Brother Genitivi proved to be a useful source of information, even more so than they'd ever expected. When the group of five finally scaled the mountain leading to the temple, a few moments to himself was all he needed to skew the pendant in such a way that it became a key. Isobel watched intently as he slipped the key into the door, mesmerized by the intricacy of the carvings and how well it had been preserved.
When the doors fell open, a truly magnificent spectacle was revealed to them. While the chill was nearly unbearable, the beauty of the large chamber before them was enough to distract them as they moved deeper into it. Genitivi began to search the carved walls, his gloved fingers tracing the iced over tales of Andraste's life. Each new hewn picture depicted another event in Andraste's beautiful life. His eyes burned as he held back overwhelmed tears.
Cailan stood very still, eyes wide with awe as he stared up at the ceiling. Everything was slick, and every beam of light made the ice glitter. Each icicle was a work of art, a piece of beauty delivered to this place by the Maker himself. Chella went to her knee, dusting collected snow off of a brazier of some sort. She was tempted to light it, but she didn't have the means. It was so cold.
Isobel walked forward slowly, as carefully as she could manage. Interest drove her to separate herself from the party. Columns taller than she'd ever seen ran down each side of the room. While the ruins at Ostagar rendered her speechless, she found that she could hardly breathe looking up at these. While it hurt at first, she pressed a hand to one of the wide stone pillars. They even felt old. She shut her eyes, a soft smile curling at her lips. While she had never truly excelled at history, much to her tutor's dismay, she respected it.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" came a voice from behind her. The sound startled her, and she turned too quickly, her boots slipping on a thin sheet of ice as she took an abrupt step back. She winced as she readied herself to hit the ground, but she didn't fall. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into Cailan's clear blue eyes.
He didn't let her go immediately, but he looked away, glancing upwards at the tall column just in front of them. She couldn't take her eyes off of his face. It was so close. He was pale from the chill, and his lips were chapped from the harsh wind they'd been met with on the mountainside. His expression was familiar. It was respect. She felt a slight pull in the center of her chest. "I've… never seen anything like this. It's beautiful."
Isobel felt a heat bloom on her cheeks, and she cursed herself silently for it. Her gauntlets hovered above his arms, unsure if she should pull herself away or not. He didn't force her to make the decision on her own, taking a step back after he was sure she was steady. "It is," she murmured in reply, turning to look up at it again. "Very impressive."
Looking back to him, she saw that he was no longer studying the column. His attentions had turned to her, and she could do nothing but stare back at him. She wanted to say something, to tell him to leave her be or that he was a fool for trusting the Orlesian. Or she just wanted to leave, hoping that her silence would injure him more severely. But she said nothing. After a long silence, Cailan turned and began the short walk back to where Alistair stood with Genitivi. He saw Chella watching his every move, a peculiar glint in her eyes.
"We should hurry," Cailan began, oblivious to the look on Alistair's face. The Grey Warden looked to Isobel over the king's shoulder. She looked uncomfortable. Her walk was stiff, her lips pulled into a thin line. Unsure of what to make of what he'd seen, he chose to ignore it. "Eamon needs the ashes."
"I fear I cannot go with you," Genitivi sighed, "My leg is worse after that climb. I would like to stay here." He gestured towards the carvings in the wall. "I wish to study these. I believe they may contain insight into Andraste's life none of us have ever imagined."
"Will you be safe?" Alistair asked. He didn't want to leave the brother by himself, especially if he was in any danger. "
Genitivi chuckled, nodding. "I am a lot safer here than I was back at Haven. Thank you for bringing me with you." He looked to Cailan, a faintly paternal smile on his face. "The temple will protect me. The men who built it knew what they were doing. The faithful shall walk freely."
Cailan looked to Alistair, who snapped into attention, an unwilling reaction to feeling the eyes of the king on him. "We should go." Alistair nodded his agreement. A quick check revealed that there were only a few poultices among the four of them, along with a small satchel they'd use to keep the ashes. Without another moment of delay, they set off into the ruined temple.
