Nike had no doubt that if Cullen had made it more than a few steps into the room he would have done his best to take every single one of them out, until he was killed. As it was, he never got that far.

Almost as soon as he rushed in, Morrigan- who was still standing near the wall beside the tapestry she'd doused- merely thrust her staff out. Cullen caught it on his ankle and fell to the ground with a tremendous crash of armor, his sword spinning away over the floor.

"Oopsie," Morrigan said.

The sword stopped its spin nearly at Nike's feet, and she stepped on the handle as Alistair hurried over to him to restrain him.

"It's all right," he said to Cullen. "It's over."

"No! It's not over," Cullen said, trying to push himself up awkwardly, his teeth grit. "It's not over! They-"

"Cullen, it's quite all right," Irving said, the First Enchanter stepping past Wynne. The time as Uldred's prisoner had taken its toll on him- on all of them. He bore fresh bruises as well, a lean and almost desperate look about his face that spoke of no food or water. "I understand your concerns. I know you will not take my word for it, so we will go down and speak to Greagoir."

Cullen did not look in the least convinced, but apparently the mad rush into the room had sapped most of what remained of his strength. He sullenly pushed Alistair back a little, wiping his wrist over his face before he got up and started toward Nike, clearly intending to pick up his sword.

"No," she said, shifting it back on the floor with her foot. "You'll get this back downstairs, but not a moment before."

He looked insulted. "You would leave me defenseless? Any one of these mages could be an abomination- I'm sorry, even you First Enchanter- and could attack at any moment!"

"I let you have your sword back and you could go lopping off heads at any moment," Nike replied.

"I would not unless they give me cause! I want only to be able to defend myself-"

"Tis curious," Morrigan said, giving him an acerbic look as she strode past and over to Nike's side. "Seems to me, that is all the mages want as well. You would happily run them through with your blade on the chance they might attack you, yet when the risk is that you would attack them, suddenly you are affronted."

"It's not the same, witch!"

"Looks pretty similar from where I'm standing," Nike told him, then bent and picked up his sword, handing it to Alistair. "Except so far you're the only one that has insisted that they need to die. I have heard no threats from them regarding your life."

The man's jaw only tightened as he shook his head. "On your head be it, Warden," he said.

"Everything appears to be on my head," she said bitterly. "What's one more thing?"

She looked at Wynne and Irving. "Are you well to come with us, First Enchanter? We are short on time."

"Yes, I think I still have some energy in these old bones," he said. "Let's get back down and speak to Greagoir before steps are taken we shall all regret. The Tower is clear?"

"We were fairly thorough," Wynne told him, taking his arm and supporting him. "There may be a stray maleficar we did not encounter, but I shall be surprised if so."

"If there is we'll handle them," Nike said.

They headed back down, Alistair staying near Cullen. As they got to the room where Cullen and the other Templars had been imprisoned, Irving's eyes fell on those men that didn't make it. His already weary expression saddened further, and he seemed to age yet another five years.

He said not a word, however, as they slowly moved down through the Tower corridors. As they reached the ground floor, they found Petra, Kinnon, and the other children were still quite well. They flocked around them as soon as they recognized Wynne and the First Enchanter, relieved and gushing with questions.

As Irving paused to have a word with them, Nike continued on until she reached the sealed door, rapping on it loudly with her knuckles.

"Who knocks?" a muffled voice asked from the other side.

"It's Nike, the Warden," she called back. "We have the First Enchanter safe and sound."

A few moments later, she recognized Greagoir's voice. "Warden, you say you have Irving?"

"We do. The Tower is clear."

"I must hear his voice before we unlatch the door."

"I am here, Greagoir," Irving said, reaching her side with the rest clustered behind him. "The Wardens have cleared the Tower. Par Onalaxi."

Nike glanced at him when he spoke the unfamiliar phrase, but it appeared to be a password or some kind of code, for almost immediately they heard the door begin to unlatch.

The boat they sailed back toward Redcliffe was notably larger than the one they had arrived on. They didn't need to hunker down to try and sleep on deck, and there was hot food.

Nike had impressed upon Greagoir and Irving the severity of their need, and after Greagoir had satisfied himself that the Tower truly was secure again she had explained to both of them the situation at Redcliffe. They would fulfill the Warden's treaty, sending both mages and Templars for the Blight, but it would take them time to recover and get an accounting of the numbers to that effect. Connor's situation at Redcliffe was more pressing, and Irving insisted on going himself when he heard it, along with Wynne and another pair of mages and the supply of lyrium they would need. A small handful of Templars, as well, were there to keep an eye on things.

