Here we go. Another chapter.

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This might be pretty confusing to one who hasn't played the game.

Daylen

"Stop! You will go no further!"

"Really," Daylen drawls, casually tossing his staff between his hands slowly, threateningly.

He has to admit, the whole setup is rather impressive. An unknown town on top of a mountain, a temple above that, large enough to house dragonlings comfortably. You don't see that every day.

Avina steps up next to him, eyes narrowing as she looks this man right in the eye. "Who are you?"

She's become bolder, Daylen notices, since the beginning. She's less timid.

She's more confident in her skills, he realizes. It suits her.

The man in the silverite armor with the dark beard, the one who'd stopped them, lifts his nose. "You do not have the right to demand my name. You have defiled our temple. You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young."

Wait, 'our young'? They hadn't killed any children...

The only 'young' Daylen can think of are the dragonlings, babies large enough to kill oxen.

What in the Void-

"No more," the man continues, approaching them. "You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?"

"We're here for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," Avina declares.

The man's eyebrows lower. "You did this all for an ancient relic? Know this, stranger..." He turns, and walks toward the end of the cave, where light from outside is streaming in. "The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!"

Avina bites her lip, meeting Daylen's gaze. He shrugs, and just mouths 'I'll handle this'.

"Not even the Tevinter Impirium could hope to slay her now! What hope do you have?" He turns back, and walks back to his original place.

Daylen sighs. "And what of the Ashes? Where are they now?"

"They are still within this temple," the man answers, "but why do we need ashes when we serve the risen Andraste in all Her glory?"

"Can you give me the Urn, then?" Daylen asks.

The man crosses his arms. "So you are after the Ashes. Hmm, perhaps there is a way for you to make up for your desecration of our home and temple."

He and Avina share another worried glance. "Why do you suddenly want to cooperate with us?"

"It may be because I believe in second chances," the strange man replies. "All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light. Perhaps, through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy will become Her greatest champion."

"Just say what you have to say."

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Father Kolgrim. I lead the Disciples of Andraste," he bows. "The Ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady. Now the Ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. They are a remnant of her past incarnation, and She cannot move on as long as they exist."

Daylen raises his eyebrows. "So... you want us to, what, throw the Ashes out a window?"

Kolgrim gives him a sharp look. "The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them Her own again. All it would take is a drop of Her blood. Blood carries power, strength, knowledge! Through it, all the power that is held in the Ashes will be returned to our Lady."

Daylen has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at this madman. Avina is giving him the strangest look, and that isn't making it any easier.

"Why have you not done this, then?" Daylen grinds out.

"The Guardian has foiled all our attempts to reach the Urn. He keeps what power remains from the true Andraste. He knows the Disciples, and we cannot touch him, for he draws his strength from the Ashes themselves. But you could deliver our Lady what is rightfully Hers."

"I could just imagine the grand cleric, if she were here," Alistair comments. "Her head would explode, I kid you not."

"The rewards for performing such a service would be great indeed," Kolgrim adds.

Daylen might not be the most devout of Andrastians, but even he cringes mentally at the thought. Not only that, but Avina would surely flay him alive for even considering it.

But, seeing as how he'd rather not fight the man with the giant battleax, he goes along with it. "What would I have to do?"

Kolgrim seems quite pleased. "The task is simple. I give you a vial of the holy Andraste's blood, and you simply empty the vial into the Ashes. Whatever magic was held in the Ashes will be undone... and our great Lady will be freed from the shackles of Her past life."

"I don't know if I like the idea of us helping this Kolgrim," Alistair says nervously.

"And what?" Sten rumbles. "Encourage the worship of a large lizard? Consider your actions carefully."

Leliana crosses her arms. "What is this talk of blood and power? And he thinks Andraste is reborn? It is preposterous! Oh, I do not like this."

"There is nothing but madness in his words," Wynne adds. "He is a fanatic, and a dangerous one. Be warned - he means to lead you astray."

"Once that is done, you will have earned your place as our honored brother," Kolgrim declares.

Daylen bows his head once. "Very well. I will do as you ask." He subtly tilts his head to the side, sending Avina a wink. She stiffens for a moment, then nods slightly, showing she understands.

"If we succeed, Kolgrim and his followers will be indebted to you," Morrigan tells him. "That puts you in a very advantageous position."

