Nike barked a laugh.
"How could I have murdered him? He's standing right there!"
Rendon smirked, folding his arms, as the bearded man rolled up the scroll and met her eyes.
"How do you answer the charges?"
"Innocent!" She said instantly. "Clearly, I am innocent! He's not dead!"
"What does it matter?" Howe asked snidely. "If you kill me in a year or killed me yesterday, what does it matter? You've murdered me, Cousland."
"I haven't! I cannot be charged with crimes I have not committed!"
"Have you not killed this man in your heart?" the bearded man asked. "Have you not plotted to take his life? If you were able now, would you not kill him where he stands?"
"He's a baby-killing traitor!" she said furiously. "He betrayed my father, betrayed his hospitality! He murdered my sister-by-law in front of her child, then murdered him as well in cold blood! A five-year-old little boy, a harmless little boy! My father, my mother, are dead because of this man's treachery! I am not a murderer, he is!"
"Liar," Howe said. "Hypocrite! Does the Maker not say that you should forgive others their sins? Did Andraste herself not say to turn the other cheek?"
"I am not Andrastian, you bastard," she snarled. "I'm not Andrastian, but even I know better! The Maker says to forgive others of their sins, but that there is no redemption for those who harm innocents! Andraste did not say to turn the other cheek! She said to defend children and the faithful with iron shield and piercing sword! Even the Crown, even the Chantry says the answer to such treachery and murder is death! I only hold you responsible for the crimes that you have wrought! I only seek to avenge the blood of the child that stains your hands!"
Howe snorted with derision. "Excuses. Lies. You're a coward, and a whining, selfish child. You released a real baby-killing murderer from his just punishment. You ignore a good and honorable man and treat him as a fool so that you can drool around a nasty, foul-hearted apostate, a maleficar, perverting the Maker's Word. You left your own parents defenseless to save your own skin – you would not even leave the dog with them to help protect them. You put a loyal elf into danger time and time again out of your own ego; you berated a terrified woman only trying to save her child because she did not 'Milady' you sufficiently for your 'standing'. You mocked and scoffed at an avowed Warden who had devoted his blood, sweat, and tears to saving Ferelden, all for daring to see potential in you. Truly, he was a fool to think that there was anything good or decent or brave in you at all!"
"You-…you're a liar," she said, but her fury was choked now with misery, and tears were spilling down her cheeks. "That isn't true! You don't…you don't understand-"
Howe pointed back at the Keep. "What don't I understand? Where are your companions, Cousland? Did you not just disregard them and their lives again to play the hero, to stoke your own ego? Where is your pet apostate, who you have made a habit of lying to, of disregarding, of suspecting? Did you not just two minutes ago wish that you had killed a man rather than 'put up' with a light-hearted joke? A man, by the way, your pet apostate has enslaved to you with, what was it? 'Death by slow burning from the feet up?' Well, I think that 'death by slow burning from the feet up' is a fitting end to such a cowardly, selfish, nasty little murderer like you!"
Nike was sobbing now, her head pounding as she lowered her head. Hate and shame clogged her throat, and the crowd was shouting at her again, throwing their rotten vegetables and clots of horse excrement.
Howe's finger shifted from pointing at the Keep, to pointing to the men standing beside the pyre. Men with torches in their hands. With solemn nods, they stepped forward and sank the blazing heads of the torches deep into the wood and straw, and immediately she heard the 'whump!' as the flames caught.
Dark smoke started to rise beneath her feet, filtering through the straw, and Nike looked toward the bearded man. He had stepped back, arms folded, almost lost in the crowd as he watched. There would be no help from that quarter. She tried to shift her arms again, but her hands were numb throbs of uselessness and pain.
Her feet were starting to grow warm, the smoke growing thicker, and blacker. People in the crowd were cheering, and Nike gave another painful wrench on the ropes, which held as fast as grave-bindings. Her eyes were still streaming, with tears wrought both from shame, and from the burning smoke. Already she could feel it searing up her nose and into her lungs, taste its clogging ash on her tongue. Desperate for air, terrified, Nike turned her head upward and sought through the blue and clear sky overhead.
Morrigan will save me! Morrigan wouldn't leave me here alone!
