The subject of the eluvians and travel through Thedas is one that easily occupies much of the rest of their tour conversation — Gwenaëlle is happy to assert how much of the eluvian research was Morrigan's own, that she had brought an eluvian to the Inquisition, that it's a shame he's not easily able to make her acquaintance. (Though she concedes, as they move on: the lady Morrigan would probably find him sort of annoying, and she promises to soften her to him in advance if the opportunity arises.) Through the Rotunda of Gateways, it's a simple enough thing to relocate her accumulated dragon's hoard of things Tony Stark has generously paid for into a guest-room of the sanctum, the space that it crafts for her reminiscent of her own, at the top of her terrible boat. It has a thick, dark cosiness to it that she likes at once,

the intricacy of carved wood, the plushness of a rug. It is familiar in a way Stark Tower's modernity is not. She spends some time unpacking.

Some more time, wandering; retracing her steps, not anxious of the changes in the way the space fits together but curiously seeking them, willing to waste some time on it. Hours, it turns out, long enough that she misses dinner with just a quick don't worry I'm an ordinary amount of lost to account for her whereabouts, and confident enough, later, to slip down to the kitchen in the night hours, barefoot, in a robe that she only remembered to take the tag off halfway down the stairs.

There's never been tags to take off; she is still holding it in her fingers when she says,

“Oh, you're up, too?” in the doorway, blinking in unexpected light.