A/N: Sorry for the slow updates. I got covid even though I'm on top of my vaccines. I don't have a fever though, so that's good! Also, when I have the brainpower, I keep writing. Thank you so much for all of your support!

;

Carver adjusted the helmet on his head, a new piece of Maric's Shield armour along with the breastplate Carver wore. Paired with Foggy's gauntlets, there was no mistaking Carver's position in the king's army. Loghain had listened to Carver's reasonably censored update on what Solona's experience had revealed on darkspawn – along with Cauthrien's fate – and had ordered Carver to be accordingly suited up before the Wardens could bring their treaties to Orzammar. It had been arduous enough convincing Loghain that he needn't send another Shielder on Carver's quest.

...So much for being covert.

Then again, not all members of Maric's Shield were knights. Satin was a good example.

Carver sighed.

Not all members had the renowned Summer Sword, either. Carver was essentially a walking culmination of Ferelden history. At least Leliana had chosen to stay back in Ostagar with Solona while the warden slew darkspawn and used their blood for medical experiments. The bard wasn't willing to let Carver forget he was a kid knight anytime soon.

No, instead Carver's only company was Morrigan, who freely questioned him on his inefficient distractions. She disliked how often he got sidetracked from hunting down the archdemon. Apparently chasing homeless people for information on a qunari sword or seeking to rescue a boy from demonic possession was a waste of time.

"You would have benefitted from holding the boy's sanity hostage," Morrigan continued, "same as you should now with the king's health. All the nation's forces would then fall in line to end the blight."

Case in point, Morrigan's suggestions.

"Judge me not," Morrigan berated at Carver's side-eye. "You asked for my opinion, and I gave it."

"I'm not saying anything," Carver murmured.

"No." Morrigan crossed her arms. "You merely wish for me to fill our journey with chatter, do you? Am I a fool of the wilds?"

"If I believed that, I wouldn't have asked for your opinion."

"He is silver-tongued, I see."

The trek to Haven seemed to stretch on forever. Carver merely wished for Morrigan to warm up to "people of society," possibly strike up a friendship with others. An acquaintance. At least one pet.

Carver hoped it wouldn't be him.

His competition was Alistair.

"Ahead." Morrigan twitched her chin up.

A Guerrin soldier tripped quickly down the slopes of Haven's gates to hail them, only to stammer upon finer grasp of Carver's armour. Morrigan strode past the soldier without staying longer than his first nonsensical jumble.

Carver placated the soldier as he followed Morrigan up the steep terrain. The witch was well-accustomed to nature, to Carver and the soldier's wounded pride.

"Breathe," Carver suggested.

"Sh-Shielder!" came the legible gasp. "I beg pardon, we wasn't expecting company — given the state of Redcliffe, see. Some wardens have gone 'n mixed up with undead in ol' ruins. A brother was claiming otherwise, some cult stuff, while rubbing charcoal over stone reliefs when we followed, if you'll believe it! Had a leg broke 'n everything! Ah, have ye heard of Redcliffe's condition?"

Carver strode for Jory's position outside of Haven's ancient temple, following along the soldier's breathless word vomit. "You and a squad of the Guerrin Legion were sent to Haven as a lawful force. A tortured Brother Genitivi believes Warden Elissa and Alistair are ahead of you encountering cultists. You're not expecting backup from Redcliffe."

"Aye, how did you—?"

Carver halted before Jory, drawing attention as he gestured. "Clear out the bodies and prepare a pyre in the fashion of Redcliffe. I am your backup."

Jory and the soldiers around them stumbled at his sudden arrival. Not a few of them hastily saluted, while Jory flustered.

"Hold on, now—"

"If none of your soldiers can be spared beyond this duty," Carver pressed on, "then I'll not wait. I have a pilgrimage to complete."

Carver moved for the temple at the top of the mountain, a meaningful turn of his head drawing Morrigan alongside him in expectation of direct action.

Jory jerked to grab them. "The wardens slaughtered an entire village!"