It would still take most of a day to cross the lake, even in this new boat, and they all planned to take as much advantage of that time to rest and recuperate as they could.

Morrigan had almost immediately vanished across the lake as they boarded the boat, and it was more than an hour later that Nike saw her again. She had just retired to the small room she'd been assigned when the raven appeared in the porthole, hopped through, and then transformed.

"Had I known I was to be a messenger pigeon on this venture, I would not have come," she said tersely. Nike, worn and in no mood, only half looked at her as she drew her boots off.

"No one made you go back to camp to let them know what happened," she said. "If you choose to take the mantle of messenger pigeon upon yourself, that is no fault of mine."

Morrigan faltered a little, brows knitting. "I did not mean-"

"I'm sorry, Morrigan," Nike told her, sighing. "I'm just really tired."

"As am I," Morrigan said, then to Nike's surprise sat down beside her on the bed. "They are all right, so you know. Tahja was quite worried, but no harm has befallen them. Near as I can tell, Redcliffe remains in much the same state as when we left it."

"Thank you," Nike said to her.

"You are welcome," Morrigan told her. She looked like there was something else she wanted to say- to ask about what had happened in the Fade, perhaps- but then she seemed to decide against it, rising to her feet again.

"I shall leave you to sleep, and find something to eat," she said. "Doubtless in a few hours something else will be trying to kill us, and t'would be best if we had our strength."

"Yeah, no doubt," Nike said, giving her a wan smile. "Rest well, Morrigan."

The mage slipped out of the room with no further word. Nike regarded the door a long moment, before she shifted back on the small bed and all but toppled into sleep.

The river of lights, of her children, glimmered endlessly before her. The dark moved through her, supple and soft and sultry as a lover. She longed to taste blood in her mouth, to feel the crunch of bone. The singing of her children was like a tonic, like balm.

Creeping through the trees, she hunted. A wolf with golden eyes danced in the shadows and she readied her bow. Blood flowed over her fingers as golden eyes faded, and then…

…Morrigan stood in front of a great fireplace, a shadow of the deepest ebony melting across the floor from her feet. As Nike approached her, she turned and walked away across the room, which seemed to have grown to the length of Ferelden. No matter how fast Nike pursued her, Morrigan remained out of reach. Shouting after her produced no sound. Then, quite suddenly, Morrigan approached a full-length mirror in a strange frame. As she neared it, it began to glow. Nike urged more speed out of her legs as Morrigan turned toward her, smiling, eyes as bright as magma.

"You're a fool," she said, as an enormous, twisted hand emerged from the mirror and grabbed her, tearing her into the glass.

Nike woke with a start, heart thundering. The light outside the small porthole window was a riot of pinks and golds. Rising, hoping it was dawn, she looked outward and felt her stomach sink. It was sunset, not sunrise. She'd been asleep less than an hour.

Scrubbing a hand over her face she went back and laid down again, but weary as she felt sleep seemed determined to elude her now. The dream had melted away into only the vaguest impressions, and so she did not dwell on it overmuch. Instead, she kept thinking about the other 'dream' she'd had, trapped in the Fade.

She could not say who or what the Dreamer was. She had been telling Morrigan the truth when she said she wasn't convinced it was the Maker, but part of her wasn't convinced it was just some slumbering mage or lonely spirit out there either. None of those things felt quite right. She wished she could remember what they had looked like. She knew she'd seen them absolutely clearly, several times, but all that would come to her head in memory was that nebulous gray shape.

Clearly, it was no demon, for it had truly helped her, but beyond that she had little clue.

Tucking her hands behind her head she looked up at the rough wooden boards of the ceiling. She was still thinking it over, trying to doze, when her door ever so softly cracked open. Sitting up a little, she looked over as Morrigan peeked within, then looked chagrined.

"I am sorry," she said. "I did not mean to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Nike said. "What's the matter?"

"I was hoping for some respite," she said with a bitter cast to her voice. "From the looks of the Templars on deck, they are simply searching for an excuse to leash me."

Concerned, Nike sat up a bit more as Morrigan shut the door. "Are they harassing you? They think you're a Grey Warden, don't they?"

"I doubt they much care," Morrigan said with a snort, setting her newly acquired staff aside. "To them, the only safe mage is a Tranquil one."

