Authors Note: Again not strictly cannon. Enjoy, and reviews welcome.

Welcome to Kirkwall

Chapter 8: Stories and Legends

When the door to Anders clinic closed behind her, she was already lost in thought. Memories of Amaranthine flitted in and out of focus in her minds eye. She almost didn't notice Hawke until he was right in front of her, startling her out of her reverie.

"Are you all right?" he said, concern creasing his brow. He was in full armour now. The shiny black plate mail was impressive to say the least. There was a red etching on the breastplate and shoulder guard. Family crest, perhaps? She would have to ask him about it later. She wondered if he was out in all his regalia for her sake, or if he had been anticipating battle. If that was the case. the armour certainly added to the intimidation factor.

"I'm fine," she said finally, smiling up wearily at him, and he seemed to relax somewhat.

"Fenris just told me what happened," he said, then looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think I have ever heard anyone use the phrase 'bloody fool' so many times in one sentence."

She grinned again and shook her head. "Quite the little information network you've got going on. Fenris must have run straight to Hightown with the news."

Hawke shrugged. "That's what friends are for," he said brightly. "To spread the juiciest gossip as efficiently as possible." He gave her a self satisfied smile, then said, "Well, seeing as how you aren't at death's door just yet, allow me to escort you back to the Hanged Man." He gave an exaggerated bow and held out his arm for her.

"If you insist," she said laughing, but did not take the proffered arm. Instead she began walking away from the clinic and Hawke fell into step beside her. "Speaking of escorts," she said. "Perhaps next time you decide I need someone following me around, do you suppose you could chose someone who doesn't hate me quite so much? I was half expecting Fenris' blade in my back. I'm afraid he doesn't think very highly of me."

"I'm sorry, what?" He seemed thoroughly confused, but Lyra wasn't going to be taken in.

"Oh, give it up," she said in exasperation. "I know you asked Fenris to keep an eye on me."

"Um, sorry to burst your bubble, but no. I didn't. I had no idea where he went. We were going to go check on the Bone Pit today, but he never showed up."

She was watching him carefully, unable to decide if he was lying or not. Either he was a very good liar, or he really had no idea Fenris had gone with her. If he was telling the truth then why had Fenris been waiting outside the Hanged Man that morning? He obviously didn't think very much of her. Why would he care what sort of trouble she got herself into? She sighed inwardly. Just another one of the lanky elf's many mysteries, she guessed. On the surface he was fairly easy to read and she guessed she had been very close to the truth that morning when she told him he was still a slave, but she sensed there was a lot more to the elf than he let on, perhaps more than he knew himself.

They walked on in silence for a little while, each lost in thought. Then Hawke paused, interrupting her thoughts and said, "Point of interest." He pointed towards a pile of rocks stacked almost to the ceiling. "Behind there you will find a hidden doorway."

"And why would that interest me?" she asked innocently, Forgetting Fenris for a moment and fighting back the adventurer's desire to find the door for herself and see what ay beyond.

"Because, dear lady. That door leads to my families wine cellars. Very useful for moving about Kirkwall unnoticed." He smiled and winked at her.

"And for letting in ladies of negotiable morality, no doubt."

"My, my, aren't we jaded," he said laughing. "Though I assure you, I have never made use of it for that purpose." The slight grin persisted as they walked and she found herself wondering what the enterance HAD been used for. "Prior to my less than illustrious arrival, the cellars had been commandeered by slavers, who used it to smuggle their wares in and out of the city." A hard glint had entered his eyes, and the grin was beginning to look more like a snarl.

She watched him for awhile but he didn't seem willing to offer any more on the subject. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. "What happened to them?"

He stopped, gazing absently into nothing. When he turned to her, he was smiling broadly, but she could tell there was no humour in it. "Bloody slaughter," he said maliciously. It took her by surprise. She hadn't expected him to take such pleasure in killing, but she supposed that many had the same opinion of slavers. Besides, there was a time when there had been a much similar look on her face, a few hours ago in fact. The look of malicious glee fell quickly and Hawke shrugged, "Or so I have been told."

"Am I to believe you had nothing to do with it, then?"

"Me?" he said in mock surprise. "Why, I'm as innocent as the sunrise."

