Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Takes place ten years or more after the events of Dragon Age: Origins, from the background of a female Human Noble pc who has recruited Loghain and persuaded an "altered" Alistair to marry Anora and rule as King despite his survival, and persuaded Loghain to perform the dark ritual with Morrigan. May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: Low comedy…what can I say? I'm a lifelong fan. I have been a devoted Stoogemaniac virtually from birth, and while part of me does want to see the new movie the purist in me won't allow it. Good bad or indifferent it could not be but a pale shadow of the original, and another pale shadow seemed appropriate for the Gauntlet of Trials, which is seemingly all about wispy reflections. No prizes for guessing which of the three is Moe, Larry, and Curly, and Anora works out well as the horrified onlooker helpless to stop the depredations of these idiots as they do their damnedest to destroy something beautiful and sacred. It's a little more serious than outright slapstick, I think, but the homage is there.

Chapter Ten: The Three Stooges Meet Our Lady Andraste

"Welcome, pilgrims, to the shrine of the Most Holy Andraste."

Loghain sized up the creature - he could not think of it as a man - that stood before them. It looked like a man, except for being somewhere in the neighborhood of eight feet tall and, as Alistair had said, not entirely…solid, but despite the vague sense of translucence of the image the overall impression he received was of immense formidability. That warhammer on its back looked like it could do real damage. The other impression he got from the creature, an equally immense calm spanning a thousand patient years, suggested he didn't have to worry about it unless he did something sacrilegious. He prepared himself for a fight regardless - impressions were, after all, only impressions.

The Warden bowed her head to the spirit. "Guardian. We have come to honor Andraste, and seek her aid to heal our comrade Loghain, who suffers a terrible illness for which there is no cure."

The spirit nodded back. "I remember you, and your companion as well. Two unrecognized pilgrims do I see, and all of you have traveled a long and arduous road. You have faced many trials to get here, and more await before you may come to the resting place of the Revered. Before you enter the Gauntlet, allow me a moment to ask of you each a question."

The Warden was now looking to him to take the lead, as were the others, and the Guardian clearly expected answer of some kind, so Loghain stepped forward and gave his own nod. "Ask."

"Loghain, son of Gareth, father of Anora, protector of one King and betrayer of another. You despise the Chantry, revile the Divine, submit yourself to the will of few and are apologetic to none, and resign yourself to suffer the fate of the unworthy, doomed to wander the depthless dark of the Void denied the Maker's favor and the love and forgiveness of those gone before you. For which of your crimes do you believe yourself damned?"

Loghain drew himself up tall and squared his shoulders. "For all of them, Spirit."

The Guardian shook his head sadly. "That is not the answer in your heart."

"I thought you said he didn't require an answer," Loghain muttered to Elilia.

"Evidently he wants you to come to some realization that you haven't had yet."

He looked back at the spirit, defiant for a moment, and then sighed. "You want to know for which, Spirit? The truth is that I don't know which sin tolled the death knell for my soul. Was it for failing to protect my mother as the Chevaliers held her down and raped her before my very eyes and then slit her throat? Was it for running away and leaving my father to die without even a fare-thee-well to let him know that I loved him and would spend the rest of my days begrudging his willing sacrifice? For loving the woman to whom my best friend was betrothed, whether or not she was the woman he wanted? For leaving Cailan, a son to me, to die for a promise I made long ago to a King who was already dead and a conspiracy that may well have existed only in my own mind, even if I am still not assured of it? Or perhaps for selling innocent Ferelden citizens into slavery - some of the elder of which were good men I once served with, men who helped me free our country from its own slavery? I don't know which of my crimes is more heinous than the others, Spirit, but I know that I am damned, and so I say again: for all of them. I carry my mistakes with me."

The spirit nodded. "That is the answer in your heart."

Alistair put a tentative hand on Loghain's shoulder. "You can't hold the blame for everything - " he began, but Loghain brushed him aside impatiently.

"Don't spout worthless platitudes at me, pup. Whether I can or I can't makes no nevermind, as the fact of the matter is I do."

The Spirit turned its attention to Anora. "Anora, daughter of Loghain, wife of Alistair, Queen of Ferelden."

"Ask your question, Spirit. I am not afraid to face my own demons."

"You failed to produce an heir for your husband Cailan, and many in the Kingdom claimed that you must be barren, even attributing this infertility to a curse of the Maker because of your parents' common origins. Cailan was unfaithful to you, having dalliances with many other women, and you were fully aware of the machinations of certain nobles to have you replaced as Queen. You even feared that this infidelity and conspiracy may have been what caused your father to leave Cailan to die at the hands of the Darkspawn, though the truth is that he did not know of it."

