A/N: Biweekly chapter as promised! This one has a lot of emotional conversations in it, thanks to the Gauntlet. I also didn't get as far as I had hoped to in the Gauntlet due to the length of the conversations, so it will have to continue in the next chapter. Hope everyone enjoys!
As always, thanks to those who have favorited, followed, and read the story - I'm really glad you're all enjoying it so far! As of this last chapter, I have gone over 50 on favorites, follows, and reviews, and have over 12 000 views - it's amazing and humbling that it has gotten to that! I hope everyone continues to enjoy and that this next chapter will hit 60 on reviews - I always love to hear from you!
Special thanks go to last chapter's reviewers, especially the ones who have reviewed multiple times: Fairy-of-the-Night-21, PheonixTears589, Valtharia, Guarder22, Crabcat, Hell's Pixie, and guest reviewer Catcy. To Catcy if you're reading this: please get an account so I can respond directly! Also, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, but it did not end at the last chapter, I still have many more chapters to go, so I hope you keep reading.
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Disclaimer: Bioware owns most of the characters and game-related events, I own Ayla and everything else!
Chapter 27: The Gauntlet
Having woken up before anybody else, Alistair was content to remain where he was for the moment, lying on his pallet and holding Ayla in his arms. He almost never woke up before her, so he wanted to enjoy the rare opportunity to watch her as she slept. The sun had just recently risen, washing their campsite in the ruined tower with pale light, but it was a good deal colder than it had been the previous day.
As a result, Ayla was burrowed tightly into his side, as though to soak up all the heat she could from him. He tucked the blanket more carefully around her, and rubbed his hand over her arm, which felt cool to the touch where it wasn't covered by the drakescale armor. She'd gone to sleep wearing it; he assumed it was likely more comfortable to sleep in than the armor he usually wore. Her face looked calm and peaceful where it lay pillowed on his chest, any signs of tension or worry gone, and he was relieved to see her looking so well. He'd been so terrified in that moment before he'd reached her and gotten her out of the dragon's way; he hadn't even stopped to consider what might happen to him.
But if he had, he would have been fine with dying for her; he still was, in spite of the fact that she seemed less than pleased with the idea. He shook his head in wonder as he remembered the events of yesterday. She'd said she loved him. He still couldn't believe it. As badly as he'd wanted it to happen, he hadn't truly expected it would. Why would she love him, when no one else in his life ever had before? Well, except maybe Duncan.
Though Duncan had never come straight out and said so, Alistair believed – hoped - that Duncan had thought of him like a surrogate son, as he had thought of Duncan like the father he'd never had. Duncan was the only person that Alistair believed had ever truly cared about him, just him, prior to now. So for anyone, but most especially the beautiful woman he now held in his arms, to love him had seemed like an impossible dream to him, as much as he had wanted the dream to come true.
The fact that it somehow had – that a woman who was everything he'd ever wanted and even some things he hadn't realized he had wanted, said that she loved him – left him happier than he could ever remember being before. So happy that he felt as though he were lighter than air in spite of his wounds, like he could float into the sky if she wasn't there on top of him holding him to earth. How he had ever gotten this lucky, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the Maker's way of repaying him for the mess his life had been before he'd entered the Grey Wardens.
Granted, it wasn't like his life was a perfect paradise right now, but somehow, the fact that she loved him and he had other people that cared for him, like a man he felt he could safely call brother, made it seem as though it was. Things like the Blight and the fact that he'd nearly been eaten by a dragon paled in comparison to the fact that he'd finally found the place where he wanted to be. In spite of the dangers of their life currently, this was the best he could ever remember his life being.
And it was because of her, he thought, trailing his hand down her cheek as he watched her. He had to make sure that he didn't lose her. She stirred at his touch, and her eyes opened, taking a moment to focus before she saw him. She smiled.
"Sorry," he murmured, dropping his hand away. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"It's no problem," she replied, running a hand lightly over his bandaged chest. He sucked in his breath at the feather-light touch of her fingers that left sparks of fire in their wake. "How are you feeling?"
