"Though the specific symptoms may vary from subject to subject, the end result is the same: they lose their minds."
-Lucy Stillman


"You haven't seen her?" Cullen sighed.

Blackwall and Adibas looked to each other.

"We've rotated watch on that blasted tower of yours all night." The Quartermaster growled.

"I did everything I could, it's not like I've ever done this before." Cullen defended himself, "Harrowings are always a somewhat secured event with more than one Templar. I've never done this by myself, let alone…" His voice trailed off.

"What?" Blackwall stroked his beard.

"As a Templar I've seen many Harrowings fail, and many of them succeed. But she…she was different." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's because it wasn't a blasted 'Harrowing!' My Captain is no mage, and God only knows what treating her as such as done to her." The Creole man growled through his thick accent, "I trusted you with her. I won't be makin' that mistake again any time soon."

"Now, now, that's a bit harsh." Blackwall interjected, "We were responsible for making sure nothing like this happened, as well. That's why we watched the tower."

Adibas huffed, "Did you keep her away from the artifacts, at least?"

Cullen lifted his gaze from the ground, giving him a nod.

"Good." He replied.

"You boys better get your act together. Guard coming this way." Blackwall turned his attention back to the horse behind him.

"Afternoon." Cullen addressed the approaching guard, "What is it?"

The soldier saluted his Commander.

"Afternoon, ser. I was dispatched by Lady Montilyet to fetch you to the war room and to 'be swift' in doing so." He panted, trying to regain his breath.

"You left your post?" Cullen towered over him.

"I objected, ser. She insisted. I will escort you and take my post thereafter, immediately." He fell into a hastened sweat.

"Oh, will you?"

"Be easy on him, Commander. Have you ever tried telling Lady Montilyet 'no?'" Blackwall defended the young man as he brushed the spoiled mount.

"I suppose." He rested his hand on his hilt, "Let us go, then." Cullen sighed, "I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Likewise." Adibas crossed his arms, waiting for them to be out of hearing range.

"I'm Her Quartermaster. I should not be sitting idly waiting for secondhand information." He growled to himself.

"So don't." Blackwall fed the horse a sugar cube, "Go to them. It's that simple."

The pirate looked to the Grey Warden.

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

Adibas raised an eyebrow to the bearded man.

"Not much for conversation, are you?"

"No." Blackwall wiped his hands on his pants, jumping as Dullahan released a terrifying, envious whimper.

"I know how they fell from history in my world. I know how they fell from history in Thedas…but what in between? Where's the missing link? How did they get from here to there?"

Naomi's fingers were laced as her chin rested firmly on her metal-reinforced knuckles. The Advisors argued in circles.

"I can't tell them- I can't tell anyone- or…can I? Can I trust Cullen? Consus made it clear…" Her vision blurred in thought, eyes fixed on a ship-shaped map marker Josephine had paid an artisan to carve to represent The Dishonored, "And to find that he's been a recording playing at predicted occasions makes this venture a tad bit lonelier."

"We had a deal, girl."

Captain Abbey's voice from behind pulled her out of her chair, twisting her body to face the door. Her hand rested on the top of it, her palms sweating underneath her gloves. There was no one.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana gained her attention.

"Are you alright?" Josephine was sympathetic.

Naomi looked to them, carefully skipping over Cullen in embarrassment.

"Aye…I thought I heard somethin' startling, is all." The Inquisitor slowly lowered herself back into the chair, "As you were."

Josephine gave her a nod as she continued.

"The Champion has threatened to leave. Keeping Solas, Dorian, or Vivienne less than a mile from each other proves to be catastrophic. Cassandra has hardly said a word to anyone. The Qunari are demanding an audience with those who sank the Dreadnought." Josephine's demeanor grew soft, and her eyes became glassy, "And let's not forget the most difficult trial from these past two nights…Waiting to hear if our dear Lady Inquisitor was alive and well."

The eyes in the room were fixed on her, caringly.

Naomi waved a hand in dismissal, feeling uncomfortable.

"When the raven came with news of her awakening, we were overjoyed to hear from you, Commander." The Spymaster grinned, "even the bird seemed quite pleased with himself."

"He is a fine bird, indeed." Cullen put the best smile on that he could muster, "I see him so frequently."

"Perhaps you should give him a proper name, then, no? I send only him to your quarters." Leliana giggled.

"The Inquisitor is barely mobile, the Inner Circle is falling apart, and Corypheus plots our demise with every second that goes by…and we, the Advisors of the Inquisition, are discussing the ownership and naming privileges of a common delivery raven." Josephine rolled her eyes, "When I wished for simpler times, I do not recall wishing them to be this simple."

"Any suggestions?" Cullen jested.

The Commander realized the Captain in front of him was lost. He cleared his throat, "Perhaps we should review the reports from the Storm Coast."

Leliana caught on to the distant Naomi, remaining silent while Josephine relayed the information.

