A/N: I have been capitalizing Qunari as it is not strictly a race but also a creed, however it appears the game itself uses the lower case 'qunari'. So I will be using the lower case from now on.

They rode most of the day at a swift trot, trying to put some distance between them and the flood of refugees that would soon be pouring out of Lothering.

Already there were far more people on the Western Road than Nike was comfortable with. The size of their party should help to disguise who they were, but as she considered it she realized that disguise was thin at best and seemed to be growing flimsier. If their small group wasn't so unusual, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. However, when you had a party that included an elf, a Chantry Sister with caged crows, a scarred up mabari, a tame raven, and a fairly large man trotting along behind, you tended to draw eyes.

They were being noticed here out in the open, and even if they weren't recognized as the two wardens being hunted, people were going to remember them if asked later.

Alistair was leading the way, and he seemed to have much the same concern on his mind. He kept eyeing the Crawood to their north as if weighing the cover the trees would make against how much longer it would delay their journey. They had no hope south, where the small offshoot of Lake Calenhad known as 'Calenhad's Child' was glimmering in the sunlight.

He must have decided against the wood, because as soon as the shore of Calenhad's Child dipped southward and the road with it, he kept them on a straight course due west, into the dales and wheat fields of the Southern Bannorn.

Though there was little cover here, there were also far fewer eyes. The wheat was still green and not near harvest, and so they only occasionally saw a form or two in the fields. So long as they avoided the small villages and hamlets clustered here or there, they should move fairly unseen.

The sun was golden and about to put on its evening skirts when Nike reluctantly called a halt, near a small stream that was far from any hut or home where they could be spied upon. Nike had not seen Morrigan in over an hour. She must have still been watching them, for almost as soon as they'd halted, she came strolling through the tall grasses.

Leliana stared at her, but if Morrigan had even noticed the Chantry Sister existed, she gave no indication.

Sten, despite his now hours' long run to keep up, was not so much as glistening with perspiration. Nike didn't know if this was a demonstration of some qunari hardiness or his own individual constitution, but she was impressed.

"Is it your intention to camp?" Morrigan asked as she got up to Nike's side.

"It seems as good as place as any," Nike said. "We've pushed pretty hard today without pause."

"Tis a good spot," Morrigan agreed, gesturing at the stream. "There is not another living soul for six miles in each direction."

"I appreciate you looking," Nike told her, helping Tahja to unload the bedrolls and packs from the horses. Sten, wordlessly, had settled down near the stream. He had his face upturned toward the sky and his eyes closed.

"Hello, Morrigan," Alistair said as he walked up to them, lifting his brows as she wordlessly turned and walked away toward the stream. After a moment he continued in a higher pitched voice. "'Hello Alistair! Enchanting as always to see you!'"

Nike gave him a wry look and a half smile, and he shook his head. Tahja excused herself to start setting up camp, and Nike began to unsaddle her horse.

"So," Alistair began, and when she looked at him, he gestured to where Sten was sitting. "More crazy, hmm? I thought we were full up."

"I'm sorry I just took off like that," Nike told him. "I intended to leave him there but it kept preying on me. Now I find out that he didn't even have a trial-"

"No, it's good you let him out," Alistair told her. "I just wish you'd said something before running off alone."

"I only hope he's safe," Nike told him in a low, speculative voice. "I don't want more blood on my hands."

Alistair blinked at her. "What blood do you think you have on your hands?"

"Never mind. It's not important," she replied, and before he could press her, she said, "How long to reach Redcliffe?"

"If we keep up at this rate, another two days," he said. "But I don't think that's realistic, so more likely three."

He looked distracted, a bit fidgety, and again Nike was reminded of a small boy trying to decide if he should admit to putting frogs in his little sister's bidet or keep his mouth shut and hope they blame the maid.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry, just a bit distracted. We still don't know why Arl Eamon didn't send his men to Ostagar at the King's order. I have no idea what we could be walking into."

"Can't be worse than the Blight, can it?" Nike asked, as Leliana approached them.

"You are talking about Arl Eamon?" she asked, having overheard. "From what I understand, he has his men out looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"For the what?" Nike blurted, stunned.

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes," Leliana said patiently. "It is said to hold the ashes of Andraste, after she was burned at the stake for claiming she spoke to the Maker."

"I know what it is," Nike said, and bit her tongue against commenting that Leliana, as well, claimed to have spoken to the Maker. "Why in Thedas would he send men looking for it? Their time would be better served trying to rope the moon."