He caught her hand to stop the torment she was inflicting on him. "Better. I'm still sore but nothing I can't handle. How about you?"
She laced her fingers through his; smiling slyly up at him as if suspecting the reason he'd stopped her. "The same. Still a little sore and weak, but moving on shouldn't be a problem. We need to recover those ashes, after everything we've gone through to get to them."
"Definitely," he nodded in agreement. They'd both nearly lost their lives on this quest already; it would be unthinkable not to find the ashes now. "Should we get up now?"
She sighed, stretching a little against him. He tried to ignore the brush of her body against his. "I suppose we should. Since I cannot spend the time with you here the way I would like to, we might as well get you back in armor and ready to move on."
He grinned down at her, unable to stop himself from asking, "And how would you like to spend the time here with me?"
She laughed softly. "In a way that we shouldn't without at least a tent to shield us from prying eyes." She pushed herself up to lean over him and gift him with a soft, lingering kiss, before whispering in his ear, "With you inside me."
He nearly choked at the bluntness of her words; words that made his body ache with longing for her. Unable to help it, he pulled her back down for a harder kiss, revelling in the intoxicating taste of her mouth, even as he ran his hands over whatever parts of her body he could reach. She responded in kind, her fingers drifting all over him, making his blood run even hotter.
He probably would have entirely forgotten the reason why they shouldn't be doing what they were doing had not Morrigan's voice suddenly interrupted them. "Ugh. I will refuse to take the last watch next time, if it means I will have to be witness to such sights."
He jerked in surprise, even as Ayla pulled back and rolled off him, laughing. Morrigan stood a few feet away, hands planted on her hips, glaring down at them. Alistair sighed, annoyed at himself for losing control and Morrigan for interrupting. "No one asked you to watch, you know," he pointed out.
"I assure you I was not trying to watch," Morrigan retorted icily. "I merely happened to spot it when I turned around and came back this way."
"We're sorry, Morrigan," Ayla replied breathlessly, still chuckling.
Morrigan snorted. "Sorry you got caught, perhaps." Though if Alistair didn't know better, he'd swear she looked amused before she turned away, calling over her shoulder, "If you feel well enough for that, Templar, you should be well enough to get up so we may move on."
Ayla laughed harder as Alistair sat up, glaring down at her. "That was your fault, you know," he grumbled. "You keep teasing me."
She sat up, as well, and he couldn't help grinning as she smiled cheekily at him. How could he even pretend to be mad at her? "If it helps, I'm teasing myself too." She winked at him.
"It doesn't help, no. Maker, I want you," he groaned, fisting his hands in his hair, trying and failing not to notice how beautiful she looked.
"No less than I want you," she replied softly. "Sadly, it will have to wait until we get off this mountain and have some privacy again." She got to her feet, though he noticed it was a little less gracefully than she normally would have. "So the faster we get going, the sooner we will have our privacy."
"Right," he agreed. When she put it that way, he couldn't wait to get going. He got to his feet as well; though the parts of his body that had met dragon teeth were still sore and painfully protesting their use, and he felt a little weaker than he usually did, he was able to stand without too much trouble. Ayla picked up a piece of the plate armor that Aedan had found for him last night – Alistair had not asked where, though he suspected it had come from one of the bodies of the dragon cult members – and proceeded to strap it on. He hoped as she did so that they had seen the last of the obstacles they would have to deal with to get the ashes.
It was about two hours later that morning, after everyone had gotten up and eaten, that they stood in front of the temple built into the mountainside at last. Aedan had asked Sten and Wynne to remain behind at the campsite to guard their exit, just in case there were more dragon cultists lurking around somewhere. Aedan pushed open the intricately carved wooden doors that marked the entrance, and the six of them that remained trooped inside the temple.