She laughed, an odd feeling in a place so ripe with despair, and they moved on. When she and Fenris had entered Darktown, she had taken little notice of the state of the place, she had mostly been concentrating on staying upright. Now she saw there were people everywhere, mostly Ferelden, to judge from their clothes. People who had fled to the sewers simply because there was no where else for them to go. It reminded her strongly of an alienage, though instead of elves, this one housed humans. They even treat their own kind like garbage, she thought bitterly. Little wonder they have no respect for elves, they don't even respect each other.

Hawke led her through the maze of tunnels and people, a few of them nodding to him as he passed. Apparently, he was well known even here, not only known but respected. In a place where few had respect for anything, it was an odd sight. But then, he was a Ferelden, just like them. Well no, not like them. He was living in a mansion in Hightown while they lived in squalor. Still, she guessed he had done a lot for these people over the years.

She suddenly realized she had no idea where she was, and felt extremely grateful for his presence. Had she gone on alone she would never have found her way out of the undercity, but Hawke seemed to be having no trouble navigating the narrow passageways, as if he had spent a lot of time here. She suspected he had used the cellar door more than once, but for what purpose was anyone's guess.

It was later than she imagined when Lyra finally saw the sky again. The light had almost faded, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. The colour of the nights sky in the last seconds before the light has faded... She sighed. The thought of Fenarel was not currently a comforting one. She was already confused and slightly angry over what Anders had said. Things had seemed so much simpler before today, when she thought she was leaving all that behind her. She would never admit to running away, of course, but a part of her did like the fact that going to Kirkwall would take her far out of reach of everything and everyone from her past. Now it seemed that they had not only followed her here, but had been waiting. She growled to herself and kicked at the hard packed earth in frustration as she walked.

"Something wrong?" Hawke asked, eyeing her curiously.

Lost in thought, she had almost forgotten he was even there. "No," she sighed. "Simply a very long and eventful day. A few more reunions than I was hoping for."

"Ah," he said knowingly. "You went to see the Dalish."

She nodded, but said nothing more on the subject, though she knew he was curious. Finally, she said, "I can make my way from here. My daggers could use a good cleaning, as could I, in fact."

"As you wish," he shrugged. "Try not to run into any more mercenary ambushes on the way, won't you?"

She grinned at him mischievously. "I make no promises."

He laughed and waved farewell as he headed towards the steps to Hightown. She turned away and headed towards the inn. It was easily the most recognizable building in the district, being taller than most. The large upside down figure of a man swinging by his ankle from a thick rope over the front door didn't hurt either.

She pushed open the heavy door and the smell of food and drink almost overwhelmed her. She decided that cleaning her blades could wait for bit and sat down at the bar. She would have to see an armourer in the morning, but that was morning, and right now she needed a hot meal. Her stomach was angrily reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the slice of stale bread that morning and she feared the rising grumble might be audible over the general din of the inn's patrons.

"Good evenin' miss," Corff the bartender said as soon as he saw her. "Pint for ye' tonight?"

She shook her head. "Just some stew, if its still on, please."

The bartender nodded and ambled off toward the kitchens. She occupied herself with the various graffiti that had been carved into the bartop, taking particular interest in the scratchings reading, "ISABELLA WAS HERE". It couldn't possibly be the same Isabella she had met in Denerim, could it? But she was Captain of a ship, was she not? And the Hanged Man was certainly the sort of place she'd be likely to frequent. Good gods, was everyone she ever met about to turn up here? Was there some sort of convention going on that no one had told her about?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a stocky dwarf approaching her, a bemused smirk upon his broad face. She was trying to figure out what was odd about him, then it hit her. He didn't have a beard. She didn't think she'd ever seen a dwarf without a beard, well, except for the women, of course, and even a few of them... He pulled out the stool next to her and climbed nimbly onto the seat, keeping his eye on her, the smile never wavering. Whatever he lacked in facial hair, he more than made up for in chest hair, as evidenced by the open necked tunic and heavy leather jacket he wore.

Corff set a steaming bowl in front of her and she took her eyes off the dwarf and studied the contents of the bowl. She thought it must have been stew, though it looked nothing like the chunky grey paste she had become accustomed to in Ferelden, the kind that made you wonder if it had been eaten once already. Here she could identify the meat, potatoes, and... was that a carrot? It smelled delicious and she set about to enjoy her meal, but she could still feel the dwarfs eyes upon her. His steady gaze was slightly unnerving. Finally, she could stand it no longer and said, "Is there something you want?"

"You've been avoiding me," he said in a deep, quiet voice, as if trying not to be overheard.

