The new day was starting to dawn as Nike, Alistair, Sten, a soldier named Gerink, and Ser Perth stood at the Redcliffe docks. Eamon's own boat was prepared and moored in front of them.
Nike looked up toward the skies, only half listening to the conversation behind her. Pinks and roses and golds were starting to fill the cool air, fragrant with lake water and damp wood.
The boat was large enough it required a small sail. Nike had no experience with sailing boats, nor did Alistair. When asked if he did, Sten only made a grumping sound, as if the question was not worth his time. It didn't matter. Nike had decided that Sten would stay behind rather than come with them to the Circle anyway. With his attitudes toward mages in particular and Ferelden culture specifically, Nike felt it would be best that he didn't go irritating not only the very people they needed to help them, but the ones who could set them on fire with just a thought.
Ser Perth, one of the few Redcliffe knights that was not lost on the road somewhere hunting for the Urn, was as well staying behind, but Gerink it seemed was an accomplished sailor and had made the journey to the Tower many times before. He would sail the little craft there, and bring them back as soon as they were able to secure the Circle's help.
A small dark speck appeared just past the thatched rooftops, and Nike straightened a little, watching it closely until she was sure.
"Morrigan's coming," she said, looking at the others. The mage had volunteered to bring word back to their camp on what was going on, and to retrieve Alistair's satchel of treaties. He all but slept with them at night but hadn't wanted to bring them with him into a battle at Redcliffe for fear they would be damaged and lost. The dwarves had sold him a rather stout little iron box, and he'd locked them away in there, with one of Sandal's enchantments on the lid to keep the box itself from being stolen. If anyone outside of their approved party tried to take the box or even open it with the key, they would receive a quite nasty burn.
Stepping away from Perth, Alistair moved to Nike's side. By then, the swiftly moving raven was nearly on top of them. The satchel fell from her claws and Alistair awkwardly fumbled to catch it, nearly dropping the satchel in the lake before he managed to get a good grip. A breath later, the mage touched down to the wood of the dock and smoothly resumed her human form.
"You could have handed them to me!" he said.
"Then I would have missed seeing the delightful look on your face," she said back.
"Everyone at camp all right?" Nike asked, and Morrigan nodded.
"My update was briefer than they would have liked, I'm sure, however they are all safe and accounted for."
That was a relief, but as Nike turned toward the boat she couldn't help a frown. A day to the Tower, a day there, and a day back. Morrigan had gone for the treaties because they couldn't afford the time it would take to go back to camp on their own and gather their things, but that meant that Nike could look forward to three days in the same clothing, smelling like a common street urchin.
Perhaps the Circle will have some clothing they'd be willing to give, or at least means to take a bath and wash these. Or perhaps some magic that will clean me up a bit?
She looked at Morrigan as they climbed into the boat. She didn't believe she'd once seen Morrigan bathe or wash her clothing, and yet she was always as fresh as if she had just done both things only moments before. A side-effect of shapeshifting perhaps? Or some other spell? Nike hoped it was the later, and that Morrigan might be willing to cast such a spell on her. Things were hard enough all around without itchy hair and grimy skin adding to their burdens.
She was a bit surprised that Morrigan seemed to take it as given that she was going along. Nike had fully expected her to beg out and remain behind, and wouldn't have blamed her a bit. There was no reason that Nike and Alistair wouldn't be sufficient for talking to the mages and enforcing the treaty, and an apostate walking right into the Tower as brazen as brass seemed to be tempting fate a little.
Alistair and Gerink came aboard after them, and as Gerink tossed the mooring rope to Perth and pushed away from the dock, Nike went over to the bow where Morrigan stood, smelling the morning breeze with her eyes closed in seeming pleasure.
"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Nike asked.
"Tis a little late for that, I think," Morrigan said, and gave Nike a teasing smile. "We have already departed our mooring."
Nike returned the smile. "And you can turn into a bird and go right back to camp without getting your feet wet," she said. "Morrigan, are you sure?"
"I am certain," Morrigan said, then eyed her a little. "Our little black tale that I am a Warden should suffice, should any of them get ideas into their minds that they will keep me there. And I admit I am curious."
"Curious?" Nike asked, knowing better.
Morrigan's smile turned a little sly, and Nike knew she'd measured the right of it.
"All of my life my mother has taught me, quite rightly, that neither Circle nor Chantry are a friend to us and our kind. They seek only to imprison us, bind us, tie us with their cords and rob us of our freedom and dignity, under the false name of justice, and mercy. And now, I will walk right in through their door, without fear and without apology of what I am. Then, I shall walk out again, knowing that they can lay neither finger nor spell upon me. I imagine them rending their robes in frustration, or perhaps tearing their hair out, that they have no power over this Witch of the Wilds. I am curious indeed to see which it will be."
Nike laughed a little. "Robes, or hair? Perhaps it will be both."
"Ah, do not tease me with such delights," Morrigan replied.
Nike looked over toward the two men, to see Alistair had settled down on the deck in a sit, having removed as much of his armor as he could to be comfortable. From appearances, it seemed he was getting ready to doze.
It had been a very long night, and Nike would be lying if she said she was not tired. Weariness had settled into her very bones, and very shortly she would probably bed down as well, try and catch a few hours while they sailed.