"Excellent," Zevran approves. "With Kolgrim on our side, we could make it through this entire ordeal with our neck intact."

Alistair groans, placing a hand over his eyes. "Bad. Bad idea. Remember the last time you had to drink blood? Only worse."

"Quiet, Alistair," Daylen shushes. "I know what I'm doing."

At his side, Avina gives a slight nod to him, and Alistair sighs. "I'm just going to assume that you have something amazing and tricky up your sleeve."

"Now," Kolgrim interrupts, "I shall beseech the holy Andraste to let you pass safely into the Inner Sanctum."

Kolgrim heads towards the exit, and Daylen, along with everyone else, follow silently.

Avina

"I bid you welcome, pilgrim."

Avina nearly gives a yelp of shock. He sounds like the spirit of Valor she met during her Harrowing. There is power in his voice, through it is barely above a whisper. His eyes are a bright, pure blue, and his skin is as pale as the moon. He wears ancient, yet well kept, silver armor, with a warhammer across his back. His hair is covered by his helmet, and he has a dark beard that reminds her somewhat of Duncan. He has probably been here for a very long time.

There is no mistaking who this is.

"You must be the Guardian," she breathes.

He nods. "Yes, I am the Guardian of the Ashes. I have waited years for this."

"Why have you been here for so long?" Avina asks.

"It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste."

"Let's not waste time," she says. "How do I get to the Urn?"

"You have come to honor Andraste," the Guardian tells her, "and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy."

She chews her lip for a moment. "And if I am not worthy?"

"Then you will not come to the Urn," he replies. "It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not..." He does not continue. He does not need to.

Avina nods in understanding. "I will go through the Gauntlet, then."

"Before you go," the Guardian stops her, "there is something I must ask. Jowan was discovered by the Templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"

Avina shakes her head sadly. "No. There was nothing I could have done to save him."

"Then you do not dwell on past mistakes - neither yours, nor someone else's."

Alistair shrugs. "It's easy for others to judge what you've done, in hindsight, but it doesn't make it any better."

Morrigan crosses her arms. "One wonders what this Guardian's purpose is. Be wary of his traps."

"It is sometimes difficult to see how our actions affect an outcome," Wynne murmurs, "but that does not mean our actions had no effect."

"What's past is past," Leliana agrees. "Why bring it up and reopen old wounds?"

"Oh, good," Zevran sighs. "For a moment I thought you were going to go on a weepy tirade and try to 'share' your feelings."

"But what of those that follow you?" The Guardian turns to Daylen. "Daylen Amell of the Kirkwall Amells," he addresses. "Outside of the Circle, you were nobility. You had a family. You were important."

Daylen crosses his arms and glares at the Guardian. "Yes, yes, I was spoiled rotten, and then I was dragged to the Circle by a group of Templars who caught me when my mother brought me to the Chantry. If you want to know if I failed my mother, then no. I was very young; I could not have escaped, nor could I have fought the Templars. If you want to know if I hate the Templars for what happened, then, not exactly. It's true that it is their job, but sometimes my temper overrules my logic and I do hate them all." Alistair's brow wrinkles, and Daylen adds, "No offense, Alistair."

"None taken."

"Very well," the Guardian relents. He turns his attention to Alistair. "Alistair, knight and Warden... you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died, and not him."

Alistair's head falls slightly. "I... yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance, maybe..."

Avina's eyes fill with tears. "Alistair, no..."

"Shale," the Guardian says. "the stone giant... there is so little I can draw from you. I feel the distant echo of a soul, dormant for so long, now awake..."

Shale raises a stone brow. "Good for you."

"And with the awakening, the slow realization of all you have lost. Ah, Shale... your entire existence is a test of your will and courage. You have my respect."

"Ask me your question, Guardian," Wynne says. "I am ready."

"You are ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past? Perhaps you are only a tool used to spread the word of the Circle and the chantry. Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?"

Wynne frowns. "You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers. There is no sense in hiding, is there? Yes, I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely sure of himself."

Satisfied, the Guardian turns to Leliana. "And you... why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself Her equal?"

Leliana flushes in anger. "I never said that! I-"

"In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative."

Leliana gapes at him. "You're saying I made it up, for... for attention? That's not true! I know what I believe."

"Demand whatever answers you want, spirit," Sten says impassively.

"You came to this land as an observer, but you killed a family in a blind rage. Have you failed your people, by allowing a qunari to be seen in that light?"

