Author's Note: Another mega chapter, whoo! I had some fun with The Gauntlet, because the game is entirely too focused on the Warden, and the Gauntlet just isn't very fun. (Why even bother asking the companions questions if they don't really matter?) Anyhoo, thanks all for taking the time to comment! You make my day.
Chapter 54 - The Gauntlet
Alistair was still holding her when she awoke an hour later. They had bandaged Serena's leg where his father's sword had dug into her thigh, Wynne healing the muscle as best she could. The cut was then stitched, black thread crisscrossing its way up her thigh as she laid passed out across his lap. It would scar too, most likely, due to the runes the sword carried against the darkspawn taint. He found himself almost relieved that she hadn't been awake for it.
"How long was I out?" Serena asked quietly, her blue eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion. Alistair wished he could tuck her into his arm and let her sleep as long as she needed.
"An hour or so. Not long." He pressed his lips to her forehead gently. "I'm sorry about the sword."
"It ended up working out," Serena whispered. "My daggers weren't going deep enough." She fingered the bandages tentatively, her skin nearly as pale as the cloth. "Is everyone else okay?"
"Yes. Between Morrigan and Wynne we were able to patch up Sten and Leliana." At her confused look, Alistair explained. "The dragon knocked them back with those air attacks, while you were... up there... and the fall re-broke Leliana's leg. She's fine now, though," he added quickly. "Can you stand?"
"I think so. I feel... sore, but that's beginning to feel like an everyday occurrence." Serena stood up with his help and Alistair followed as she limped over to the carcass of the high dragon, inspecting it carefully. With a quick wrenching motion, she pulled one of the dragon's teeth from it's mouth and held it up, rolling the sharp white tooth between her fingers.
"I think I might make a necklace of this," Serena murmured, pocketing the tooth.
"Morrigan found its' nest, by the way." Alistair pulled his pack around, leaning close to Serena. The inside of his knapsack shined brightly with coins and jewelry. "Bloody thing had enough gold and gems to buy all the ships in Amaranthine."
Serena grinned at him. "Guess we won't need to double up on rooms at the inn anymore, eh?"
"With this much loot, I don't think we'll ever have trouble finding a place to stay," Alistair replied, placing an arm around her shoulders.
"And here I thought you liked camping in the middle of nowhere with me," Serena pouted.
"Oh, I like the you part, and the middle of nowhere part..." Alistair pressed another kiss to her temple, leading them back where the others were gathered together, checking supplies and resting.
"Alright folks," Serena turned to the group, her tone somewhere between tired and teasing. "Now that I've had my afternoon nap, I think it's about time we gathered those Ashes and got out of here."
It was five of them that stood inside Andraste's temple when the spirit appeared. Sten and Morrigan had elected to remain outside, the witch insisting on collecting the scales of the dragon for "use in potions" but Alistair surmised it was really because she was tired of dealing with the religious overtones that surrounded their quest for the Ashes. Sten's reason, as usual, was anyone's guess.
The spirit, which had to be the guardian that the cultist had mentioned, stood at the end of the hall, glowing faintly. He wore full plate armor of a make that Alistair had never seen outside history books, with a great sword strapped to his back.
"I bid you welcome, pilgrims," the spirit called. His voice echoed strangely in the hall, as if it were coming from somewhere far away. "I sense you have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy. However, it is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that."
"Oh, that sounds pleasant," Alistair murmured. Serena exchanged quick glances with him, and he could see her blue eyes were worried as she glanced down at her bandaged leg anxiously. Hopefully the majority of the Gauntlet wouldn't be of a physical nature.
"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 Guardian let his words hang in the air for a moment, his piercing eyes never leaving them.
Beside him, Serena took a deep breath. "Very well. We shall enter the Gauntlet."
The Guardian nodded to them, but did not move out of the way of the door. "Before you go, there is something I must ask each of you. 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 no mercy." The spirit gazed upon Serena, his dark eyes filled with pity. "Do you think you failed your parents?"
"I... no. No, I don't think I failed them." Serena ran a hand across her face, and Alistair noticed there were tears in her eyes. "They wanted me to live, to live for them, and Fergus... and for myself. I... I have done my best to honor that." She swallowed hard, her arms crossing as if she were cold. "I have tried, anyway."
