The temple was silent, and Daveth noticed that not even their footsteps on the aging stone made a sound. There was some kind of magic at work there, he thought as they stepped carefully over debris. They climbed a small set of stairs and entered another room where a lone man stood in gleaming armor. He assessed them with hollow eyes that spoke of a sadness so ancient that it seemed almost forgotten, like the crumbled halls of the temple itself.
"I bid you welcome, pilgrims," the man said quietly, his eyes moving from face to face.
Daveth and Natia exchanged a glance and Natia cleared her throat. "Are you the Guardian?"
"Yes," the Guardian replied evenly. "I am the Guardian of the ashes. I have waited years for this."
"How long have you been here, exactly?" Natia's mouth quirked into a frown.
The Guardian met her gaze and slowly began to speak. "It has been my duty… my life… to protect the Urn, and prepare the way for the faithful to come and revere Andraste. For years beyond counting, I have been here, and shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."
"And what if your task is never fulfilled?" Morrigan drawled with a smirk.
"I do not know, and I do not question." The Guardian's gaze drifted toward the witch, his tone even and emotionless.
Daveth felt a chill run down this spine and shuddered involuntarily. The Guardian seemed to notice his discomfort, and his gaze slowly drifted toward the rogue. Daveth swallowed a lump in his throat and took a step backward.
Natia frowned slightly as she tilted her head in Daveth's direction. "You okay?" she murmured. Daveth nodded briefly, keenly aware that the Guardian was watching the display. Natia looked back at the Guardian and squared her shoulders. "We need to get to the Urn."
"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall do so." The Guardian looked down at her and nodded. "If you prove yourselves worthy."
Daveth rubbed the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably. Tests of worth were not something a cutpurse – reformed or no - ever stepped into lightly.
"'Prove' ourselves?" Natia echoed with an arched an eyebrow. "Do we have to… fight you?"
"It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that." The Guardian said with a slight shake of his head. "If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be able to take a small pinch of ashes for yourself. If not…"
"No pressure or anything," Daveth mumbled to himself.
"None at all," Alistair agreed quietly.
A hush fell over the group as their eyes focused on wait lay before them. An altar covered with a thin layer of dust stood in the center of the room and beyond that, a line of fire that spread from one end of the room to the next. And beyond the flame rose a grand monument which cradled what looked to be an urn.
"Well, this looks inviting!" Daveth joked as he slapped Alistair on the back. "Maybe Morrigan can just conjure up a rain cloud to put this out."
"Only a fool would suggest such an idea," Morrigan replied shortly, crossing her arms over her chest. "'Tis no ordinary fire, that must should be obvious."
Out of the corner of his eye, Daveth saw Natia approach then altar and blow away some of the dust revealing an inscription. Alistair stepped in beside her and read the inscription in a solemn voice that Daveth was quite sure he had been required to perfect during his templar training.
"Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit," Alistair began, the fire crackling quietly as he spoke. "King and slave, lord and begger; be born anew in the Maker's sight." The templar fell silent for a moment before turning to his companions. "It's baptism by fire."
"So, we have to walk through the fire?" Natia asked with raised eyebrows.
"Right," Alistair said with a nod as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "And, er, it looks like we need to remove our… worldly trappings. You know, our… clothes."
Morrigan let out a snort. "I am not stripping down to my smallclothes."
"It's not as if you wear very much to begin with," Daveth replied cheerfully. Morrigan's yellow eyes blazed at him. "What, I'm not supposed to notice?"
"If that's what we need to do, it's what we're going to do." Natia began unbuckling her patchwork armor. She looked up at her companions, visibly irritated. "Well, come on."
Daveth started unbuckling his own armor and Alistair did the same. Morrigan rolled her eyes, but deftly pulled out the knot for her top and dropped it to the ground. Under any other circumstances Daveth would have been eyeing the dark-haired witch appreciatively, but today his gaze rested on the pretty dwarf.
The first thing Daveth noticed was the dangerous curve of her hips and how they connected to a well-sculpted waist. That waist flowed smoothly up to an ample chest which, unfortunately, was still covered by a worn leather bra. His eyes then moved upwards to broad, feminine shoulders that connected to a slender neck. And from her neck, he let his eyes fall on her face – tattooed and branded, flecked with blood and dirt – and he felt something stir in his stomach. An odd sensation that reminded him of catching butterflies as a boy and how they would flutter delicately in the fine glass jars his mother collected.
And then he felt another part of him stirring to life, and he hastily covered himself with his hands. Daveth quickly averted his gaze to the floor and willed himself to think of something, anything, other than what was currently running through his mind. He glanced around the room and found Alistair furtively studying the cracked stone flooring, his own hands clasped firmly over his front. Morrigan stood with her arms crossed, silently seething. He let his eyes fall back on Natia and found that she had been looking at him, and she quickly turned her eyes away, her chest and cheeks mottled to a perfect shade of red.
After a moment, Natia cleared her throat. "Well, we should get this over with."
Daveth sucked in a breath and found he was trembling slightly. He'd faced darkspawn and the undead. He'd watched a woman give up her life for a blood magic ritual. Maker's blood, he had even drunk darkspawn blood in the name of becoming a Grey Warden. And here he was, trembling in his smallclothes, because he had to walk through a wall of enchanted flames. He steeled himself and forced his right foot forward, then his left. He could feel the heat of the flame radiating against him and he squeezed his eyes shut, and in one swift movement, forced himself through the flames.
Warmth spread over his body, like the feeling of stepping into the sunlight on a cloudy day. His breathing steadied and he opened his eyes, checking himself for burns. He found that not only was he unscathed, but the blood and dirt and cuts and bruises he had accumulated in the mountain had disappeared. Baptized by fire, indeed.