"Heed Brother Genitivi's account and injuries," Carver tossed back. "I would consider the present evidence before trying to arrest two wardens in the middle of a blight." He paused. "Where are the children?"

"Pardon?"

Carver turned to Jory. "Warden Elissa and her company wouldn't kill non-combatants. Where are the children of this village?"

Jory stammered, glancing at his soldiers for insight no one had. Aside, a soldier offered, "We found none among the bodies, ser."

"You combed the entire village for bodies," Carver checked, "but you didn't think twice when you found evidence of children living here? No?" Carver frowned at the soldiers' imitations of gaping fish. "When I return, have answers ready."

Carver left Haven behind to climb the temple's stairs and veer off for a shattered corridor. A tongue of flame from Morrigan found moving air better than a candle, leading them to cracks in off-colour stone. A stronger flame found its hidden lock.

Morrigan snorted from alongside Carver. "Impatient."

"Helmet," Carver explained.

"No complaints here," Morrigan smoothly dismissed. "You should have been this bold sooner."

"You think loudly."

"Am I wrong?"

That it was confusing for Carver to prefer being unnoticed when he was outside of his armour? Anyone with sense would have agreed with Morrigan. Carver shook his head.

"What are the chances Warden Elissa applied room-clearing to a dilapidated temple?"

"She lives," Morrigan easily took the gamble.

Carver pushed the stone door to reveal a shortcut. "And Alistair where dragonlings are involved?"

"Those creatures do love nesting in old places."

"Not a question, Morrigan."

She watched Carver heave the door open, not helping. "Awfully bold assumption, even for a well-adjusted person."

"Just secure in my pessimism."

"Stick with realism, 'tis better fitting."

They walked down a corridor until they reached a mountain top, regarding the weight of the mammoth ruins behind them and the distant opening to the humble, original temple ahead. Carver's shortcut was but a sliver of shadow in the wrinkles of the larger ruins' face. From its cavernous mouth spilled out Elissa, Alistair, and the rest of their party. Echoing yells of cultists and dragonlings followed them in growing volume.

Morrigan glanced at Carver.

He unsheathed his sword. "Not what I was expecting," he confessed.

"Dragonlings?"

"Running, actually."

Elissa was nursing her arm while Shale was hauling Wynne. "Why are there so many dragonlings!?"

"You should have waited!" Alistair cried out, turning around only to bash a reptile with his shield. "What are we if not a party!?"

"Slow!" Elissa returned.

Zevran tossed a flask of poison behind them, stalling the cultists. "If that's your new motto, bella, we're all dead very soon."

Carver chopped off Father Kolgrim's head, he and Morrigan ambushing the cultists and dragonlings.

"Carver!?"

"Morrigan!?"

Carver snatched Kolgrim's horn and parried a cultist's blade. "Keep running."

Sten and Zevran determinedly pushed the party ahead, Alistair a beat behind them. Elissa glanced back, but Alistair fixed her gaze straight ahead.

"A helmet doesn't make Carver part of Maric's Shield!" Elissa resisted. "We have to help!"

BWOOOOOO!

Alistair's panic carried across the valley. "Trust me, Elissa, we don't!"

Carver tossed aside Kolgrim's horn to regrip his sword, focusing on the enemies he had just aggravated. Morrigan fried half of them with a chain of lightning.

The witch scoffed. "I don't suppose you spend confidence uselessly?"

Carver cut down a cultist, two more and a dragonling filling their place. "I am no savage, Morrigan. Strategy drives me."

ROAAAAR!

The entire mountain seemed to tremble with the violent descent of a winged adult dragon upon the cultists. Carver and Morrigan downed the remaining dragonlings while the cultists were shredded into pulp and bones by a clinically insane dragon. Or at least one driven mad by centuries of Kolgrim's horn. Carver's head was still ringing.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair gaped from far ahead.

The dragon turned its slitted gaze on Carver and Morrigan, nostrils flaring with the scent of freshly-slain dragonlings.