"Then you do not dwell on past mistakes- neither yours, nor someone else's." The Guardian nodded, seemingly to himself. "And what those who follow you?" The spirits dark eyes turned, and Alistair felt a shiver run down his spine as they landed on him.
"Alistair, knight and Warden... you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield... You wonder if you could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, do you not, if you should have died, and not him?"
"Y-yes." Alistair felt Serena's eyes on him, felt all their eyes on him and he peered at his boots. "If Duncan had been saved, and not me... maybe everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance, he could..." Serena grabbed his hand then, squeezing it gently, and he looked up at her. "We're trying our best, but what if it's not enough?"
"Our best is all we have to give, love," Serena whispered softly. "The rest is up to faith."
"Ask your question, Guardian," Wynne said suddenly, interrupting them. "I am ready."
The spirit nodded slowly, his form glowing softly in the darkened hall. "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," the older mage began, and Alistair found himself marveling at her unflinching manner in the face of a very powerful ghost. "Yet you already know our answers. There is no sense in hiding, is there?" Wynne sighed, her sharp eyes staring fiercely back at the spectral Guardian. "Yes, I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely certain of himself."
The spirit nodded in acknowledgement of Wynne's answer before turning next to Zevran. "Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-"
"How do you know about that?" Zevran snapped. His voice wasn't angry. If anything, he simply sounded surprised. Shocked, even. Alistair saw Leliana put a hand on his, staying him without words. What was this about?
The Guardian shrugged armored shoulders, unimpressed by the proceedings. "I know much: it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret-"
"Yes. The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I feel regret every day of my life." The elven assassin glanced at the others, his amber eyes anxious. "Now move on, if you please."
"And you, Leliana... why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste." Unlike with the others, the spirits voice had now taken on a sharp tone, and worse yet, Leliana seemed to notice it, too. She released Zevran's hand. "Do you believe yourself Her equal?"
The red haired bard's jaw dropped, as if this were the last thing she was expecting the spirit to ask. "I... I never said that! I-"
"In Orlais, you were someone." The Guardian's eyes narrowed at Leliana, his disapproval plain to see. "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."
Alistair exchanged quick looks with Serena and he saw his own doubt reflected there. His memory of their conversation in that Denerim tavern bubbled to the surface of his mind unexpectedly.
"What about Leliana? Do you really believe in her vision? I've heard her talk about it a few times. It's a bit... well... out there."
"Sometimes I think... Even if the Maker has left us, like the Chantry says, I can't help but think He throws us a bone, every so often. I do wish she'd open up a bit more, though. Whenever I talk to her, I always think she's holding back something. Like she's embarrassed or... ashamed? I don't know."
He shook himself slightly, refocusing on the scene before him.
"You're saying I made it up, for... for the attention?" Leliana's voice was hurt, the sting of the spirits words evident on her face. "I... I did not! I know what I believe!" The bard shook her shoulders out, glaring hard at the spirit.
"The way is open," the Guardian said in way of a proper reply. He gazed at Leliana, a meaningful look in his ghostly eyes before he stood aside for them. "Good luck, and may you find what you seek."
With one last look at the unearthly protector, they passed through the next door, and into the Gauntlet.
The next room was filled with more apparitions. Alistair and the others stared around in open-mouthed shock before Leliana had the good sense to walk up to one of the ghosts, a red haired woman, by the looks of it, and say hello.
The spirit smiled at Leliana, but did not greet her back."The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"
"The smallest lark... strong man..." The bard glanced up at the ceiling briefly before returning her gaze to the ghost. "Do you speak of... a tune?"
"Yes," the spirit replied, her ghostly smile growing. "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."
"Oh, boy, we have to answer riddles now?" Alistair murmured to Serena.
"Looks like it." Serena counted quickly. "Only seven more to go." She marched up to the next ghost, and before she could even open her mouth, the spirit spoke.
"Echoes from a shadow realm, whisper of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells at night, is swept away by dawning light." The ghostly older woman had severe looking eyes and Alistair found himself looking instead at his boots as he listened to her words. "Of what do I speak?"