They had run into a Tranquil mage in the Tower, before they'd been enthralled by that desire demon. Nike had heard of such things only in the vaguest of terms, but the man had seemed so…blank. So empty. There was no color in his voice when he spoke, no interest in his eyes. She'd never seen someone so hollow before. Wynne had briefly explained it when Nike had asked, and that had made it no better. To cut a mage from the Fade- sever a living being from dreams, from emotion- seemed so drastic to her. Morrigan had mentioned she'd rather be dead than made Tranquil and Nike couldn't help but agree. What kind of life could one even hope to have, lobotomized in such a fashion?

"They can try," Nike said tersely, and Morrigan smiled at her.

"Indeed they can, and I do not doubt t'would be they who would end up with the shorter end of that stick. However, their glares become tiresome. Would you mind if I stayed here? I shall not keep you from your rest. I can perch just there, on the chair. Or perhaps in the porthole?"

"I don't mind," Nike told her. "But it can't be more comfortable sleeping as a raven than as a person, can it? You don't need to perch anywhere. The bed is large enough."

"Oh," Morrigan said, with an odd note to her voice, as if beds were an entirely foreign concept to her. "I-…suppose. If you are certain?"

Nike only shifted over, returned to her contemplation of the ceiling. After a moment, Morrigan moved over and laid down carefully beside her, mimicking her position.

"Can you not sleep?" the apostate asked after several quiet moments passed in this manner.

"Doesn't seem so," Nike said. "You?"

"As well, t'would not seem so. I think I simply do not like ships."

"I don't think I am a fan, either," Nike said. Then after a long pause. "Morrigan, would you mind if I asked you something?"

"I do not mind the asking, though I may mind the answering."

"That's all right. I was just curious. Why when we were enthralled by that demon…why were you there?"

"I do not think I understand the question," Morrigan said. "Why was I there in the demon's keeping while enthralled by the demon?"

"Yes, I mean…why were you even enthralled? You knew it wasn't Flemeth. You knew what was happening. Why didn't you just go?"

"Simply knowing you are being bound does not mean it is so simple to loose those bonds," Morrigan told her. Nike rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand and regarded her.

"But as soon as I showed up we left easily."

"That we did," Morrigan told her. "By then, however, the demon had departed. Tis easier to slip away in that regard. However, tis an interesting subject. Seeing as neither of us can sleep, I admit to my own curiosity regarding this Dreamer, and how you were able to escape your own snare?"

"I'm not entirely sure how I did," Nike said carefully. "I was at Highever. My family, alive again. I had…everything I wanted."

"Such is a desire demon's specialty," Morrigan told her. "Most can never see through it, never question the reality that is given them. Yet, you did?"

"I guess," Nike said uncertainly. "I don't really know. I think it may have been my head, to be honest."

Of course, she was really being less than honest- she felt only a sort of shame when she even thought of telling Morrigan that she'd been there, that the desire demon had masqueraded as her in an attempt to lull Nike.

"Your head?"

"Yes. When I went down to breakfast, I passed Tahja in the hall, only her head was bleeding. Then, there was jam on my roll though I had not put any on there, and it was the color of blood. I kept touching my head, and I just…it didn't feel right. The pain, I suppose, somehow coming through into the Fade?"

Morrigan looked contemplative, almost unconsciously shifting onto her side as well and mirroring Nike's position as she thought. "Pain does come in through dreams, at times," she said. "I have never heard of it breaking through a demon's thrall, however. There was nothing else?"

"I don't know," Nike said, then quickly went on. "I started remembering things. Like Howe, and Ostagar, and I couldn't remember how I had gotten back to Highever. The more I thought about it, the more the demon seemed to get upset. To kind of...melt, I guess. Show through her disguise. Then it was storming and everyone in Highever was coming after me-"

Speaking quickly, she told Morrigan of the rest that she could recall. About being in the water, sinking in a stormy sea. About feeling like she was more than one person, overlapped, and how Adaon had appeared and pulled the 'overlapped' Nike out of the sea, but left her behind.

She didn't miss the way Morrigan scowled ever so briefly at the mention of Adaon's name, but she seemed rapt on the rest and the scowl vanished as fast as it had come.

She told her about Niall, and how hard it was to think, to remember and concentrate. She couldn't explain much here, unable to remember much, but she did remember finding the Dreamer's Grove and how things had clarified then.

