain dragon, before Morrigan led everyone to the shortcut out of the temple. In contrast to the party order in the gauntlet, Elissa and Alistair took up the rear, bumping hands together.

"Ser Carver," Elissa suddenly called.

Carver glanced back reflexively. "…Warden."

"So you are in charge of this mission!" Elissa plodded over to the front, followed by Alistair. "Here I was, assuming leadership and ordering you around like a page. The humiliation!"

"I don't mind you and Warden Alistair navigating for the group," Carver corrected. "As wardens, you have skills intended for locating the archdemon."

Alistair chuffed. "Nice to know we're being used as intended."

"I thought you were a scared kid on his first quest," Elissa confessed. "Telling Alistair and I to get off the ground and stop petting Dog."

Alistair spluttered. "That was only you!"

"Asking if you could buy a snack in Lothering," Elissa continued. "Nervously clearing Redcliffe Castle with an invented technique. Yet all this time, you were eighteen!"

Carver blinked. "What?"

"And a knight!" Elissa punctuated, before demanding, "By who?"

"Irrelevant," Carver dismissed. "We have ashes to deliver. Let's move."

"Yes, ser!" Alistair saluted. Carver shoved him.

At the foot of the temple, Jory and his squad surrounded the party with sheathed yet twitchy weapons. Only Brother Genitivi expressed joy at their arrival.

Elissa and the rest warily reached for their weapons. "I recognise you, Sergeant Jory," Elissa curtly greeted, "while my companions and I were saving Redcliffe. Why this hostility?"

Genitivi seemed eager to leap out of his chair. "These soft-headed soldiers refuse to listen to me––!"

"You are in shock, brother," Jory placated. "Focus your energy on recovering from your wounds."

Morrigan elbowed Carver, who had his helmet on but stood behind Sten.

Carver reluctantly stepped up and stretched a hand out, answered by the Redcliffe soldiers loosening their grips on their weapons. "Sergeant Jory, your report."

Jory flinched at the interruption. "Ser, the wardens may have rescued Brother Genitivi from torture, but that doesn't pardon them from wiping out an entire village."

Elissa snarled. "Everyone came swinging at us! Man, woman––"

"And child?" Jory questioned, turning to Carver. "We searched for children just as you ordered. The evidence suggests that the battle had frightened them out of their parents' embrace and straight into the wilderness. Their parents must have stayed behind to delay the wardens with what few weapons they had."

"There is a bloody altar in one of these houses," Alistair spluttered. "I mean that in a literal sense!"

"It could be anything," Jory defended. "It could be bloody now, no thanks to you."

"The cultists here had one tenet," Carver interceded, "defend Andraste – who is reborn as a dragon – from outsiders at any cost. Or in the case of their children, at any expense. The adults had abandoned the children to leap at an opportunity to kill outsiders, hence the overwhelming horde that had greeted Warden Elissa and her companions. The battle had certainly frightened the children out of Haven – on that we can agree."

"Dragon?" Jory spluttered. "Do you hear yourself, ser?"

"Get off your feet," Carver suggested, pushing past him and his circle of soldiers. "Go climb a mountain. You'll find the evidence you need up there, along with the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

The party followed him. "If you're pure of heart," Elissa muttered.

As they passed, Genitivi lurched in his chair with sparkling eyes. "You truly found it, then? The altar – the urn?"

Shale steadied the priest's chair before he could fall over. "I want to pick it up."

"Carefully," Elissa allowed, and the golem scooped up Genitivi like he was a plaything.

"It's bloody."

"Give him time to heal," Wynne shared.

"We found it all," Elissa confirmed as everyone descended the mountain, leaving Jory and his soldiers to clean up the mess, "though we had to pass a series of trials to finally lay eyes on the urn. You must have mobility and a sense for fighting to attempt them."

"Ah," Genitivi sighed, "then I am not meant to enter the altar. Grateful am I to have at least stepped into the temple and taken its rubbings. Ooooh I have more than enough to finish my book!"

The party agreed to head straight to Lothering to reorganise themselves and see if they couldn't find signs of Haven's lost children along the way. Elissa sent a raven before their departure so that they could expect warden presence in Lothering and have Genitivi safely shipped off to Soldier's Peak. Carver, meanwhile, sent a raven of his own and reserved the rest of his letters for runners in Lothering.

When Carver rubbed his nose bridge, Wynne noticed. "What troubles you, my dear?"

Carver shook his head dismissively. "Letters."

He had to invent a wheelchair, pass the designs and construction off to Rhiannon in Denerim, and have it shipped to Soldier's Peak for Brother Genitivi. Maybe Carver could credit the invention to Gorim Saelac, if the dwarven knight-turned-merchant was in Denerim. New to the surface and with a baby on the way, Gorim would benefit from the sales.

Carver also had his share of ashes to consider. He could organise for a pinch to enter Anora's dinner wine and Cailan's waterskin, but indirectly serving such a rare and finite resource seemed risky. Carver was better off requesting Loghain's opinion before proceeding, which meant directly contacting the teyrn.