It was smaller than the first temple they'd entered, Alistair noted as they climbed the set of stairs leading to the first chamber, though still made of stone. Several statues flanked the sides of the room, bearing large white shields. Some of them were missing their heads, just as some of the pillars supporting the roof were beginning to crumble away. Cobwebs and dust lay over everything. Standing in front of the door leading to the next room was a dark-haired, bearded man in shining, studded silver plate armor and a winged helmet with a large war hammer strapped to his back.
They approached him cautiously, Aedan in the lead, as Alistair wondered if this was another dragon cultist. "I bid you welcome, pilgrims," the man said in an eerie, otherworldly voice as they stopped a few feet from him.
"Who are you?" Aedan asked, his voice cautious.
"I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of the Sacred Ashes," the man replied. "I have waited years for this."
Aedan blinked, glancing at the others before turning back to the guardian. "You've – been waiting for someone to take the Ashes?"
The guardian shook his head. "No one can take the Ashes. They belong here. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."
Years beyond counting – did that mean he was a spirit? Alistair wondered. It would explain why his voice sounded so odd.
"Right," Aedan said slowly, studying the guardian carefully. "So how exactly do we get to the Urn?"
"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourselves worthy," the guardian replied.
"So – we have to fight you?" Aedan raised his eyebrows, obviously confused. Alistair hoped not; he was really wishing for a little more recovery time before they had to engage in battle again.
"It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourselves. If not . . ." the guardian trailed off, as though to indicate it would be obvious what would happen.
"Well, what is the Gauntlet then?" Aedan demanded.
"The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your souls fare," the guardian answered simply.
Aedan turned to look back at them, and they all nodded in response - what else could they do? He shrugged and turned back to the guardian. "All right, let's get this over with then."
"Before you go, there is something I must ask." The guardian studied Aedan with unnerving intensity before continuing, "I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show them no mercy. Do you think you failed your parents?"
Ouch, Alistair thought, shocked. That was harsh. Aedan, for his part, looked like he'd been struck, his face wavering with grief and fury as he struggled to find an answer. "Yes," he said at last, not looking the guardian in the eye. "I should have insisted that my mother come with me at least. I know my father would not have made it, but my mother . . ." His voice cracked and he didn't finish the sentence.
"Thank you," the guardian said impassively, as though uncaring what wounds he'd opened up with his question. "That is all I wished to know."
Alistair had not seen Aedan so distraught since the day he'd told them what happened; it unnerved him, since his fellow Warden so rarely showed such emotion. "You are too hard on yourself," he told Aedan softly. hoping that he could relieve his feelings somewhat. "No one is perfect."
"If your mother made the choice not to go, it is hardly your fault," Ayla added from where she stood next to Alistair.
"Is there any religion that does not thrive upon guilt like a glutton at his lunch?" Morrigan snarled, glaring fiercely at the guardian. "No? I thought not."
"You could not have known what would happen. You did what you thought was best," Leliana murmured.
"And now, the self-flagellation?" Zevran asked scornfully, glaring at the guardian as well. "That is what comes next in these things, no?"
"Let's just – not talk about it anymore, okay?" Aedan said unsteadily, not meeting their eyes. "Can we move on now, guardian?"
But the spirit had turned his gaze on Alistair, and Alistair grimaced, dreading what was coming next as the guardian continued, "And what of those that follow you? Alistair, Knight and Warden . . . you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died and not him?"
It was exactly the question that Alistair had been afraid of; the question that still ate him up inside whenever he allowed himself to think of it. He could never shake the nightmarish image of Duncan falling beneath dozens of darkspawn blades. If only he could have gotten Duncan out of there – if only he could have saved him - he knew all the things they needed to know in order to defeat the Blight. He would have been so much more useful than Alistair himself was. "I . . . yes," he answered reluctantly, feeling the guilt tearing at him. "If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would have been better. If I'd just had the chance, maybe . . ."
"Alistair . . ." He looked to his left to see Ayla looking up at him, disappointment and hurt mingling on her face. Suddenly realizing how that must have sounded to her, he opened his mouth to explain, but the guardian interrupted, already moving on to his next target.