"I don't believe I even know you, dwarf," she replied, studying him again. She had met many dwarves in her travels, she had even been responsible for putting Bhelen on the throne of Orzammar. But she was quite certain that she had never met this dwarf in her life.

"Perhaps not," he shrugged. "But I know you, Hero of Ferelden."

"Oh gods. What now?" she moaned. This is ridiculous, she thought. How could everyone and their DOG know who I am?

The dwarf was still grinning at her, apparently pleased that his assumption had been correct. "The name's Varric Tethras," he said holding out a stubby hand. Rings adorned his thick fingers, including what appeared to be a signet ring bearing the crest of one of the noble houses of Orzammar. "I'm a story teller of sorts."

She eyed him shrewdly, studying the proffered hand but not taking it. The head of a noble house on the surface and hanging around a pub in Lowtown? I don't think so. "Where I'm from we have a different name for people like that," she said harshly. "We call them liars."

A hand flew to his heart. "My dear lady, you wound me. I may be prone to the occasional exaggeration, but I would never lie. Quite frankly, with the sort of people I hang around with, I've no need to lie, the truth is too fantastic all by itself."

She guessed, rather accurately, that the sort of people he associated with were the same ones she had been bumping into for the past two days. "Another friend of Hawke's, I assume?" He nodded and she sighed. "And what exactly do you want from me, then?"

"I was simply curious," he shrugged again, and then leaned close as if imparting a secret. "You see, a little while ago a man came in here claiming to have been robbed of a big payday by an elf girl who had stumbled into their ambush along the Wounded Coast. He says she killed half their men before anyone could even get a shot off."

"Is that so," she said dryly.

"Then he said an ogre had shown up and killed the girl. I didn't believe him, of course, I mean a lone girl taking on a group of heavily armed men, then taken down by an ogre? That just doesn't make sense."

Her temper flared suddenly. "How would he know?" she demanded. "That coward ran the second he saw the ogre... Umm... probably..."

"Ha! So it was you." The dwarf looked extremely pleased with himself, and she mentally kicked herself for taking the bait. "I do have one question, however," he continued conspiratorially. "How does a famous dragon slayer like the Hero of Ferelden, get put down by a lone ogre?"

Lyra was glaring at him, cold rage flooding over her. "You want to know how I took down the dragon? Exactly how?" she hissed. "Forty dwarves plus the Legion of the Dead. Fifty knights from Redcliff. Twenty Dalish archers, and a whole chorus of healers and mages. You want to talk of hero's? Tell of them," she snarled, then seemed to remember. "Oh, and ballistas. We had ballistas as well." Her anger was due in no small part to the fact that she despised being called hero. It wasn't like she had taken on the damn dragon all by herself. She had done what needed to be done, but she hadn't been alone. "All I had out on the coast was Fenris and the hope he wouldn't stab me in the back," she growled. It was odd that she had never thought about it before, but whenever she had gone into battle, she had always had people she could trust at her back...

Verric didn't seem to have heard. "Yes, yes there were other people there. But they didn't kill the thing. I want YOUR story. There are so many rumours flying around, people come to me for the truth."

She gave a frustrated sigh, trying to quell her anger. Finally, she shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. Anyone can kill a darkspawn, they're flesh and blood like anything else. The only trick is not getting tainted in the process. And as a grey warden, really nothing to worry about there. Not exactly very heroic."

Varric chuckled. "Still, we probably could have used you in the Deep Roads."

She had turned back towards her food but the mention of the underground caverns mostly populated by darkspawn caught her attention. "The Deep Roads?" she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant. "Here in the Free Marches?"

Verric hadn't been taken in. He grinned broadly, leaned back in his chair and said, "Yup, took an expedition out a few years ago."

Lyra put down her spoon very carefully. "Tell you what, Varric," she said turning to him once more. "Let me buy you a pint and you can tell me all about this expedition of yours."

He shook his head and chuckled. "Some stories may come that cheap, Bright-Eyes. But not this one."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Very well. How about this, then. A story for a story? I'll tell you the story of the Hero of Ferelden, and you tell me about the Deep Roads."

He made a show of pondering the offer. "I can live with that," he said nodding, "AND the pint."