Suddenly a voice boomed from behind them, and Daveth turned to see the Guardian standing amidst the flame.
"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet and you have walked the path of Andraste," the Guardian's voice echoed against the walls. "Like her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims."
With that, the flames began to die and the Guardian shimmered out of focus and disappeared.
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm putting my clothes back on," Alistair said after a moment, and they went to retrieve their things.
After they had dressed, they walked toward the staircase to the monument. Natia was clutching something in her hand and took a tentative step on the stairs before motioning for the rest to follow her. They climbed the staircase and approached the urn, and Daveth felt the blood pumping in his ears.
"I didn't think anyone would succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place," Alistair spoke in a hushed voice. "But here… here she is."
"I am in awe," Morrigan said in an uncharacteristic tone. "Really."
Daveth found himself speechless and watched as Natia took a step toward the urn. He looked down at her hand and realized he was clutching the vial that Kolgrim had given her, and reached out and grabbed her arm. "Don't do it."
Natia's eyes darted over his face and she looked down at the vial in her hand. "But… I don't…" She looked back up at Daveth and the look on her face almost took his breath away. She was scared.
"We'll figure it out," Daveth leaned down and murmured into her ear. "Just… don't do it."
She nodded at him after a moment and held up her hand, and let the vial fall to the floor. The glass shattered with a satisfying chink and Daveth let out a breath. Natia turned toward the urn and pulled a pinch of ashes out of the pot and placed them in a satchel that Morrigan had given her for collecting herbs. She turned back to Daveth and gave him a small smile, and the group walked through the heavy door back to the mountaintop.
Kolgrim was waiting for them. He stood in front of a dozen or so other cultists, watching for them. Daveth looked up toward the rocky crag where the dragon had nested earlier. The dragon was gone, and a plan began to form.
"Something tells me they're not going to just let us walk away," Alistair murmured, slowly pulling his sword out of its scabbard.
"I have an idea," Daveth said placing his hand on Natia's shoulder. Natia, Alistair and Morrigan listened to the plan and Morrigan's eyes flashed with excitement. Alistair replaced the sword into the scabbard on his back and walked with Natia toward the cultists.
Daveth and Morrigan retreated to the shadows behind a rocky pillar and watched. Daveth pulled his longbow from off his back and deftly loaded an arrow and held the bow at the ready. He pulled the string back, smirking at the satisfying tension that he had created. He focused on Kolgrim and watched as the cultists began to follow his friends back toward the temple.
"Be ready," Daveth whispered, and Morrigan's staff began to glow. Daveth's eyes never left Kolgrim. "Ready… ready… now!"
Daveth let go of the string and let his arrow fly. It swooshed through the air, and found its target. Kolgrim stopped short in his path, the arrow having cut cleanly through his head, and he seemed to stagger forward, before falling to the ground. Alistair and Natia began to run toward the shadows, and Morrigan, at the same moment, yelled something in a language that Daveth did not understand and pieces from the rocky crag began to crumble and fall, crushing the cultists beneath them.
It was quiet back down in Haven. The group walked slowly, cautiously, down the rocky hill toward the center of town. What they found waiting for them caused even Morrigan to stop short.
Daveth stared at the bodies lying on the ground before them and felt the bile rising in this throat.
"The children," Natia whispered, her voice breaking. "They killed the children."
It was threatening to rain when they reached camp. Leliana greeted them with a smile which quickly faltered when she saw their faces.
"What's happened?" she came to them and put a hand on Alistair's cheek. "Were you unable to find the ashes?"
The rest of their companions gathered around the fire and listened as Alistair told them everything.
Daveth watched as Natia numbly stood and began to walk off away from the group, and he stood up and followed her. When they were out of earshot, Natia fell to her knees, cradled her head in her hands and began to sob. Daveth went to her and sat on the cold, hard ground and pulled her toward him. She collapsed against him, body shuddering with each intake of breath.
"Why did they kill the children?" she gasped. "We caused this. If we hadn't gone there…"
Daveth stroked her hair. "We were doing our job, there was no way to know what was going on there."
"We murdered an entire village," Natia sobbed. "All for the ashes of a fucking dead woman."
Daveth hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, and together they sat until the sun began to rise.
Daveth blinked against the sunlight and realized he was lying in the grass. Natia was nestled against him.
"Natia," he murmured against her hair. "It's daylight."
"Hmm?" Natia yawned and opened her eyes. "Oh… did we… fall asleep?"
"Must have," Daveth chuckled, stretching his arms above his head. "Either that or the mages played a nasty trick on us."
Natia sat up and smoothed her hair out. "Um, thank you."
Daveth pushed himself up beside her and nodded. "I, you know, just wanted to make sure you were okay." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and took a breath. "I… er… got you something when we were in Denerim."
"You…" Natia began but stopped short as he pulled the velvet sack out of his pocket and placed it gently in her hands. She carefully opened it up and sucked in a breath when she saw the skyball. "What is it?"
"It's a skyball," Daveth said quietly. "For the times when you want to see the stars, but it's cloudy or daytime… or who knows where else we'll end up?" He held the skyball up. "See there? That's Andraste."
Natia's eyes glistened with tears and she turned toward him. She brought a hand up to his face and stroked his cheek lightly and pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft and slow, and Daveth felt the fluttering in his stomach once more. He wrapped his arms around her and they melted together.
And for a moment the only thing that mattered was that they were together.
AN: Here is my obligatory "sorry for taking so long" note. But really, thank you to those who continue to read despite me having a crazy schedule that doesn't allow me to write as much as I would like to. And a huge thank you to valiasedai for being my second pair of eyes and helping me with comma abuse and epic run-on sentences!