"As I was saying…" Morrigan drawled.

Carver closed his eyes and mentally reached for an apple.

"Dragon's breath!"

Carver was shoved aside in time to be spared a snap of the dragon's jaws. Morrigan flicked Carver's helmet for good measure.

"Cancel the fire, and we'll still have claws, teeth, and a tail left to contend with!"

"Right — sorry!"

Morrigan unleashed lightning at the dragon, a branch of it racing through Carver like static.

"I said I was sorry!"

A boulder smashed against the dragon's side, snapping its attention to Shale and the rest by the original temple. Alistair and Dog stood with their guard up between their wounded and the dragon. Shale catapulted another handful of mountain.

Morrigan speared the dragon with ice while Carver opened a wound in its leg with Summer Sword. He rolled sideways from a bite to slice into another leg. Despite Shale and Morrigan's presence in perfect range, the dragon irately focused on Carver.

Morrigan hummed. "Unused to mages you are, but leashing the dragon's throat was a smart touch."

Carver ducked under a flurry of claws. "I — live — for your — praise!"

"Be the bait," Morrigan's tone cracked with excitement. "I shall do what predators must."

Carver raced under the dragon's belly for its other end, and what followed next, he couldn't say. Only that as the dragon pivoted, a shadow burst over Carver, before the dragon cried out without fire and collapsed over him like a brick house. A spray of crimson ice was lodged across the dragon's entire body.

Carver crawled out from under the dragon to distantly see Wynne pale behind Dog. "Blood magic."

"About time you caught up!" Elissa called out to Carver with relief colouring her tone. "And you, Morrigan — I'd say you're a welcome surprise!"

Both sides strolled to meet in the middle, taking inventory of each other's conditions. Their breaths left them in puffs of white air, only the recent battle colouring their cheeks. Morrigan briefly explained her presence while Elissa caught everyone up on Haven's temple, gesturing to the humble original behind her. Given the state of the monstrous newer one, it was safe to assume that the original temple would be precarious to navigate at best.

"That's why Shale is key," Elissa continued. "She can stack a boulder into gaps where we otherwise wouldn't be able to cross a floor. She can also create doorways where the original ones are ruined. Isn't that right, Shale?"

The golem proudly lifted her chin. "Naturally."

Elissa nodded. "We just need to tread carefully and in a single file."

Carver lifted a hand to the original temple. "Lead the way."

Several pairs of eyes turned to him.

Ah. Elissa had an injured arm. So far as anyone else knew, the path ahead contained unsteady stone formations and possibly dragonlings. Not a spiritually-maintained gauntlet.

Carver faltered. "Or not."

"I'll lead," Alistair easily perked up. "If Carver isn't worried about danger, then I have nothing to fear. That's how it works, yes?"

"No," Carver quickly denied.

The rest of the party filtered past him to follow Alistair.

"It's not," Carver muttered as he took the rear.

Ahead, Elissa whispered to Alistair. "What did I miss…?"

They arrived at the first pair of doors in the original temple, where a fully-armoured man halted them. Unlike modern warriors, he wore only chainmail and short-sleeved robes over it with a leather belt cinching the cloth at his waist. However, every inch of his modest clothing was lovingly dyed and sewn with marvellous detail such that when the man moved, it seemed that fields of wheat and a flock of indigo birds moved with him. Even his leather helmet was braided into a piece as delicate-looking as it was battle-tough. The man's face was forgettable in its features, yet an obvious peace permeated his aura down to the way he stood and cast his gaze. Merely meeting the man's eyes felt surreal.

Then he spoke. "I bid you welcome, pilgrims. Many years have I last prepared the faithful to see Andraste."

Elissa squinted, yet refrained from drawing her sword. "You're no cultist."

"I am a guardian," the man stated. "Only those proven pure-hearted may approach my teacher's ashes. Assuring such is my duty for as long as this earth requires me."

