Duty's Choice: The Bastards of Ferelden - Chapter 19

Temple of Love

The Final Resting Place of Andraste, Bride of the Maker – that day

Elinora slunk along the cliff face slowly, not wanting to draw the attention of the High Dragon that napped only a hundred yards from her. She was a magnificent monster, but reminded her far too much of the Archdemon. The right side of her face hurt from the memory, and her stomach clenched.

The path had been treacherous, but true in the end. She was fifty yards from the door to the temple and then only one Gauntlet to go through before she had the Ashes.

The Gauntlet. What would it have to say to her this time?

The door to the temple creaked open easily enough, the air damp and stale. She walked slowly through the first hall, right up to the Guardian, waiting patiently as if he had expected her.

"You have returned, Elinora Cousland, now Warden Commander of Ferelden," he intoned in and unearthly voice. "You have sought the blessing of Andraste's Ashes once before, and yet you come again for more. Why should you be allowed twice what most are not allowed once?"

Elinora stood straight; this question she has anticipated. "I believe they will aid me in conceiving a child."

The Guardian cocked his head a bit. "You have been told that this child is important, needed to counter an Old God, which you released upon the world by not dying with the Archdemon. Is that not so?"

Guilt crept into her spirit like a fog, but she shook it. This was a test. "I did not choose this. Alistair… it was not my choice to make."

"You could have stopped him."

Elinora closed her eyes. "Yes, I could, but I wanted to live. I wanted both of us to live."

"And yet you left him to become a Commander of the Grey. Was it duty or glory that took you to Weisshaupt?"

Eyes fixed on the Guardian's, she said flatly, "Duty."

"What was it that took you First Warden Rainer's bed?"

Elinora flinched, even though she knew it was coming. "Loneliness and revenge."

"Not love?"

"I was very fond of Rainer, still am, but my heart was already claimed, and I had a command to take up."

"Very good, Commander. You know what's in your heart, both in dark and light. Be not afraid of it, nor of the day you have to choose between duty and love again. You may continue, though you will find what you face different than your last journey here."

"Wonderful," she muttered as the Guardian vanished and the door opened.

The next hall was empty.

If her memory was correct, there were eight spirits with riddles, each one significant to the life and death of Andraste. But they were gone, leaving behind nothing but niches with glowing braziers. She passed through the room cautiously, waiting for a challenging spirit or ash wraith.

But none came.

It was disquieting, but she moved on, carefully and with a little hesitation. If she remembered correctly, the next test would be the worst.

Last time, her father had stood in the next room.

With a steadying breath, she walked through the door.

On the far side of the room, in front of the door she needed to go through, was a young man.

"Hello, Mother."

Her heart stopped, then restarted with a vengeance, her blood roaring through her veins. "You're not Cailin, are you?"

The youth shook his golden-brown hair, earthy green eyes smiling at her. "No, I'm the son of your body, the child that has yet to be."

She studied him, seeing herself and Alistair in his features. Glints of her parents were there too, and even a hint of King Maric from portraits she had seen. He was a handsome lad, somewhere in his teens, but already armored for battle. Of course their son would be a warrior, just like his namesake.

She breathed his name like a prayer.

He nodded. "Mother, please don't be afraid. Don't let it stop you. I want to be."

Elinora tried to push down the tears that threatened, totally unsuccessfully. They splashed to the floor, even as she forbade them. "I want you to be, too."

His smile grew; it was just like Alistair's. "Say it again, Mother."

"I want you."

And without another word, he dissolved into the air.

It took a few minutes for Elinora to get her tears under control and head for the next room. It was empty and she moved as quickly the stinging tears would let her. She had dried the last of them when she felt the rush of wind blow past her. A gash opened up on her cheek.

Elinora drew her sword and dagger, spinning to find her assailant. The room remained empty.

Then again, when they had fought themselves the first time, their counterparts had been almost invisible. It looked like the Gauntlet had stepped up its game.

She stretched her senses, relying little on her eyes. A blow came from the left, ducked at the last second. She heard her own ghostly laugh echo through the room.

Again, the room seemed empty, but Elinora knew better. She sidled her way over to a cold brazier, its fire dead for perhaps centuries. But there was still ash. She took a handful and moved back to center of the room.

Seconds slunk by. Elinora moved step by cautious step toward the next room. She was five paces from the door when her head was yanked back by the hair.

Elinora spun and threw her handful of ashes. Her counterpart protested as its form was outlined in ash.

Weapons again in both hands, Elinora didn't hesitate to take the offensive. Dagger and sword slashed and struck at the vaguely-Elinora shaped ash cloud in front of her. It cried out with every hit, her own voice in pain.

With a final blow upwards through the torso, the ash-Elinora fell to the ground. For a second she could make out her own dead face, then a wind blew. The form vanished and earthly ash settled to the ground.