She was heaving for breath now, her chest and throat an agony as she struggled for air. The blue of the sky wavered and vanished in the dark smoke, only to appear again in shifting curtains. The shouts and cheers of the crowd were lost now in the licking and snapping rumble of flame. Pain was starting to heat up her feet and lower legs, and still she strained for any sign of a dark raven sailing from the blue.
Morrigan! Morrigan will save me! She'll come back!
She saved you once, Pup, her father's voice echoed in her ears. She hurt herself badly to do it, and you threw her concerns and her worries back into her face with no regard. You walked into this fire, Pup. Willfully, arrogantly, you walked right in. Would you save you again?
"Morrigan!" Nike shouted as the patch of blue vanished again, clogged with smoke. The flames had reached her. She could feel her feet and her legs cooking, blistering, as they crept inch by inch higher and higher. The pain was unbelievable.
Morrigan would save her. Nike did not deserve it, but Morrigan would save her, because Morrigan was brave, and passionate, and so incredibly strong - and because she loved her.
Nike did not deserve it. She knew that. She did not deserve it, but she knew it.
Morrigan loved her.
The flames were consuming her now, the agony eating her away. She could see nothing but smoke. She could hear nothing but the roaring. She tried to cry out again, but there was no air, and the fire was tearing into her belly and chest, withering her lungs. Instead of sound, they licked out through her teeth. She felt herself broken free, she felt…
She was on the floor in the perfect black again, gasping for air that came rich and sweet. Her entire body was shuddering, nerves flashing with the memory of fire-burning. She was sobbing.
The floor beneath her fingers was stone by touch, and her shaking fingers quested over it a moment before she managed to get into a sit. She felt her hands, her body.
She was uninjured, unmarked. The daggers were back on her belt, and as she put one hand down beside her to push herself to her feet, there was Far Song. She gripped it, head spinning, and rose.
Looking around, there was only the dark. The back of her free hand swiped over her cheeks, clearing the tears and sweat, but she was still shaking. She couldn't seem to stop.
"Wh-what happened?" Her voice echoed in lonely waves around her.
Was she dead? No. No, she couldn't be. She'd be in the Fade, wouldn't she?
This place of perfect black could be part of the Fade, could it not? Could she be in some sort of prison cell deep in the bowels of the Black City, where only the evilest of souls were chained?
"Are you the evilest of souls?"
She spun around, but saw no one. The man's voice echoed around her, familiar. She felt like she'd just heard it, but could not place where.
"Who are you?" she called out into the dark, echoing space around her. "Where am I? What's happening?"
"Are you the evilest of souls?"
Now he sounded like he was behind her. She whirled again, but could see nothing.
"Who are-!"
"Are you the evilest of souls?"
This time, it was not a man, but a woman's voice, and she had no problem placing it. She whirled again, and there was Morrigan.
She was standing about thirty feet away, staff on her back and arms folded, looking at Nike with a cold expression. Nike could see her perfectly clearly, as if she somehow created her own light. Nike felt another sob catch in her throat as she saw her, relief filling her.
"Morrigan-"
"I would say that you are," Morrigan said, her voice like ice. "And I should know evil, should I not?"
Nike's relief turned into a stark pain in her chest, and unconsciously her hand pressed to it, her throat choking with grief. "Morrigan…"
"The only hope of Ferelden against the Blight and you stupidly run off on your own to fight bandits. Nothing but a spoiled, arrogant little rich girl. You nearly got yourself killed, split your hands open on a blade, with nary a thought in your head."
"Th-that's not…that's not-"
"Not true? Are you going to call me a liar now as well? And why not? Every moment since you met me you have been expecting me to run away. I have done nothing but prove my honesty and loyalty time and again and what did you do the moment someone else batted her eyelashes at you? Even now, you think about that Lothering apostate, and me? Well, not a single thought to me, is there? I left my home to help you. I've risked my life and freedom to help you. I cut myself just to save your life, and risked becoming an abomination, and without pause for gratitude you immediately cast me aside and went running off to fight a dragon-"
"Morrigan, no…I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Sorry? Yes, on that you are quite correct. You are sorry. You're a sorry Warden, you're a sorry hunter, you were a sorry daughter, sister, and aunt, and you are a pitiable and infinitely sorry human being. I think the world would be a better place without you in it, wouldn't you agree?"