""Right! Sorry." Josephine returned a nervous smile, "The Qunari are waiting to meet with you, Inquisitor, on the Storm Coast. Iron Bull has...arranged a meeting of sorts involving the-well…"

"The Venatori." The Nightingale finished.

Naomi stiffened.

Cullen voiced his half, "We believe these smuggling operations are a direct supplier for the Red Templar foothold in the north of the Storm Coast. It needs to be disbanded- soon. While you're there meeting the Ben Hassrath-"

"We take the port back. Lost a few ports in my day. Gained more." Naomi rolled a quill in her hand, focusing on how the feathers twirled and less on the black figures and hazy voices that reared every so often, "Very well. Have the Iron Bull prepare a briefing. At the break of dawn, we'll be sailin' through to the Storm Coast."

"Absolutely not!" Cullen argued, "You're in no condition to-"

"Be sittin' on me arse while there's tasks to be done, aye."

"Inquisitor-"

"I'll be fine by mornin' 'cause of Consus and you right well know it." She left him little room for argument, "And let's keep this little operation to ourselves. I'm in no mood to counsel." Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her sinuses from a brewing headache.

"Of course, Inquisitor." Josephine nodded on account of the defiant Commander.

Eyeing the map, the Captain carefully picked up the crafted marker she'd previously focused on. When Josephine gave it to her, Naomi appreciated it more than she felt she communicated to her sweet Ambassador.

With a soft thud, the marker dropped firmly over the Storm Coast.

"It's settled, then. I'll be liftin' anchor in the mornin.' Sure Iron Bull will brief me on the way."

Silence followed until her eyes slowly drifted to Cullen.

"Nathan." A whisper from her right.

The Captain flipped a pistol in her hand, holding it to Captain Rodger Abbey's mouth. He was gone in an instant.

The Advisors stood there, watching her holding a pistol into the empty air.

"Inquisitor…what's wrong?" Josephine asked meekly.

The pistol rattled in her shaking hand.

"I just…I just need sleep. Sleep without relentless dreams." The Captain's face remained drained of happiness. She dismissed herself before anyone could interject, gripping the hilt of the Sword and embracing the thought of her Captain's Quarters.

The three of them looked to each other for guidance once she'd disappeared.

"It was hard enough getting her into Skyhold unnoticed, much less a ship out into the ocean." Josephine gently lay her writing board on the table.

"Something is clearly off. I don't know why we're letting her go off on these…adventures." Cullen crossed his arms.

"We're not letting her, Commander. She is the Inquisitor and she will operate as she sees fit." Leliana's eyes narrowed at the ship marker, "And it is still our job to support her."

The Commander huffed, meandering his way to the window.

"We still haven't figured out what happened before you got there, Commander." The Spymaster joined him.

"Perhaps we should hold a meeting to find out…and distract them. During that meeting, the Iron Bull, his associates, and the Inquisitor could set sail." Josephine's eyes glinted with plot.

"A fine plan."

Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen jumped. The voice was not of their own.

A whistle directed their confusion to the rafters above them. Adibas let loose a friendly wave, his fingers wiggling.

"Maker help me, what are you-" The Commander's temper was lit aflame.

"I'll let her know at once." The Quartermaster winked as he hoisted himself up, slipping out of view through the path whence he came.

Her nose was a spout, further snaking down her lips. The quill scribbled so violently that the fabric tore beneath the tip.

Drip.

A drop of blood spread through the grain, shattering the word she'd just wrote, sending the ink into places where it did not belong. The feather ceased to write, tearing more fervent holes into the parcel. The ink swirled around in the pot as the copper chirped against its glass. She continued.

It was a mist of symbols and markings that clouded her vision. Only when they were transferred onto the parchment did she see again. One by one, her bloodshot eyes danced through the pattern in which they appeared. A plethora of sheets accumulated before the Captain, covered in the images that haunted her. Her palm met the paper as she whisked it away, slamming a fresh, blank canvas in front of her.

Her breathing was frantic.

"Have to get this all down…I have to…I have to…I have to…"

They finally began to thin, allowing her to see more of her surroundings.

"Captain-"

Adibas's voice broke the silence. She looked in front of her to see the door to her Quarters still locked. The Inquisitor was still alone.

She kept writing.

The quill was dry, and the pot that she depended on so hotly was empty. There was no more ink to be found as she angrily pawed through her drawers. Naomi untied Consus in a flurry, tossing the Shroud to the ground alongside a glove. Her hidden blade ejected from one of her Assassin's gauntlets. As the sharp edge grew closer to her palm, her breathing quickened to a pace that made her heart qualm. Naomi's skin divided in two as it met the steel of the traditional weapon, and her new medium began to flow uncontrollably.

She clenched a fist, turning it on its side as it hovered over the empty pot. A steady stream of blood escaped her, clouding the glass vessel as it began to fill. Tying the Shroud around her open wound, she let her severed flesh rest next to her as she dipped her feathered writing instrument.

Naomi continued to tear the quill into the fabric paper, tuning out the voices and figures that danced in the shadows of the flickering lamp above.