First, however, she wanted to continue her conversation with Morrigan, enjoy the sunrise and the morning air, and the way the bow shushed through the slate-gray lake.
"Morrigan," she said, after they'd gone quiet a moment, and Morrigan had returned to scenting the air like a rich ambrosia. "I had some questions."
"Do you?" Morrigan answered airily.
"How is it that people think blood magic is so bad, when it clearly has remarkable properties to heal? I mean, Jowan healed you completely in moments. I have never seen anything like that."
"Ah," Morrigan nodded. "Am I correct in the idea that you have only seen edevas in action?"
Nike thought a moment, then nodded. It was true; all of her experiences with the ill and the injured, it had been edevas used to treat them. It was that way all over Ferelden, of course, with the mages locked away in the Tower after all.
"Edevas is decent enough, and it takes skill and talent to find the appropriate ingredients and to form the proper mixture, but for all of that, it is rooted in the mundane, and not the magical. What our little mage friend did would indeed seem a bit fantastic, if one only has edevas to compare to."
"So there are other ways of healing that are just as good as his blood magic?"
"Arguably better," Morrigan said. "Any mage or apostate, even as young as that boy-child, would be able to perform a similar healing of such grievous wounds with but a little luck, and a small amount of lyrium."
"That's astonishing!"
"It is also incredibly dangerous," Morrigan told her. "Raw lyrium is extremely difficult to mine and transport safely. It has a very nasty tendency to explode if mishandled. Accidental exposure can become quickly fatal, and even in its processed forms it is addictive, and the nefarious purposes to which it can be put rival that of blood magic."
"I had no real concerns before," Nike said. "But now I am very concerned about the safety of what we're doing. Don't the mages we're fetching from the Circle need lyrium to perform the ritual? The boat isn't in danger of exploding, is it? What about exposure?"
"It is only raw lyrium that can explode, or kill with accidental exposure. The Circle will not be bringing lyrium in that form along with them. For the ritual they would bring prepared lyrium potions, or powders, that have been processed and carefully contained. The difficulty with the lyrium will be in talking the mages to part with a sufficient amount of it, for what we need to accomplish."
"You said 'addiction'. Are the Circle mages addicted to lyrium? Is that part of why you want nothing to do with them?"
"Not the mages," Morrigan said. "The Templars. As part of their training and their duties, they are given small amounts of lyrium potion. It is said to enhance their abilities, allow them to control the much stronger mages. In truth, it does little more than to tether them to the Circle as much as the mages are tethered. Someone with a powerful addiction will do almost anything than risk losing their supply."
To say Nike was shocked was an understatement. She couldn't decide if Morrigan was putting her on or not, but she didn't think so. Though only a few months before she would have said that as a child of Highever she'd had benefit of an extensive education, her experiences since Ostagar seemed to show the opposite. In truth, she was not well-educated, but vastly ignorant to much of the real world outside those safe childhood walls.
Alistair nearly became a templar, she thought, looking over to where the man was now sleeping, arms folded and chin to chest. Always I was told Templars were there to keep the mages within the Circle- but are they truly as much prisoners as the mages are? They may not be bound by stone walls and guards, but they seem imprisoned just the same.
"You don't use lyrium," she said, and Morrigan shrugged a little.
"I have in the past. Rarely. It is difficult to come by outside of the Circle. I have no particular standing on it one way or the other, but I do respect it's dangers."
"And blood magic?"
"Much the same answer, I suppose," Morrigan told her. "Does this bother you?"
"I can honestly say I don't know enough about either- or about the whole mess, it would seem- to say one way or the other. I was always told that blood magic was evil, that it could be put to no good use, but then Jowan used it to save your life. I was of the understanding the Circle was a means to educate mages, to keep them and those around them safe- that it was not possible for a child to learn to control their gifts without that safety and education, but you, and Adaon- you don't fit that tale either. Now learning this about lyrium, about the Templars- I honestly don't know what to think."
She thought back over the previous night, back to that poor little boy and the demon speaking through him. Those were the clear and obvious dangers of a mage outside of the Circle, but nothing seemed clear-cut any more. She looked back at Redcliffe Village, already small in the distance, with the Keep gleaming in the morning sun. It all looked so safe and sane from here, but was it? Had it ever really been?
I know what you desire. I can give her to you.
The memory of that whispered voice came to her then, and she remembered the repulsion she'd felt at watching Connor leer at her.
"Are you all right?" Morrigan asked, and Nike snapped out of her thoughts to realize that some time must have passed. She felt as if she had been half-dozing.
"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to process this all."
"Tis quite all right. Some sleep would not be amiss, while we have a chance to find some."
Nike nodded, but when she went to look at the mage, she found she couldn't quite manage it directly. "I think I'll take you up on that," she said. "Thank you, Morrigan- for all your help last night. I'm glad that you're all right."
"Tis nothing to shed any tears over," Morrigan said lightly. "Tis done and rectified, and I am quite well."
She looked around a moment, then peered up at the mast. "I do not believe I shall be able sleep curled upon deck. As a raven I am used to the motion of the trees in wind, I do believe that will suit me better."
A thousand things were on Nike's tongue to say or ask, but it had been a very long night and she was too tired to try and make a go of any of them now. Taking Far Song off her shoulder and removing her quiver, she instead curled up on the deck nearby with one arm under her head as a pillow, and fell almost immediately to sleep.