"And you . . ." his gaze was freezing as he looked at Leliana, "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?"
Leliana's eyes were wide with shock as she protested, "I never said that! I –"
But the guardian was continuing on, inexorably. "In Orlais 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 revelled 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?" Leliana's voice was an indignant squeak as she faced the guardian down. "I did not! I know what I believe!"
The spirit, however, said nothing further to her, merely moved on to the next person, his gaze swinging over to Zevran. "And the Antivan elf . . ."
"Is it my turn now?" Zevran said blandly. "Hurrah. I'm so excited."
"Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of –"
Zevran cut the spirit off, his eyes wide with shock and fury. "How do you know about that?"
"I know much; it is allowed to me," the spirit replied simply. "The question stands, however. Do you regret –"
"Yes," Zevran interrupted again, his face tight with fury and what looked like sincere regret, which surprised Alistair. He hadn't truly thought the elf capable of experiencing such an emotion. "The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."
The guardian did so without further comment to the elf. "And you, Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter . . . What –"
Just as Zevran had done, Morrigan cut the spirit off, waving her hand dismissively. "Begone, spirit. I will not play your games."
"I will respect your wishes," the guardian replied. Alistair wished he'd known that not answering was an option, since he could sense that Ayla was now upset with him.
The guardian now turned his gaze on Ayla, who stiffened. "And finally, the shapeshifter who is so far from home. You claim to fight for the good of others, to help people and protect them. Yet what about the men and women that you and your brother killed in the name of your father? The ones that you tortured until they screamed and cried and begged for the release of death? Do you believe that was necessary for the good of others? Or are you the monster that people fear you to be?"
Alistair watched Ayla; she was carefully avoiding looking at any of them, her posture rigid and her hands clenched. He remembered her mentioning something about the way she'd killed the bandits that had killed her father. He'd never really given much thought to it, but she had said she hadn't let them die quickly. He had a hard time imagining her doing what the guardian had said, though. And he certainly didn't believe she was a monster, whatever she might have done to them. Because he had seen how hard she tried to help others, and how much she cared for them; how many times she'd gotten herself injured trying to protect them.
Just as he thought she wouldn't answer the spirit, she said tightly, "It was necessary. I would do it all over again if I had the chance. They tortured my father and others who were unfortunate enough to cross their path. My brother and I were only returning the favour."
The spirit made no comment, only nodding as if that was what he'd expected to hear, before he turned back at last to Aedan. "The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek." So saying, the guardian disappeared in a flash of bright light, and the wooden door behind him swung open.
"Well," Aedan said after a long moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, "let's hope that was the worst of it and keep going, shall we?"
He started forward into the next room, and everybody began to follow. Alistair wanted to say something to Ayla to make her feel better, but he didn't know where to begin. He started to follow after everyone else, but Ayla caught his arm, halting him. "Hold on a moment, I need to talk to you." He nodded as she called to Aedan, "We'll catch up in a minute."
Aedan waved his hand in response as he continued on, and the other three followed him. Ayla pulled Alistair a little off to the side of the door, facing him with her hands planted on her hips, her face stern. "Want to tell me what that was about? Just what makes you think that everyone would be better off if you died?!"
She was upset, Alistair thought ruefully. Once again he'd opened his mouth and said something without thinking it all the way through. Now he needed to fix it, because he couldn't stand to think of having hurt her. "I – I didn't mean that I would be better off, obviously. This . . . is the best my life has ever been. I was just . . ." he sighed, trying to think of how to explain himself. "I was thinking of Ferelden, and the Blight. Duncan would know what to do to fix everything, and I don't, so . . . it would have been better for everyone else."
She shook her head, scowling. "No, it wouldn't. You told me once that Duncan was close to being claimed by the taint. He would most likely have died before the Blight was ever finished. How would that be better than having a young, strong Grey Warden who isn't about to die right away available to fight the Blight? Even if he does have more knowledge, he might not have even been around to use it. And what about me? Did I not tell you that I love you? Do you think I would say something like that and not mean it?!"
