After the heat of Orzammar, the mountains were colder than ever before. They were headed south to Cadash Thaig, which, according to Caridin, had been Shale's old home once. Shale wished to see it.
Oghren didn't much care for the surface—the cold and the open sky didn't agree with him. He got used to it after a while, however, and everyone's mind was occupied with travel. It was late in the year, and the snow was much heavier than they had been when they had first gone down to Orzammar.
Cadash Thaig was available from the surface. There was an entrance to it, a broken gate that had been pushed through either by Darkspawn or graverobbers or both.
The Thaig was far greener than Orzammar, sunlight seeping in through holes in the stone ceiling high overhead. Although some snow had gotten in, it was moss-covered and even a tree or two grew upon the stone. It was filled with deepstalkers, though those were easy enough to dispatch. They wandered for some time until they found an enormous, mossy stone that stood at the foot of an even larger statue, like a monument. Shale stopped at it.
“What is this?” Shale peered at the stone. “This...this I remember. It has dates, and names—this is to honor those who volunteered, those who became golems.” Shale let out a gasp. “And there is my name! Shayle of House Cadash—just as Caridin said.”
Kitranna looked at the stone, but couldn't read the writing upon it, being in older dwarven text as it was.
“I remember now,” Shale said. “I remember Shayle—that—was me.”
“That sounds good,” Kitranna said. “Is it good?”
“Good?” Shale turned to her. “Good to remember being a soft, squishy creature of flesh? Perhaps. I will need to think on these things I have learned—for now, let us carry on.”
They retrieved some potentially useful artifacts from the site, and then continued on. Shale was impossible to read, but Kitranna hoped that the visit had helped them in some way. They didn't say much, but Shale seemed content.
The town of Haven was quiet.
The mountain village was very out of the way, Leliana's maps showing that it was several miles away from even the most remote trading outposts. It was almost on the Orlesian border. The path they traveled was the most narrow of roads through the mountains, and it was dusted over with a light layer of snow from the most recent flurry. They were lucky that they hadn't had to break an entirely new path.
The town sat in the shadow of a tall mountain, cold and foreboding. The Veil warped and thinned the closer they got—not as bad as it had been near Redcliffe, or in the Brecelian or Lake Calenhad, but it was definitely being affected by something.
They got to the head of the path, and someone was there to greet them. A village guard, dressed in battered armor. He was tall enough to be a human, but his ears were covered so they couldn't be positive.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
"Well,” Kitranna said, raising her eyebrows. “That's really friendly.”
“There's nothing for you here,” the guard said, folding his arms.
“Is this not the village of Haven?” Leliana asked.
“It is,” the guard said. “Why?”
“We are here—passing through,” Leliana said quickly. “We are travelers. We have gotten off-track and we knew this was the closest village to us.”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “You may trade for supplies at the shop if you wish,” he said slowly. “But then you'd best be on your way.”
“Did it just get a lot colder, or is it just me?” Alistair muttered.
“Observant as ever,” Morrigan muttered back.
“Hush, you two,” Fiona hissed.
They passed the guard, heading into the main town. It was very quiet, with very few villagers out and about.
Zevran smirked. “Ah, quiet, insular communities,” he said. “Always something nasty going on behind closed doors.”
“Is that a universal thing, or just your experience?” Kitranna asked.
“Can it not be both?”
Despite the fact that, thanks to the dwarves, their supplies were in good shape, they still patronaged the local shop. The store was a broken-down, ramshackle building that was more of a shack than an actual store.
“Who are you?” the shopkeeper asked immediately when Kitranna went up to the counter. “You're not from Haven.”
Kitranna blinked. “...surely you've had travelers before?” she asked.
The shopkeeper glanced at their group, peering at them with beady eyes. “Of course,” she said. “But not nearly so many...or so...” she looked at their armor, her eyes lingering on Oghren and Shale and the elves. “...unusual.”
Kitranna decided to cut to the chase. “Have you seen a man called Brother Genitivi?” she asked.
The shopkeeper shook her head quickly. “No, no, I don't know anyone by that name,” she said.
“You're sure?”
“Of course I'm sure. Did you want to buy something or not?”
They left, as the shopkeeper didn't have much in the way of supplies. They wandered around the village some more. It was still extremely quiet, in a way that made the hair on the back of everyone's neck stand up.
“This place is...odd,” Fiona said, her lips pursed.
“Very strange,” Leliana said in a quiet voice.