They met many men and women along the way. Cultists. Zealous and violent townspeople from Haven, all eager to have the intruders cut down as quickly as possible. They were disturbing Andraste's final resting place, and they had to be punished. The look of blind fanaticism in their eyes made Cailan uncomfortable, and he voiced his opinion as they moved along, claiming that men who believed so strongly in their duty were more dangerous than those with a mind of their own. Alistair found this funny, as Cailan had many such supporters once upon a time.
The fighting was intense, and Isobel found herself overwhelmed by the sheer number of them more often than not. Flanking their attackers was impossible in such tight corridors. The only way to strike them was to wade into the very heart of the group. It was reckless, and she could hardly see at times due to the blood that coated her face by the time the flurry of swords and shields came to a close. But she felt much better with Alistair at her back. Every time she heard the distinct sound of his shield ramming into the oncoming body of a cultist, her morale grew, her own shield arm doubling in strength.
As they pushed through the winding hallways, desperately searching for the answer to whatever lie in their path, they found that their enemies dwindled in number. Each door they opened was met with a growl of lower volume. Each skirmish ended more quickly and with less injury. Still, it was difficult.
After hours of searching the ruined temple, they saw the dwelling dissolve before them, leaving way to nothing but ancient stone. The chill sharpened, but the flush of battle kept them warm. Their blood seemed to mix with fire in their veins, keeping their skin pink and their eyes alight.
Despite Isobel's distrust of Chella, she could not deny that her skilled use of her daggers had more helped than hindered them. While she'd been furious at Cailan's decision to take her along in Arryn's place, she was not glad of it. She didn't want her new friend and the party's only mage cut down by the insane.
The cavern was full of surprises. This was to be expected of a place so long standing. They hadn't, however, anticipated wandering right into the feeding room of any number of dragons, nor did they think of being attacked by them, despite Genitivi's guide telling them to be wary. Surrounded by the stench of the rotting corpses of sheep and goats, they were attacked by three drakes. Clearly not full grown, but still more dangerous than anything they'd faced yet, the four of them very nearly lost.
As the final drake fell in a heap onto the ground, Isobel collapsed onto her knees, her body only held upright by her blade. She clutched onto the grip of her sword, face pressed into the cool metal of her gauntlets. "How much more of this?" she growled, exhaustion curling its fingers around her words. She knew the ashes was worth this. That find was worth every drop of blood shed, if not more, but from where she was kneeling, everything seemed to so far off.
Alistair and Cailan stood in silence, unsure of what to tell her. Chella had run off just after the fight to scout out ahead, leaving them alone with the distressed Warden. Unsurprisingly, it was Alistair who went to his knee in front of her. His hand was heavy on her head as he ran his fingers through her hair. She winced noticeably at the pressure, and he jerked his hand away, remembering the bump. "We are not far from the mountains." Even though she wanted desperately to be unmoved by his words, she found her muscles aching to stand. "If the Urn is anywhere, it is in the mountains."
Just as Alistair was helping Isobel to her feet, Chella appeared at the doorway, her breath ragged from running. "There is a man not far from here," she gasped, trying franticly to catch her breath and divulge the information at the same time. "He is heavily guarded. Two mages and three men. They all appeared to be soldiers." She paused, "They are unlike anything we've seen so far."
"There is always a chance they are willing to speak with us peacefully," Cailan insisted. It was obvious the king grasped at straws, and Alistair was not going to have that. Not now.
He scoffed, "Is that what you believe? In that case, why didn't we surrender our weapons and armor back there with all those undoubtedly nice cultists? I'm sure they were willing to see the reason in things."
Cailan ignored Alistair's eyes, looking instead to Isobel. "We will be ready for a fight, but we must not go in with only that in mind. If this man is so heavily guarded, he must be their leader. Should compromise not be reached, we have enough healing to keep us through another fight. After they are dead, we leave."
"Without the ashes?" Isobel's voice was distant and not wholly her own.
As much as it pained him to do so, Cailan nodded.
