"Soon enough his time will come, and then they shall come for the throne before his body is cold; to pick it all clean as scavengers do, squawking as the ravens will when ripping open a bloated cheek upon the battlefield." They're a buffer between everywhere else and Tevinter, which is convenient for all when the enemy has his Venatori draped in something taken from the pages of the oldest histories Morrigan had managed to see when growing up. (Where Flemeth had gotten them from, she never asked. One learnt to stop asking too many things of Flemeth at a young age when it wasn't relevant, when it was too folish to be given a voice.)

An eye on the hound, an ear to the crowds at their back, Morrigan leads the way through the street with no real destination iin mind since she doesn't know Nevarra. Not that it's ever troubled her much - when you can become something else to see a place better why would you worry - but it's new, and unlike Kirkwall this is a place that doesn't have her skin prickling uncomfortably. "If they serve there then they serve, the project has a budget of its own I imagine. No, I speak of how close we are to Tevinter - have you not given it thought? How very hard it is to find things, to put in requests only to have some dusty archivist tell you no in polite formalities? There are possibilites here." Morrigan smiles, her voice lifts, even her shoulders settle back at the idea with some of the seemingly perpetual knot that's been there the past several months slipping for the moment.