Dragon Heart

by Roc Lammergeier

What really happened to Revan after she left for the Unknown Regions? Is there a bigger threat than the Emperor lurking on the backwater planet of Thedas? The author's take on things. Rated M for violence and suggestive themes.

16. Act XVI

Author's Note: I was originally going to not publish this as my editor is not feeling well…but with the recent Star Wars news (if you haven't heard, just go to the Star Wars Reddit page) I couldn't not publish it. Also I just found out that Hard in Hightown is being released at the end of the month! It's been a good day. I hope yours has been, too.

P.S. Since my editor did not edit it, if you find mistakes, please please please PM me and I will fix it.

P.P.S. I am adding relationship angst. If you DO NOT like angst or angsty kinda-romantic relationships, PLEASE SKIP THE FIRST TWO SECTIONS (the first Revan POV and the first Zevran POV). There is a bit later on but it is minor and not a huge deal. If you do like it…this will not be the last. Not if I can help it. I will take criticism on the direction it is going or on the way I have built it/expressed it but if you complain that it doesn't work between the characters or that it's too angsty or dramatic, I will direct you to this warning. Enjoy!

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Act XVI: Haven

Revan

She dragged the last of the bodies to a clearing slightly away from the Chantry. The others had been exhausted from their battle to get to the Chantry, so she had allowed them to rest while she and Shale prepared those they had slain to be laid to rest. No sense in leaving the bodies to rot; they deserved at least a cremation. The rest of the villagers had boarded up their houses and prudently stayed away from her and the menacing golem as they went about their business. As the last of the bodies was laid out, Revan looked awkwardly at Shale.

"Should we say something?"

The golem raised a rocky imitation of an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It feels wrong to not. They believed in a religion, and they commended their dead to some afterlife, but I do not know their words. I would not disrespect them."

"They are dead, what do they care?" Shale asked flatly.

Revan smiled sadly. "Dead they may be, but a strong soul may linger and can take offense. You would be surprised how many of the dead we have had to fight."

Shale pondered this. "Very well. I suppose we can say something…"

"Perhaps I can?" a new voice spoke. Wynne appeared behind them, leaning heavily on her staff. Revan stepped aside so Wynne could stand with them. The mage cleared her throat, and began singing:

"The Light shall lead her safely Through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, She should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

As Wynne bowed her head at the closing of the chant, Revan snapped her fingers, and the bodies caught on fire. They stood in silence until the wind had carried the last of the ashes toward the sky. Shale wordlessly left to resume its position as guard to prevent more villagers from attacking them. Revan, however, stood rooted to the spot. She looked to Wynne.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"I am glad I could commend them to the Maker," the mage commented, "but it is not the reason I came outside. I…wanted to speak to you. In private."

Revan looked around with both her sights; there appeared to be no eavesdroppers. "Then please, Wynne, speak your mind."

The elder woman's face looked at her critically. "I am curious as to your relationship with Zevran. He seems not his usual…charismatic self."

"He has not made a comment about your bosom since we have returned?" Revan joked.

Wynne chuckled and shook her head. "No, I cannot say he has, which is very out of character. I have to wonder what happened in your travels."

"I wonder as well," Revan sighed. "It started one night when I was stargazing. He came and joined me, and I pointed out some of the stars I knew. After he just was…distant."

The mage moved over to a boulder to sit, and Revan sat on the ground nearby. Wynne considered her words. "What did you say? Exactly?"

Revan shrugged and plucked a blade of the scraggily grass, twirling it about in her fingers. "I apologized for my anger. I had been in a bad mood and had unfairly taken it out on him. I told him about my life in the Jedi Order. Then I pointed out the world I was born on; the world Carth, the man I love, was from; Mandalore, the world —"

"Ah," Wynne interrupted. "That would explain it. But first, the 'world you were born on'?"

Revan grinned sheepishly. "I suppose I should explain. I am not from Thedas. I was born on a similar world, but one that orbits a different star. I came here in a ship that can sail between such worlds. I was…I wanted power. To stop a war that threatened many innocent people. This is how I met Urthemiel and made the deal to awaken him."

Wynne looked at her strangely. The tale of how she had made a deal with Urthemiel was not new; Rose had made her promise to be honest with all their traveling companions, and she had kept that promise and told them the truth. Wynne had been disappointed, but agreed that being a Grey Warden and helping to stop him was a start at repentance. The strangeness, Revan guessed, was at learning that there were other worlds around other stars with life of their own.

"It explains much about you," Wynne pondered.

"Do you think…do you think it scared him? That I am not from this world? Or perhaps he thought I did not trust him, since I had not told him sooner?"

Wynne laughed. "Oh no, dear. He would merely think you were exotic. No, he is brooding because you are in love with someone else."

Revan stared up at Wynne, all thought having left her head. "I do not understand."

"He is quite smitten with you," Wynne grinned. "He has not exactly been subtle."

Revan's stomach fell like a chunk of lead, and her heart threatened to tear its way out of her chest. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

"Oh no."

Even as Wynne said the words, she tried to reason that it could not be true. But part of her had known for weeks. And part of her…

"So what are you going to do about it?" Wynne drew her out of the black hole that had threatened to consume her thoughts.

The Jedi swallowed. She did not want to look inside for the truth. She did not want to acknowledge the facts. "I do not know."

"You are truly in love with this Carth?" the mage asked.

Revan buried her head in her hands and took several breaths. "I am. You must understand, Wynne. I have done so many terrible things. I have ruined so many lives, killed so many people... I was spared. The Jedi Council decided that only I had the knowledge and power to stop the evil I had unwittingly unleashed. But they first erased my memories, hoping to 'reset' my personality, make me their puppet, prevent me from taking back the power I had found. I was angry when I found out, but with my memories back I think they did what they had to. When they took my memories, they gave me a second chance. I fell in love, with Carth. But they had not told anyone outside the Order, so when he found out…he was outraged. I had…I had destroyed his home. I had murdered his wife. I had slaughtered his friends. He had no reason to stay, or to forgive me. But he did. He was the first person that I had truly hurt that decided to forgive me. No matter what…I could never not love him. I owe him so much. And I promised him that one day, I would return to him. I cannot…I cannot break that vow."

She looked up at the heavens, tears falling from her eye. Wynne look on in empathy, allowing Revan to regain her composure.

"And how do you feel about Zevran?"

"That is a cruel question to ask, Wynne," Revan chided her, wiping away the tears.

"It is a necessary one," the mage prompted. "It is obvious that you care about him. But how much?"

"It matters not. I made a vow. I will not break it, no matter what my heart may say to the contrary," Revan shook her head adamantly.

Wynne appraised the statement. "So there is something there?"

"I do not know," Revan admitted, scared to truly prod her feelings on the matter. "Zevran is…it feels like I have known him my whole life. It feels like he is an extension of me, that he was always supposed to be next to me. Even when I shared a connection through the Force with another…it was not the same. Even with my apprentice, it always felt that I was the leader, that he followed my lead in all. Zevran is not like that. He defers to me not because that is his nature, but because he believes I would make the better choice. He is…similar to me. In so many ways. Even he does not know how similar we truly are. It scares me, sometimes. But at the same time, I could not imagine if he was not in my life."

Silence fell over the two of them. Revan stared at the blade of grass in her fingers, twirling it about and hoping that her shame would abate. Did she have feelings for Zevran? It was an intimidating thought. If she did, would she be betraying Carth? Could she have feelings for two people at the same time? On one hand, Carth had forgiven her, shown her what stability and family truly meant. He had shown her the meaning of forgiveness and repentance. At the same time, he was noble of soul, and he had disagreed with many of her philosophies, though his anger matched her own. They had fought many times, and his fury could easily rival hers, though she had more power to back hers up. Zevran, meanwhile, believed the same things she did, and agreed with her on many things. She felt more herself when she was with Zevran, where her anger was not a danger that could tempt her to the Dark Side but a part of her that strangely made her more at peace with herself. She no longer felt muted, no longer felt that she was a molded model of what the Jedi Order expected her to be. And it was true; she could not imagine what her life would be like without him. Without either of them.

"You need to tell him," Wynne interrupted her thoughts. "You need to tell him the truth about how you feel. It does not serve to have him distracted while there is still a Blight to fight."

Revan sighed. Wynne was right. "How can I tell him the truth when I cannot tell myself it?"

Wynne smiled at her sadly. "Perhaps it will be easier to admit it than you think."

Revan grimaced, but taking a deep breath, responded, "I will speak with him. Thank you, Wynne."

Wynne stood from her perch on the boulder, squeezed her shoulder in sympathy, and hobbled off back towards the Chantry. Revan sighed and stared over the village of Haven, gathering her thoughts and her courage. Soft, light grey clouds rolled through the mountains, broken up by the rays of the setting sun peaking over the snow-capped mountains, tinging the sky in a mosaic of pastels. Though a darkness lay across the village, the scene before her was undeniably beautiful. She wondered to herself if one day, she would return and witness this beauty again. Then, steeling herself, she stood, wiped the dirt off her leathers, and headed toward the Chantry. Best confront Zevran now, before she could not look him in the eye.