"Shadow realm?" Serena looked to Leliana, but it was Wynne who spoke up.
"You speak of dreams," the older mage called out.
"A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death." The spirit's eyes glowed hauntingly as it reached out and touched Serena's cheek sadly. "I am sorrow, and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save."
"Broma," Leliana said solemnly. "The mother of Andraste. She was Ferelden, you know."
Alistair eyed the next ghost, another red haired woman, this one with sharp features, and wandered over to her. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full! Of what do I speak?"
For a second, Alistair panicked; he hadn't meant to activate the riddle, she had just... just started speaking to him. "I... uh..." he stuttered awkwardly.
"Vengeance," Serena answered firmly, putting a steady hand on his back. "You speak of vengeance." Alistair glanced at her face and saw that her eyes had gone dark with an emotion he had seen days ago, back in Ostagar.
"Yes..." the spirit hissed, her smiling knowing and fierce, as if she and Serena shared some secret bond. "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!" The spirit beat on her chest with a fist. "I am justice! I am vengeance! Blood can only be repaid in blood!" With a final savage grin, the spirit vanished.
"Well, she was a friendly sort," Zevran said sarcastically. Leliana pushed him gently on the arm and he grabbed her hand, grinning roguishly.
"I didn't mean to-" Alistair began, looking sideways at Serena.
"It's all right. They just sort of... start talking, it would seem." She grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently, and led him to the next ghost, a bald elven man, clad in armor. Whatever he had seen in her face was gone now as she smiled faintly.
"I'm neither a guest, nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?"
Alistair gazed at the spirit for a moment, his eyes drifting to Serena. Staring at her just then, he knew the answer.
"Home."
"Indeed," the ghost replied, smiling sadly at the pair. "It was my dream for the People to have a home of their own, where we could have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and in this... we followed Andraste against the Imperium." The elf's eyes glowed dark, and he dropped his head. "But she was betrayed... and so were we."
"That is... I believe that is Shartan..." Zevran's voice was quiet at he stepped up to the elven leader. It held a reverence that the joking assassin never carried. "Leader of the Dalish. Our savior."
"Yes," the ghost replied, nodding. "Use your freedom wisely, my brother." With another sad smile, the spirit vanished into a puff of smoke, just like the others.
"I did not think..." He trailed off and the companions glanced at Zevran as he stared at the spot where the other elf had stood. The blonde shook himself, a tight smile stretching across his features. "I am ready when you are, Warden." Serena nodded at him solemnly, running a hand across his shoulder briefly as she passed on to the next spirit.
"The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace." The ghost covered its face with its hands, striking a dramatic pose. If it hadn't been so bizarre, Alistair would have laughed. The spirit peeked through his fingers and continued. "Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?"
"The mountains," Wynne replied, her mouth pursed as if she too was trying not to snicker.
"Yes," the spirit said, bringing his hands down again. "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 could we find." With a rush of air, the ghost disappeared.
"I'm glad you took that one, Wynne," Serena said. "I was going to guess clouds."
"Clouds?" Alistair snorted. "Really?"
"I don't know. Or sheep?" Serena pushed at the templar, her face scrunched up in distaste. "Shut up! I was distracted by his hand gestures."
"We can't all be Ser Quickwits McSmartypants, young man," said Wynne disapprovingly, her hand on her hip. "Or shall we be led to believe you alone have the monopoly on cleverness?"
"Ha! To hear Morrigan tell it, I would think our fair Alistair only has a monopoly on hair gel, perhaps." Zevran raised an eyebrow at the other blonde, grinning broadly.
"Does she honestly expect this... amazingness to simply style itself?" Alistair countered, putting a hand to his head mockingly. "We can't all set our hair with sticks and mud."
"That is Maferath," Leliana interrupted, grabbing Serena's arm. "He is next." The group sobered significantly as they stepped up the ghost of Andraste's earthly husband, and betrayer.
"A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain." The spirits voice was cracked with feeling, his shoulders slumped in regret and shame. "Of what do I speak?"
Leliana stepped forward, her eyes staring through the spirit's helm and into the spectral orbs before her. "You speak only of jealousy, spirit."