"He's a disciple of Andraste," Wynne murmured in revelation. "My dear, we're in the right place."

Elissa turned at the address. "What do you mean?"

"In the Ancient Age," Wynne shared, "the Disciples of Andraste were a priesthood founded by Andraste's first followers. However after Andraste's passing, religious extremists infamously tainted the priesthood's reputation by massacring Tevinter mages in Aeonar as a twisted vengeance against mage-lords. Most of Andraste's original disciples then split off to spread our lady's teachings through separate religious groups, while the remaining members of the Disciples of Andraste were never heard of again."

Alistair shrugged. "The ancient cult died out."

"Not so," Wynne determined, "by one detail: the first Andrastian priests were all male."

"Like the Tevinter chantry," Zevran noted.

"Father Kolgrim and the rest were remnants of the extremists," Elissa realised, looking back at the guardian. "While you…should be dead."

The guardian merely looked at them. "The descendants of my brethren lost their way, silencing those among them who disagreed with their direction. I heard their cries, sorrowful then quickly snuffed."

"Your duty fixed your place here," Elissa acknowledged. "You may find peace in the fact that my allies and I have avenged the innocent. Father Kolgrim and his followers are all dead."

"The Maker commands justice," the guardian disagreed. "I leave the scales in his hands, as I have in years past and shall in years forward. My peace is my own."

Morrigan scoffed. "We know not if this false mage speaks true of his age, identity, or philosophy. If ancient ashes exist, we will find them by searching instead of idly chatting with a stranger."

Alistair blinked at her. "This man is a mage?"

Carver shifted. "It's possible his devotion to his duty has attracted spirits of faith over the years, empowering his body and lengthening his years. The phenomenon may draw similarities with Solona's case, with exception to the fact that this man isn't connected to the Fade like a born mage."

Sten grunted. "He is a soldier. One can sense it."

"Regardless of who he is," Carver continued, "it speaks to his dutifulness that spirits would cross the veil just to answer his resolution."

Leaving the Fade to enter the waking world naturally twisted a spirit into a demon, like that of "wisdom" into "pride." However, the guardian possessed such purity that, despite not being consciously aware of the Fade, a spirit could slip into his body without changing its essence. The situation was different from Wynne and Solona's spirit magic or a certain timeline's blood magic that could force a demon into a non-mage, like a Templar of Kirkwall. The guardian likely wouldn't be able to describe how he facilitated such behaviour. The man was basically a walking ecosystem that developed once every thousands of years. Statistically, a miracle.

"No," Elissa fluttered her hand, "Morrigan is right. We're just here for the ashes, not answers. Ser guardian – if you demand a test, I'll give you one."

Elissa's aggression barely ruffled the guardian. "It is not my place to decide your worthiness, but the gauntlet's. I need only ask each of you pilgrims a question."

Morrigan tittered. "This is bound to be interesting."

"Elissa." Subtle shock rippled through the party at the guardian's calm address. "There is much suffering in your past, that of yours and others'. You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe knowing he would show no mercy. Your path is laid out before me and plain to see in the lines of your face and the scars on your heart. Lady and warrior, do you believe you failed your parents?"

Elissa stuttered, gaze wet with fright. "You…how…? No. The family heir was beyond Arl Rendon's reach. I had a duty as the second-born to protect our guests, and my parents…had their duties."

The guardian acknowledged her answer. "Then you do not dwell on past mistakes, neither yours nor someone else's."

Alistair's brows knitted with empathy as Elissa wiped her eyes. "In hindsight, it's easy for others to judge what you've done, but it doesn't make it any better."

"Alistair," the guardian greeted, "knight and warden. You wonder if the clash would have ended differently had you not stayed safely at the top of the tower. There were two of you wardens to light one flame. While your brethren were preventing darkspawn from invading the tower, you could have supported them. You wonder, don't you, if their deaths should have been your own?"

Alistair swallowed his shock. "Grigor, Richu, and the rest were all more experienced wardens. If I had just the chance, then…yes. They would have lived and probably seen this quest with Elissa through sooner."