"He bloody well does now," Loghain growled. The spirit ignored him.

"Do you fear that you drove Cailan to move against you?"

Anora hung her head for a moment, then raised her face to meet the Guardian's gaze and laughed bitterly. "Of course I do. I am what I am, by nature or by training, and I am not…warm, by any means. I have often wondered if I had been more patient, more…loving…perhaps Cailan would not have sought his pleasures elsewhere, and perhaps he would not have striven in so foolhardy a manner to assert his own unique space in the history books if I had been able to set my own pride and ambition aside a bit in order to make him feel his were of value to me. If I am expected to feel bad about not giving him an heir, however, I can only point out that I have given Alistair two and none of Cailan's other women begot him any bastards, so I have set my guilt about that aside."

Alistair did not attempt to placate his wife as he had her father - her response would have been identical - but he did put an arm around her shoulders. "Cailan wanted out from under his father's shadow, and mine as the extension of it, not yours," Loghain said.

"Elilia, daughter of Eleanor - once before you passed through the cleansing flame, but the path you have trod since then has been no easier than the path that led you here before. For the whole of a decade you have faithfully executed your duty as a Grey Warden, yet lately there grows in you a sense of dissatisfaction. The First Warden is a posturing, hypocritical fool, you think, and you feel a certain disgust at the rules you chafe against and cannot fully understand. The demands for secrecy and isolation gnaw at you, you feel that much could have transpired differently for Ferelden had the Wardens only been straightforward about their purpose from the beginning, and questions about why some things were allowed to happen - and why no aid was ever sent aside from one elderly Orlesian Warden - have begun to eat away at your insides. You long to cast aside your calling and live the remainder of your days as your own master. Can you justify the abandonment of your duty, or is it true that your primary reason for wanting to leave the Wardens is that you have grown bored of it?"

The Warden seemed momentarily shocked, then embarrassed. "I am bored, and bothered, and frustrated and angry and dissatisfied, in equal measures. I would like nothing more than to cast aside the mantle of Warden-Commander and make a break for freedom, whatever that means. But I can't run from myself, can I? And I cannot abandon my honor." She looked deeply depressed at the thought.

"Alistair, son of Maric, husband of Anora, King of Ferelden," the Guardian said, at last turning to the final member of their party. "You, too, have passed through Andraste's holy fire, but another fire has since scorched your soul. This man betrayed your comrades to their deaths. You called for his execution, but your desires were not fulfilled. Moreover, the man was made to stand among those very Wardens he betrayed, and you abandoned them because of it. Now you stand at his side, and you have even entrusted much of the fate of your beloved Ferelden to his care. So tell me, who was the greater traitor? The man who quit the field to save a portion of the army he commanded rather than risk all to save a foolhardy King and Wardens who did not trust him with most vital information, or the man who abandoned his friends to face a dreaded foe without him because of a fit of childish and murderous pique when his desire for vengeance upon a submissive foe was unfulfilled?"

Red to his ears, Alistair stammered over his answer for a moment before his head dropped and he said, "My betrayal was the greater, Spirit. It took me many years to realize it, but now I understand how wrong I was to call for base revenge, and I am grateful to Elilia for denying it to me."

"Ha! Not as grateful as I am," Loghain said. Then he put a hand on Alistair's shoulder and said, as kindly as he could manage, "Don't fret, lad - I would have killed me, too."

"The way is open to you, pilgrims," the Guardian said, and vanished.

"I don't think any of us is doomed to damnation," Elilia said when he was gone, with a severe glare for Loghain. "Nor do I think that Anora is in any way to blame for Cailan's stupidity - he struck me as pretty much born that way - and as for you, Alistair, you betrayed no one. You were to be King, and you could not be both King and Warden. That's for prickish hypocrites like the First Warden in the Anderfels."

"Nice try, Eli," Alistair said quietly, "but I know better than that."

"No one is going to talk any of us out of the way we feel about ourselves," Anora said. "It's just part of what makes us who we are."

"The riddling spirits are up ahead," Alistair said. "At least if the Gauntlet is the same."

"Answer their stupid questions correctly, Loghain, and their spirits will unlock the door to the next area. The riddles were of the self-evident sort last time," the Warden said, with a long-suffering sigh.