"You drive a hard bargain, Messere Tethras. So be it." She motioned to Corff to bring over a pint of ale. "Well lets see," she said thoughtfully. "The Archdemon had gotten to Denerim before us, and had almost completely destroyed the city by the time we arrived with-"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Varric held up a hand, the other was already grasping the mug. "You're not very good at this are you? You need to start a story where it began. Everyone here wants to know how you became a Grey Warden. Not the rituals and all that, but you, yourself.

"THAT is not a tale told for the asking," she said coldly.

The dwarf took a draught of ale, studying her a long while before he shrugged it off. "Fine fine, we'll do it your way. People like a bit of mystery, anyway. So how did you kill the Archdemon?"

"Stabbed it through the heart, then cut off its head. Either way will work in a pinch," she said simply, not willing to give this dwarf anything more than was necessary.

"That's it? You just have to kill a dragon?" he said incredulously.

'Just', he says. She was remembering the rooftop battle that had taken the lives of many under her command. "Not quite as easy as it may sound."

"Hey now, me and Hawke have killed a few dragons in our time. A hard fight, sure, but nothing too special about it," he said dismissively, taking another large gulp from his mug.

"The Archdemon is not just a dragon..." she sighed.

Verric shrugged again. "From what I've heard, it sure looks like a dragon."

She paused, wondering just how much she should tell this talkative dwarf. Finally she said, "The dragon is just the body... Do you know what an Archdemon is? I mean really is?" Varric shook his head and she continued. "It is said that an Archdemon the soul of an old god, taken form, and tainted by the darkspawn. Just as the Grey Wardens are tainted. That's why only a Grey Warden can kill it. If any other were to try, the creature would live on."

Varric looked intensely interested again. "You said you just had to chop off its head. What happens when a Grey Warden does it?"

She sighed again. This was dangerous territory to get into. She wondered vaguely if she was spreading Grey Warden secrets. But really, no one had actually TOLD her not to tell anyone. "Killing an Archdemon requires... a death." At Varric's look of confusion, she continued, "When a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, the soul of the demon is absorbed by the warden and both are destroyed."

"But I thought you killed it. Who died when the Archdemon of Ferelden was killed?"

"No one," she said simply, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"What? So the Archdemon's still alive?" he exclaimed a little too loudly. Heads were turning in their direction.

"Oh, no," she assured him. "The demon is dead. I should know, I struck the final blow myself, and yet, here I am." She gave him a cunning smile. "How's that for mystery?"

Varric sat back in his chair and let out a low whistle. "Wow... I was wrong about you. You do know how to tell a good story."

She chuckled to herself and said, "Good enough for you to tell me about the Deep Roads?"

Varric shook his head but said, "All right, but I still want to know the rest." Now it was his turn to be thoughtful. He had emptied his mug and she called to Corff for another. He didn't speak again till he had it in his hand and had polished of half of it in a gulp. "My brother and I had been planning this expedition for months," he said at last, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. "Everyone wanted to hire on with us, and I mean everyone. Even Hawke and his sister Bethany tried it. But Bartrand was a stubborn jackass."

"Hawke has a sister?" Lyra interrupted, wondering where she had been and why Hawke had not mentioned her.

Varric nodded slowly. "Yeah. He doesn't talk about her much. Not after what happened." He paused for a long time, his expression unreadable. "Anyway, I convinced Bartrand that instead of hiring them as guards, we should make them partners. They would help fund the expedition and so get a share of the profits. Hawke was just another broke down Ferelden at the time but he came up with the money fast. Faster than I thought possible, but Hawke is... well... Hawke. We we set off with Anders' Grey Warden maps to guide us."

"Anders..." she muttered. "Figures he would come into this."

"You know Blondie?" Varric asked, slightly surprised, then remembered "Oh, yeah. I guess you would. Anyway, the maps showed the location of a Primeval Thaig, but it took us weeks to get to the entrance, and even longer to find a way through all the rubble, darkspawn hounding us at every turn. One of the main passages was caved in so while the others set up camp at the cave in, me, Hawke, Fenris and Bethany went to search out a way around. We found it, all right. Darkspawn, golems, ogres, you name it. Never would have made it through if Bethany hadn't been so quick with her magic."

So Hawke's sister is a mage. That explains his fondness for them, she thought absently. "Eventually, we came to a central chamber," Varric was saying. "Completely sealed, but Bethany touched one of the walls with that staff of hers and a doorway appeared, right out of the stone, and we went inside. It looked like some kind of altar room with a raised platform in the middle. And on it, was a statue, or idol or something... made of pure lyrium..."

