Chapter Text
•o•
She loved flowers.
She spoke of them often, with a fondness in her voice in such sharp contrast to the woman everyone else saw. The warrior queen, fierce and hard. And she was those things, but she was so much more, as well. When she taught me the names of the flowers, I could see it, even if no one else could.
Bleeding ladies were her favorite, their delicate petals stretching outward, white at the ends but turning blood red near the stem. I collected them, as many as I could find (which wasn't many; they were as rare as they were beautiful), and placed them at the site of the pyre. Three days after her death, a small crowd remained. People who had loved her, who mourned for her, prayed for her. They gathered here, gathered at what would surely be known as a holy site for the rest of eternity. Behind me, I heard someone mention Andraste's beauty, and her grace.
I am the only one left who witnessed Maferath's betrayal. Me, and the Magisters of Tevinter who hungered for Andraste's blood. They yearned to destroy her not for the war she had waged, or the land she had won, or the slaves she had freed. They hungered for her because she made them feel afraid. Because they could not control her. And Maferath, too, felt afraid. I should have seen it, should have left long ago, out of respect for our friendship. But my love blinded me to the dangers.
The Tevinters cut me down that day. If my will, my desire had been all that was needed, I would have stopped them from taking her. But will and desire are only fleeting things compared with the might of magic, of ice and fire and cruelty. So they cut me down, but I did not die. Assisted by some of her followers who had arrived too late to save her, I left that place, taking with me her sword. That, above all else, must not fall into the wrong hands.
When I arrived here, at the place of her death, the place of her sacrifice, of her martyrdom, I found that her earthly remains had been left to the wind and the rain. I fell to my knees, unable to stop myself from running my fingers through the ashes, from bringing a pinch of them to my lips, needing to be close to her this one, final time.
She came to me then, all gossamer and light, her beautiful hair flowing gently in a breeze that touched nothing in this mundane world. She knelt beside me, her smile more radiant than the light of a thousand suns.
"The Maker shall never forget you so long as I remember," she whispered. I felt her breath against my ear, and the caress of her fingers on my face, in a way I had never known in life, but had yearned for so many times.
And I knew they had not killed her. They could never kill her. She would live forever, at the side of Our Maker. And though I mourned her and grieved for her, yearned to hold her in my arms just once, I consoled myself with the knowledge that she was in a better place.
When the vision of her faded away, my wounds were healed, and I had strength greater than ever before.
The ashes, I gathered together into a pouch made of cloth, determined to find a resting place for them worthy of Andraste. The Maker's Bride. The Chosen One. The beloved of my own heart, although this paled in comparison to everything else she had been.
This task, finding a worthy home for the ashes, proved more difficult than I could ever have imagined, but that hardly mattered. After all, if something is worth the effort, any amount of hardship can be suffered with a glad heart. So I carried Andraste's ashes out of Tevinter and into the mountains to the south and the east, seeking a place where she could gaze ever into Our Maker's sky.
The place I chose was far to the south, in the lands of the Alamarri where Andraste herself had been born. High in the mountains whose ridges look like a dragon with snow-frosted spines on its back, I found a valley of unsurpassing beauty. The villagers who lived nearby were moved by the story I told them, of Andraste and the love she had for all people. With their help, I built a temple fit to honor her earthly remains. From the living rock I carved an urn to cradle forever what remained of the greatest being who would ever walk this red earth. And inside that altar, I placed her sword, with its idol who whispered to her and guided her - both to her victory, as well as to her death.
But what of the future? What of those who wouldn't understand, or those who understand so clearly that they would seek to defile her? No. This, above all else, must never be allowed. There must be some way to protect her. Someone to protect her.
A guardian. One to judge those who attempt to enter her tomb, to judge their worthiness. To look into their very souls. It was the only way to ensure none would enter who might have their hearts bent on destruction. And I knew who it must be. No one still alive knew her as I did. No one alive or dead had loved her as I had loved her. So, I, Havard, would stay, guarding the entrance to her temple. For all eternity, if necessary.
To defend my Lady.
•o•