Then there were Haven's missing children. Carver needed to add them to the list of people Basket's soldiers had to search for around Lothering. The king's army and Jory's squad would need to coordinate on passing the villagers' effects on to their children once identified. If the children could be identified. For a village that had lived isolated in Ferelden of all places, and for generations at that, Carver didn't have strong hopes for an easy start. There was also a question of finding and funding orphanages to take in the lost children on top of those likely already orphaned by the blight.

In a way, Carver was lucky to be assigned to Elissa and Alistair's mission. Otherwise, he would be forced to attend all the meetings he was handing off to Basket and Rhiannon instead.

Budget meetings. So many budget meetings.

When the Warden's party arrived in Lothering, Basket dropped his basket.

"Ser…!?" The sergeant quickly picked up his basket of mail.

Carver knew how they looked. A Circle mage, a qunari, two wardens, and – ah, yes, a six-foot-five golem carrying a Chantry brother on her shoulder like he was a pet bird. That was without taking into account that Zevran had his Crow hood pulled back so as not to advertise his occupation. Just a lowly elf wearing all black, he was. No hidden blades to speak of at all. In comparison, Morrigan and Dog were the most inconspicuous members of the party given Morrigan was merely beautiful and Dog was a common mabari.

Carver slapped a pile of letters on top of Basket's collection. "For Ser Rhiannon. When you have a moment, we also need to talk about missing children."

"Ah," Basket blinked, adjusting his basket. "You also have visitors – Ser Carver, Warden."

"Faren!" Elissa recognised as a dwarf strolled up to meet them.

"Surfacer," Faren greeted. "I came down for updates on Ostagar; apparently that Duncan's got us an alliance with Orlesian wardens, and it's serving us well. That's about when I got your letter here." He nodded at Genitivi. "This the nerd?"

Shale reluctantly parted from her pet, settling Genitivi down on a nearby tree stump. Genitivi chirped his gratitude and appreciation of Shale's sparkling crystals. His next book would be about golems.

A former Circle mage and a former werewolf stepped forward from behind Faren and, at his nod, helped Genitivi up into a cart. The two warden recruits deferentially retreated to give Faren space.

Alistair gaped at the discipline.

"Ser Carver."

Carver turned to see Loghain walking towards them, followed by Solona and Leliana. The soldiers in Loghain's vicinity all saluted before proceeding with their activities. Carver belatedly crossed his arms in a Ferelden salute as Basket respectfully excused himself. Lothering's foot traffic moved around them like they were in a bubble.

"Teyrn Loghain," Carver addressed as the man came to a stop. "Warden Solona, Sister Leliana."

"Oh, we're here for Warden Elissa's party," Solona dismissed, she and Leliana moving to the other side. "Our next destination is Redcliffe."

Loghain lifted his chin, and Carver cleared his throat, turning to the party. "You should go on ahead. I'm sure the tavern has food."

The Warden's party took the hint and left Carver alone with Loghain. Carver gestured, and the teyrn followed him to a road that ran through the old-fashioned half of Lothering. Their walk was quiet.

Carver coughed. "I didn't mean to summon you to Lothering."

"It was about time I checked on the soldiers here," Loghain dismissed. "Warden-Commander Duncan also expressed concern that only one representative of the Grey Wardens was supervising our second army in the north. I found it appropriate to professionally escort Warden Solona and her companion to Lothering – but no farther, naturally."

"Naturally," Carver echoed. Which meant officially, the two of them weren't having this conversation.

"You mentioned the ashes," Loghain stated.

"Acquired," Carver confirmed. "However, only enough for two doses."

"I can ensure the king's health," Loghain noted, "but you don't plan to visit Denerim any time soon."

"The wardens plan to head to Orzammar after Redcliffe." In a blight, to prioritise a healthy queen over dwarven support implied…treason.

Loghain fell thoughtfully silent. "I'll send Sergeant Atkins." Meaning Satin. Loghain pivoted and held out a hand. "This blight has demanded monumental tasks from all of us. You've performed well."

Loghain rarely praised others. This was the second time since joining the king's army that Carver had received it.

Carver grasped his hand, a vial in their grip. "Thank you, Teyrn."

Morrigan ambushed Carver. "I know the secret to my mother's immortality."

Carver blinked between her and the Warden's party in the distance preparing to depart from Lothering. "Morrigan––"

"You excel at deduction," Morrigan emphasised. "Though it's mostly guesswork, one can appreciate your skills. I have no love for my mother."

"That hardly requires guessing," Carver deflected.

Morrigan held up a black grimoire. This close to the witch, Carver couldn't conceal his first reaction.

"She is a cantankerous toad," Morrigan hummed, satisfied. "Her spells easily stray into the morally corrupt. However, I doubt one would leap to the conclusion that she maintains her existence through the possession of her daughters."

"Morrigan––" Carver attempted again.

"You must kill her," Morrigan finished.

Carver sighed. "Flemeth will just find a way to fake her death and live on."

