A/N: Sorry for the delay, had a very busy couple weeks.

"You've a dwarf to see you, Miss."

Nike, her eyes feeling like they were full of salt and sand, looked up from the book in Redcliffe's library and squinted at the shape of the guardsman standing outside the door. Beside her Alistair was draped, asleep on folded arms over another tome. Beneath her feet, Holly only cocked an eye toward the man at the door with an irritated and sleepy hurumph.

Leliana, pacing nearby with a large tome in her hands- Studies on the Chant of Light, the embossed cover said- looked over at him.

"A dwarf?" Nike asked, feeling sluggish and stupid.

Irving had successfully confronted the desire demon controlling Connor in the Fade, and had broken its' grip. The boy had woken hale and healthy and with nary a thought that anything odd had happened at all. He'd tolerated his mother's weeping and fervent kisses but was far more eager to see the strange folk visiting them. When he'd found out that they were Wardens, he'd grown round-eyed and pestered them and the mages with endless questions.

Eamon was another story. Thanks to Wynne and the others, he still lived but his condition remained- for all of that- unchanged.

The few knights that had been sent out after the Urn and had returned had precious little of worth to tell them. There were traces, rumors in old Chantry documents or tales that had led them on wild goose chases all over half of Thedas, but none of the leads had proven of merit. At best, the closest guess a Knight named Ser Gerrek had been able to offer was that the Urn was likely somewhere in the Frostbacks.

Or the Hunterhorns.

Or the Vimmarks.

But in the mountains, surely. Somewhere.

Not of much help.

Earlier that day, the morning after Connor had been freed from his demonic influence, Morrigan had gone to camp and brought the others (on Teagan's invitation) to Redcliffe Castle. Nike had only been able to see them briefly, though of course Holly had berated her with much huffing and stamping of feet, and then insisted on following her everywhere.

Most of that 'everywhere' had been limited to the library, as they pulled down every book that even hinted at a mention of the Urn. They'd been poring over them for hours now.

Before the guard could say anything further, a face peered around the doorjamb at his side. Had he a hat, Bodahn Feddic would have been wringing it in his hands.

"Oh," Nike said, recognizing him. "Bodahn, sorry. Come in, of course. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, milady," he said, stepping in as the guard withdrew and closed the door. "Sorry for bothering you. It's just…I heard that you were looking for the Urn from a few gents downstairs, and thought I might be of help."

"I appreciate that," she said, rubbing one eye with her palm briefly and closing the book in front of her. "But unless you have a map stitched inside your jacket, or know someone from the Ancient Age who hung around with Andraste catching butterflies-"

She caught a sidelong look from Leliana when she said that, but the woman appeared to be smirking a little at the blasphemy.

"Yes milady," Bodahn said. "I think I might."

"-then I can't imagine what you can do that…sorry? I apologize, I'm a little tired. Did you say you think you might? Have a map?"

"Wouldn't that be a treat!" Bodahn said with a good-natured smile. "No, milady. I meant as I might know someone. Kind of. From the Ancient Age."

Nike turned in her seat to better face him, and as she did lightly jarred Alistair. He woke with a sudden start and a snort.

"Don't you look remarkable for your age!" Nike said to the dwarf, and Bodahn laughed.

"Isn't like that, milady. The thing is, I pick up a lot of interesting things along our wanderings. Some strange items pass through my hands. Most are worthless, but some only seem worthless. You see, I have this."

Drawing something out of his belt, he walked over and set it gently on the table between her and Alistair.

"What's this?" Alistair asked sleepily, backhanding his eyes and picking it up. It appeared to be a length of metal, about a foot and a half long and covered in old runes.

"Well, a few years back, when the boy and I first came to the surface, I ran into another merchant with a broken wagon wheel. I helped get him out of the mud and fix his wheel, and in turn he gave me that. Haven't thought much of it since, haven't had need. It's a curiosity, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what is it?" Nike asked, not sure if her exhaustion was what was making it difficult to follow what he was saying.

"It's a control rod," he said. "For a golem. When I heard you were looking for the Urn that tickled my memory, and I dug that out from the bottom of my trunk. Fellow who gave it to me said that this rod controls a golem. Said it had belonged to a fellow named Genitivi, and then a fellow named-"

"Brother Genitivi?" Leliana said, her interest now fully piqued. She closed her own book and moved over to the table, where Alistair gave her the rod to examine with a shrug.

"Someone I should know?" Nike asked her.

"Brother Genitivi was a scholar who hunted for the Urn of Sacred Ashes for many decades," Leliana told her. "It is well believed that he came the closest to finding it, but his journals and notes were lost when he died nearly sixty years ago."

"Right," Bodahn said. "The story I got told is the rod and the golem fell into the hands of a mage after her passed. It served the mage for several years, and when he passed his wife sold the rod to him. The merchant I helped, I mean."

"You think this golem might know where Genitivi's research is?" Alistair asked, now awake enough to follow. Excitement started to light his eyes.

"It might," Bodahn said. "But there's more. I don't know how much is bunk and how much is truth, when it comes down to it, but the fellow didn't seem much for tall tales. When I asked for more information, he said that the golem was old. Really old. When I asked how old, he said it was from the Ancient Age. 'Might have even known Andraste', he said with a laugh. Now I rightly doubt that, milady, don't get me wrong."

"I doubt it as well," Leliana said, passing the rod to Nike. "However, Brother Genitivi's name was not much known outside of the Chantry when he was alive. Even now, it is barely remembered even by the clerics. If the golem truly did belong to him…Nike, it very well may be familiar with Genitivi's work. If we can learn what he knew, even find his research…"

"Then we'd be a lot closer to finding the Urn than we ever will get in here reading old litanies," Nike said, then shook her head. "There's only one problem."