Elinora put up her weapons and dusted off her hands. This had been much more unsettling the second time, but it wasn't going to stop her. Not now.

And the Gauntlet seemed to understand it.

The final room before the apse of the temple was the ghost bridge, the puzzle she wasn't sure how she was going to solve on her own. The first time through, it had required Alistair, Leliana and Wynne's assistance to get through.

But this time it was kind. Or had decided that she had already passed this test.

When she set foot on the first tile, the other's glowed, flashing in the sequence that she remembered (there had been notes taken the first time, dozens of permutations). As the circling tiles flashed, the bridge appeared, section by section, until the chasm was crossed.

"Thank you," she whispered and ran across the bridge.

She was expecting a wall of fire in the cavernous apse of the temple, but there was none. Elinora figured this for another recognition of an earlier victory, until she was half way to the Urn.

Flames burst from the floor, surrounded her suddenly and completely, the heat threatening to overwhelm her. She held very still.

"Why do you come here?" a woman's voice boomed through the hall, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "You seek a relic you have no faith in! Begone, infidel!"

This was new, completely new. Elinora was not one to trust disembodied voices. It wanted her to believe it to be Andraste herself, but it could be a demon or a mage. What she did know, was that the voice was in control of the flames, and they were far too close for comfort.

"I do not need faith to know the healing power of the Ashes. I have seen them bring a man back from the brink of a wasting death. I have been bidden to come here again by one I trust from the other side of the Veil. This child must be born."

"And why would you wish to birth a child that would stand against an Old God. You have little enough faith in the Maker to protect his Chantry."

"I do not do this for the Chantry, or even for some vague threat or prophecy. I do this for my own reasons."

The flames vanished.

Elinora took three deep breaths before starting forward, and then stopping after a single step.

Sitting on the altar, right next to the Urn was a woman, not much older than she was. The redhead wore the robes of a priest, but held the staff of a mage and had a wicked grin on her face.

"So you're the great Hero of Ferelden," she said, hopping off the altar. "My name is Sybila, and I baby-sit the Urn for the scholars."

Elinora raised and eyebrow. "And roast visitors?"

"Hey, I just find it to be my solemn duty to protect the Ashes from those who would waste them. Hilarious that the first worthy is you."

"There have been others?"

Sybila pouted. "No. This is the most boring job in the world. But what else is the Chantry to do with me?"

"Did you do something?"

With a flick of her wrist, Sybila conjured a ball of light, a will o'the wisp. "I didn't do anything. They weren't paying attention, and I was very clever."

Elinora put together the pieces and sighed. "A Chantry orphan who became a mage right under their nose."

"Very embarrassing." Her eyes sparkled as she dismissed the little glow.

"Any interest in becoming a Grey Warden?"

Sybila considered a moment before playfully answering, "Tempting, but no. I think a life of quiet contemplation is what one in my situation requires. And this job is suited to my unique talents."

"Very well. If you ever change your mind, come to Amaranthine." Elinora took another step toward the Urn. "Now, if I may?"

A force field sprung up, encompassing Elinora. "One moment," Sybila began. "I've been following your progress through the Gauntlet, listening. How are the Ashes going to help you conceive?"

"A potion," Elinora said shortly.

Sybila pouted again. She was very good at that. Elinora sighed and spilled. "Some elfroot, a lyrium preserved rose petal, the Ashes and pure water."

She twirled a red lock around her fingers, thinking. "I take it the rose petal is from the potential father, and you love him?"

"Yes."

Sybila snorted. "That's silly… and just might work. Considering the Chantry's edicts, I should stop you…"

Elinora raised an eyebrow. "But…"

"But I want to see how this turns out, so I'm going to go away now, and you can do what you're going to do. Good luck!" With that she ran out of the temple and into a side passage.

Elinora laughed to herself and approached the Urn. Reverently, she lifted the lid and took a pinch of the Ashes, dropping them into a flask. With a sigh and small bow to Andraste, she turned for the backdoor that lead out of the Temple and down the mountainside.

The sun was lowering as she slipped past the dragon once again. She wouldn't get to the crossroads tonight, or very far at all if the gathering clouds overhead had anything to say about it. She found herself a promising cave after a few hours of hiking and a good armload of firewood before the sky opened up. Camp established, she stepped out of her cave and held the flask to the sky. She could think of no other water purer than autumn rain.

With a nearly full flask, she sat down next to her fire. She pulled a sprig of elfroot from her backpack and stuffed it into the flask. Finally, she opened the box that held Alistair's rose and carefully plucked off one petal. To her surprise and delight, the rose did not fall apart and the petal did not wither. With a kiss, she dropped the petal into the flask and stoppered it. A bit of sealing wax, just to make sure, and it was done.

She now had a murky bottle of water with a rose petal and elfroot floating in it.

When the liquid becomes clear…

How long would that take?