He gaped at her. She looked so . . . furious and hurt. He suddenly realized what the real problem had been with what he'd said. If she did truly love him, she wouldn't think that she was better off without him – which was something he still had trouble wrapping his mind around. He'd basically said that he didn't believe her, or worse, that her feelings didn't matter to him. "No – I – I know you wouldn't say that without meaning it. I . . . just . . . I still have a hard time believing that you even said it, because . . . well . . . no one ever has before."
She sighed, and he could see the fury and hurt drain out of her face, replaced by sympathy and sadness. "Alistair . . . just because no one ever said it . . . that's not your fault. It doesn't make you unworthy of love. I know it's been tough for you, growing up without any real support, but you need to believe in yourself more." She looked up at him, shook her head, and went on, "Do you trust me?"
While he didn't know what to say in response to anything else she said, he knew the answer to that. It was one of the few things in his life over which he had no doubt. "Of course I do."
She nodded, studying him carefully before going on, "Well, if you can't believe in yourself just yet, then trust me. Trust me when I say that I believe in you, and it's not for no reason. It's because you're an amazing man. You believe in Aedan, as well, don't you?"
He nodded, dumbfounded and in shock, wondering where she was going with this now.
"He believes in you too. He needs your help, and he trusts you to back him up. No leader can do it all on their own; they need someone they can trust to support them. So believe him when he says that you are that person. And everyone else - they all trust you too. Anyone that's ever made you feel unworthy – that was their problem, not yours. Don't let them drag you down anymore." She closed the distance between them, and reached up to gently cradle his face in her hands. "Please, Alistair, for the sake of the people that care about you, believe in you, and love you, don't ever say or even think that it would have been better if you'd died. I won't forgive you for saying that again."
He could only stare at her for a long moment, trying to process what she'd said. She thought he was amazing? She really, truly loved him? Just when he'd thought it wasn't possible to love her more than he already did, she went and said something like that, completely flooring him. She believed in him. Aedan believed in him. They all did. His own family might not want him, but he'd found other people that did. And he owed it to them to be better, to try to believe in himself more. He nodded slowly. "I won't ever say that again, I promise. I wasn't thinking, really. I just . . ." he shook his head. "It was a stupid thing to say. I'll do my best to not think that way anymore. Thank you."
He pulled her into a hug, and just held her for a moment, breathing in her scent, relishing the feel of her there, as she murmured, "You're welcome. We should catch up to the others." She pulled back and started to head towards the door.
"Wait," he called, halting her. He couldn't let her go without saying something to make her feel better, as she had done for him. He knew what to say now. "About what the guardian said to you . . ."
She turned back to face him, her expression frozen, guarded. "What about it?"
"I just wanted to tell you," he replied, closing the distance between them, "whatever you did to them, whatever the guardian says, you're not a monster."
Her eyes went wide with surprise, though the rest of her expression remained guarded, as she looked up at him. "You did hear what he said, right? That I tortured them until they screamed and cried?"
He nodded. "I heard. And I know you. I know you wouldn't have done something like that just for the sake of it, that you only did it because you loved your father and wanted revenge. That doesn't necessarily mean I agree with it," he shrugged but went on, "but it also doesn't mean that I think any less of you for it. I know that you do help people, and protect people, to the point that you've nearly gotten yourself killed more than once. So, you're not a monster, you're a good person."
She shook her head, though her eyes were soft now as she looked up at him. "Alistair, you have no idea what I did to them. What I would do to anyone that hurt somebody I loved. So how can you even say that I am a good person?"
He smiled. "Like I said, I know you. And if you can't believe that you are, then trust me when I say that you are." He winked at her.
Her face broke into an answering smile as she rolled her eyes. "How clever of you, turning my words around on me. All right, I'll believe you. Let's go before we get left behind."