“Where is everyone?” Alistair asked. “It's the middle of the day, shouldn't more people be out?”
“Perhaps we can ask at the Chantry where the Brother is,” Leliana suggested, nodding at the shadow of a Chantry up the mountain.
“Are you sure?” Kitranna asked. “Aren't these the people who sent the assassins?”
“I do not think the entire village would have done that,” Leliana said.
“Do not underestimate the force of religious zealotry,” Morrigan said.
“Well, we could ask anyway,” Leliana said. “We will get nowhere unless we do so.”
Kitranna shrugged. "Why not?" she said. "That's a fair point."
So, they went to the Chantry, and found something they didn't really expect.
A service was being held, lead by a bearded man in what looked like scavenged Chasind robes, which was extremely odd in and of itself.
“...we are blessed beyond measure,” the man was saying. “We are chosen by the Holy and beloved by her guardians. This sacred duty is given to us alone. Rejoice, my brethren, and prepare your hearts to receive Her.”
Many people were packed into the Chantry, presumably the villagers. Kitranna and her group came in behind them, and the man spotted them.
“Ah, welcome,” he said, and the villagers turned as one to look at them. “I heard we had a stranger wandering about the village. I trust you've enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”
“It's...a quiet place,” Kitranna said, glancing at her compatriots. “Very quiet.” she shifted from foot to foot, feeling the eyes of the villagers upon her. “Is there somewhere we could speak in private? It's important.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Say what you wish to say among the people,” he told her. “There is nothing that they cannot hear.”
Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Look,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “This is kind of...sensitive.”
The man didn't waver.
Leliana stepped in. “We are looking for a Brother Genitivi,” she said, in as sweet a voice as she could summon. “Perhaps you could tell us--”
At the mention of Genitivi's name, the villagers and the man all attacked at once. Given that they were villagers and not darkspawn, demons or soldiers, the fight was over very quickly.
“What was that about?” Alistair exclaimed, staring out over the crowd of villagers. Some were dead, others were wounded and glowering, but incapacitated.
Leliana sighed and shook her head. “It is much worse than I thought,” she said. “Come—we must search and see what we can uncover about this place.”
They looked about the Chantry, and found nothing excessively out of the ordinary—until Leliana uncovered a secret door. The door slid aside and lead into a chamber at the back of the Chantry, where a man was tied to a chair.
“Who...who are you?” the man said, blinking at them blearily. One eye was almost swollen shut, and Wynne was immediately at his side with a healing spell. “You're...you're not with them,” he breathed as Wynne cut his bonds to begin treating his wounds.
“We certainly are not,” Wynne said, touching his face. His swollen eye began returning to normal.
“Thank the Maker,” the man said.
“Are you Brother Genitivi?” Kitranna asked.
The man inclined his head.
“What happened to you?”
“His wounds are severe, Surana,” Wynne said, a frown between her eyebrows. She was looking down at one of his feet, the toes of which were at a strange angle. “Take the weight off your foot,” she instructed. “I think it's broken.”
“I wouldn't be surprised,” Genitivi said. “I can't feel it.”
“That's even worse.” she examined his injured leg more closely.
“What's been going on here?” Kitranna asked. “Did you find the Urn? What is wrong with these villagers?”
“They are part of a cult, no?” Leliana said.
Genitivi nodded, and winced when Wynne gave his foot a particularly sharp prod.
“Good,” Wynne muttered to herself. “You have an infection, but I think I can deal with it...”
“Are you going to cut it off?” Genitivi asked with a grimace.
“No,” Wynne said. “...not right now, anyway.”
“Oh. Good.” he moved, tried to stand up, but Wynne forced him back down.
“Stop that,” she said absently.
“Look, I don't have time to rest now!” Genitivi exclaimed. “The Urn is just up that mountain!”
“The Urn!” Leliana gasped. “So you have found it?”
“My research lead me here,” Genitivi said.
“So it is real after all?”
“I have heard the villagers speaking of it,” Genitivi exclaimed, waving a hand absently. “There is something in the shadow of the mountain—a temple, built to protect the Urn.”
Kitranna nodded. “We have to get there,” she said. “Could you show us where that is, on a map?”
“A map?” Genitivi said. “If you are going, I must come with you!”
“You certainly are not,” Wynne said. “Not with these injuries.”
“It is not so far,” Genitivi insisted. “I can walk there--”
“No,” Wynne said. “I can heal this, but the cold will do you no favors. You need rest, not a mountain trek.”