Sten's eyebrows lower over his violet eyes. "I have never denied that I failed."

The Guardian nods. "And the Antivan elf..."

"Oh, is it my turn now?" Zevran asks. "Hurrah. I'm so excited."

"Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of -"

"How do you know about that?" Zevran snaps, cutting him off.

"I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret -"

Zevran crosses his arms. "Yes. The answer is yes, if that is what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."

"And you, Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter... what -"

Morrigan waves her hand dismissively. "Begone spirit! I will not play your games."

The Guardian bows his head. "I will respect your wishes." He turns back to Avina. "One more thing you must know; only four of you may go through the Gauntlet. Choose wisely, for the tests require strength of both body and spirit."

Avina bites her lip uncertainly, glancing at Daylen.

"The way is open," the Guardian tells them. "Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

In the end, Avina, Daylen, Alistair, and Leliana take the final steps into the Gauntlet to face the first test.

They come into a large, dimly lit room; on each side, there stand four spirits.

Avina leads them to the spirit of the woman on the left. Her hair is gray with age, her face drawn with sadness.

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

"I think it's... a dream," Leliana breathes.

The spirit nods. "A dream came upon me as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death.

"I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save."

With a loud wooshing sound, she disappears.

The group moves across warily. There, is the spirit of a lovely smiling young woman with short red hair. She offers no greeting, but a riddle as well.

"The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"

Daylen scratches the back of his head.

Avina thinks for a moment. Not something physical... "A tune?" she guesses.

"Yes," the spirit agrees. "I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always would we sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard Her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she sang no more of simple things."

And like the spirit of Andraste's mother, she disappears.

Once again, the group moves on; this time to the spirit of a bald elf.

"I'd neither a guest

nor a trespasser be;

In this place I belong

that belongs also to me.

Of what do I speak?"

"Home," Avina blurts. To her, it is the most simple thing.

"Yes," says the elven ghost, smiling at Avina. "It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium.

"But She was betrayed... And so were we."

Then he is gone as well.

A woman in fine magister robes is next, her face twisted in rage.

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"

Daylen purses his lips. "Vengeance."

"Yes. My husband, Hessarian, would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that She would die publicly, with Her warleaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength.

"I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood."

They move across from her.

A brother in chantry robes stands there, his face serene and calm.

"The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?"

"The mountains?" Avina asks.

"Yes," the spirit agrees. "I carried Andraste's Ashes out of Tevinter, into the mountains to the east, where She could gaze ever into Her Maker's sky...

"No more fitting a tomb than this could we find."

The next spirit is a man in a horned helmet and ancient leathers with a thick beard.

"A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?"

This can only be Maferath.

"Jealousy," Avina states.

"Yes," he says sadly. "Jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarei, but beside Her I was nothing. Hundreds fell before Her on bended knee. They loved Her, as did the Maker.

"I loved Her too, but what man can compare with a god?"

He is gone then, and there are only two left.

Yet another man in chantry robes stands next.

"No man has seen it, but all men know it.

Lighter than air, sharper than any sword.

Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies.

Of what do I speak?"

It cannot be disease, as not every man knows of it. It cannot be anything physical, as it cannot be seen. Something everyone knows, that can fell the strongest of armies. Avina thinks back to what she can remember being taught about Andraste and the Tevinter Imperium. Part of why Andraste was so successful was because of...

"Hunger."

The man nods, grinning. "Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth.

"I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies. I saw these things done and knew the Maker smiled on us."

The eighth and final spirit is a man in magister robes.

"She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?"

"Mercy?"

At his guess, Avina turns to look at Daylen, eyebrows raised. He shrugs.

"Yes. I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering, and mercy bade me end Her life.

"I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him."

He is gone, and the door finally opens.

She only hopes she has the strength to see these next tests through.

Walking through fire is the easy part.

Now, building the bridge, fighting herself, those were the difficult parts.

The charred corpses do not bother her. After all, she has faith. She is not here out of greed.

She sheds her robes without hesitation or embarrassment, and the others do the same. Once everyone is ready, Avina is the first one to step into the line of the flames.

Leliana follows, then Alistair, and finally Daylen. Each of them pass through the flames unscathed.

It is done. And the Urn of Sacred Ashes lies before them.

Tel'abelas.

Next chapter: Nature of the Beast