"Yes... jealousy drove me to betrayal," Maferath replied, his beard twitching in disgust. "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." The spirit dropped his head, staring sadly at his boots.
"I loved Her too, but what man can compare with a God?" The ghostly general shook his head, his body disappearing into a mist.
"I almost feel bad for him," Serena said softly. "I suppose he's never been able to make his peace with Her... or the Maker."
"I can't imagine what it would be like to be trapped here, forever, with such regret." Leliana sighed, and reached for Serena again, grasping her hand as they moved together to the next ghost. They were virtual sisters in their shared faith just then, and Alistair almost felt envious of their absolute conviction. He had never felt so sure of anything... except his love for Serena.
"No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword!" The spirit's face was bright and energetic, a sharp contrast to the gloomy other ghosts of the hall. "Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies! Of what do I speak?"
Serena looked to Leliana, her face blank. The bard looked similiarly confused, and it was Zevran's voice that called out to the answer the spirit.
"Hunger."
"Yes!" the spirit replied enthusiastically. "Hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium!" He lifted a ghostly fist triumphantly, his exuberance spilling over. "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," the ghost said proudly. "Disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies! I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us." With a flourish, the spirit disappeared.
"Well, he sure was excited." Zevran rolled his eyes, striding over to the last ghost.
"I can't even imagine how amazing it must be... to see the Maker's presence, to feel Him guide your hand..." Serena smiled at the assassin. "To have such reassurance that you're on the right path must be nice." She turned at the sound of the final ghost speaking, the phantom image of the Tevinter Magister, Archon Hessarian, was standing before them.
"She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?"
"Mercy?" Serena ventured tentatively. Of course Serena would know this one, Alistair thought.
"Yes. I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering, and mercy bade me end Her life." The ghost gazed upon on them all, his features ashen. "I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him." The spirit nodded solemnly to them before vanishing.
"Wasn't there just a door here?" Alistair asked, staring at the open passageway behind them. "I could have sworn..."
"I am not surprised in the least," Wynne replied. "This place is practically infused with magic." Striding purposefully through the door and into the small room, she suddenly paused, coming face-to-face with another apparition. "I... oh. Oh, dear."
"Wynne? Are you-" Serena stepped towards the older woman, looking between her and this new ghost.
"Hello, Wynne." The handsome ghost had a kind face as he smiled down at the older mage. "It has been awhile, hasn't it?"
"That's not a riddle, is it?" Alistair whispered to Serena. "Are we still answering riddles?" He could tell she was just as confused as he was, for she simply turned wide eyes on him and shrugged.
"Indeed it has, Myles," Wynne said quietly. "I'm afraid I don't know what to say."
"He fairs well, in case you wondered," the spirit continued, ignoring her statement. "Orlais has been good to him, it would seem."
"I... did not know he was in Orlais." The older mage gazed upon the ghost, her face looking terribly sad. "Is he a mage as well?"
The spirit nodded, his smile too was tinged with sadness. "He is. A talented one, from what I can tell. His power grows every day, as does his control." The ghostly man folded his hands across his robes, and Alistair realized that this man was a mage. "You would be proud."
Perhaps he was a former friend from the Circle? But then who was the Orlesian mage they spoke of? Alistair shook his head, refocusing on the spirit's words. "So, tell me Wynne, how are you?"
"Well enough. But I am sure you are not here to exchange pleasantries with me, Myles. May I ask what it is you require? Is this another test?"
"Try not to think of these things as tests, Wynne. Your faith, as I well know, is unshakable." The spirit moved forward, touching Wynne's face fondly. Alistair saw her lean into it briefly, allowing herself the simple act of comfort. "I simply came to tell you not to worry. All things come to light in time."
"I... don't know what that is supposed to mean," Wynne whispered.
"You will, love, you will."
With one last sad smile, the ghost vanished, and behind it, another door opened.
"Is everything okay, Wynne?" Leliana asked, her voice tiny.
"Of course, child." Wynne looked around, noticed their faces and pursed her lips. "That was... Myles. He died five years ago." The older mage stared at the wall, and for the first time in the months he'd known her, Alistair saw her look uncertain.