"An idol made of lyrium?" She stared at him, wide-eyed, her stew now completely forgotten.

He nodded. "Creepiest thing I'd ever seen. Made you feel weird just being in the same room with it. We were poking around, seeing if there was any more treasure in the chamber when Bartrand showed up. We were talking about what something like that might be worth when he just took the damn thing, and locked us in the chamber. Now, I knew my brother was a greedy bastard but i never expected he'd try something like that. We almost died fighting our way out of those caves..." He paused, sighing heavily. "Bethany didn't make it out. She was tainted, or whatever you call it. Hawke gave her a... clean end..."

"I'm so sorry," she said sincerely. She knew now why Hawke never mention his sister, and she could sympathize.

Varric nodded but it was a long moment before spoke again, and now his voice was angry again. "That bastard paid for it though. That idol drove Bartrand mad. Said it sang to him."

"Wait," Lyra said, "It sang to him?" If she hadn't been paying much attention before, she was now. Every muscle was screaming out to her. Was this what she had been looking for? Varric nodded again, now watching her curiously. "Where is he now?" she said hurriedly. "Does he still have it?"

"No," he said slowly, still studying her. "He sold the damn thing before we ever found him, and when we did-"

"I need to talk to him," Lyra said, now burning with purpose.

"Well, that would be kind of difficult. He was so far gone by the time we found him that he begged me to put an end to it... I've been searching for the damn thing ever since."

"Damn it, Varric!" she shouted, slamming a fist on the bartop. "I need to find that statue!" All eyes were on them now and she suddenly realized that she was on her feet and shouting. Varric had be stunned almost out of his chair by her outburst and it took the rest of his ale to compose himself again. She sat back down, trying to calm herself, and said in a much quieter voice. "Look, Varric. I'm very sorry about your brother. I know what its like to have to kill someone you are close to. But I have to find that idol. It's important."

"Hold on, there, Bright-Eyes," he said. "I've been looking for that damn thing for months and haven't heard a peep. Whoever's got it, isn't advertising." He paused, suddenly very thoughtful and looked at her curiously. "Why does a Grey Warden care so much about a dwarven artifact anyway?"

"Because if I'm right," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "It's not a dwarven artifact." She paused as if trying to remember. Something about singing... Then it came to her. "I've heard of lyrium singing before," she said slowly, "A spirit from the fade got trapped in this world. He said the lyrium here sang to him. But if a dwarf, or anyone living could hear it... That idol must be much more than just lyrium."

At the mention of a spirit trapped outside the fade, Varric had given her a very odd look, as if there was something he wanted to say, but was unsure how to broach the subject. Finally, he seemed to give up on it, saying instead, "Any thoughts on that score?"

Lyra was frantically wracking her brain. An idea had come to her, but it sounded too incredible to be right. She had never heard of such a thing before. "I can't be sure..." she said slowly. "But it may be the heart of an old god. It would explain why it drove Bartrand mad. It is said that while they sleep, they can drive men to madness."

Varric looked at her skeptically. "I've seen dragon hearts, and that thing didn't look anything like it."

Lyra threw up her hands, completely exasperated. "Haven't you been listening to me?" she demanded angrily. "I'm not talking about the dragons that live in the open air! I'm talking about the living beating heart of an old god. Its soul, if you're feeling poetic." At Varric's look of comprehension she paused, thinking fast. "You said the chamber was sealed? The darkspawn hadn't gotten to it?" Varric shook his head, not entirely sure of where she was going with this. "If the taint hadn't yet corrupted it... Demons embody negative emotions. What if the idol could be corrupted the same way. Hatred, pride..."

"Greed, in Bartrands case," the dwarf volunteered, and she nodded. "But how do you kill something like that?"

"Same way you kill an Archdemon, I guess." She shrugged. "There isn't exactly a precedent for this kind of thing." Her grumbling stomach reminded her of the bowl of stew sitting in front of her, now cold, and she picked up the spoon again. There really wasn't anything to do about it except try to find the idol, and who knew where that had got to. Right now she needed food, and cold stew was still better than nothing. Her mind was still racing however. There was something she was missing. Something nagging at the back of her mind but she couldn't put a finger on it. She was eating automatically while her mind worked and barely noticed when she had emptied the contents of the bowl.

Varric was still watching her intently, looking extremely impressed. "I don't think I have ever seen someone eat that fast," he said. "And I'm a dwarf, so that's saying something."