Indeed they were, and Loghain, who'd never had much patience for riddling, was hard-pressed to give a straight answer rather than deliberately replying with absurdities. If it could justly be said that he had an underdeveloped sense of humor, he was fairly certain these creatures had not even the concept of such. Finally he was through the double-line of shades and the door stood open. Elilia touched him gently on the shoulder. "Just be prepared: the next part is harder than anything else in the Gauntlet, even though it doesn't really test you on anything."

A figure stood in the open doorway, another shade of some sort, and he approached cautiously. It was a woman, small and slender, with fair hair gathered into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. He recognized the outline…

She turned to face him, and he looked down in shock and sadness into the face of his mother.

She smiled, though her eyes were sorrowful. "My son, for too long you have carried this grief and guilt my death has caused you. You were only a child, and there was no way for you to protect me from my fate. Indeed, it was my duty to protect you, as your father and I tried so hard to do. Even as I lay dying my only fear was for you, my son, my only regret that you had to suffer the pain of witnessing my demise. Release these feelings you have harbored for too many years, and free yourself at last from the pain they have caused."

Though she herself was ethereal, she pressed something very solid and real into the palm of his hand - an amulet, shaped like a tiny mirror. "Take this, and let it be a reminder to you that you can no more be the remedy for all the world's ills than you can be the cause."

She vanished then, without another word. Loghain stood for a moment, turning the pendant over and over in his big hand, and then a strangled moan escaped his throat and he staggered and would perhaps have fallen had his companions not rushed to support him.

"I told you so," the Warden said, sadly.

"Let's move on," Loghain said hoarsely. The next area pitted them against their doubles, and while it was a hard-fought battle it was hardly impossible as the shades had skill but seemingly no tactics. They tore down the battlefield-controlling Shadow Loghain, then focused on the heavy-damaging Shadow Warden, and Shadow Anora with the bow she'd used in battle rather than the wicked blades she weilded now was easy pickings after knocking out the defenses of Shadow Alistair. Building the ghost bridge was a piece of cake since two of the party already knew the trick of it and the mechanism involved was self-evident to Loghain and Anora as well. He crossed over the solidified structure and the others followed after. They entered the chamber where Andraste awaited and approached the altar that stood before the line of protective flames.

Loghain read the inscription, did a double-take, and read again. He turned to glare accusingly at the Warden. "Am I interpreting this damned thing correctly?"

She snickered wickedly. "More than likely, given that thunderous disapproval I see in your eyes."

"I will not strip naked and walk through fire."

She shrugged. "Then you will not come to the ashes, and you will die with blood in your throat, a miserable, defiant old bugger to the last gasp, and I will take great delight in the fact that the last words you hear upon this earth will be mine as I tell you what a thrice-damned fool you are."

"Come on, Loghain - it's not that bad. We had to do it before, and what's worse, we had Oghren with us," Alistair said, pulling a face. "And Wynne!"

Loghain gestured wildly at Anora. "And I've got my daughter."

"Look, you just touch the altar and the clothes disappear. Walk through the flames, the Guardian says 'Congratulations, blah-de-blah,' and hey, presto! The clothes are back on. No muss, no bother, and no particular need to look at anyone else in their radiant glory," Elilia said. "It's probably just an illusion in the first place, nakedness and fire, to see whether you really have enough blind, stupid faith to do it. Religions are always insistent upon utter stupidity in their followers."

"Eli," Alistair said despairingly.

Loghain regarded the altar for a moment in evident disgust, then shook his head, reached out, and touched it. The Warden might have been right in claiming the nakedness he experienced upon that simple action was merely illusion, but the cold draft in his nether regions felt real enough. Deliberately not looking anywhere but straight ahead, he forged through the flames.

The Guardian appeared. "You have passed through the Gauntlet. You have trod the footsteps of Our Lady Andraste and walked through the flames, and like her you have been cleansed."

When the spirit vanished their clothing reappeared. Glad to have it over and done with, Loghain stalked up the tall stairs to the small urn set before the grand statue of the lady Herself, his companions close behind. "All right, Warden, we're here. What happens now?"

She removed the lid of the urn. "Now I take a pinch of the ashes, and - " she flicked them directly into his face. He recoiled, almost losing his balance on the top step, and glowered at her fiercely.

"I don't think that was entirely necessary, do you?" he snarled.

"How do you feel?" she asked anxiously.

"Livid."

"That's not what I meant, bone-brain," she said. "Do you still feel sick?"

"Don't we have to pray over him, or something?" Alistair asked nervously. "The mage who used them on Arl Eamon did."

"Yes, but I never heard or read once that it was necessary," Elilia said. "Cough, Loghain."

"What?"