---

Zevran

What a fool he was.

He had stepped outside to get away from Leliana's accusing and pious glares and Sten's accusing and protective ones, only for the wind to be in his favor and carry the conversation between Revan and Wynne to his ears. His curiosity getting the best of him, he had climbed onto the roof of the Chantry and found a spot in the beams to hide while still being able to hear everything that passed between them. He just hoped that whatever odd magical sight Revan had would not be enough to catch him this time.

It quickly became apparent that the conversation was about him. He strained to hear every word, his concentration drowning his quick pulse. Wynne was questioning Revan, trying to figure out why he had been in such a disagreeable mood of late. He couldn't blame them. He hadn't been himself since that night. He had been…hurt. The fact that Revan still thought of Carth even though it turned it out he wasn't even in Thedas...he thought that she should have gotten over Carth. After all, couldn't she see the truth? She was everything he wanted. She was everything Rinna had been, but at the same time she was everything she hadn't been. Contradictory, but that was Revan. She was an enigma, a mystery, and he would have gladly spent his entire life puzzling her out.

And yet. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he felt. He was a coward. He knew it, of course, and her being in love with Carth didn't help matters. Hearing Wynne say how he felt, however, left him feeling hollow. It was true. He couldn't deny it, as he had denied it with Rinna.

He might actually love her.

And it killed him inside that she was in love with another.

He was not the jealous type. He could not afford to be in his line of work. Life was short, and he took what he could because tomorrow might mean death. Or Grey Wardens that changed your life. Either way, pleasures were few and had to be enjoyed in the moment. That meant that married women (and the occasional man, he didn't deny beauty when he found it) were never excluded from his desires. He had ruined more than one marriage before, certainly. But he had never been jealous of the betrayed husband (or wife). In fact, there had been a few times where he had shared a bed with both. And yet, somehow with Revan it hurt to know that she had another. It didn't help that she had made it clear that she was unshakably loyal to Carth. He felt an aching in his chest whenever he thought about it, a feeling he had never experienced before.

As he listened more, he heard Revan tell the tale of how she had fallen in love with the man who had stolen Zevran's chance at happiness. And his heart fell. He realized, with a feeling of cold certainty, that he had no right to expect her to fall in love with him. Carth, it seemed, had done what Zevran had not been able to do: he had forgiven. Zevran thought back to Rinna, to how she had begged him for mercy and forgiveness. She had been innocent, and still he had denied her and watched her be cut her down without a second thought. Carth, meanwhile, had witnessed Revan's crimes firsthand, and yet had still found it within himself to forgive her. To love her.

Carth was a better man than he was. Carth deserved Revan more than he did, and Revan deserved someone as compassionate and wonderful as Carth. Who was he to get between them? Who was he to demand love he did not deserve?

He saw the slight shimmer of tears on Revan's face, even from a distance, and saw her shoulders shake as she looked up at the sky. He yearned to rush to her and to hold her as he had in the Brecilian Forest, after telling her the tale of Rinna and his failure. He could still smell her sometimes: the rich scent of leather soap, the sharp tang of steel, and the sweet hint of black summer cherries.

It was then that Wynne asked her how she felt about Zevran. His breath caught in his throat. And Revan answered in a way that caught him completely off guard. She did not say that she felt nothing. She did not say she did not love him. But she did not say anything to the contrary. Instead, she described how close they were, something he had also noticed. It had felt like he had known her his entire life. He realized that he had grown accustomed to her presence, and that, whenever they were apart, he found himself looking forward to being reunited with her. If anything happened to her…

"You need to tell him," Wynne interrupted his thoughts. "You need to tell him the truth about how you feel. It does not serve to have him distracted while there is still a Blight to fight."

He heard Revan sigh, saw her shoulders sag. "How can I tell him the truth when I cannot tell myself it?"

Wynne responded in her motherly tone, "Perhaps it will be easier to admit it than you think."

Revan took a deep breath and responded, "I will speak with him. Thank you, Wynne."

As Wynne stood up to leave, Zevran clamored down from his hiding spot and made his way back inside the Chantry. He went to his pack and pulled out his reserve stash of Antivan brandy. Sten eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing as he sharpened his sword almost tenderly. He took the bottle into another room; he didn't need witnesses. He uncorked the bottle and took a large swig. It burned, but he needed to dull the edge for what he needed to do. Wynne had been wrong: he could be distracted, he was expendable. It was Revan who could not be distracted, especially due to him. He needed to reassure her. If he could not be her lover, then he would at least be her friend and damn the rest.

He took another large swig and returned to the room they had made camp in. He tucked the brandy back in his pack, ignoring Sten's judgmental glare. Then, he set himself to conditioning his own leather armor and tried not to think about how the soap smelled so much like her until Revan returned. She took longer to return than he had expected, but he pretended that he had not been expecting her. The Chantry doors clanged open, and Zevran braced himself for what he had to do. She turned the corner. He looked up from his armor.

"Revan," he set the leather aside. "I had been meaning to talk with you. If you have a moment."

It was apparent by a momentary flicker of surprise that she had not expected this. "Of course. Why do we not take a walk, then?"

He stood and followed her out the front doors of the Chantry. The sun peaked through the clouds over the tops of the mountains, and the cold air made everything clearer. The dark pines stood in stark contrast against the white snow, opposite the white lines that were carved starkly across her tanned face. He looked away quickly.

Before she could speak, he cleared his throat. "I realize I have been…distant of late. I wanted to apologize. It is not you; I have merely been thinking. When you pointed out all those worlds that you have visited from your life before…it made me realize how much I haven't seen," he lied easily, the brandy in his veins oiling his tongue. "I have spent so much of my life with the Crows that even the places I was sent to, I did not truly experience. And then, meeting Shale and thinking about standing in a village for thirty years…well, Crows typically have short lives, and I realized that I haven't been living up to my potential.

"I was thinking…after this is over…I might go see the sights. The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, the Grand Necropolis in Nevarra, the infamous fog of Seheron, the voluptuous women of Rivain…" Revan snorted at the last one, a good sign. He continued, "So, what do you think?"

He could practically see the tension leave her shoulders. "I think that sounds wonderful." A pregnant pause. "I will miss you, you know."

"You could always come with me." He said it hopefully, but in truth he knew better.

She gave him a sad smile. "Maybe. But my duties as a Grey Warden will take precedence. And I shall be trying to find a way home. But if I could, I would. It sounds like quite an adventure."

"Well, hopefully a less exciting adventure than this one," Zevran remarked. "I think I could do without the urgency and constant threat of death looming over us all."

"You live for death," she countered.

"Ah, perhaps," he shrugged. It was almost eerie how quickly they had fallen back into their old banter.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I have something for you," Revan grabbed his hand, her eye twinkling in the twilight, and led him back to the Chantry.

She made him wait in the pews as she fetched her pack, with his eyes closed. He pursed his lips skeptically when she commanded him, but he did as she bid. Despite it all, he was powerless against her whims. He felt her footsteps as she returned, and the creaking of the pew as she sat next to him. The smell, however, gave it away before she even told him to open his eyes.

"Hmmm…" he reveled in the scent as he opened his eyes. Revan held a pair of boots, a delighted smile playing across her face. "That smell…this is Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know that anywhere!" He took the proffered boots happily and chuckled. How unexpected. "I don't know how you found these, but thank you, Revan."

"What are you waiting for?" she teased him, her smile becoming infectious. "Try them on!"

"But I'm not finished admiring them yet!" he joked, sternly dismissing the dozen flirtatious comments he could make. It was not the time. "Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh. Just like back in Antiva City. Now if you could only find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder, and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home!"

"When we get back to Denerim, I am sure that can be arranged," she said wickedly.

The boots were of fine make. Almost as fine as the boots he had mentioned to Revan back in Redcliffe, the ones he regretted not buying before leaving what seemed a lifetime ago. It was not coincidence she had found something like this, and it made him wonder how she had remembered something so small, so seemingly insignificant. No one had ever cared that much about what he said. He tugged off his current boots and slipped his feet into the Antivan ones. He stood, wiggled his toes, and tested his weight in them.

"Ha! And they fit as well! Marvelous!" He met Revan's eye, delighted to see him so happy, and had to catch himself from doing something untoward. It was so hard to not to feel as he did when she kept surprising him like this.

"I remembered what you said about those boots back in Antiva," she confirmed, "and I also wanted to apologize. Again. I have not been a good friend of late. I promise, I will make it up to you."

"Neither have I," he put on a brave face. She could not know the truth. "There was no need to apologize. I have already forgiven you."

And suddenly, she jumped up and hugged him. He was overwhelmed by her scent, the softness of her hair, the warmth of her skin. He stood completely still for a second, shocked, before his brain finally registered what was happening. He hugged her back, careful to not cling to her.

"Thank you for being my friend, Zevran," she whispered in his ear.

Then she pulled away, and he was left with only the lingering warmth of her breath and the fading scent of cherries.