"Hmm?" she said, wiping at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, yeah. I suppose I was hungry."

"On the verge of starvation, more like," he said chuckling, but Lyra's attention had already been diverted by the door of the inn opening as a lanky elf with dark eyes and a shock of white hair walked in.

"Oh, no," she groaned. "There's only so much I can take in one day." She turned back to Varric. "Listen, keep on your contacts, I'll see what I can dig up on my own. I want to know everything you know about that idol and what happened with Bartrand, and I do mean EVERYTHING." She sighed wearily. "But not tonight..." She got up to leave, taking another glance at the door. She was surprised to see that Hawke had entered just behind Fenris, and even more surprised to see Trouble bounding along behind them. "And where have you been all day?" she said as the dog trotted up to her, smiling broadly and wagging his hindquarters in greeting.

"He's been keeping Moira company," Hawke said, pulling a stool up to the bar and easing himself onto it. He had removed the black plate mail armour in favour of a set of less extravagant splintmail. Not quite as impressive, but he blended more easily with the crowd in the tavern.

"Well, at least he wasn't terrorizing the peasant folk," she said grinning and scratching the dog behind his ears, which immediately turned him into a writhing mass of slobber, trying to lick anything within reach of his tongue. Fenris was hanging back, as if unsure if he would be welcome in her presence. He was keeping his eyes downcast, his expression unreadable. She largely ignored him as she edged away from the group. "Well, gentlemen, I fear I must bid you goodnight."

Varric and Hawke bid her farewell, and even Fenris looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent as she made her way up the stairs toward her room. She shoved the door open and lit the lamp on the stand next tot he door.

The place was a disaster. She thought for a moment that thieves had entered the room while she had been away. Not that there was anything of value there, she carried most of her things with her wherever she went, as she had very little in the way of possessions. But then she remembered that Trouble had been in the room when she left, and she sighed. He had made a complete mess of the bed, and as she picked the blankets off the floor and straightened them she noticed a note where the pillow should have been. She took it and replaced the pillow, which had become wedged between the bed and the wall.

'We have to talk.' Curiously, the note had not been signed. Who knew she was here? She supposed that thanks to Hawke's little information network, half of Kirkwall could know by now, but still, she doubted Corff would have let anyone into the room while she was gone. Her gaze fell on the closed window and she frowned, trying to remember if she had shut it before she left. She went to the window and reopened it, a slight breeze bringing in the smells and sounds of the ever wakeful city outside. She took a deep breath and sighed. If they wanted to talk so badly, she thought, they could at least have left a name. Oh well, whoever it is will just have to find me, I guess. She put it out of her mind as she took out her daggers and placed them on the table near the wash basin. Then, dipping a cloth into the basin, began the polishing the twin blades.

As her hands performed the familiar task, she let her mind wander inevitably to the dark corridors of the Deep Roads, and this mysterious idol, trying to recall everything she had ever heard about the old gods. She knew they had been worshipped as dragons. She had encountered a cult in Ferelden who had believed that a high dragon that lived in the mountains around Haven was the reincarnated form of Andraste herself. It hadn't been, of course. Andraste had been human. A prophet, and a noble leader perhaps, but not a god. And definitely not a dragon.

It was said that in ancient times the Maker, angered by the peoples worship of these 'false gods', had cast them down, imprisoning them underground to slumber, their minds still wandering the Fade, lost in dreams. That's what the Chantry said, anyway, and though she never quite believed everything the Chant of Light said, some part of this rang true for her.

She sighed as she finished polishing the blades, caressing them softly before putting them away, then splashed some water over herself. The important thing was to find the idol. What it really was mattered very little until there was something she could do about it. All the same, it felt good to have purpose again. For years she had felt like she was simply existing, with no other purpose than to keep going. After becoming a Grey Warden there had always been somewhere to go, something to do. Even after the Archdemon had been killed, there was Amaranthine, the Architect, and the Mother. But since then she had been drifting, the Calling, and her death, the only thing to look forward to. Yes, it was good to have purpose again. Just a shame it didn't come with some sort of direction.

She sighed and blew out the lamp, then climbed into bed. It was certainly not the softest thing she had slept on, but it was still better than the cold ground she had become accustomed to on her travels. She lay for a while, staring at the low ceiling, her mind wandering again, until thoughts of old gods and idols became dreams of darkspawn and dragons.