"What's that?" Alistair asked. Nike held the rod aloft.

"This is not a golem, ancient or otherwise."

"No, milady," Bodahn said. "When he gave it to me, he told me that he'd never activated the golem because he'd really had no use for it."

"And you didn't activate it?" Nike asked.

"Well, no milady. I mean, he did have a point. Might have helped with lifting some of the heavier parcels but what am I to do with a golem? And I know they're not alive as such, not really, but it smells a bit too close to slavery for my liking. Never saw a need to chase it down. Just tossed that rod into my trunk and plum forgot about the whole thing until now."

"Did he at least tell you where the golem is? Where can we find it?" Alistair asked.

"Sure. He told me exactly where to find it," Bodahn said. "Honnleath Village, in the Frostbacks. Standing in the square, he said. Village statue."

"Honnleath…"

Nike set the rod aside, reaching out and drawing the map of Ferelden they'd been looking over to mark promising possibilities toward her. Scanning down the Frostbacks, she nearly missed it. The writing was tiny and hard to read, a single dot beneath it marking the location. "Here. It's here."

"That's only a day's journey into the foothills, before the going gets too hard," Leliana told her.

A day into the foothills. Not too bad, unless one considered that the golem may have no idea where Genitivi's research was. Even if it did, they'd still have to find said research and hope it was still intact.

It'd better contain a nicely written map complete with unmistakable X right on the Urn itself as well, if we are to get there and back in time to save Eamon.

For all she knew, that X would be in the Marches, or Orlais, or Maker forbid, Par Vollen.

Seeing the look on her face, Alistair inclined his head a little. "Don't think it's worth chasing down?"

"I think it's a slim hope at best. A thread. But right now, a thread is more than we had, and more than we're likely to get," she said. Taking up the map, she began to roll it in her hands as she got to her feet, and passed it and the rod back to Alistair.

"You, Leliana, Sten, Morrigan. Make preparations, we five will leave in the morning."

"Milady, I can-" Bodahn started to protest and she fixed him with a look.

"No. You, Sandal, and Tahja will remain here. We can move much faster without the wagon and most of the supplies, and there's no telling what we'll run into. We'll take what we need, but you three are safer here. We shouldn't be long. More than a handful of days, and it won't matter anyway."

An indignant whining grumble broke out from Holly and Nike shook her head, looking at the mabari.

"Holly, you need to stay and watch-"

The mabari barked once, laying her ears back, and grumbled again.

"Fine. Fine. Backtalked by my own hound. We six will leave in the morning and make for Honnleath at speed. If this golem does indeed know the way, or has Genitivi's research, then we'll send word and chase up the lead directly."

"All right milady, but you'll be needing this too." Bodahn handed her a small scrap of paper, old and wrinkled and rolled into a small tube.

"What is this?" she asked.

"That's the command phrase the fellow with the busted wheel gave me, when he gave me the rod," he said. "You'll need that to wake the golem up."

Irving and the rest of the mages had been planning to return to the Circle Tower the following morning, but in light of Nike's news it was decided that Irving alone would go back. The templars and other mages that had accompanied him to help Connor would remain so that the boy could remain, and at least have a chance to be there when his father was saved…or passed, as the case was far more likely to be.

It had also been decided that Jowan would remain in the cellar prison cell until Eamon either woke to pass judgement on him, or died. If he died Irving had told Nike that he was leaving it up to her to decide his fate. "Send him back with us to be made Tranquil, or execute him yourself, as you promised him. We will stand by your judgement."

Nike might have no qualms about killing someone in battle- better them than her or her friends, after all- but she was no hardcase, no executioner. She now had more than one reason to hope that Eamon could be saved. Perhaps it was selfish of her to pray that he woke and took this burden off her shoulders, but there it was all the same.

Her declaration that it would only be the six of them to part for Honnleath, however, hit another small snag. When the party did ride out of Redcliffe's gates the next dawn, on horses fresh, eager, and high-stepping, they numbered not six but seven.

Wynne had insisted on coming along as well.

Morrigan, as had become her habit, did not ride a horse but rather Nike's shoulder, occasionally winging her way up into the air to scout further along. Nike did not mind it. Having the raven there, a warm weight against her ear, was pleasant enough. In truth, it was almost comforting.

Wynne seemed a little baffled by Morrigan's insistence on traveling in animal form, judging by the occasional looks she sent their way, but said nothing of it.

Teagan had offered the entire party fresh and hale mounts from Redcliffe's stables- a gift from Redcliffe, he said, and better than leaving them standing idle now that many of their riders were dead- but Nike had been the only one not to take him up on the offer. She led the party out riding on Angry Horse, his bulldog face and squat legs as out of place among the arch-necked and sleek coursers as a goose among peacocks.

By the time the sun was full in the sky they had left the village behind, farmland giving way to forests and scrublands, the ragged, snowcapped wall of the Frostbacks looming ahead. Beautiful as she had always found the mountains at a distance, this morning's light reflected back in gold and blood red for far longer than the sunrise would normally have accounted for- an ill omen.

Red sky at morning, sailor take warning, she thought and prayed such omens were truly ill only for those on the sea. In her heart, however, she knew better. Something pricked at the back of her mind as the increasingly cold wind pricked at her cheeks and eyelashes. As they rode on, the woods closing around them, she could not shake the feeling, the certainty.

That she, Nike Coulsand, daughter of Teyrns, would not live to ride out of them again.