"We had a relationship, which is forbidden in the Circle, of course," Wynne continued after a pause. "It... produced a son, which by law, belongs to the Chantry, immediately. He was taken from me. I'm unsure of Myles' purpose here, perhaps it was simply to..." She shrugged small shoulders. "I don't know why Myles was here," she finished lamely.
In response, Leliana and Serena moved, wrapping the older woman in a tight embrace between them. They stood for a long moment like that, all three women together, comforting each other without words.
Wynne was smiling above the red and brown blobs of hair, and a few tears had slipped down her wrinkles cheeks. "Thank you, dears. You warm an old woman's bones with your compassion."
Alistair glanced around quickly, overwhelmed slightly by all the fuzzy feelings in the room. That was when he noticed one of their number was missing.
"Zevran?"
They found the assassin in the room beyond, the ghostly image of a beautiful elven woman standing before him. Her throat appeared cut, and pale silvery blood fell down her front, although she appeared not to notice or care as the woman only had eyes for Zevran.
They were speaking rapidly in Antivan, and Alistair found himself eyeing Serena, silently seeking interpretation. In reply, she shook her head tightly and squeezed his hand.
Their conversation finished, the elven ghost leaned forward and kissed Zevran lightly on the forehead before disappearing. Beyond, the next door swung open.
"If we are ready, I would like to move on," the tattooed elf said thickly. He glanced quickly at Serena and something passed between the two then for Serena clapped the blonde assassin in a quick hug and whispered.
"Though stung with a hundred arrows,
Though suffering from ailments both great and small,
His Heart was strong, and he moved on."
Zevran whispered something back in Antivan, and Serena smiled, ruffling his hair playfully.
"Ah, not the hair, my dear. Never the hair." Straightening his shoulders, Zevran grinned at the rest of them, although it was merely a shadow of it's normal brilliance. "Shall we then?"
The next room was for Leliana. A tall, willowy ghost stood there, looking elegant despite her dowdy clothing, and smiled warmly at the bard. With a choked sob, Leliana stumbled forward and embraced the ghost, her eyes streaming tears.
"Mama..."
"My sweetheart, it has been too long since I have gazed upon you this closely," the spirit said, her arms wrapping Leliana's own slender form. "You have done so much. I am forever proud of the lady you have become."
"I miss you so much," Leliana cried, unable to let go of the ghost.
"I know my darling, but know that I am in a good place, and one day you will join us." The ghost squeezed Leliana tightly before letting go. "I must go, but be strong, Leliana! Tough times lie ahead..." The spirit reached out, touching the bard's cheek one last time before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
Leliana dropped her head, her hands wiping at her eyes and it was Wynne who went to comfort her, whispering quiet things in the redhead's ear. Leliana nodded, seeming to steel herself with the mage's words and gave them a watery smile before heading for the open door.
Serena glanced at Alistair then and he saw a flash of fear cross her face. The next room would hold someone from one of their pasts, and who it would be, neither knew. Alistair gripped her hand tightly, and they moved into the next room together.
Alistair had only seen him a few times in his entire life, if one didn't count the image that graced many of Ferelden's coins. He gulped, feeling Serena's hand become even tighter against his as they stepped before the ghostly image of King Maric.
"Alistair." The old king's features were strong and proud, and even Alistair could not deny the resemblance between them. He had not seen it when he was younger, Alistair had only been growing into his features then, anyway. But here... They were the same height, almost to the inch, and he could see he had Maric's same wild blonde hair, although a shade darker, and kept quite short in comparison. The same high cheekbones, wide laughing mouth... Indeed, only his nose was his own, and perhaps that was from his mother's side...
He saw Serena glance between the two of them, her mouth slightly agape before she fell to one knee before the former King of Ferelden. Alistair briefly wondered if he too should kneel, but before he could make a decision, Maric was speaking again.
"My dear, please, stand. I deserve no such address in this form."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Serena replied, bowing her head. Her grip on Alistair's hand was like iron, and she had tears in her eyes when she looked at him next. "I apologize."
"Again, it is unnecessary, I assure you." Maric smiled, his head cocking to one side. "You have a wonderful woman at your side, my son. I pray you do not make my same mistakes."