--
The man's name was Kolgrim. He was the leader of the Children of Andraste, protectors of the ashes and her final resting place. He was a tall man, with a full black beard and a beautifully forged sword at his back. His men were similarly outfitted, and they watched with unveiled suspicion as the king and his three party members strode forward. When neither of them struck out, an odd feeling of ease fell upon them. While this would not begin in a fight, Cailan was not sure it would not end in one.
Their conversation was enlightening to say the very least. Kolgrim spoke with a clearly heavy heart about Andraste. Her name quivered on his lips, and he continued with such reverence that his expression bordered upon the zealots they'd slaughtered in the temple. Still, Cailan listened to every word, choosing his own responses with such care that Isobel found herself wondering when he'd become so well-spoken. While a charming man, the king conversed with Kolgrim with patience she'd never expected from him.
Kolgrim had a favor to ask. He truly believed that Andraste had returned to the land of the living. While he did not describe her new form, he was sure that her ashes were what was keeping her chained to the place. Should he accept the task of destroying the ashes, he would be the prophetess' savior, heralded throughout Ferelden.
Cailan's initial response was to decline, but there was an honesty in Kolgrim's voice when he spoke of the glory that would come with the act that ensnared him. As he stood there, consumed in thought, Isobel stepped forward. "Do you think this is wise?" she said in a harsh whisper. "You are actually considering defiling Andraste's ashes?"
She saw Chella move up beside him. "I think you should agree, Cailan." When she received a burning glare from the Warden, she narrowed her eyes, as well. "I cannot explain my reasoning here, but you should take the dragon's blood."
Without another moment of consideration, Cailan extended a hand to Kolgrim. The man placed the vial of dragon's blood in his palm, offering the king a warm smile. "Many generations will thank you, good King Cailan."
Just as soon as they exited the cave, Alistair grabbed Cailan by the arm and whirled him around. "What do you think you're doing?" Cailan opened his mouth to give an angry protest, but Alistair did not give him time to speak. "Are you really going to do it? Maker's breath, Cailan, are you insane?" He couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to berate Cailan. The man could have him killed for less. But he just couldn't stem the flow of words leaving his mouth. "You've put us into the direct path of enough danger already! Your shameless search for admiration is ridiculous! You're already king! What more do you want!?"
Isobel's eyes fell to the ground at her feet, and she shifted uncomfortably. Something struck her. This anger wasn't just about the blood or the ashes or even all the close calls they'd run into because of him. Some of it was about her.
"Do not take it out on him, Alistair," Chella snapped. "I told him I had an idea, and I do. No ashes are going to be defiled." Her hand went to Alistair's and she tossed it off of Cailan's arm, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. "How will this fool know we've drowned the ashes in this blood?" she asked, lifting the vial out of Cailan's hand. "He won't. Unless he visits the Urn himself, it will remain a mystery."
It was a decent plan. Actually, it was a good plan, given they could get to the ashes.
As the four of them stood on the cobblestone bridge leading down to what looked like another temple carved from the mountain itself, there was a shrill cry in the air. The sound sent chills through every single one of them. Their eyes went to the sky only to see what they'd least expected. A dragon. It was larger than any creature they'd ever laid their eyes on, with huge flapping wings and a thick body, all the same uniform shade of dark purple. As it reared in their direction, they all ducked behind some form of cover.
Isobel's chest rose and fell as the shock of it nearly drove her to panic. Cailan looked from Chella to Alistair and Isobel before peeking up over the large crate he dove behind. The dragon was resting on one of the taller mountains, its head rested on its taloned feet. "Do you think it's safe?" he asked, though he wondered why he was whispering.
"Oh, yes," Alistair shot him a long-suffering look. "It's only a dragon. Do you want to go and see if it'll be willing to come to a peaceful solution?" Isobel thwacked Alistair on the back of his head. He yelped, his hand flying up to where she'd hit him. Despite the pain, he chuckled. "That wasn't necessary."
She leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "I believe it was."
The humor in her voice made him feel the slightest bit better about things. Dragon or not, they were still on an important mission. Without the ashes, Eamon would die. Alistair would sooner run into that damn dragon's mouth than let that come to past. And with Isobel at his side, whether she was abusing him or not, things felt easier.
