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How to Adopt a Warden and Other Tales	By : Royality Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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AN: (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)
Trying to figure out where a little secluded mountain town was that held the Urn of Sacred Ashes was not an easy task and Izarre never claimed to be a navigator. It was hardly a surprise to anyone that they got lost a few times. The first time seemed like a blessing. They stumbled across one of King Cailan’s guards as he was executed by Loghain’s men. The small miracle came as they retrieved some information, prompting Alistair to ask for a return trip to Ostagar later. The second time getting lost, Izarre swore that this particular town was the right one before having to save a little girl from a possessed cat. At least they manage to get a smart-mouthed golem out of the deal. It was another welcome addition to their ever-growing family.
Cutting through the fields helped them see what the war Loghain has started was truly like. He was forcing other noble families to give up their rightful lands by volunteering them over or be forced into doing so much like how Highever was taken. Every solider Loghain commanded had the same face to Izarre as those who killed his family. He was starting to become unhinged, noticed most of all by his concerned lover. Alistair began to see the desperation and recklessness beginning to manifest, but he couldn’t blame the other warden for feeling that way.
Finally, Haven was found. It had such a pretty name for how gloomy-looking of a village it was. The alters covered in human blood didn’t help much either. After coming across a few bodies of Redcliff soldiers, the villagers exposed themselves to be part of a dragon-worshiping cult. Brother Genitivi was freed from his bonds but too injured to proceed to the urn. Up the mountain path, beyond a hidden door, was a temple built around Andraste’s final resting place. Leliana was overwhelmed by this while Morrigan only concerned herself with the sheer amount of dragonlings and drakes in the area.
Despite the opposition, Izarre pushed through to meet with a man calling himself Father Kolgrim. It was a curious thing, a male father based on the Cult of Andraste who was also stupid enough to believe that the Bride of the Maker had come back as a dragon. It wasn’t a particularly powerful one either, easily bested by the warden’s group as they emerged from the other side. The actual temple they were looking for was far deeper into the mountain, hidden behind jagged cliffs and snow. Inside was a spirit of sorts; a powerful Guardian who claimed to be one of Andreste’s original disciples. His duty was to protect the Urn of Sacred Ashes until the fall of Tevinter. While it would have been easier to just fight the supernatural being, the apparition wanted to talk instead.
“Do you think you failed your parents?” he asked Izarre, but the young man refused to answer so he moved on. “You could have shielded him from the killing blow,” he said to Alistair about Duncan. “You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died and not him?” Leliana was next. “You say the Maker speaks to you when we all know that the Maker has left. He only spoke to Andraste. Do you believer yourself Her equal?” The woman was shocked being asked such a thing and stammered in her response. Morrigan refused to even listen to her question entirely before shooing the ghost away. Everyone got a turn, all being asked about their deepest regrets and most private secrets.
Beyond the first set of questions were other spirits who offered riddles instead, all relating to both life in general and the life of Andraste. Each companion seemed to know the answer that was most relevant to their own personality. Alistair realized his inner jealously while Izarre was quick to acknowledge wanting revenge. The second trial had been passed, so they thought, but as the group moved behind the large room, they were stopped by the visage of a noble man. Izarre’s blood turned cold as his heart clutched tightly inside of his chest. “…Father?” The spirit smiled in acknowledgement, but there was sadness there.
“My dearest child,” Bryce Cousland spoke. “You know that I am gone. All your prayers and wishes will not bring me back.” Izarre turned away, his lips pressed tightly together. “I see the pain and anger you carry.” An ethereal hand came to brush his bangs away and turn his chin up. “I know you fear to give it voice, but rest assured, my child, the Maker know your heart.” Wispy fingers wiped away a tear from one of the green eyes as Bryce smiled. “Now go, carry with you my love and my forgiveness, pup.” As Izarre looked down again, the spirit vanished from existence. He stood there in silence as Alistair put a hand to his shoulder, but jumped away at the touch.