"You don't believe it exists?" Leliana asked her. Nike wasn't stepping into that trap, but the Sister continued on without waiting for an answer. "That is not surprising. Most people think it's a myth."

"But you don't?" Alistair asked, making Nike cringe a little. If they started on a religious debate she was going to excuse them to their doggerel and go find something else actually useful to do.

"I have no idea if it exists or not," she said. "But there are many who do."

"Why would Arl Eamon send his men to go hunting for a myth, instead of sending his men south to help with a very real threat?" Nike asked. "Are you sure that's what they're doing?"

"Quite sure," Leliana said. "Several of his knights came through Lothering, and spoke to the Revered Mother about it. They were not keen to enlighten us as to the details, but they did say that much."

"Now I'm even more worried about what we could be walking into," Alistair said, and looked at Nike. "Do you think we should keep on to Redcliffe?"

"We don't have much choice that I can see," she said. "We need help. Speaking of which, Leliana you said that you could send us a message to Weisshaupt?"

"I can," she said, and gestured to her cages, now resting on the ground. "My birds are quite well-trained. As soon as you pen it, I can have them off."

"That's wonderful! I'll…" Alistair began and then slowly trailed off. "Uh, Nike. Tell me you have some way to write a message?"

"Parchment and quill were not at the top of my supply list," she said, and crouched to start digging through the bags that Adaon had given them. She was nearly ready to give up hope when she found a small sheaf of paper wrapped around a thin quill. A tiny pot of ink was tucked beneath it. "Maker Bless Adaon," she said, and drew it out, handing it to Alistair.

"Oh, excellent," he said, as he took them. "I'll get this written right away."

They dispersed to set up their various little camping spots, and Nike went to help Tahja. As she took up some wood to prepare the fire, she looked over at the elf.

"You know you don't have to do this," she said, and Tahja blinked at her.

"Do what?"

"As you said, you are not my servant any more, Tahja. You don't need to be the one who sets up camp like that."

To her surprise, the elf ducked her head and blushed a bit. "I'm sorry I said that, mistress," she said. "You're still a Cousland, and-"

"No, you were right," Nike said, setting the wood down and taking the elf's hands. "You're not a servant any more. I'm happy to have you here, just as my friend. Though I do worry that you are putting yourself into danger needlessly."

"Thank you," Tahja said, bashfully pleased but still hesitant. "But it may not be wise that I be anything other than your servant. I saw the looks on the road, those we passed. If I'm your servant, they ignore me. If they think I'm a free elf riding with you, that draws attention."

"Fuck them," Nike said, with even more venom than she intended. She took a breath, and then let it out slowly. "Sorry. Even if you're right, they're not going to know you're a servant or not just because you're with us. Most have their own problems in mind. If you're going to stay with us you're going to be your own person, all right? But if you are going to stay, I want you to learn a bit more about knifework than just bread and cheese. You need to be able to defend yourself."

"You could teach me."

"I could teach you the bow, if we had any to spare," Nike said. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly good at knifework myself."

She looked around the camp, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "A sword is likely to be too heavy for you, and we have none of those to spare either. Magic is clearly out of the picture."

Her eyes fell on Leliana. She had said that she hadn't always been a Sister, and while she had a bow as well, she also had a dagger at her hip. "I don't know if she has any skill at it, but the Sister may know a little. She might be of some help."

"I'm sure there will be many at Redcliffe that can teach me," Tahja told her, and Nike nodded slowly. She was unsure how any of them would take being asked to teach an elf how to stab.

"Yes, there could be," she said thoughtfully, and then sighed. "Either way, you're not learning it tonight. I can finish with the fire. Get some rest."

"No, I don't mind doing the fire," Tahja said, bending back to the task. "I quite like cooking. I'll get supper warmed. Everyone's doing their part, so I should too."

"Fair enough," Nike said, and gave her a warm smile as she looked around. Holly had vanished, of course.

Probably hunting rabbits in the long grass, she thought, and moved back to the grullo to help finish settling him for the night. Once the horses were unsaddled and grazing, she took a cloth from her pack and went to the stream.

As she mopped at her face and neck, she grimaced. Months stretched ahead of her in her mind with no better bathing available than this, and it almost felt worse than facing darkspawn.

Lowering the cloth with a frustrated grunt, she looked along the stream. There had to be a pond or something further down where she could at least hope to have a proper bath without prying eyes. It would do no good tonight; by the time Holly came back it would be good and dark, and bathing without at least the mabari nearby to keep an eye out was foolish.