---

Revan

The hike to the temple was longer than Revan would have liked. Alas, she had made a promise to Brother Genitivi to see him to the temple, so she served as his crutch as he hobbled on his one good leg up the slope. They had to stop often for him, but he refused to be carried by Sten or Shale. But, finally, they made it to the icy cave that sheltered the entrance and the mysterious metal door that hid the temple beyond. Revan approached it and admired its intricate carvings. It was not elven, nor Ferelden. In fact, it bore most resemblance to the ancient Tevinter architecture she had encountered in the Brecilian Forest. And yet, even then, it was different. But perhaps it was the ice that seemed to encase everything.

"Ah, here we are," the brother stood admiring it as well before pulling out the amulet that Leliana had retrieved from the corpse of Eirik. "Let's see if I remember."

He placed the amulet in a cleverly hidden notch and began twisting it in a complicated series of turns. "Yes…you see, it can be manipulated, just like this…" The lock clicked, and the doors creaked apart. "And there…a key to open the way."

"I wonder who created that," Revan pondered the ingenuity of the design. Perhaps these people were not as primitive as she had originally believed.

"It may have been passed down through the generations from the first people who build the temple. Now…where does this go?"

The doors parted to reveal a massive great hall, whose ceiling extended far above them. Ice coated most of the exposed surfaces, and giant icicles hung threateningly above them. The roof was broken in places, allowing intermittent beams of sunlight to enter, and snow drifts congregated against the walls. It was an impressive structure, despite the state of its disrepair. Tevinter statues stood silent watch, and the few places where the ice had not obscured the stone underneath were carved with curious designs. A grand staircase led up to several more stories. It was strangely reminiscent of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; large and imposing and strangely reverent. It felt that her very presence here was tolerated only to the extent that she respected the place's power.

Brother Genitivi seemed even more impressed. "What I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendor, as it was meant to be…"

Revan noticed that Wynne and Leliana were equally enthralled with the beauty of the place. She cleared her throat. "Brother, I need not remind you that there are still dangers here."

"I'm sorry…what?" the scholar shook his head to clear it. "I was a little distracted. I apologize. These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know… I think I need more time to study these statues and carvings."

"Are you sure you wish to remain here?" Revan asked with concern.

Sadly, Brother Genitivi responded, "I could not keep up with you with my injuries. I should be safe; I don't think there are any villagers here. Go. I will be all right. Perhaps my destiny was only to lead you to the Urn."

Revan pulled one of her spare daggers from her leathers and handed it to the brother, pommel first. "Thank you. You have been a great help."

He took the dagger hesitantly. "Bah, it's my job. Just be careful, that's all I ask. The temple is…perilous. I'll be right here if you need me."

She gestured for the others to follow her lead. The hall was lined with elegant columns that had been chipped away by the many years of neglect and abuse from the cold. A large bonfire blazed in the center of the hall, made of decaying wood and rotting corpses. Before the grand staircase were several side passages that were cut off either by impenetrable snow drifts or collapsed rubble. Dead adventurers lay frozen where they had fallen, their ancient features preserved by the frost. They encountered their first cultists holed up in a room in the west wing. They were just peasants, unarmed and unarmored, but their eyes burned with the same bloodlust that the others had displayed. They rushed at Revan's group with murderous intent, wailing on them with whatever weapons they could grab as Revan innocuously opened the door. Sten, ever by her side, drew his large sword and drew the ire of the villagers. Zevran squeezed past him and began slashing throats. Leliana behind them sent volleys over their heads, and with uncanny precision hit the cultists on their heads. Wynne was equally as deadly, managing to freeze or petrify those she set her eyes on. Revan barely had time to draw her own blades and cut down the cultists in front of her before they had all been slain. Shale stood in the back, not being able to fit through the smaller door frame. Shaking her head sadly, Revan stepped over the bodies and examined the room. It seems they had been congregating here to perhaps pray, but more likely to protect something. She examined the furniture only to discover an odd taper laying on a table next to a stack of books written in a tongue that was unfamiliar to her. She took it, then had the bodies piled together so they could be burned. There were soon to be enough dead in this temple.

The wing opposite proved to be locked, and not even Zevran or Leliana, with all their experience, could pick the mechanism. Down the hall, there was a room that held a plethora of books and scrolls, but the villagers obviously had little reverence for the texts as many were being burned and more were littered haphazardly on the ground. Revan put out the fires with a cry of despair, and Wynne had to remind her that they did not have time to examine the tomes that the room contained. She hung her head sadly, but conceded the point. Ultimately, as they explored the snowy passages, Revan decided she did not like the feeling that the place gave her. She could not see past the thick stone walls, even with her second sight, so she felt wholly unprepared. But, given that the others were looking to her to lead them, she put on a brave face and led the way, unsure what to really expect.

Obviously, the cries of the villagers from the other wing had aroused the other cultists from their prostrations, and as they exited the eastern wing they were met by better equipped villagers preparing for them on the staircase. Revan, having been expecting such a response, already had her lightsabers in hand and ignited them on sight. The cultists launched a volley of arrows towards them, but Revan was a whirlwind and cut most of them in midflight before they reached their targets. Those she did not stop were easily avoided by her companions. As Wynne and Leliana took positions near the fire and began targeting the enemies at the top of the stairs, Revan, Sten, Zevran, and Shale all rushed up to meet the others. The golem barged its way through the attackers, staggering them and leaving them exposed to Zevran's blades in their backs. Sten rushed the largest of the warriors, his fearsome visage and menacing warcry intimidating them into taking a misstep. Revan took easy advantage of their smallest mistakes, her blades slicing cleanly through their pitiful armor. She only had to be aware of the enemies around her, as they were vastly outnumbered by the cultists, and a lack of awareness on her part could mean grave injury.

Soon, they had been dispatched, but Revan sensed that this was far from over. She was certain that more lurked nearby, and as she experimentally tried the door to the western wing they were immediately met with more villagers. Leliana took aim at the archers down the hall, but was interrupted as a door in the middle of the hallway was burst open from the inside. A large creature – a bronto, Revan remembered from her time in the Deep Roads – charged forth, and, eyeing them, stampeded towards them. Brontos, she remembered, were dangerous when enraged, as this one clearly was. A few tons of muscle and horns and hide, it was difficult to cut and even more difficult to avoid being impaled. However, she had learned a few tricks all those years ago. Trusting her leather's integrity, she rushed the bull as it charged toward her, and as it lowered its horns in preparation for the clash, she vaulted off of them and onto its back. Shale stepped in front of the party and tried to grapple the beast down, but Revan, now firmly on its back, stabbed her blades in one of its few weak places: the joint of its elbow. As her searing blades pierced the flesh on either side, it reared up, exposing the soft area of its joints. Zevran, quick on the uptake, sprinted unafraid under the weight of the massive beast and stabbed it in the chest and in its joints, the quick succession of hits causing the bronto to lose too much blood to continue its rampage. He rolled to the side as the bronto woozily came down, and then fell to its side. Revan gracefully jumped off before it thudded to the ground. Sten mercifully cut its throat with a powerful swing once it was down while the archers down the hall were swiftly dealt with by a barrage of countering arrows and spells. But, there was no time to relax. She could sense the reavers waiting for them around the corner, and after issuing a terse warning went to meet them.

There were a vast number of cultists in this section of the temple. Though their bloodlust made them stronger, it did not make them smarter, and Revan was able to dodge the attacks that would have easily taken off her head. As she avoided their heavy swings, she stabbed into the weakest points of their armor, relying on her speed and accuracy to dispatch her enemies rather than on defense. Part of her realized, in the midst of the battle, that the reavers would be significantly more deadly if they had been equipped with the blasters she was used to. As it was, as long as she avoided an arrow to her chest or head, she stood a good chance of surviving any ranged attack. And her companions did not have to rely as much on cover this way, as arrows were easy to intercept or avoid. It took a truly masterful archer, such as Leliana, to pose a true threat to her or her own.

The room the cultists had poured out of seemed to be a shoddy barracks of sorts. Revan looked at the accommodations with slight disdain before leaving. The next rooms were private, as if for the officers or leaders, but the occupants were quickly dispatched by the party. Revan was alarmed to learn that there were more mages here, but honestly she was not too surprised. This place was so isolated from the rest of the world that there would never have been Templars or Circle magi. She dimly wondered what the Templar Cullen would think of such a place. Surely he would have had a heart attack from the mere thought of mages running wild, even if they did supposedly worship Andraste. At the end of the hallway was a room that seemed to serve as a devotional room, where more unarmed peasants were praying on pews before a mage that seemed to be a priest. The villagers instantly rose from their worships to attack them, but Revan's attention was focused on the mage. As he raised his staff to cast a spell, she slammed him into the wall behind him with the Force, breaking his concentration. She leaped across the altar, planting her feet and her blades in his chest before he could regain his focus, and did a back leap off of him so his corpse fell to the floor. Her companions behind her easily dispatched the villagers as she dealt with the mage. The battle was over almost as quickly as it had started. She wiped the sweat and blood off her brow as Wynne, tired, took a seat on one of the few clean pews. Leliana began looking around, and, finding a sermon by an old Divine, flipped through the dusty pages. Sten took out a water skein and took a swig before passing it to the others. A door stood nearby, and out of curiosity Revan opened it to reveal what appeared to be a storage room. Upon exploration, she found an oddly perfect black pearl and a key she suspected opened the south-east wing. When she showed the pearl to her companions, Wynne remarked that old Tevinter mages believed that those who held a flawless black pearl in their mouths upon death would not have their souls pass through the Veil.