He followed her into the next room, feeling somehow even better than he had this morning, though he had not thought it possible. He felt like a weight had lifted off of him now that they'd talked this out between them. Surely the rest of the gauntlet would be nothing after this.
In the next room, they joined up with Aedan and the others where they stood facing a ghostly figure surrounded in swirling mist in an alcove of stone, halfway through the room. Alistair could see that there were three more figures in the remaining alcoves of the room before the next door. The figure was currently speaking something that sounded rather like a riddle, which after a moment's pause, Aedan answered correctly. The figure then went on to speak about its role in Andraste's life, from the sounds of it, before disappearing.
This pattern was repeated three more times, and between Aedan and Leliana, all of the riddles were answered and all of the spirits disappeared. When the last one was gone, the door at the other end of the room opened. "That wasn't so bad," Aedan said, heading towards the door while they followed. "Riddles I can deal with. Hopefully the next room is as easy."
As soon as they went through the door, however, they were enveloped in complete blackness. Alistair glanced around him, but couldn't see any of the others. Oddly enough, he could see his own hands and body perfectly fine, but he could not see anything else. He reached out to his left, where Ayla had been, but met empty air. "Hey, where did everybody go?" he called, hoping he could hear them at least. "Is anyone there? Hello?"
A light wavered and shimmered in front of him, about three feet away. He squinted at it as it began to take form in the shape of a person, wondering what new trickery of the Gauntlet this was. Finally, the light solidified in front of him into a familiar figure.
"Duncan?!" he exclaimed.
"Father?!"
It couldn't really be her father, Ayla reasoned with herself as she stared at the ghostly figure of her father that was almost solid but not quite. It had to be another demon or trick of the Fade or something. After all, everyone else had disappeared, to the point where she couldn't see, hear, touch or even smell them there, so this had to be some sort of magic trick of the Gauntlet.
It looked just like her father, just as it had in the Fade, exactly as he'd looked the last time she'd seen him alive. Well, really, exactly as he'd looked almost all her life: dressed in the sky-blue tunic of the Order with the symbol emblazoned in white on the front, with his grey wolf-skin leggings and cloak from his own animal kin, and with the gold Captain armband on his left arm that was now her brother's. Indeed, he looked just like an older version of Mardin, the flame-red hair he shared with her and her brother streaked with grey, his ice-blue eyes identical to Mardin's, even their height and size roughly the same. The only difference between the two aside from age was that her father was invariably more serious than Mardin.
Just at the moment, though, he was smiling; a warm smile that wrenched her heart even as she told herself it wasn't him. "Ayla, my daughter," he said, his voice as loving as it was eerily otherworldly, as the guardian's had been.
She shook her head in denial. "You can't be him. This is just another demon's trick. You are dead!"
"Yes, I am indeed," he replied seriously.
She gaped at him. She hadn't quite been expecting that response; the demon in the Fade had tried studiously to convince her that her father was still alive. What new trick was this?
"I have not come back to life, if that is what you are thinking," he continued, "nor am I a demon or a trick. This is truly me, but I am nothing but a spirit now, sent by the Goddess from the World Beyond to deliver a message to you. Her influence in this world is extremely limited, and this was one of the few ways She could get a message to you, and this place one of the few places it could be done, due to the many spirits here."
"A – a message?" Ayla said weakly. This all sounded very plausible. She had heard of many instances where the Goddess had used a loved one's spirit to deliver a message. So, could this really be her father, then? "It – it really is you?"
"It really is me, Ayla," he replied, his face softening. "I am sorry. My pride got me killed, and placed a heavy burden on you and your brother. I have been a poor father to you, I'm afraid, making you fear to care for others."
"No, Father," she exclaimed, feeling horribly guilty for making him believe that. "You could not have known what would happen; no one did. One of us should have gone with you. You were the best father we could have ever had; we loved you dearly. That was why it hurt so to lose you. And I will not have you blaming yourself for my cowardice, my shortcomings. That is all my own fault."