Still, if she could find a good pond, she could get up early in the morning, have a bath before the others were up and ready to go.

Pausing only to retrieve her bow, she paced downwind along the stream. The golden light was turning crimson and purple, entering that magical hour of twilight that she had so adored as a child. Here, with the babbling of the stream and the cool whispers of the wind, she could almost imagine she was out in Highever again. There were no darkspawn, no war, no bounty on her head.

She'd gone about half a mile when the stream cut down to the larger river. In the distance she could see various cookfires starting to glimmer. Her stomach sank. No hope of a bath this way. Going all the way to the river would be far too close to others. Resigned, she had just turned back toward camp when a familiar voice spoke from above her.

"You know, you scream quite prettily."

She looked up. Morrigan, in her human form, crouched upon the large bough of an oak ten feet overhead, balancing easily on the balls of her toes. Her yellow eyes reflected the setting sun in a shimmer of liquid fire.

"I beg your pardon?" Nike asked.

"Down in that gully, when you went to retrieve the qunari," Morrigan said, and Nike scowled.

"I did not scream. I shouted in surprise. A great ruddy spider- you were lucky you weren't shot before I realized it was you."

"Tch, now," Morrigan said, clucking her tongue. "T'was a scream, if ever I heard one. Do spiders frighten you?"

"Spiders the size of cart horses should frighten anyone," Nike said, folding her arms in irritation.

"Perhaps, but that does not answer my question," Morrigan said, and hopped easily down from the bough.

"Spiders don't frighten me."

"Oh? Then perhaps tis just I? Do I frighten you?"

"Morrigan, what do you want?" Nike asked, and started walking toward camp again. The mage fell into step beside her companionably.

"Must I want something?" she asked. "I am enjoying the evening, same as you."

"I was looking for a place to have an actual bath. I feel as if I'm crawling with vermin."

"You would have enjoyed more success upstream than down. There is a miller's pond that way."

"Is there?" Nike looked at her with hope in her eyes. "How far?"

"Oh, just a little further than you just came," she replied. "Perhaps another five minutes' walk? Tis not always so easy to tell distance when you see something from a skyward view."

Nike nodded and then turned a bit thoughtful, studying her companion's face. "It must be something else, to fly like that."

"It is certainly convenient in some circumstances," Morrigan told her, then looked thoughtful herself, giving a commiserating little nod of her head. "But yes, to fly can be quite thrilling. I suppose I've long gotten used to it."

"How many animals can you change into?" Nike asked.

"Four," Morrigan told her. "The raven you've seen, and the spider. I can also become a cat, and a wolf."

"Is it hard to learn? Does it hurt?"

Morrigan smiled at her, gave a little laugh. "My aren't you curious? Twas not hard to learn, well- no harder than any other spell I suppose. But it is a spell. If you had any notions of learning the skill yourself, I'm afraid you must be disappointed. And no, it does not cause pain."

"What if you changed me? Could you do that?"

"Turn you into a toad perhaps? Like your ignorant friends feared the first time we met? Hardly. I hold no such gift and know of no mage that does."

"Oh," Nike said, and Morrigan lifted a brow.

"You sound disappointed. Were you looking forward to being a toad?"

Nike gave her a look out of the side of her eye, then laughed. "No, not a toad. But I guess I am a little disappointed. I suppose I'd like to know what it is to run through the wood as a deer, or a wolf, or even a fox. So, can you learn to turn into any others, or are you limited to four?"

"I can easily learn other shapes, though it would take some practice. I never saw need. My four have enough versatility to serve me."

"What about a horse?" When Morrigan looked at her, puzzled, Nike grinned. "I mean, we need a horse. Sten-"

Morrigan scowled. "Are you suggesting that I turn into a common cart horse just to carry that man on my back like a-"

Then she stopped as Nike continued to grin at her. "Oh. You are joking. My apologies, I still-"

"It's quite all right, Morrigan," Nike told her.

"A-at any rate, no. I had never considered a horse. I understand the need for mabari but horses…saddled and bridled and tied, used for mean labor- well-kept slaves, is all they are."

"I don't know that I agree with that," Nike said. "When I was younger, I had the most beautiful horse. Caspi, he was called. I was there when he was born. I used to lay in the straw with him and tell him stories. When he was old enough, we would ride together like the wind; ride so far and fast it was like we weren't separate creatures any more. We were one being, one heart, so strong and free together."