"Then they brought me back to the demon's realm and I found Flemeth's hut," she said. "I could focus, remember, even after the Dreamer vanished. Before they did, they told me that when all that is physical is gone, all that is left is thought."

"This is extremely curious," Morrigan said. "Tis fortunate this Niall was there to find you, and your tale of how things changed around you and it was hard to focus are all expected in the Fade. However, I think more happened to you than this."

"What do you mean?"

"This sensation of overlapping, of seeing that Lothering apostate- this is not a usual effect of the Fade. You are no mage, but perhaps it was not your doing…?"

She trailed off thoughtfully, eyes unfocused, and Nike raised her brows. "Morrigan?"

"What? Oh. Your experience with mages is limited, I am aware, but even you know that there are different abilities that can be inborn in mages, and others learned?"

"Like how some can shapeshift, the way you can. Or these…dreamers?"

"Precisely. Shapeshifting comes with study, an ability to enter the Fade at will and remain lucid is more an inborn gift, but yes, this illustrates my point. What you are describing echoes an inborn mage gift known as far-seeing. It is a talent, first expressed in a young mage when they manifest. They can, eventually willingly as they study and practice the art, see through the eyes of another. There are caveats, of course. The other must be someone with whom the mage has a particular emotional connection; one cannot simply spy on the Orleisian Empress, for example, but their own child? Or a dear friend? A beloved? These connections can be made. Wherever that person is, the far-seer can see the world- briefly- through their eyes. Hear it through their ears. Feel it through their skin."

"Wait, are you telling me that what I saw- drowning in that sea, Adaon coming to rescue me- was really happening?"

"T'was happening to someone, yes. However, I am not an expert."

"But I'm not a mage," Nike said, confused. "And more, the only person I can think of who I would have any sort of tie like that with, that could possibly have been in such circumstances, is Fergus. Are you telling me that Fergus was drowning and Adaon came to save him?"

"I doubt it was your brother," Morrigan told her. "And as you said, you are no mage."

"Then I'm really confused."

"The only thing I can think of, and again I am no expert in the field, is that whomever that Lothering apostate was saving was another mage. One who has the gift of far-seeing. You say you were drowning, which means they were drowning. As you do know, the Fade is the gateway not only to dreams, but to death. You were cast out of the desire demon's realm and ended up, as one does when such a thing occurs, in the raw Fade. However, there is a transition between the two. One that is crossed both in dreams and in death. A sort of boundary, a 'no man's land' so to speak. A portion of the Veil itself. Once cast out you should have crossed this swiftly and landed in the raw Fade- so swiftly that to you it would seem instantaneous. Instead, for a moment, you were caught up with this other mage, the one with the far-seeing gift. They were in the Veil themselves, near to crossing over. You sort of got caught up in one another-you as you were tossed through to the raw Fade, they as they were slipping through into the same by death or unconsciousness. A strange, fluke occurrence, but it is all that I can surmise for what you experienced."

"And the hand?"

Morrigan waved that away. "Unimportant. How your mind made sense of the transition from the Veil and into the raw Fade, more likely than not."

Nike's brows knit in worry. If that had been real, then someone had been drowning, dying at the same moment that Nike had brushed by them. Someone with Adaon, if she'd been there to jump in and try to save them.

The only mage that Nike knew would be around Adaon, that was not Adaon herself, was Bethany.

Had Bethany died? Had Adaon been able to save her, or had it been too late? Could Adaon have drowned with her sister?

Nike knew that Morrigan didn't like or trust Adaon. She'd made that clear in the few interactions they'd had in Lothering and only cemented it here by referring to her as 'that Lothering apostate' instead of by her name. Even though Adaon had done nothing but help them, Morrigan still held her in disdain.

Why, I wonder?

"I know that look," Morrigan said. "You have enough concerns on your plate without worrying about that apostate. If they're fine they're fine, and if they are not tis little you can do about it. Best to put it out of your-"

"Why was I in your back bedroom?" Nike asked, breaking Morrigan off mid-sentence.

"What?"

Nike felt a knot grow in her throat, and tried to laugh a little to loosen it, sitting up and waving a hand briefly as if the matter were entirely unimportant.

"I was just curious. In the Fade, at Flemeth's house. I heard you arguing with Flemeth and looked in the window. I suppose that's how she was trying to trick you? Having us there and injured would help convince you that it was still just after the battle of Ostagar, that it was reality? I suppose that makes sense. I just wondered."