“We need to go,” he said and began to walk forward. There was plenty left to do before they could reach the urn. Alistair clenched his fist at being rejected but kept quiet for now. He knew that there was no point of dragging this out. Beyond the ghosts was a phantom bridge that relied on the trust of friends to cross it. After much bickering, near death falls, and swearing, they finally made it across in one piece. The final trial had something to with fire and placing your faith in the Maker. Leliana made a quick translation of the riddle. “Basically,” she said with a giggle. “Get naked and step through the flames.” While she showed no shame with her own undressing, she found herself having to coax Alistair out of his armor after promising not to look. Izarre was less timid, though obviously uncomforting. Closing their eyes, they crossed the flames and reopened their lids to find themselves completely dressed and out of danger.
Within their reach was the urn of Andraste. Everyone fell silent as Izarre took a pinch of the ashes into a small cloth pouch. The way back to Redcliff was easier without an angry cult or dragons chasing them. Isolde immediately complained that only a tiny bit of ash was brought back, but it was more than enough to wake the Arl out of his coma. In his chambers, Teagan, Alistair, and Izarre briefed him on current events. Jowan was given to the Circle as a sign of mercy pushed by his fellow mage, but there was still the matter of what to do with Loghain and the throne of Ferelden. “Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists,” Eamon claimed. “No better than Loghain…but Alistair.” The man in question felt his hair stand on end at the mention of his name. “Alistair’s claim is by blood.”
“And what about me?” the royal bastard protested. “Does anyone care what I want?”
“You have a responsibility, Alistair! Without you, Loghain wins. Is that what you want?” Eamon rebutted.
“I…but I,” Alistair could only stammer and sigh. “No, my lord.”
“And we would like your blessing.” Izarre had to be nudged by his put-upon lover before he even realized the Arl was speaking to him.
“What? My blessing? Why?”
“I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you,” the noble man said with his eyes narrowing. “Surely, you see that.” The young warden narrowed his eyes as well, questioning whether or not he was actually needed or was being used. Either way, he also didn’t stand a chance unless Eamon supported their cause.
“Then…I say we proceed with your plan.”
“That settles it then. It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet,” Eamon nodded as he paced back and forth in thought. “In the meantime, I suggest you rest then pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde. You had rooms last time you were here, yes?” The party nodded. “Return to those and I’ll have you attended to…but Alistair, I would like to see you alone for a moment.” The taller man turned to Izarre with a worried look.
“Right…I’ll be with you in soon, love,” he smiled and stole a quick kiss. The young man nodded but glared in Eamon’s direction before turning to leave. Alistair watched him go and let out a held-in breath as the guard closed the heavy double doors behind. Turning to the Arl, he stood his ground at the steps to the elevated platform in front of him. Eamon watched the kiss goodbye and immediately shook his head in disapproval.
“So, it’s as I feared then,” he said as he came from his stage. “You and that boy are close. Too close.”
“I frankly don’t see how that’s any of your business…I mean, no offense my lord, but…”
“You’re to be king, Alistair. A king cannot…”
“Cannot what? Fall in love? The only thing I noticed kings can’t seem to do is be discrete about their affairs. Good thing I don’t plan on having any of those…”
“You overstep.” Alistair sighed again, shaking his head.
“Look, I don’t want to be king…but I have to weigh my options. I’m willing to do that, at least. We still have to secure the Dwarven treaty and call the Landsmeet before anything else can happen. How about we do what we have to first before you start telling me about who I can and cannot be with?” Eamon was surprised at Alistair’s tone towards him, but understood that this argument would go nowhere so long as they had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Fair enough. Have a good rest and Maker be with you.” Alistair bowed slightly before he turned to walk away. The guards let him out and he headed down to meet Izarre in their room. A part of him felt pretty good about giving the Arl a piece of his mind but his stride soon flattered as he realized that he just gave the Arl a piece of his mind.
“Ah…balls,” he said to himself as he opened the door. “Hey Izzy, I’m sorry about…that. Izzy? Are you alright?” The room had been trashed. The furniture had been flipped, clothes tossed about, and the Cousland family sword had been stabbed into the mattress, surrounded by white feathers. In a corner sat the defeated-looking warden with his white hair covering his face like a veil. “Izzy? Izzy, are you okay?” Alistair moved to kneel down to brush it aside only to see the pale face he loved so much now streaked with tears and red from crying.
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How to Adopt a Warden and Other Tales