"Cough, damn you - so we can see if you've still got the Bloody Lung."

He made the effort, but found he could not. He took a deep breath and discovered he could fill his mighty lungs clear to the top without pain or hindrance. He let it out gustily. "I think it's gone," he said, surprised.

Elilia's smile was enormous. "I knew it would work!" As if in celebration she plunged her gauntleted hand back into the urn and "accidentally" flicked another pinch of ashes in Alistair's face. Anora groaned to see the Prophetess flung about in so casual a fashion.

He sputtered indignantly. "What was that for?" he demanded. "I'm not sick!"

"Yes you are," Elilia said. "You have the Blight. And that is not a good thing for a King to have, is it? It occurred to me on the way here that if Andraste can cure all sickness, then she must be able to cure this as well."

"Eli, if Andraste's ashes could cure you of being a Warden you would not be one now," Alistair said. "You've had your hand in that urn three times now."

"I've never actually touched the ashes, Alistair - I've always had friggin' armor-plated gloves on when I handled them. Thought it might break the enchantment if I made direct contact."

She put her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm's length, studying him intently but actually sensing him rather than seeing him. Finally she grinned and clapped him on the arm heartily. "Not a tickle! The old girl came through for me again!" Her prancing, in heavy armor, caused the pedestal to wobble alarmingly, and Anora shrieked slightly as the urn came close to toppling.

Loghain looked at the urn contemplatively. "So Andraste's ashes cure the Blight, eh?" he said thoughtfully. "That's something to ponder, isn't it?"

He turned back to the others. "Warden?" he inquired. She turned to him. "Yes, my friend?" He plunged his fist into the urn with nearly blinding speed and flicked a pinch that was more like a scoop of ashes in the woman's face. She screamed bloody murder as the cremains of the Maker's Chosen stung her eyes.

"Why did you bloody do that?" she shouted, incensed.

"Oops," Loghain said calmly and unrepentantly.

She raved, she swiped at her face, she sputtered and blustered incoherently. "I'm not - I'm not - I'm not a Warden anymore!" she wailed.

Loghain shrugged. "That's what you wanted."

"It is - it is not!"

"It is according to what you said to the Guardian," he pointed out. "The only thing holding you, you said, was duty and honor and the bloody taint. Now you don't have to worry about it anymore, you can no longer perform your duty and your honor remains intact."

"This isn't what I wanted!" she repeated, shrieking.

"Too late now. And too late to worry about it, as well. If the First Warden complains, just tell him its all the fault of that dreadful Loghain."

She reared back, hands doubled into fists, and flew at him. She knocked him back into the pedestal which toppled, upsetting the sacred urn. With a strangled cry, Anora flew for the falling container and managed to catch it midair and right the topless vessel before the precious contents could spill. Alistair grabbed the lid and slammed it down onto the container and together King and Queen held onto it, panting with the fright of the near disaster.

The ex-Warden's first assault seemed to have drained the fight out of her, and she flagged against Loghain's chest, sobbing like a child. "Dear Maker, Loghain, I hate you for this…but thank you."

Loghain, who understood both her anger and her fervent gratitude better than anyone else present except, perhaps, Elilia herself, held her close and stroked the long tail of her hair. "You're welcome."

"Yes. Well. We're all very happy that everything has worked out so well for all parties involved, but perhaps we could adjourn to elsewhere before we destroy a treasure of the ages?" Anora said brittlely, still sitting awkwardly on the steps with the urn in her lap.

"I agree. We have more than what we came for. Now let us leave, please," Alistair seconded.

"Fine, but let us set the Holy Lady to rights, first," Loghain said, uprighting the fallen pedestal and taking the urn from its protectors. "Like dusting off her skirts after knocking her down in the street."

Alistair arose and helped Anora to her feet. "All right, let's go," he said. To their mutual horror, however, Loghain removed the lid of the urn again, produced an empty coin purse from his belt, and scooped a large handful of the ashes into it. And went back for more.

"What are you doing?" Anora asked, mortified.

"Andraste cures the Blight," Loghain said simply. "She was a Ferelden girl, they say, so I can't imagine she'd begrudge her homeland the salvation she offers."

"You can't…Loghain, this is utterly blasphemous," Alistair said, too bewildered to object more strenuously.

"The people who were corrupted during the Blight have all perished long ago, or gone to the Deep Roads as ghouls," Elilia said, looking more interested than objecting. "What is it you plan?"

"Let's leave this place before the Boss has a chance to object," Loghain said, looking around for the Guardian, "and I'll tell you."