Her father smiled warmly again. "I am glad to hear that you believe that, even if I cannot fully agree with you. I told you both that it was not necessary to come with me, so the burden for that lies with me. But you are not a coward, and I am proud of you. You and Mardin both, and I love you both more than you can ever know."
She could feel tears slipping down her face now; great. She was crying again, damn it all to the Pit. But it was everything she'd ever wanted to hear, and she so wanted to hug her father, so she moved to close the distance, but her arm passed through him as she reached for him.
He looked at her sadly as a tear trickled down his own face. "How I wish I could hold you too, daughter, but I am only a spirit now, and –" he glanced behind him, almost as if he could hear something she couldn't. "I am running out of time now. I must say what I have come to say."
She nodded, struggling to control her tears. "The – the message – what is it?"
"The Goddess is the one who sent you to this world, because your destiny lies here," her father began, meeting her gaze steadily. "The choice of whether or not to remain here is entirely yours, however. She wanted you to see what was at stake before you made your decision. If you wish to go back home, you have but to say so, and it will be done. She will not force you to follow your destiny."
Ayla had already made her decision a long time ago, and it was only cemented further now that she knew how she felt about Alistair. She shook her head. "No. I will stay here." She paused. "But – Mardin – does he know what happened to me?"
Her father nodded. "He does. Cranin informed him you'd been transported to another world." She sighed with relief at that, even as he beamed with pride at her. "I had told the Goddess you would choose to follow your destiny, and I am glad to see I was right."
She flushed, embarrassed at her father's praise. "It's nothing, really. I had little to do at home, after all. But what exactly is my destiny here? To help with the Blight?"
Her father shook his head and smiled. "The Blight is part of it, but it is not all of it. Surely you must have noticed by now how out of balance this world is?"
She nodded. Everywhere they went, there was tragedy, death, and chaos. Things were out of control and unnatural; the balance of the world was distorted. She had noticed.
"It has been this way since mages in this world used their powers and broke through to the World Beyond. Such a thing is not allowed, and when it occurred, the balance of this world was damaged beyond repair. The mages were thrust out, but the harm had already been done. They had broken the laws of the universe, and for that, they were punished. They became the darkspawn, and began to ravage the world of Thedas, bringing it nearly to destruction." Her father's face was grim as he recited the tale.
"But why did the Goddess not stop it?" Ayla asked. "Could she not intervene?"
Her father shook his head again in response. "This world was once much like ours, in that the Goddess and those that serve Her could intervene more freely and influence more readily. One of Her followers, Her half-brother, Aldrain, was the main guardian of this world, and did his best to guide it. But once the damage was done, She and all Her followers were shut out of this world. Their influence is very limited now. They can only give dreams or visions to certain people, try to direct those few that can help restore the balance, or at least keep this world from sliding totally into darkness. They were able to help the first of the Wardens to learn how to combat the darkspawn, and since then, have done the best they could to direct others. And for a few centuries, a somewhat shaky balance was restored. But now, things are sliding into darkness again."
"With the start of the new Blight," Ayla guessed, "and the slaughter at Ostagar."
"The new Blight," her father confirmed, "is the start of the imbalance. But there are many more trials coming, and so the Goddess and Her followers have begun to do what little they can to combat the darkness. She has gathered together those destined to help fight it; all of your companions have a role to play. Ordinarily, one born in another world could not remain in a different world, due to the balance, but in this case, She has foreseen that the balance will improve with your presence, and so you were brought here. Your destiny is now tied to this world, and to more than just the Blight."
"What do you mean?" Ayla asked uncertainly. "What is my destiny aside from the Blight?"
"Come now, Ayla," her father said. "You know what else your destiny is."
She stared at her father, trying to think. What had Flemeth said about her destiny? Who you first met, popped into her mind suddenly. She had met Alistair first, she realized. Well, the other recruits, including Aedan, had been there, but if she was honest with herself, she'd really only noticed Alistair at the time. She'd thought it was because he was a Grey Warden that she'd met him, but really, if it was only that, she could have met any of the Wardens. So perhaps it wasn't only about him being a Warden. "Do you mean – Alistair?" she asked her father at last.