Morrigan was looking at her oddly and Nike felt her cheeks heat a little as she shrugged, clearing her throat. "I just mean to say, he was never a slave to me. He was my friend. My brother, in many ways. I miss him still."

Thinking of Caspi she felt her throat and chest tighten, grief wanting to creep over her again. "I miss them all. My father, my brother, my mother…"

Morrigan said nothing for a long while as they walked. The light was growing dimmer but Nike was in no real hurry to get back, and it didn't seem Morrigan was either.

When Morrigan finally broke the silence, she sounded almost timid. "Your mother…what was she like?"

Nike's chest had just started to loosen, but now it tightened again. "She was wonderful," she said roughly. "She was always so kind, so poised. She told the most wonderful stories. Generous to a fault, completely unaware of her own light…"

She fully intended to go on, but her throat was fighting against her and finally she just shook her head. "I can't…"

"I understand," Morrigan said gently. "I am sorry, I did not mean to cause you grief. I have no frame of reference on how a mother should behave, save my own, but I am aware enough to know she is no fitting template."

"You have no fond memories of her at all?" Nike asked softly. Morrigan thought a while, then slowly shook her head.

"I…no. It seems I do not."

Nike found that almost more aggrieving than the loss of her own mother. Hoping to find at least some small joy in Morrigan's childhood she said, "Even as a little child? She never even told you stories?"

Morrigan straightened a little and gave another small laugh, one lacking any mirth whatsoever. "On the contrary, Flemeth was a grand one for stories," she said. "She did so love her tales about herself, her life. Quite frequently she would regale me with the stories of the Chasind men she brought to her bed, keeping them captive until they were exhausted and spent, and then slitting their throats. Her tales sparkled like gems with her intricate details of how they bedded one another, how their lifeblood glimmered in her hands like melting candlewax. She ended each tale with the same words: 'And someday, girl, you will do the same'."

"Maker, that's the most horrible thing I've ever heard!" Nike said, staring at the mage. "Did she really murder-…and she expected you to-….she couldn't have actually expected you to-…!"

"She did," Morrigan said matter-of-factly. "She made that quite clear from the beginning. During one such story, just at the onset of my sixth year, she-"

"Six!" Nike was scandalized. She had pictured Morrigan at least being adolescent when these tales had been shared. To learn she was hearing them at such a tender age was beyond imagination.

Morrigan considered, visibly counting in her head. "Yes, yes, I'm quite certain I was six years old. She said that-" She broke off at the look on Nike's face. "I am making you uncomfortable?"

"Your bloody mother is what is making me uncomfortable!" Nike said heatedly. "Good heavens, Morrigan! No wonder you want nothing to do with her. I am so incredibly sorry, that's…it's beyond the pale, that's what it is."

"It was what it was," Morrigan said with a casual shrug. "I knew no differently."

"And that's what makes it even more tragic! I'm so sorry, Morrigan."

Morrigan seemed taken aback by this. "Why do you apologize? You have done nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry that she treated you that way," Nike said. "You deserved so much more. So much more."

"I…I do not know what to say," Morrigan looked genuinely stymied. "I have never really thought of these things in such a light. That is to say, I knew she was horrible, that she did not love me, but these were just things I knew, as I knew my hand was attached to my wrist. I had never deeply considered them before, let alone contemplated that I did not deserve such things."

Her look turned into another odd expression of consideration, as if she were measuring Nike. "I must say, you are not at all how I expected you."

"How you expected me?" Nike asked, confused.

"I-I mean, that is to say, you're not as I expected you to behave as a warden, or any other person."

"I still don't think I quite understand."

"My few points of reference for other people were my mother and the Chasind, who I spied on from afar. Those with you that day at the tower, they behaved how I expected. Shrinking from me in suspicion and fear, ready to either kill me or lace me up and drag me as an apostate to the Tower."

"Oh, give it time," Nike said lightly. "I may still drag you to the Tower."

Morrigan chuckled, her expression easing after a moment. "Ah, yes. As I suspected."

"I mean, you obviously are an unnatural abomination that should be put to the torch," Nike said. "All mages are. Were I not so lazy, I might do it myself."

"Was that what you were doing in those ruins? Luring an apostate to your torch?" Morrigan asked. Realizing she was talking about Hawke Nike felt her face go hot and red. Fortunately, it had gotten dark enough that she doubted Morrigan could see it.

"W-well, someone had to do it," she said, and was grateful when Morrigan laughed, the sound ringing up through the evening trees.