“What will we find up there, do you think?” Kitranna interjected.
“Perhaps more villagers,” Genitivi told her, glaring at Wynne but making no move to rise. “Many of them are there, on a daily basis.”
“More cultists,” Kitranna growled.
“If there are cultists, you are certainly not going,” Wynne informed Genitivi.
“But I--”
“No.”
There was a bit more discussion, and Kitranna wasn't all too convinced that there was anything more than a great deal of cultists up on that mountain, but eventually they came to a decision.
Brother Genitivi would stay behind, with Wynne, Shale and Oghren to ensure that any other hostile villagers would be taken care of, and everyone else would go to the mountain. When the mountain was considered safe, and when Wynne declared Genitivi fit for travel, the others could come up.
Leliana was excited, but everyone else had their doubts that the Urn even existed. Fiona made doubtful noises and Morrigan outright laughed, but they all did indeed go. There was a path up to the temple that Genitivi spoke of, far more well-trod than the path up to Haven itself.
The temple made itself known very clearly. A huge, shambling ruin, the Veil became thin and worn as they approached.
In the bottom of the temple, there were more cultists, who attacked them on sight. There were drakes, as well, and the Veil was so thin that a demon or two had made its way through. Curious spirits pressed close as well, but none of them forced themselves through the Veil, even thin as it was.
They searched the lower floors of the temple, but found nothing but cultists and ruins. The temple had clearly once been grand, but now it was worn and old, like the Deep Roads and the Elvhen burial chambers in the Brecelian.
“Is there nothing in the world that's new?” Kitranna asked, as they came to a huge chamber that must surely have once been grand.
“The world is very old,” Fiona said. “There are things that are new and things that are ancient.”
Kitranna shook her head. “We just keep finding ruins, that's all.”
The cultists were keeping a dragon's nest, deep in the ruins. The drakes attacked them, otherwise they would have left them alone. They continued up through the ruins, but found nothing but more cultists. They did eventually find a group of cultists who did not attack them on sight, and Kitranna took the opportunity to speak with them.
“You have defiled our temple!” the more amiable of the cultists accused. “You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young!”
“You attacked us first,” Kitranna pointed out.
“Your forced our hand! Tell me, why have you done all this? Why have you come here?”
“We need something we think you have,” Kitranna started, but Leliana stepped in.
“The Urn of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana said. “Do you have it?”
“You did this all for an ancient relic?” The man snapped. “Know this, then, stranger! The prophet Andraste has overcome death, and returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!”
“She has returned?” Leliana said, taking in a sharp breath.
“Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now! What hope do you have?”
“We would not wish to slay her!” Leliana protested.
“Why not? You have killed many of us before now!”
“But you attacked first,” Kitranna insisted. “Look—I'm not here for anyone's religious crises. Honestly, I wouldn't even be here, but there's someone we need to help and we can't do it without the Urn.”
The man snorted.
“Can we not see this risen Andraste?” Leliana asked urgently.
“No,” Kitranna snapped. “This is ridiculous.”
“Surana--”
“Look, can we just get to the Urn and get out of here? I'm pretty sure he's lying or crazy.”
Morrigan nodded. “Certainly not very intelligent,” she said. “Are you really taking anything this man says seriously, Leliana?”
“But if he is correct--”
“He is not,” Fiona said.
“But how do you know?”
“Would Andraste send her followers to kill people for her?” Fiona asked.
Leliana fell silent.
It mattered little, in the end—the cultists were hostile, and they fought against Kitranna and the others, same as the ones before them had. Finally, they came to the end of the ruins, and there was still no Urn. They found themselves outside, and there was another building further up the mountain. Curled up at the peak of the mountain was an enormous, sleeping high dragon.
“Oh, dear,” Leliana whispered.
“That is a very big dragon,” Kitranna murmured.
“I suggest we go very quietly,” Fiona said.
“Haven't you fought a dragon before?” Alistair asked as they very very quietly made their way to the other building.
“Have you?” the others looked at Fiona in surprise.
Fiona waved a hand, frustrated. “It was a long time ago, and this is not the time for that story!” she hissed. “I shall tell you about it all if we do not get attacked by this dragon!” her Orlesian accent was coming out thicker, a clear indication that she was either stressed or angry. Or both.
The dragon was sleeping, and stirred slightly as they inched along, but didn't wake. They hurried to the other side of the gap, and entered the new building.