When they had caught their breaths, they returned to the south-east wing, though they were first accosted by another wave of reavers trying to prevent them from making more headway into the temple. Revan felt slightly guilty about intruding in their holy sanctum, but their unapologetic demeanor and insatiable bloodlust made it bearable. The reavers, in all honesty, stood no chance against their well-trained party, especially given their synchronized tactics. They fought their way back to the locked room, which in turn presented Revan with another key, much to her chagrin. With a sigh, she led the party back up the stairs, past the bodies, and through a small archway that led to a locked door. Shale had to stoop to pass through, but the golem managed. The door turned out to lead to yet another grand hall, but this one was smaller, its ceiling lower and its columns more intricate. It was not nearly as despoiled as the lower levels. However, a mage stood at the top of another flight of stairs, looking down on them. With an evil grin, he raised his arms. The dust on the ground began to swirl, and from the dust arose several spirits, similar to those that she and Zevran had encountered in Honnleath: ash wraiths. Revan went for the mage, though she detested having to fight upwards. It was a severe tactical hamper. So, she stalled the mage as much as she could, knocking him backwards with the Force and sprinting up the stairs before he recovered. Unfortunately, this mage was more agile, and managed to regain his footing before she could reach him. He flung bolts of electrical energy at her, which she countered by raising a Force shield. Despite all her practice with magic drawn from the Fade, the Force was easier for her to manipulate. She concentrated on maintaining the shield as her body entered its well-known pattern of combat, something she had to barely think about against enemies not trained in combat. The mage, realizing that she knew both magic and swordplay, quickly fell back, but the space on the platform was limited and he backed himself into a wall. Revan made short work of him. As she had hoped, the ash wraiths had meanwhile gone for her more intimidating companions, and the wraiths were dispatched by Zevran's hidden blades almost before they had even had time to strike either Shale or Sten.

Once the battle was over, Revan was afforded the opportunity to examine the room. The only things of apparent note were the icy brazier in the center of the platform and the magical barrier that denied them access to the rest of the temple. Something about the brazier, however, was off. Revan approached it for closer examination. It appeared that only the metal was icy; the wood was fresh, as if it had just been chopped. With a frown, Revan dropped the black pearl in the center of the wood and held the taper to the kindling. The fire lit immediately, and with a magical splitting noise, the magic of the barrier was released. The others followed her as she cautiously opened the door, only to reveal an ambush. Archers stood in a row facing them, and the area before them she suspected was littered with hidden traps, especially given that there were two ballistae aimed at the center. Revan did not like traps. As Leliana and Wynne took aim at the archers, Revan gestured for the others to go behind the ballistae and flank the enemy. Though they were slow in their armor, Wynne and Leliana harried the archers enough that they could not take aim at the slower fighters. Revan and Zevran were the first to reach the archers, and quickly began cutting them down from behind until Sten and Shale arrived to clear the rest. Their enemies slain, Leliana escorted the elder mage through the maze of traps to the other side. The door to the next room, however, only yielded another ash wraith that had lain in wait for intruders. As they attacked it, their shouts and battle cries alerted yet more cultists to their presence. Revan had to wonder how so many of them had survived in the harsh terrain of the mountains. The party inevitably slew them all, and Revan led them down one of the side passages. They had to battle for every inch, but slowly the hallways began leading down, as if going under the temple. They finally came to a room, where the only thing that remained was a statue on a pedestal that sat in the center of the room.

"This is Maferath, husband of Andraste and her betrayer," Zevran commented as he examined the statue. The entire party turned to look at him in shock. "What? I went to the chantry as a child."

Revan sighed and shook her head, but pressed through the door. They were met by more cultists, but as they progressed the architecture of Tevinter ended, and instead they found themselves progressing through a series of caverns and tunnels. Cruel stalactites were suspended menacingly from the roof of the caverns, and stalagmites rose from the floor to meet them. The caves were damp, but there was something else, something familiar, that tinged the air. As they entered a cavern and were confronted with more cultists, she finally figured out what it was: dragons. The cultists had allied themselves with a brood, and the young dragonlings, the adolescent ones that had barely hatched, screamed at her in uncommunicable fury before charging her with their slender bodies. She silently swore to herself; the last thing she needed was to have to face a nest. A cavern to the east confirmed her suspicions: there were cages of animals - pigs and goats and sheep - that stood in fear and in the remains of their herd that had been fed to the dragons. Revan, upon walking in and seeing the scene, turned to leave but was stopped by the unmistakable hiss of a drake. She screamed at her companions to duck, just as the fiery spit of one singed the air above her head. She sheathed her lightsabers; they would be no use against the fire-hardened scales of the drakes. Instead, she unsheathed her dragonbone sword and her poisoned sword, and deftly stabbed at the beast behind her. She felt one of her blades solidly connect, but the other hit a scale and bounced off. The drake shrieked in pain and tried to swipe at her. She rolled to the side. The others were moving around the side of the drake that had attacked her, but two more appeared from the shadows. She danced around the first's snapping jaws until she positioned herself just right to slam her sword through its head. She felt the crunch of breaking bone as it entered its skull, and it shuddered, dead. She tugged out the blade and rushed to assist Shale, who had decided to take one on alone. Sten and Zevran were surrounding the other, assisted by Leliana's arrows, though how effective the wooden shafts were against the drakes' armored scales was debatable. Shale was throwing punch after punch at the drake, but the drake's nimble neck allowed it to dodge the rocky fists well. However, its bobbing and weaving distracted it from Revan's approach, and she was able to jump onto its back and, finding the weak point where the scales interlocked, drove her swords through the scales and into the drake's back. It reached around, trying to twist its head in order to snap at her, but leaving it exposed to Shale's attacks. The golem grabbed its neck and, squeezing its fist shut, crushed the drake's neck. Revan leapt off, ready to charge the other drake, but the others had managed to take it down without her. The others were shaken at the presence of the dragons, but, having seen the famed Dragonheart easily take down two drakes, they did not falter. Revan assured them that they would be able to deal with the brood, and continued in the direction that the caverns took them.

Soon, they came to a crossroads. One path led straight, while the other turned directly west. Revan had a bad feeling about both, so she continued straight, only to be confronted by a mage that seemed as well dressed as Eirik had been; perhaps another Father, or some other leader of the cultists. Revan charged to confront him, but was stopped in her tracks by the appearance of four drakes. Her limbs were starting to grow weary. She barked for Leliana and Wynne to concentrate on the enemy mage, knowing that the arrows and magic would be wasted on the drakes, and directed Zevran to help Shale with one pair while she and Sten assaulted the other. The looming Qunari followed her lead, drawing the drakes' irk while she hassled their flanks. Sten, luckily quite agile for his size, quickly realized her tactics, and began dancing around the drakes, making them step over themselves as they tried to snap at him and tear at his armor. Whenever one tried to breathe fire upon him, Revan raised a shield around him, though this made her more vulnerable. The drakes took advantage, getting a few good slashes in before Revan managed to skewer one's foot. Luckily, her armor was enchanted and the leather healed almost immediately, but the same could not be said of her flesh. She ground her teeth and focused on finding the drakes' weak point, and eventually managed to distract one long enough for Sten to carve a path through the air – and through the drake's neck. As its head fell to the ground, its partner hissed at them in indignation, only to be speared through the roof of its mouth by Revan's opportunistic strike. At the same time, Zevran got a lucky strike as he slid underneath the last of their pair, and the entrails of the last drake fell to the floor, along with the body they had dropped from. Wynne's magic had proven to be stronger than the other mage's, and soon the chamber had been cleared. Revan followed her intuition to a back room, and stopped cold. The room contained what looked to be a mage's laboratory, but every available surface was covered with large, soft pink dragon eggs. She warned her companions not to touch the eggs; the brood did not take kindly to outsiders in the nest. And they had yet to find the mother.

Retracing their steps, Revan led them down the path she had neglected, only to finally come to a large icy chamber filled with more cultists. But this time, they did not immediately attack. They stood, anger filling their eyes, as one in far superior armor took point against them. He had not drawn his weapon. Yet. Revan sheathed her own at the sight of him, expecting some form of parlay. Her companions followed suit, though she could sense that they too were uneasy with this sudden shift in demeanor from the otherwise frenzied cultists.

"Stop!" the man approaching her commanded. "You will go no further."

Revan crossed her arms, taking a relaxed, unintimidated posture. "Oh? Really?"

"You have defiled our temple," the man spat. "You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young. No more. You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?"

Revan tried to control her facial expressions. To an extent, he was correct. They had killed many that maybe could have been spared. "I have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have killed your people because you have killed mine."