"W-what do you mean?"
"We are very alike, you and I, despite you being raised away from Court," Maric answered. "It was your mother's wish that you not be a rival to Cailan; that you be allowed to make your own way, and relenting to her, I allowed it... though it killed me to have you away from me." The old king bowed his head, regret reading plainly in the lines of his body. "You were not meant to be forced into that. It is ironic, how Fate deals us our hands, is it not?"
"Hilarious," Alistair replied, smiling vaguely. He glanced up at the spectral image of a crown that sat atop his father's head. "I don't want to be king."
"Neither did I," Maric said softly. "I was the wild prince, my mother the Rebel Queen... never in all my days did I think I would be leading the rebels myself, that one day I would become the returned King of Ferelden. Maric the Savior..." The king sighed, and it was tinged with sadness. "But sometimes what you may want for yourself, and what duty may demand of you... they don't always sync up so well."
"How did you... how do you deal with it?"
"I think you know that already." The king glanced down at Alistair's hand, the fingers intertwined with Serena's, and smiled. "I met your mother in similar circumstances, if you can believe it." He shook his head fondly. "She is an incredible fighter. An incredible woman."
"I wish I'd known her," Alistair replied.
"I am so sorry, my son, for all the mistakes I made... I fear my failures have shaped your life." Maric's piercing blue eyes stared into Alistair's and he could almost feel the king's remorse. "Can you ever forgive me?"
Alistair nodded, letting go of Serena's hand to embrace his father's spectral form. Maric's body felt surprisingly solid beneath him, his father patting him gently on the back in a gesture any man would give his son.
Alistair's voice was barely a whisper when next he spoke. "I'd forgive you anything, Father."
"I wish you didn't have to," Maric said, smiling sadly. "It pains me to tell you, but the path forward is not easy. Fate is never kind to Her champions, it would seem. Take this. It tells you so much more than I can." He pressed a ring into Alistair's hand. "Have courage, my son, and know that I love you." With a final nod, the image of the former king disappeared into thin air.
Serena wrapped him in a hug then, both of them clinging tightly to each other, Alistair unable to say anything. He knew, somehow, she understood what he was going through in those moments he spoke to his father. He rested his head against hers, their remaining companions forgotten for now as he collected himself. He could feel the cold of the ring in his hand beckoning to him.
After a few moments, they broke apart and he nodded mutely to her, finally ready to move on.
Serena was obviously not ready for the image of her own father as he stood before her. Alistair saw her eyes shine with a veil of unshed tears as she stumbled forward, her grace all but evaporated in her shock.
"F-Father?"
"My dearest child... you know that I am gone, and all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back." Bryce Cousland stood tall, his brown hair flecked with gray, his noble dress looking the same as any other lord's in Ferelden. It was then Alistair noticed the silvery wound across his middle; the ghostly pale blood, so like Zevran's ghost, seeping down the man's doublet.
"I... I never..." Serena's tears spilled over as she fell forward into her father's arms, hugging him close. "I never found him, Father..."
"Please, don't cry. Your brother will find his way back to you, as you both will one day find your way to us." Bryce clasped his daughter in his ghostly arms, his face concerned. "You must set your eyes on the horizon now."
"I will, Father, I..." Serena pulled away from her father then, wiping at her eyes, and Alistair could see she was steeling herself for him. She reached into her tunic and pulled out the two pendents he knew hung there. "I know my duty."
"I know you do. You are a Cousland, through and through. But you have such a long road ahead of you, Pup, and you must be prepared." He reached around his neck and pulled off an amulet, placing it gently in his daughter's hand, the amulet becoming solid as it touched her. "I leave this in your hands... I know you will do great things, Serena. Your mother and I are so very proud of you."
There was a tense moment where Alistair could tell Serena wanted to embrace her father again, to touch him one last time, but she held herself back, bowing her head as the ghost disappeared and the final door creaked open.
"Serena?" Alistair touched her gently on the arm, unsure of what she needed. "Love? Are you alright?"
"My brother..." Serena gazed into Alistair's eyes, looking weary but hopeful. "I think... Alistair, I think he's alive."