Elissa clenched her good fist but said nothing.

Wynne consoled Alistair. Everyone was shaken. "It is sometimes difficult to see how our actions affect an outcome, but that doesn't mean our actions had no effect."

"Ever the advisor," the guardian noted, "ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder, Wynne, 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?"

"You ask what you already know," Wynne confirmed. "Of course I doubt at times. Only a fool is completely certain of himself."

Sten impatiently huffed, shedding his surprise. "Demand whatever answers you want, human."

The man dipped his head. "Sten, 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 this light?"

Sten spoke steadily. "I have never denied that I failed."

Shale rumbled. "It seems that reflection on past mistakes is a constant preoccupation of the religious mind."

"There is so little I can draw from you, stone giant." The guardian's unearthly gaze softened. "I feel the distant echo of a soul, dormant for so long and now awake…."

"Good for you," Shale mocked.

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

For once, the golem fell silent.

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

"Zevran," the guardian admonished. "Many have died at your hand. However, is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of––"

"How do you know about that?" Zevran cut off coldly.

"I know much," the guardian replied. "It is allowed to me. Nevertheless, the question still stands, assassin. Do you regret––"

"Yes, the answer is yes," Zevran brusquely interrupted. "If that's what you wish to know, I do. Move on."

"Of regret," the guardian turned to Carver, "you know much, wanderer. You replaced the life of a babe in its crib. You traded worlds and consider neither a winning hand. On your path for victory regardless, have you found yourself erring since the start?"

Carver's hands clenched on either side. "I won't stop on my mission."

"Be as that may," the guardian stated, "the past remains the same. You seek not peace but the 'best' outcome. You wonder if this is due to your shortcomings. Do you regret your path?"

Carver hesitated. "I'm not confident enough to pursue peace, it's true. Regret is a byproduct of stepping out of one's comfort zone." He glanced aside at his party, then at the sword at his belt, before lifting his chin. "However…no, I don't regret trying."

"And you, Morrigan," the guardian turned, "Flemeth's daughter. What––"

"Begone," Morrigan sniffed at the accidental mage. "I'll not play your games."

Dog barked.

Elissa and Alistair's body language was highly expressive. Just when the two thought the guardian would blink everyone out of existence, the man dipped his head. "I will respect your wishes. Good luck, pilgrims, for the way is open. May you find what you seek."

The guardian stepped aside of the doors, which slowly swung open.

Elissa led the party through to a corridor lined with worn statues. When the last party member stepped through the doorway, it closed shut on its own and an array of ghosts touched down before each statue. Carver experimentally pushed the sealed doors while the party split up between Elissa and Alistair to tentatively solve each ghost's riddle. Most of the party was quick to dismiss the ghosts as spirits, but a faithful few were humbled to realise that regardless of the what or how, the gauntlet had truly been set up by Andraste's first disciples. With the last riddle solved, the corridor's opposite pair of doors opened, beckoning the party to an antechamber. There, the spirit of Bryce Cousland greeted them.

Elissa stumbled. "Father…? No, this is a cruel lie. It must be!"

Bryce merely smiled softly. "I am part of the gauntlet, pup. I am Bryce. I am you. And it warms my heart to see you have come so far since I last saw you, my child. Your mother would be proud."

Elissa straightened with a firm brow. "What test do you have for us, spirit?"

Bryce chuckled and handed her an amulet. "None, pup. I only wish you good luck."

Elissa grasped the amulet as Bryce faded away like an echo, forever distant yet not gone. Wynne murmured that the amulet possessed a magical boost to one's constitution, shielding it from common illnesses and wounds. The mage helped Elissa wear it in hopes of improving the recovery of her broken arm, while the party silently proceeded to the next chamber.

Elissa suddenly drew her sword to defend Wynne from a thrown dagger.

"Contact!" Elissa cried out in room-clearing fashion.