"You did this all for an ancient relic?" he asked incredulously. Revan herself could scarcely believe it either. Maybe Sten had been right. "Know this, stranger. The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now. What hope do you have?"

Revan shrugged, "I have a surprising tendency to do the impossible. But what has happened to the Ashes?"

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

It occurred to Revan that they must have been deluded into believing the high dragon that had mothered the brood was the risen Andraste. Unfortunately for them, having killed a high dragon before, Revan knew better.

"So it would not bother you if we just went on our way and retrieved the Urn?" she asked sweetly.

"Hmmm…" the warrior thought. "Perhaps, if you are after the Ashes, there is a way for you to make up for your desecration of our home and temple."

"And why would you suddenly want to cooperate with me?" she asked skeptically.

"It may be because I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light," the man spoke, seemingly to her soul. But this man was not her redemption. "Perhaps through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion."

"And how would I do that?" she said, entertaining the idea. After all, her entire quest was a second chance to do the right thing, to fix her mistake…

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Father Kolgrim. I lead the Disciples of Andraste," the man gave her a flourished half bow. "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."

Revan almost laughed from the absurdity of it. She wondered how it was that a high dragon had been bound by the relic. "So…what? You want me to toss them out a window?"

"I speak not of destruction," the Father said hastily. "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."

Suddenly it made sense. The bloodlust she had seen in the cultists was the result of some form of blood magic, most likely involving dragon blood. How curious.

"So why have you not done this then?" she continued questioning him, silently motioning for her companions to start spreading 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."

Wynne, having missed her subtle signals, interjected, "There is nothing but madness in his words. He is a fanatic, and a dangerous one. Be warned – he means to lead you astray."

"The rewards for performing such a service would be great indeed," Kolgrim tried to entice her.

"You know, I do not exactly like the idea of encouraging the worship of a large lizard," Revan considered sarcastically.

The Father looked appalled. "You will not help us? Then we cannot allow you to leave here. To arms, my brethren! Andraste will grant us victory!"

As the Father drew his weapon, Revan reached out with the Force and flung him backwards with as much power as she could muster. The others paused in fear, giving her companions enough time to rush them all and get inside their guards before they could react appropriately. Revan, however, went for the most offending figure. Kolgrim tried rising, but Revan flung him back down with the Force. She lifted him again, and brought him back down. And again. She heard a crack, and the next time she lifted him she realized that his body was hanging limply. She had broken his back. Odd. She had been keeping her temper under control, trying to mitigate it; usually she only could summon this much power when she drew on her rage and on the Dark Side. And yet, she had been able to use her power while still remaining in control. The only thing she had felt was the certainty that Kolgrim had needed to die, and the slight distress his words had had on her. Second chances…

She stood, staring at the Father's body, as the others killed the last of the cultists. Revan had not even drawn her blades. She felt Sten approach her from behind. The giant laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right, kadan?" he asked, concerned. She laid a hand on top of his in wordless assurance that she was, and turned to face the others.

"Outside resides a high dragon," she announced. She knew it, now that everything else was dead. She could feel the great beast's presence now, almost as assuredly as it could feel hers. "It will most certainly attack me on sight."

"We can't just sneak around it?" Zevran squeaked, not eager to confront one of the legendary beasts. Revan could not blame him.

"Unfortunately, the dragon can sense me, and it finds my presence offensive," she admitted. "At the very least, I will need to face it."

"You mean we will face it," Wynne said, speaking for the rest of them. Revan gave her a thankful smile.

"Yes. But I have faced a high dragon before. They can be slain. It will be difficult," she paused, "and I cannot guarantee everyone's safety. But if you follow my instructions, we will defeat it."

She looked at each of them in turn. They acknowledged her leadership, and she launched into her outline of the plan. It was simple enough. They would assume essentially the same roles that they had taken in previous combat: Leliana and Wynne would remain at a distance, with Leliana aiming her arrows at the high dragon's eyes, throat, underbelly, and wings. Wynne would use her spells to shield others from the beast's fiery breath and to try to keep it on the ground, whether by freezing or petrifying its feet or by keeping it just off balance enough for it to not be able to launch its body upwards. Shale and Sten would stay on either side of it, careful to avoid its deadly claws, powerful wings, or dexterous tail, while keeping it distracted and taking advantage of any weakness to strike its joints or exposed underside. Revan meanwhile, would stay in front of it, keeping its attention on her since she could shield herself from its flames and just so happened to be the enemy any high dragon cared about the most. She would look for an opening to strike.

Then she turned to Zevran. "And you, Zev…you get the fun part."

---

Zevran

Today was not going how he had envisioned it. Not. At. All.

And it had started with the bloody high dragon.

"Not fun! Not fun at all!" he screamed down at Revan, who was watching, powerless to help him, as he clung on for dear life.

Because his part had been to climb on top of the high dragon as the others distracted it and to incapacitate its wings before going for its head. The thing was, the high dragon had been even larger than Revan had anticipated, and he had watched her scars blanch as the gigantic beast had launched itself directly at the Jedi, just as she had predicted. Zevran, of course, did his part dutifully, and as the others got into position he had drawn his daggers and, plunging them into the cracks between the dragon's massive, beautiful scales, began climbing the beast's hindquarters, the least likely place he would be attacked. He had made it onto its back before slowly inching his way forward to its shoulder blades, careful to avoid the sharp spikes that adorned the ridge of its back. He eventually made it to the hollow between its wings and, taking a deep breath, started sawing at the joint of one of its wings. He knew that if he tore apart enough of the ligaments, the dragon would not be able to use its wing, and it would have one less weapon against them.

He just hadn't expected it to launch in the air to try to dislodge him.

So, daggers firmly in the beast's back and hands gripping for dear life, Zevran cursed his lot as the dragon did barrel rolls hundreds of feet in the air to buck him off. Zevran forced himself to not look down and to focus. Volley after volley of arrows were piercing its wings, but even tearing the membranes of the enormous wings wasn't enough to send it to the ground. Zevran almost didn't want it to crash into the ground, not with him on top of it. But it seemed better than the current alternative of just him going careening to the ground. Didn't Revan say she had survived falling with a high dragon? Maker, he hoped so, or he was a dead man.

With a strength greater than he knew he had, he ripped out one of his safety lines and began cutting away at the joint again. Perhaps he could get it to do a controlled dive. A soft crash. One that didn't involve him dying. He felt one ligament snap, then another, then some more, and suddenly the wind was screaming in his ear as they lost altitude. The dragon began beating its remaining wing to try and slow its descent, but it only served to cause them to circle. Luckily, the membrane of the broken wing was intact enough that the air caught underneath it seemed to give them some lift, until…

"Leliana! Stop shooting it!" Zevran tried screaming at the bard, who was still aiming her arrows at the dragon.

Revan seemed to understand what he was wildly (and perhaps profanely) gesturing, and quickly got the girl to hold her aim. He saw her realize what was happening, and raise her hands as if she were casting magic. He saw Wynne raising her staff to do the same. Suddenly, the air whooshing past his ears seemed to get quieter, and he realized that they were creating more wind beneath them to slow the descent. It was working, too. Their faces were coming into focus much less quickly now. He plunged the dagger back into the thing's back and desperately hung on, waiting for impact. But when it came, despite his preparations, he was flung careening to the side as the dragon landed heavily on the side of its broken wing. He landed with a thump and several cracks, and continued to roll from the momentum of the crash, until he was a good hundred feet or so away from the giant. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he lay there, completely helpless, as his vision and breath returned to him.

What he saw from his position laying prone was almost miraculous. In its moment of greatest weakness, Revan had leapt with almost superhuman strength to cross the distance between her and the dragon, landing squarely on its chest. She plunged a blade in and, as the beast tried to rise, dragged the blade up its neck as she vaulted onto its back and onto the top of its head. Blood spurted from the long gash. She slammed her other sword through one of its eyes, and as it screamed in fury and pain, she swung from the sword in its eye to land a blow on its jaw with her feet before thrusting her free blade through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. The high dragon gushed a last, defiant spurt of flame and molten vomit before its head wobbled and crashed to the ground. Revan pulled her sword free and somersaulted away. And immediately, she rushed to his side.

"Zevran! Shit, are you all right?" she knelt next to him, turning him onto his back. Her eye shown with genuine worry.

He coughed. Many somethings hurt. "I am alive, so there's that," he said weakly.

The others, having taken a moment to realize that the high dragon that had been parading itself as Andraste reborn was truly dead, finally came to check on him. Wynne, looking even more weary than usual, slowly made her way over to his side. Revan, meanwhile, asked him where he hurt the most, and he pointed to several spots on his chest. Revan waved everyone besides Wynne away and ordered them to look for any healing herbs they could identify. With a wink, she said she didn't want them getting any ideas when she removed his armor, which illicit a painful laugh from Zevran and an exasperated eye roll from Wynne. The Jedi deftly undid the straps of his armor, and as she gently propped him up by the less tender spots on his back, Wynne pulled off his leather chest piece. Immediately, he felt the pressure on his chest lessen, and he took as deep a breath as he could manage without aggravating the wounds. Revan removed his shirt and laid him back down so Wynne could properly diagnose his injuries, which, with much painful poking and prodding and Wynne's stern suggestions to keep quiet and not comment on the position of her hands, she determined to be four cracked ribs.