The building smelled different—dust and ashes and magic, as if someone had been casting spells. The ruins where the cultists had made their home had smelled of smoke and dragonskin, and of people living there. This place was old stone and magic and nothing more.
They walked up the steps that greeted them, and came into a main hall. There was someone already there, a man in shining plate.
“I welcome you, pilgrims.” he said as they approached. His voice had a distant, echoing quality, and the Fade warped around him.
Morrigan clamped her hand down on Kitranna's arm. “A spirit,” she whispered in Kitranna's ear. “Be careful.”
Kitranna nodded.
“Who are you?” Leliana asked, stepping forward.
“I am the Guardian, protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” his eyes gleamed silver, and the Veil continued to sway and thin as he spoke. “I have waited years for this.”
“For what?” Kitranna asked, her brow furrowed.
”For you. You are the first to arrive in a very long time.”
“That cannot be so,” Morrigan protested, tilting her head up and crossing her arms. “What about the cultists? There were a great number of them.”
“They were once my brethren, tasked with guarding Andraste's remains, just as I was,” he said. “For centuries, they did this, unwavering and joyful in their appointed task. But now they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise.”
“And why should that mean they have never come here?” Morrigan demanded.
“I could not say. They avoid this place; they scorn it. Their dragon seems enough for them.”
“Dragon worshipers,” Morrigan said with a snort. “How very low your order has fallen, to have such a relic guarded by ghosts and those who worship beasts,” she told Leliana.
Leliana ignored her. “Why are you here?” she asked the spirit.
“It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for those who revere Andraste.”
Morrigan let out a disapproving little noise.
“For years beyond counting I have been here, and so here I shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium crumbles into the sea.”
“The Imperium?” Kitranna frowned, and glanced at her companions.
“It is not longer as powerful as it once was,” Fiona told the Guardian, her eyes narrowed. “If your concern is for empires, I would question why you have not kept a better watch on Orlais.”
“Is it truly not so powerful?” the spirit said. “Then perhaps it is the beginning of the end...”
“We must go to the Urn,” Leliana urged. “It is important.”
“If you have come to honor Andraste, you must first prove yourself worthy,” the spirit said.
“How?”
“It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that.”
Leliana tilted her head to one side. “What is this Gauntlet?”
“A test. If you pass it, you will be allowed to see the Urn and take a pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not...”
Kitranna nodded. “Wait a moment, will you?” she told the spirit, and she turned to her group. “This is ridiculous,” she said.
“No it isn't!” Leliana protested, aghast.
“Yes it is,” Kitranna said. “That is a spirit, probably absorbed the memories of some dead man, and we really shouldn't be listening to it.”
“It does no harm to merely listen,” Morrigan said, but she sniffed and glanced up at the spirit. “But I agree. This test is a ruse.”
“If that is true, there can be no harm in doing it, can there?” Leliana said.
“Unless it is a trap, of course,” Zevran pointed out.
“Mm,” Morrigan nodded. “A trap laid by a demon to expressly snare adventurers.”
“I feel no demons,” Fiona said. “And believe me—I would know.”
“You are quite sure?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “I did not see you anticipating the demons at the Circle.”
Fiona glowered at her. “I did not have to,” she said. “As we were attacked by demons almost immediately, if you recall.”
“Hm,” Morrigan sniffed. “Well, you are the alleged Spirit Healer here.”
“I tell you, that thing is merely a spirit,” Fiona said. “And if we wish to retrieve any ashes from the Urn, we should do as it says.”
“Or, we could take the more practical solution and appoint Bann Teagan as the representative of Redcliffe,” Zevran said. “Something we probably should have done from the start, if I am being honest.”
“No,” Alistair snapped. “We're not doing that.”
“We should go regardless,” Leliana said. “This place is a holy one. I can feel it.”
“Ah, yes, the woman with no magic can sense when something is holy,” Morrigan scoffed. “Perhaps we should have been taking your advice all along—perhaps you could have lead us to the Maker himself!”
“Sneer if you will,” Leliana said. “But I feel it, even if you do not.”
Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Look, we don't have time to fight over this,” she said. “We've come this far, and...” she sighed. “I don't feel any demons either. Fiona?”
Fiona shook her head.
“Morrigan?”
“Alas, I do not.”
“Great. So why don't we just go ahead and get it over with? Might be fun.”