"Please…"
Morrigan lifted her hands and snapped them down at her sides, wreathing them in flame. Nike gaped, disbelieving, barely able to get out of the way in time to avoid the fireball as it sailed past her head. The acrid smell of burning hair filled the air, and Nike reflexively grabbed at her head to snuff any burgeoning flames.
Another fireball sailed in, and she leapt awkwardly back, crashing to the ground as it erupted at her feet hard enough to crack the black stone. Scrambling, she got back to her feet, whipped an arrow out of her quiver, and turned, stretching her bow toward Morrigan.
If anything, the mage's cold smile only grew as she stalked toward Nike.
Then, the arrow clattered to the ground, followed by Far Song. Nike sank to her knees, covering her face a moment before she lowered them again, eyes focused on the soft leather boots that stopped just in front of her.
"Just do it," she said quietly.
"Because you deserve it," Morrigan said, thick disgust in her voice.
"Because I deserve it," Nike echoed dully. "And because I cannot stand to see that look on your face."
"You won't even fight?" The disgust grew, and Nike winced her eyes shut against it. Her hands groped along her waist and, finding the daggers, she drew them and let them fall from her hands next to the bow.
"No," Nike told her. Then silence. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes again to land on the pair of feet still standing only a foot or so away.
They were not the same feet. Gone were Morrigan's supple tracking boots. Instead, the feet were large and blocky, and clad in heavy war boots. The gleam of the silver sabatons over them seemed cold as crystal.
"You will not fight for your life?" that man's voice asked.
"I will not take arms up against Morrigan," she said, wiping a hand over her eyes as she started to look upward.
"What about me?"
A new voice, a woman's again. In the moment that her vision had been obscured by her hand, the war boots and their sabatons had changed. Now, she recognized the feet instantly, and her eyes snapped up just as a hand came down.
Fast as a snake strike, it snatched up one of the daggers and sent the handle-weighted fist into Nike's cheek. Once again her lip split against her teeth, and blood flooded her mouth. She saw an explosion of white at the force of the blow and reeled backward, dazed. Weight dropped down on her, hard fingers dug into her shoulder, and she grasped out desperately.
She felt a lance of pain as her palm cut open on the edge of the dagger as she grabbed too high, but she dared not release it. Convulsively, she gripped the blade even harder as she tried to stop it driving down toward her throat. She felt skin, fat, muscle, and then tendon part, and her fingers loose. Frantically, she managed to get her other hand around and grabbed her attacker's wrist. As they briefly wrestled for the dagger, her attacker dropped a knee on her diaphragm, and all the air barked out of Nike with an agonized gasp.
Still, she struggled to keep that blade away from her throat. Grinning sadistically, her opponent kept pressing it closer.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" Nike Cousland said as she pressed the blade inch by inch further toward Nike's throat. "To join your family again? You dreamt of it, after you abandoned them, didn't you? Curled up like the hopeless, weak little girl you are, you dreamt of taking a blade and slitting your own throat. Why stop me now? I'm only doing what we both want."
"I don't want to die!" Nike said, feeling herself weakening.
"Yes you do. You do want to die. You know your sins, you know your crimes. You couldn't help them, couldn't save them, and you have wanted to die every moment since you left them behind to save your own skin. Adaon doesn't love you. Morrigan doesn't love you. You bring nothing but misery and misfortune to all around you. Just let it happen, Nike. Just let my blade loose. Do this one good thing, this one decent thing in your life and let this blade loose. It's the only way you have to help them. To save them from the true threat- you!"
"No! You're wrong!" Nike gathered all her strength and shoved, and the false Nike reeled back off of her and vanished into smoke. Nike was alone again in the dark.
"You're wrong!" Nike screamed into that dark, getting back to her knees, fists clenched at her sides. Blood ran from her gashed palm and spattered on the ground, on her leg.
"It wasn't my fault! I'm not responsible for my family dying! Howe was! He betrayed us, he murdered them! I would have died to save them! I tried to stay with my parents but they wouldn't let me. Duncan wouldn't let me. It was not my fault!"
The words chased and echoed around the impossible space as she sobbed. "It wasn't my fault. I couldn't help them. I couldn't help…"