"You're lucky it's not a punctured lung," Wynne reminded him when he expressed his frustration.

As Wynne went to retrieve her medical supplies to mix a poultice to help the broken bones heal, Revan looked at him guiltily.

"I am so sorry. I should never have asked you to do something that dangerous," she hung her head. "I thought I could keep its attention long enough."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "As long as you give me credit for slaying it, I think we can call it even."

"Zevran! You could have died!" she cried.

"But I didn't," he pointed out. "And honestly, I might be the first person to ride a dragon since they disappeared. That will more than pay for itself in wine and women, trust me."

She looked to see if he was joking, and realizing that he was truly okay, squeezed his hand back. When Wynne returned, she squeezed it again and excused herself, saying she needed to check on the others to make sure they had not been injured. But not before Zevran spotted a patch of the leather of her magical armor that was just slightly scorched.

Wynne clucked her tongue at him as she applied the poultice and bandages. "I thought you would have stopped staring at her like that after she talked with you."

Zevran grimaced. "She didn't get to talk to me about…that. I overheard you two gabbing. I told her I was moody because I wanted to see the world before I died."

The mage looked properly mortified. "I didn't realize…"

"You had a point," Zevran admitted. "She doesn't need the distraction. Doesn't mean I can't look, though."

"That's not what I said," she wrapped a cloth around his chest.

"But it is what you meant."

The mage bit her lip, considering. "As long as you know that she cannot be with you."

"Thank you for the reminder, Wynne," he said dryly.

The mage finished her administrations, and Zevran gently tugged on his shirt and strapped his chest plate to his pack. He wouldn't be able to wear it for a time anyway. Slowly, he made his way onto his feet and wobbled weakly to the others. Revan was stitching up a nasty gash on Sten's shoulder where the dragon had swiped him, but she promised him with proper application of a salve his shoulder would be usable in days. In the meantime, he would have to be cautious when swinging his sword. Leliana had gotten away with some minor burns, which she was applying a cream to, and Shale was patiently waiting for Revan to finish with the Qunari so she could remove the broken crystals from the golem's back. Zevran took the opportunity to rest, something that had been questionably lacking that day. Leliana commented on his bravery, which he promptly ruined with a comment about a just reward for his bravery, but even the Qunari giant seemed slightly impressed at his antics on the dragon. It was only once the Jedi had removed Shale's damaged crystals that they were all allowed to relax.

Zevran poked the scorched patch of her armor and joked, "It's unfair that you got to kill it and got away with only a slight burn. And here I am, getting thrown a few hundred feet and breaking all my bones."

She flinched at the poke. Suddenly he became suspicious.

"Revan…did you get burned?"

"I have not checked," she acknowledged. "And I heal faster than most. I will be fine."

His eyes narrowed, and without another word grabbed what remained of the salve that Leliana had used and tossed it to Revan. She mumbled under her breath, but took a glob and, reaching under her armor, tenderly applied it to most of her side.

They rested for a few hours, exhausted from their journey up the mountain. But, Leliana and Wynne were eager to get to the Urn of Sacred Ashes, seeing as they were now so close to their goal. Zevran honestly could not blame them. He was curious to see if Revan's desperate gamble to save the Arl of Redcliffe had paid off. Part of him was interested to see how Sten would react if it turned out it was all for naught. Part of him hoped that it wouldn't be the case, because he didn't want to see how Revan would react.

They slowly made their way through the mountain pass to another temple. This one, however, seemed different. This one wasn't crumbling into ruin like the one the cultists had inhabited. In fact, it seemed almost as if a part of the mountains themselves. Inside, they were greeted by flames that appeared as they entered, and Zevran couldn't help but think of the possible treasure that could await inside. Or the potential profits from opening this site up to tourists. As they rounded a corner, they were met by a ghostly apparition who guarded the door to the Ashes. He was dressed in old armor, and Zevran felt the spirit's piercing eyes upon him. It was a violating feeling.

Having looked them over, the ghost spoke, "I bid you welcome, pilgrims."

Revan, having taken the lead like usual, approached him first. "You must be the Guardian."

"Yes, I am the Guardian of the Ashes," the apparition conceded. "I have waited years for this."

Revan hesitated. "For us?"

"You are the first to arrive in a very long time. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste."

The Jedi considered him. "Will your task ever be done, then?"

"I do not know, and I do not question," the Guardian answered.

"In that case, what must we do to see the Urn?" she prompted.

The Guardian regarded her and the rest of them. "You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourselves worthy."

"We need the Ashes to cure a good man," Revan explained.

"Still, you must prove yourselves worthy. It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that," the Guardian explained. "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…" the spirit let the thought hang in the air.

"Very well. Let us begin then," Revan said confidently.

"Before you go," the Guardian stopped her before she took a step forward, "there is something I must ask. I see the path that led you here was…full of death. Death by your hand. I see the wounds you have opened in the very fabric of reality from the suffering you have caused. How could you claim to be an agent of the Light and to even dare ask to be worthy after doing so many heinous things? Should you not have died instead, by Malak's hand or by the Grey Wardens'?"

Revan's shoulders slumped, and her head hung in shame. Finally, she answered, "I would never claim such lofty titles as being of the Light, nor to be good or worthy. I know what I have done, Guardian, and every day I regret. I would never profane the Ashes with my touch. My duty here is merely to lead others, and to hope that one day, I may redeem myself by saving more than I have killed. Would you allow me that much? To try to make amends and right my wrongs?"

"Your path will lead to more death," the Guardian warned her, almost fearful of her, "but there will come a time when you will be able to choose the fate of all. Your choice may save countless billions of lives, or it may destroy everything. Only you can make that choice. I pray to the Maker that you make the right one. And what of the others that travel with you?"

With those harrowing words, Wynne stepped forward. "Ask your question, Guardian. 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?"

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

The Guardian then turned his visage to Leliana. "And you…why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself Her equal?"

"I never said that!" she cowered under his gaze. "I –"

"In Orlais," the spirit interrupted her, "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."

"You're saying I made it up, for…for the attention?" she asked indignantly, defensive. "I did not! I know what I believe!"

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

"Good for you," the golem mocked him sarcastically.

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

The Guardian turned to face Sten. The Qunari met his gaze coolly and challenged, "Demand whatever answers you want, spirit."

"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?"

Calmly, perhaps inspired by Revan's on admission, Sten responded, "I have never denied that I failed."

And lastly, the Guardian's piercing eyes fell on Zevran. "And the Antivan elf…"

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

The Guardian continued, ignoring his comments. "Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of –"

Zevran's blood turned cold. "How do you know about that?"

"I know much," the Guardian answered, "it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret –"

"Yes," Zevran interrupted him again. "The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."

The Guardian finally turned its eyes back to Revan. "The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

Revan crossed her arms over her chest and bowed in respect before opening the door to the first of the trials. As the group filed in, Zevran saw that they were in a long, grand hall. Giant arches separated alcoves and were crowned with ancient sculptures. In each alcove stood a ghostly apparition. Zevran could tell by their clothes that they were from a distant time, probably as old as Andraste. Revan scanned the room before approaching one of the figures.

The first figure she approached was a woman in a long, conservative dress. As Revan got closer, the ghost spoke, "Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Of what do I speak?"

Revan's brow furrowed, scrunching her scars. "Riddles, hmm? Very well. The obvious answer is dreams."

"A dream came upon me," the spirit acknowledged her answer, "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."

The spirit vanished with a flash of light, the first task of the trial complete. Revan frowned in displeasure before addressing the group.

"My Andrastian knowledge is a bit lacking, so help would be welcome," she instructed them, giving pointed glances to Leliana, the cloistered sister.

"Of course," the Orlesian responded, the venom distinctly lacking from her voice after her confrontation with the Guardian.

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

"A tune," Sten responded instantly. All their questioning looks only got a shrug in response from the odd Qunari.

"Yes," the ghost – Ealisay, he recalled – smiled. "I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would 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."

Again, the spirit vanished. Revan looked as if she wanted to question why the large, intimidating bronze-skinned giant knew the answer to the riddle, but she sighed and let it go, moving on to the next visage, an elf in armor.

"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," Revan responded sadly, before anyone else could. Of course she would know that. She did not have one.

"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."

As the ghost of the person Zevran recognized to be Shartan the Liberator disappeared, Revan bowed her head and muttered something in Dalish under her breath. He wondered if it was a prayer for the dead. Regardless, she quickly spun on her heel and moved on.

The next ghost was a stern woman in the robes of a magister. She looked at the approaching party with repugnance. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Of what do I speak?" she practically spat.

"I would say that sounds a lot like vengeance," Shale spoke up sarcastically.

Apparently, however, that was the answer the spirit sought. "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."

The next one was more familiar to Zevran. "A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; of what do I speak?" the Avvar warrior asked them.