"Have you read her grimoire?" Morrigan raised a brow. At his reluctant denial, she sniffed. "I cannot be present when she dies, lest she takes over me and makes this effort moot. I trust few others with my future."

"Others?" Carver watched Morrigan step aside to reveal Faren.

The red-haired rogue jerked his chin in greeting. "I stole the book."

Carver looked at Morrigan. "You trust your survival with two people."

It was miraculous enough that Faren hadn't pilfered his findings from Kinloch Hold at the first opportunity. Morrigan probably appreciated Faren's generosity to hand the grimoire to her for free and even volunteer to kill her mother at no cost, from one pragmatist to another.

Morrigan lowered the grimoire, gripping it with both hands. "I know you two won't betray me."

Faren had no reason to, and Carver….

Carver groaned. He was no good with apostates. "Flemeth is powerful. I need to recruit help if Warden Faren and I want a chance at this."

Morrigan quieted. "I do not often say this, but thank you."

"Save it for when she's actually dead," Carver dismissed. "I'll tell Warden Elissa to proceed to Redcliffe without myself and a few others. We'll catch up."

Unsurprisingly, it was difficult finding unpaid labour for a steep challenge that didn't contribute to fighting the blight. The best means of recruitment was either boredom or blackmail.

Shale leapt at the chance to fight another dragon instead of trace a protected and thus uneventful path to Redcliffe.

Wynne disliked others hearing of her "spiritual condition."

"So there's a dragon in the Korcari Wilds," Wynne confirmed as the party split ways, "but it's not the archdemon?"

Carver shook his head. "Most of the time, she's an old woman."

"A dragon and a squishy," Shale summarised.

"This is because of Morrigan, isn't it," Zevran commented.

Everyone jumped while Carver swallowed a yelp. "Where did you come from…?"

Zevran twirled a dagger. "I slipped out of the Warden's party to follow your tracks. Last time you split off from the main group, you picked up a stunning creature."

"A witch of the wilds," Wynne curtly stated. "Although…this elderly one you say can take on the form of a dragon? I can see how she would pose a threat to the king's army in Ostagar. Ah, so that's why you summoned Teyrn Loghain."

Carver choked. "I didn't summon him—"

"You certainly didn't summon the rest of the king's army," Wynne chided. "If you wanted help with a side task, Carver, you needed only ask. Though I'm puzzled how you identified my situation."

"My cousin Solona is also a spirit healer," Carver deflected.

"Warden Solona," Wynne recalled slowly, "who performs blood magic for the wardens in Ostagar?" She paused. "This quest is a favour for Morrigan, isn't it."

Carver focused on the dirt path before them. "I wouldn't be surprised if witches weren't fond of each other."

"You have few reservations against blood mages," Wynne commented. "Why not run an errand for Morrigan while you're at it? Reduce her competition for when she returns home to her mother in the wilds?"

Aside, Faren remarked, "Her mother is the dragon."

"Matricide," Wynne deadpanned. "I'm hiding my connection to a spirit so I may partake in matricide."

"In business," Zevran crooned, "you are what we call a virgin."

"I'm going to back away," Wynne shuffled away from the group, "slowly."

"I am curious," Carver confessed and looked at Faren. "Why did you volunteer for Morrigan's task?"

The question surprised the dwarf. "Uh, she's pretty."

Oh.

It must have been easy being a simple-minded creature.

As they neared the location of Flemeth's hut and reality set in, Carver felt the blood steadily drain out of him with each step. His palms began to feel clammy. Carver had been avoiding the thought, but he knew facing Flemeth could mean death for him. Mere contact with her could result in his summary execution. Carver barely understood his own existence, and here he was, heading to the vessel of an ancient vengeful elven god that might erase him due to his knowledge because Carver didn't want Morrigan to feel like she couldn't trust anyone.

This was fine.

Carver had sent his letters, handed the ashes over to Loghain, and seen Elissa and the rest on their way to Redcliffe. If Carver was fated to die today, the world would be able to spin without him. As it always had.

Someone else felt guilty for taking the original Carver's life. Maybe death would balance the scales—

But no, someone else hadn't spoken falsely. They didn't regret taking this path.

They didn't want to die.

"Carver," Wynne clutched him. "Breathe."

The party had halted on the side of the path. Carver was struggling for long, even breaths.

"You're terrified," Zevran realised quietly. "After everything I've seen you go through, an old lady terrifies you? No offence, my dear Wynne."

"None taken," Wynne returned dryly.

Carver's voice was strangled. "Flemeth is a…powerful mage."

"If you believe the stories," Zevran allowed.

Faren crossed his arms. "How's this old crone gonna be any different than Avernus?"

Carver choked. "Flemeth houses a — spirit within herself. A potent one."

"Like I do?" Wynne asked.

Carver shook his head. No, Flemeth's guest wasn't a mere spirit, it wasn't even a sentient feeling. It was a true sapient. An ancient being with its own agenda. A s—

Ah.

Right.

A soul.

Carver took Wynne's advice. He breathed, then straightened. "I need to speak to Flemeth."