Everyone immediately jumped into alertness as spectral mirrors of themselves descended on them with weapons. Morrigan frustratedly loosed a blizzard across the room to delay the bulk of their skilled opponents, yet a number had already closed in enough to endanger the unprepared among them. Alistair grunted under the weight of spirit Sten's swings, already bleeding under his helmet where Asala had cut through. Carver didn't have enough time to judge if it had been a glancing blow as a spirit Dog leapt up at him.

Zevran cut the spirit down with a cross of his shortswords and knocked a thrown dagger aside with another twirl. The two of them paired up to clear the room together.

"Any insights?" Zevran asked.

Carver feigned at a spirit Elissa and cut her arm. "They share our weaknesses."

Afar, a spirit Zevran tucked his daggers away and unsheathed a pair of swords.

"Well, that's not very helpful," Zevran chirped. "I have a weakness for venom."

Carver parried spirit Elissa's blade away from Zevran. "I have a resistance to deathroot."

"Unfortunately, I coat my blades with venom of higher quality."

Zevran met his spirit self's blades, quickly redirecting momentum to counter strike — just to be neutralised with the same technique. Carver evaded a shield bash from spirit Elissa only to duck under a cone of ice from spirit Morrigan. A ray of frost caught Carver's foot and raced up his leg.

Carver visualised a mana-draining strike and hastily hacked at the ice with his sword. Zevran quickly grazed spirit Elissa's cheek with one blade and riposted spirit Zevran's shot at Carver with the other while he was distracted. Carver bitterly dismissed his anchored leg to raise Summer Sword, only for spirit Elissa to stumble sideways and burst in particles of fractal light.

Carver knocked spirit Morrigan back with a smite. "Higher quality, you say?"

"Like me," Zevran shrugged. "Fast-acting."

Carver's frozen foot combusted with sudden flame, reducing the ice into a puddle. Morrigan quipped something at Carver that was lost to the din of battle, but Carver fluttered a grateful hand as he and Zevran teamed up on spirit Zevran. A flying boulder suddenly shattered the room's momentum, averting would-be attacks into new assignments. As spirit Zevran darted through an opening elsewhere created by spirit Shale, Zevran and Carver quickly turned to meet spirit Sten's incoming swing.

"Maldición," Zevran cursed.

BANG!

Carver grit his teeth under the weight of Asala above his head. Zevran struck at spirit Sten's openings while the qunari was focused on Carver, but like any of his kind, Sten was immune to venom. It had been the direction his race's evolution had taken, and none other in Thedas could compare even with training.

Spirit Sten flicked his wrist, and Carver panicked as Summer Sword nearly went flying out of his hands. Carver side-stepped and recovered his grip, pincering spirit Sten between himself and Zevran.

They looked like children facing a giant.

Zevran danced around Sten's blows, unable to find another opening. "Haven't you been training with Sten?"

Carver leapt in with a jab, only for spirit Sten to meet him with the same yet more powerful move. Their blades ground against each other in a delicate battle of balance, scrutinising each other for the best path of redirection.

"I'm realising," Carver admitted, "that Sten has been holding back in our training sessions."

Zevran pounced for spirit Sten's neck, but the spectre angled Summer Sword's weight for the ground and, without looking, batted Zevran aside with the flat of Asala's blade. Carver gracelessly tugged Summer Sword out of the ground and leapt back in time from spirit Sten's returning swing. Zevran picked himself up with a groan and impatiently stabbed spirit Sten's ankle from behind.

The spectre stumbled.

In unison, Zevran and Carver immediately whipped their blades out and beheaded their opponent. A burst of light rewarded them.

The real Asala suddenly swung down and cut an ambushing spirit Alistair in half.

Zevran and Carver turned to see Sten sheathing his sword and a spirit Carver exploding into motes of light behind him. The rest of the party could be seen beyond, finishing off the remaining spirits.

Sten lifted a brow. "You need more practice, Karasten."

Carver exhaled into his helmet. "I know."