"Oh, oh! I know this one!" Zevran chimed in. "Jealousy."

"Yes, jealousy drove me to betrayal," the apparition of General Maferath, the Betrayer, admitted. "I was the greatest general of the Alamarri, 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?"

The next was one of the only figures to be dressed in the early robes of the Chantry. Zevran guessed that this was Disciple Havard. "Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?"

"The mountains?" Leliana spoke up, having also recognized him.

"Yes," the spirit intoned his head. "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 we could find."

As he vanished, Zevran couldn't help but comment, "I mean, this is a pretty impressive tomb."

Wynne and Leliana both stared daggers at him, but Revan merely chuckled and moved on.

The next was a woman, also dressed in the early robes of the Chantry. "No man has seen it but all men know it. Of what do I speak?"

"Hunger, Disciple Cathaire," Wynne answered respectfully, demonstrating her knowledge of the Chant of Light.

"Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium," the disciple explained. "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 last was perhaps the most obvious. A man in splendid Tevinter robes greeted them. "She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?"

"Mercy," Revan said with absolute certainty.

"Yes," the archon responded. "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."

As Archon Hessarian's shade disappeared in a flash of light, Zevran realized that they had completed the first of the trials. He was about to say something witty to that effect, but the set expression on Revan's face deterred him from doing so. She seemed perturbed, and Zevran realized this might not be the best time for mockery.

She opened the next door, and instantly froze. In front of them was a man, tall and muscular and imposing. Stark blue tattoos ran across his head, and some strange metal mask covered the lower half of his face. He wore a strange red battle suit with a black half cloak, and a metal cylinder similar to Revan's lightsabers hung from his belt. He stood, his hard eyes locking with Revan's, his arms folded across his chest.

Suddenly, Revan drew herself up, and before his eyes she changes from the kind woman he knew to a proud warleader, a Jedi. She strode up confidently to him.

"Master," he bowed his head, his voice strangely grated.

"Alec." She said his name barely above a whisper, but Zevran could feel the emotion behind it. "You are dead."

"At your hand," he reminded her. "You led me down the path that ended in my demise."

"And you followed me. You fired upon my ship and betrayed me," she replied in kind. "You made your own choices, as did I. I only wish it had not ended as it did."

His proud shoulders slumped at the truth of her words. "I wish I had had the courage to face you in person. It was cowardly of me to betray you from a distance. In the end, it turns out that you were both a greater Jedi and a more powerful Sith than I was. I know the importance of what you are doing, and what you will do. There is no such thing as coincidence; the Force has always led you to where you have most needed to be. Do not mourn for me and the others you have killed; we cannot be brought back. You, however…you are alive, and you have a role to play. The Force chose you long ago. Do not give in to weakness and do not make the same mistakes that we made in the past. May the Force be with you, Darth Revan."

He took her hands as he said this, and something passed between them. Violet light filled the chamber, and then the shade of her past was gone. Revan's hands clutched the token tightly, her knuckles whitening, but her face remained impassive and controlled. Her frame still held proudly, she wordlessly strode forward to the next trial and surreptitiously slipped the item over her head. Zevran thought it was curious that the Gauntlet had singled her out for this test, and he suspected by the confused glances the others exchanged that they were thinking the same thing.

The next room, however, quickly diverted their attentions. The next trial appeared to be a fight – against themselves. Dark shades that had taken the party's forms were arrayed in front of the door to the next part of the Gauntlet. They all possessed red eyes. The shade of Revan strode forward, apart from the rest of the group, and ignited her blades in a blatant challenge. The blades glowed with red energy. Revan drew her own blades, accepting the offer, and holding them to the side, approached. Several paces away, she stopped and dropped into a fighting posture, with her knees bent and feet apart, lightsabers held at the ready. Her shade smiled cruelly and lowered a blade pointed at Revan's chest. This, apparently, signaled the other shades to begin their attack. It was unfortunate that Zevran was incapacitated by his ribs, but he had borrowed Leliana's spare bow and had begun firing arrows at the apparitions. Shale was an unstoppable boulder, and when the golem crashed with its counterpart, the sound of rocks grating echoed through the chamber. Sten rushed to meet his counterpart, unphased by the disturbing trial. Wynne tried to counter her counterpart's spells, but the shade was trying to do the same. Meanwhile, his shade was trying to stab his friends in the back as they fought, using every dirty trick in the book. The fight was not looking good.

Revan, meanwhile, was locked in an epic battle with herself. Their blades moved faster than Zevran would have thought possible, and their battle was mostly obscured by the whirl of the dancing lights. He could tell Revan was tired, as she seemed to be mostly defending, but she was managing to hold her own. Their speed was unbelievable, and Zevran realized then that she would be a match for even the most experienced sword masters. Somehow, however, she was still aware of the battle around her, and could sense her comrades faltering as they faced their own shades.

"Do not fight yourselves! Use your strengths to exploit the others' weaknesses!" she commanded them as she locked blades. "I will hold my shadow off, but work to dispatch the others!"

Realization dawned on everyone's faces. Sten immediately dodged his shade's attack and moved toward Wynne's double, realizing that magic was hindering their efforts. Zevran and Leliana launched volleys at Sten's counterpart, hoping to pin him down and prevent him from accosting others. The Qunari managed to slice the unprotected mage in half, and the shade dissolved in mist. Wynne, now free to use her power, froze the shadow of the golem to the spot as it grappled with the real one. Zevran took careful aim, and shot an arrow into its forehead where he knew one of its magical symbols was. The shadow of the golem shattered, freeing Shale, who went directly for Leliana's shade that had been hassling them with arrows. Zevran flinched as the golem brutally crushed the slight girl into vapor. As Zevran's own shade ran up behind Sten to stab him from behind, Leliana used her arrows to take advantage of his brief pause, and the arrows clattered to the ground as the spirit dissolved. Wynne fired a powerful spell at the shadow of Sten, who was knocked to the ground and slain by a rocky fist to the temple. That left only the dark double of Revan. The Jedi had been locked in close combat with it, distracting it from pestering the others, but Zevran could see her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. They were still a blur, but he recognized her form from one of the exercises she had shown him. She was relying heavily on a defensive form, but she was constantly switching forms in order to keep her enemy from taking advantage of her. He noticed that she was inching backwards slowly to where her shade had her back to the fight against the others, so when she finally knocked aside the red blades and the shadow had to twist to recover, Shale was behind the apparition and took the opportunity to grapple it. Before the shade could react, Revan closed her fist in the air, and the shadow exploded in a cloud of black mist. Breathing hard, she deactivated her blades and wiped the sweat from her brow before wordlessly going to the next door. Zevran slung his borrowed bow over his shoulder, unsure if they would have to fight yet more enemies and prudently not ruling it out.

The next trial puzzled him at first. There was a deep chasm where the path seemed to have fallen into a pit below. There were large stone tiles forming two halves of a circle on either side of the chasm that they could stand on, but that didn't connect to the other side. He counted six tiles on either side. Revan, ever the leader, took an experimental step on one of the tiles closest to the entrance. Immediately, an apparition of a stone block appeared over the chasm. She stepped off, and it disappeared. She stood on it again and asked Leliana to stand on another. The image of the stone seemed to take physical form as the bard stood on the other tile.

"It's a puzzle," the Jedi explained, contemplating their next move. "One of us will walk across the bridge as the rest of us build it with these platforms. If we are lucky, once one of us is over the full thing will appear. Otherwise, only one of us will be able to make it to the Ashes." She paused, emphasizing her point. "And if we make a wrong move, the bridge will fall, along with whomever is on it. I do not know what will become of them."

The threat hung in the air as the party mulled over her words. Revan looked at Leliana. "I know this means the most to you, but I do not wish to unnecessarily put you in harm's way."

Leliana seemed taken aback by her sudden concern. "I never dreamed of seeing the Urn of Sacred Ashes…if I must risk death to do it, I would gladly."

Revan nodded at her in acknowledgement, then drew her blade and lit it. She plunged it into the wall behind them, and with the blade drew a crude drawing of the tiles. She stepped on the one nearest her, and marked which tile of the bridge appeared next to the drawn tile. The rest quickly got the idea, and Zevran hobbled over to the next tile and stepped on it. She noted the change and marked it. One by one, they went through the twelve tiles and marked the positions. Revan stared at it for a few minutes, then told each of them where they should stand. Revan was the last to take a tile, and a partial bridge was formed. Leliana hesitantly stepped onto it, but it stayed firm. She moved to the very last tile, then informed Revan that she was ready for the next tile. Revan ordered Sten to step off, and with baited breath they waited to see if Leliana would fall. She did not. Sten went and stood on a different tile, and the next appeared, not solid but there. Revan then moved Shale, and the block formed completely. Leliana stepped forward. The Jedi directed them, and though they worried for the bard that was at their mercy, the group seemed to trust Revan's decisions. Soon, the last tile was formed, and Leliana walked across and on to the opposite side. Revan let out a sigh of relief, which was accompanied by the crunching of rock as the rest of the bridge formed behind Leliana to allow the others to join her.