He smiled, obviously pleased that she'd come to the right conclusion. "Indeed. Your destiny is tied to his. So, yes, the Blight is part of it, but there is still much else for you both to do. He is, as you suspected, your life-mate."
Fallorians believed that one's life-mate was the one person that they were destined to be with above all others, their other half. To think that she had truly found her life-mate in another world was astonishing for her, but no less than that her entire destiny lay elsewhere. "Father," she said slowly, "does that mean you approve?"
He nodded, smiling warmly. "I do. He is a good match for you, daughter, and I wish I could be there the day that you are bound together. But, unfortunately, I cannot, and this is the last time I will see you until you join me in the World Beyond. Please make sure that is many years from now."
"I – I will, Father," she promised, trying to hold back the tears that were wanting to threaten again, the ones that she had managed to get under control when he was telling her about her destiny.
He glanced behind him again. "I must say goodbye now. Be strong, my daughter, for there are many trials ahead, but know that the Goddess is doing all She can to help you. I love you, Ayles."
Her tears burst forth at that. Only her father and Mardin ever called her Ayles, and while Mardin did it frequently, she couldn't remember the last time her father had. "I love you, too, Papa."
He smiled, tears trickling down his face as well, and in a flash of light, he was gone. "Papa?" she cried, but there was no answer, and the darkness suddenly disappeared from around her, leaving her standing in a stone room, back in the temple.
"Ayla?" She looked up to her right, to see Alistair standing there again, looking as wrecked as she felt, his eyes red-rimmed. Embarrassed to be caught crying twice in two days, when it had been years since she last cried, she hid her face in her hands, but he pulled her into his arms, resting his head atop hers.
There it was again, she thought. The comfort that his arms around her brought so easily. She struggled to get her crying under control, and after a few moments, finally got herself together. She pulled back and looked up at Alistair, smiling weakly. "Sorry," she managed, her voice scratchy. "I saw . . . my father. For real this time."
He nodded, clearing his throat. "I . . . saw Duncan. He . . . um, well, among other things, told me it wasn't my fault and to stop being an idiot." He chuckled, though it was a little watery sounding. "Basically what you told me."
"See?" She dredged up a smile for his benefit. "I told you to believe me."
"That you did," he murmured softly, smiling down at her in turn. "I suppose I should listen to you more often."
She nodded and grinned at him in reply, feeling a little better already, before she turned and glanced around the room; the others were all there, but appeared equally overwhelmed. Aedan was in Morrigan's arms, his face buried in the crook of her neck, while she stroked his hair. Which was quite possibly the most public display of affection Ayla had ever seen her witch friend engage in. Morrigan looked pissed, however, and grumbled something about the damn spirit and its guilt-mongering. She suspected Aedan must have seen his parents, or perhaps his entire family.
Zevran was standing with his back to them, his shoulders tense, hands clenched, and Ayla wondered if he'd had a visit from the woman he'd told the spirit he regretted killing. She wanted to talk to him, but figured that now would not be a good time; she recognized all the signals of not wanting to talk. Leliana looked similarly upset, as she hugged her arms to herself. Ayla pulled away entirely from Alistair and went to put a supporting arm around her friend's shoulders. "I believe you, about the vision, you know," she said softly. "You saw what you needed to see to set you on the right path."
Leliana looked up at her, smiling tremulously. "Thank you, my friend. You have no idea what that means to me."
Aedan walked past them towards the next door, his eyes looking as red-rimmed as everyone else's. "Let's go." His voice came out sounding a little cracked; he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "That's two down, but we have two more tests to go. So let's get this over with." He went over to the door, Morrigan and Zevran following close behind.
Ayla let go of Leliana's shoulders, nodding to her friend; Alistair had come up on her other side and they proceeded to follow the others to the next room. Ayla was sincerely hoping that the next few trials would not be quite so emotionally wrenching.