“I think you have a very strange idea of fun, my friend,” Zevran said with a hesitant glance at the spirit who still guarded the gate.
“Yeah, well...” Kitranna shrugged, having no excuse. “Let's just go.” she turned to the spirit. “Alright, we're all set. We'll go through your trap—Gauntlet—thing.”
The spirit inclined his head.
“Before you go, I have a question I must ask of you,” the spirit said. “I see the path that has lead you here, and it is not easy.”
“Oh, wow,” Kitranna said dryly. “Climbing a huge mountain, sneaking past a dragon and dealing with cultists? I couldn't have guessed that would be hard.”
“Surana!” Leliana hissed.
“Look, do I have to answer this question?” Kitranna asked. “I mean, will you bar me from the temple if I don't answer?”
The spirit blinked, and looked a little sad. “You do not have to answer if you do not wish,” he said.
“Great. Let's go.” Kitranna moved up, but the spirit held out a hand.
“Simply because you did not answer, does not mean your companions will not.” he said, and looked to Morrigan.
“You, Morrigan. Flemeth's daughter, child of something very, very old. What--”
“Begone, spirit,” Morrigan said with a wave of her hand. “I will not play your games.” she and Kitranna exchanged a smile.
“Then I will respect your wishes. The Antivan, of the old blood...” the guardian said, turning to Zevran.
“Oh, is it my turn now?” Zevran raised his eyebrows. “Hurrah. I am so excited.” he paused. “Could I perhaps simply skip the question?”
“You should,” Kitranna said. “Then we can hurry this along.”
“Alright, then I abstain.”
“If that is what you wish,” the spirit said. He turned to Alistair. “Alistair, knight and Warden, born of old blood and magic,” the spirit said.
Fiona stiffened.
“Fiona, it's fine,” Alistair murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder.
The Guardian looked at Fiona, then at Alistair again. “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 it should have been you that died, and not him?”
“That's enough,” Fiona snapped, moving in front of Alistair.
Alistair gently moved her aside. “No, really, it's fine,” he insisted.
“I will not have this—thing—interrogate you about something that was not your fault!” Fiona snapped.
“No, Fiona's...he's right.” Alistair said quietly.
“Of course he is,” Fiona said, then stopped cold. “Of course he is,” she said in a gentler tone. “Spirits can see inside your mind.” she glared at the spirit.
“But I do wonder that,” Alistair said. “If Duncan had been saved, and not me. If I'd just had the chance, maybe...maybe everything would be better...”
“It was not your fault,” Fiona insisted. “You could not possibly stop an entire darkspawn army.” she fixed her glare on the spirit. “Are you satisfied now?”
The spirit looked at her. “Fiona, of ancient blood, wanderer and warrior. You regret--”
“Do not tell me what I regret,” Fiona spat, her Orlesian accent coming out so strongly it was a little hard to understand her. “You have no part of me.”
The spirit inclined his head, and moved on, finally turning to Leliana.
“And you...” he said. “Why do you know the Maker speaks to you, when all you know is that he has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?”
“I never said that!” Leliana exclaimed. “I--”
“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 reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative.”
“You're saying that I made it up, for—for the attention!” Leliana was affronted. “I did not! I know what I believe!”
The spirit nodded, and the faintest smile crossed his face. “Good,” he said. “Good. You may pass through the Gauntlet.”
He stood aside, and the door opened by itself, allowing them through.
“Hold one moment,” the spirit said as they went through, and Kitranna turned, exasperated. “There is a terrible storm coming,” the spirit told them. “The world is fraying at the seams, and there are things, dark and terrible, that are awakening from their slumber. Watch for wolves following in your steps.”
“...uh...thanks...” Kitranna said.
“Wolves?” Fiona murmured.
“Did the spirit in the Brecelian not say something similar?” Zevran asked.
“She did,” Kitranna confirmed as they walked forward, into the Gauntlet.
“This is most unnerving,” Morrigan said.
“The Sloth demon in the Circle didn't say anything about wolves, but it mentioned a coming calamity,” Fiona said.
“The Blight?” Alistair suggested. “I mean, that is pretty bad...” he scratched his head. “But if it was talking about the Blight, why would it say something is coming? The Blight's already here.”
“Perhaps it means something worse,” Leliana said in a hushed voice. “Something more terrible.”
“But what could that be?” Kitranna asked. “What's so bad that all the spirits we've met know about it?”
No one had an answer as they continued deeper into the temple.