The last room was arguably the most impressive. A simple stone alter stood directly in front of them, but on the far wall were two stone guardians keeping vigil over a set of stairs that led up to a platform upon which a statue of Andraste Herself stood with an eternal flame in hand, and below her, the glint of gold: the Urn of Sacred Ashes. The only problem was the large wall of flames that cut across the room, barring them from entry. Zevran surmised that this must be the last test.

Wynne strode over to the altar, where a small, worn inscription was carved. "It reads, 'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight.'"

At her words, Revan shrugged and began removing her armor. They all stared at her in various degrees of confusion and horror.

"What are you doing?" Leliana asked hesitantly, voicing their concerns.

"It seems that we must strip ourselves of everything," she replied nonchalantly, stepping out of her boots. "So, take everything off!"

Sten seemed the least perturbed of them all, and immediately began unbuckling all of his armor. Shale sighed, obviously not happy about the situation, but began the precarious process of removing all of the crystals that adorned it. Wynne made a face, but she began unstrapping her belts and packs and undoing the clasps of her robes. Even Leliana reluctantly started removing her armor, but her eyes were fixed on the golden glint in the distance.

This was not going as Zevran had imagined it.

Of course, on their long journey across the whole of Ferelden, he had often entertained himself by envisioning how he would first see his companions naked. Usually it involved seducing them. Sometimes he liked to mix it up and had it so they seduced him. But it never had been because of a religious trial and totally not in any sexual way. He was almost disappointed. But naked beautiful people were naked beautiful people, and he wasn't one to complain. As was his duty, he made to join the group of naked bodies and gingerly tugged off his shirt and removed his boots, but when he looked up from his feet he caught himself staring.

He had imagined Revan naked before. Of course he had. Probably more than his other companions combined. But to see it in real life was a completely different matter. She was…not what he had expected. That was not to say he was let down; in fact, it was completely the opposite. Her body was artistic perfection: muscular but curvy in all the right places, well defined and toned. She did indeed have burns covering one side of her body as suspected, and surprisingly had two tattoos on her shoulder: a strange crescent shape and the symbol of the Grey Wardens directly below it. But what was most striking was the large, intricate, beautiful dragon tattoo that started at her breastbone and curled its way around her neck and then down her back before its tail wrapped around her thigh. He had never seen anything like it. The dragon seemed to move with her, wriggling as her muscles contracted and relaxed. He was transfixed by it. The work by itself would have taken hours, if not days, and the pain must have been incredible. It didn't help that the beautiful tattoo was also on a beautiful canvas, but he was trying to ignore that part for obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, it did not ignore him. He felt her eye upon him, and forced himself to meet it. Revan grinned at him wickedly; damn the woman. "Your tattoos feeling inadequate?" she teased him.

"I never feel inadequate, thank you," he replied with bravado he did not feel at the moment. It was hard enough to look at her in all senses of the phrase, never mind replying wittily. But then, as he removed the last of his clothing, he caught a glimpse of Sten.

"Okay, now I feel inadequate," he admitted. The Qunari grunted, but otherwise denied to comment. At least the sight had sobered him slightly.

Revan strode on bare feet to the barrier and, untroubled by the fire, walked through it with no hesitation. Seeing her pass through without injury, the others followed her. Zevran walked through, the flames tickling his skin warmly but not burning him. It was altogether not an unpleasant sensation. Once the party was on the other side, the Guardian strode through the flames to greet them.

"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet," the spirit said, even as their clothing shimmered on them and reappeared as if they had never taken it off. "You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims." And with that, he vanished, presumably resuming his constant vigil. Zevran scowled that he had not had the time to appropriately appreciate everyone without their clothes.

"I never dreamed I would ever lay eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes…I…I have no words to express…" Leliana's words died on her tongue as she approached the stairs.

"Leliana, Wynne, I think you two should have the honor of taking a pinch of Her Ashes," Revan suggested.

"I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here," Wynne turned to her. "I will never forget this feeling."

The two of them climbed the stairs to pay tribute to Andraste, while the rest waited at the foot of the stairs, feeling oddly out of place. Zevran, though he had been raised in the Chantry, was not honestly devoted to it, despite joking with Alistair that he was. He had no real interest in the Urn aside for how much he could get for a pinch of the Ashes, a thought that even he knew was irreverent in this place. He was content to just look upon the Urn. Revan, oddly, was looking at the area around the Urn. He wondered if she was seeing something they were not.

"What an odd thing to do with the honored dead…to store it in a pot," Shale commented out of the devotees' earshot. "Bizarre…"

Sten seemed to agree with the sentiment. "It seems we have found a waste bin."

Zevran couldn't help but comment. "It's a nice vase. I should get one for my house."

"I did not know you had a house," Sten replied. "I thought you lived in a brothel."

"Only most of the time," Zevran winked at him.

The devout descended the stairs, each with a small leather pouch they had taken a pinch of the Ashes from. Their faces wore expressions of pure bliss. Zevran envied them in a way: their surety and faith seemed comforting. But Zevran had stared Death in the face too many times for him to truly believe anymore.

"If any wish, we may spend more time here," Revan kindly offered.

Sten frowned. "It is time we were off. It is foolish to spend yet more time in this place."

Revan gave the rest of them a moment to counter, but none did. She led the way out of the temple, and back toward the old, crumbling temple of the cultists. They wound their way back to where Brother Genitivi was examining some of the reliefs. He looked up at them hopefully.

"Welcome back!" he greeted them warmly. "You were gone for quite some time. Well? Did you find it?"

Leliana held up her pouch eagerly. The brother looked upon it, awe dawning on his face. "It that…oh, there is some dust on – no, that's not dust…oh, Maker…I'm not worthy to look upon…" but look upon it he did. "What was it like?" he looked up suddenly, meeting eyes with all of them. "Coming to the Urn, I mean?"

"Nothing has touched me quite so deeply," Wynne replied for them. Zevran kept his tongue in check.

"You are all very fortunate people. And so am I," the brother said. "Perhaps my research will not seem so much like blasphemy to the Chantry now. We must organize an expedition. There is so much history here. It must be studied. And…and pilgrims should be allowed to come to the Urn."

Revan's face immediately soured at his words. "I am not sure that is wise," she counseled him. "Many will try to exploit this discovery. I would advise caution."

"But the Urn belongs to all the faithful," Brother Genitivi frowned. "How can you deny this to them? No, we must share it."

Wynne, surprisingly, sided with the Jedi. "You have noble intentions, Brother Genitivi, but can you say the same of your brethren in the Chantry?"

"Deny them a corpse? Unthinkable indeed," Sten muttered under his breath.

"And perhaps charge them an entry fee?" Zevran helpfully added, only to be met with dark looks. "No?"

Brother Genitivi set his shoulders. "I will spread this good news, or die trying."

"If something bad comes of this, it will be on your conscience," Revan warned him.

"I must return home," he turned away, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "I have much to do. If you or your companions ever find yourselves in Denerim, please visit me. I hope to see you soon, my friend."

They clasped hands in mutual respect. "Leliana and Wynne will accompany you to Redcliffe," Revan informed him, speaking of the arrangements they had agreed upon earlier. "And I am sure that once there, Bann Teagan will be able to spare someone to escort you to Denerim. The roads are becoming more and more dangerous."

"Thank you," he smiled at her. They departed from the cold, empty temple and back through the village. Outside, on the road, the party said their goodbyes, and the bard, the mage, and the scholar began their long trek east back towards the arling of Redcliffe. The rest of them were bound north, to Orzammar.

---

Revan

The day had been grueling. She had not expected many of the trials that the Gauntlet had presented her with. They had retrieved the Ashes, and with any luck by the time they had secured the treaty with the dwarves, Arl Eamon would be cured and they could convene the Landsmeet. But it had come at a great price.

She still felt great guilt at putting Zevran in such danger. It should have been her to be so grievously injured. It was her, after all, that the high dragon had wanted to kill.

How darest thou cometh here, agent of Death, the dragon had hissed in her head. Thou shalt die knowing thy power was pitiful and thy plight meaningless.

He had assured her that he was all right, or at least would be, but she could not let more people be killed on her account. She would have to be more careful.

Her companions were eager to reach the dwarven city, so they had spent the last half of the day hiking through the mountains, covering several leagues before the recovering assassin had finally told them that he could go no further. Shale had offered to carry him, but the sun was setting regardless. Revan had called for them to make camp. She helped change Zevran and Sten's bandages, making the healing poultices as Wynne and Marethari had taught her. Then she attended to Shale's crystals, ensuring that none had been affected by their trials. Finally, as her organic charges retired for the evening, she excused herself from Shale, saying she needed to meditate, alone. She had climbed the slope until she found a secluded outcropping of scrawny pines, barely clinging to the rocky terrain. She sat amongst their gnarled roots and pulled out the amulet that Alec had given her. The front was a familiar symbol – her signature, the marking she had put on her flagship, a curving design she had hoped to put in the past. And on the back, a mirrored surface. As she looked into it, she saw someone else there, his eyes hard and accusing.

And the tears began to flow unbidden down her face.