As quietly as they could manage, the group made their way down the bridge, towards the temple. The dragon rested on the mountaintop, completely unaware to their presence, as if it couldn't rightly care one way or another. After sneaking along for some time, Chella shrugged and straightened herself, content with walking normally. Cailan followed her example, though he remained cautious, and the two Grey Wardens followed his.
The temple's architecture was in some ways similar to the one they'd entered with Brother Genitivi. It was just as old, if better preserved, and the group entered cautiously to find that, while the outer shell was weathered, the inside looked virtually untouched by the hand of time. Cailan ventured forward, towards a door near the end of the room. Beside the door stood a man in bright, shining armor. He regarded the king with a wary eye, but he did not move. When Cailan finally came to stand before him, the man tilted his head down to look into his face.
"I had not expected to find myself in the company of a king."
His words gave Cailan goosebumps. How had he known? Had someone warned the man of their arrival? His shock must've been evident on his features, and the spirit chuckled. "I know all." Neither Isobel nor Alistair noticed Chella tense considerably behind them. They were too focused on the man, nearly lifted out of their bodies with an otherworldly inquisitiveness. "You are here to visit the Urn of Andraste, are you not?"
Cailan nodded. "We are," he said softly. "May we pass?"
The spirit inclined his head towards the door, but he did not move otherwise. "You must first pass the Gauntlet before you are able to look upon the Urn. The Gauntlet will deem you worthy or unworthy. Should you be the latter, you will be denied entrance." It seemed straightforward enough. "But first, I ask you a question. All of you."
Chella stood to Cailan's left, so close to him she nearly disappeared next to his height. She did not want to be asked a question, unsure of what the specter would ask her.
But she was not the first to be questioned. "Cailan," the spirit began, "You have spent most of your life idolizing your father, and yet you make all of his mistakes. Why?"
Cailan felt the blood drain from his face. "I-I don't know," he breathed. This was not true. He knew exactly why, but the thought was a poisonous one and speaking it would only render it the truth. "I admire him. He's everything I've known." And I am afraid if I try to be my own man, I will fail…
The spirit was not pleased with his answer, but he continued, turning to Alistair. "You regret leaving Duncan to fight the Darkspawn. Do you regret that you were not by his side to shield him from the death blow? Even if that means you would have died yourself?"
Isobel looked to Alistair. His eyes were glassy, and his lip gave a small, barely noticeable quiver. Blinking back the tears, he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, unsure of how to phrase his answer. His eyes fell to his hand as he felt warm fingers curling through his. Looking up the arm of the woman who held his hand, he saw Isobel's soft face. It was full of encouragement. Despite the sadness that wrecked him at the question, the sudden onslaught of thoughts about Duncan, the feeling of her palm pressed to his caused his heart to shudder in his chest. He turned to the spirit. "I do. I wish I could have been there. If my death meant his life, everything would be much better off now."
Content, the spirit turned his attention to Isobel, as did everyone else. She shifted, uncomfortable, at their interest. "My question to you is a simple one." Oddly enough, his words did not soothe the quaking in her gut. "Do you regret leaving your mother behind in the hands of Rendon Howe?"
"Yes," was her weak answer. She hadn't expected her answer to come so swiftly or carried on such a quiet voice. Clearing her throat, she looked up at the spirit. The feeling of Alistair's hand squeezing hers was all that kept her from refusing to finish her statement. "I do regret it, but I feel it was necessary. I had… I had to find Fergus. To tell him what happened."
The spirit nodded, and then he turned to Chella. Before he was able to speak, she lifted a hand. "Don't bother," she said simply.
Whatever the rest of them expected from the specter, it didn't deliver. Instead, he inclined his head, and the door directly to his right opened.
A/N: Argh, you guys! Haha, I feel I should apologize for the last two chapters, as they've been a little lackluster, in my opinion. I'm not exactly sure why I think so. I hope that's not the case for you! Anyway, uh, I hope you liked it, regardless of what I think. ;) Thank you again for the reviews!