A/N: Another massive brainfart. I swear I'll get to my other story soon. Inspired by a discussion in the Bioware boards. It was lulzy that so many people playing as squishy mages who got onto Merrill's rivalry path faced the same problem.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, EA and Bioware does. Just messing with them a bit.
"Get out! I don't want to see you again!"
Merrill pushed me out of the her house and locked up. I can feel her rage even from behind the door.
Sigh. I should've just given her this dumb knife. I can't even use it, not like I'm a flippin' duelist like Isabela. Idiot idiot idiot.
Sucks to be me. I begin my long trek to Hightown from Lowtown's Alienage. Alone.
My breath fogs. Sodding cold. I just had to wear light robes today. Maker I'm an idiot.
I was already in Uncle Gamlen's street when I realized I also left my staff on Merrill's table.
A staffless mage in the middle of Lowtown, at night, alone. Wonderful.
"Hey, it's that apostate that keeps kicking our arse! Get her!"
Ugh, there's still more? I'm out of mana, potions, or lyrium.
Shit. This dog's got my leg. I can't believe I loved these pissants so much.
Cold steel sank into my throat.
I watched my life flash before my eyes.
Balls.
The next day, Hawke's body is found surrounded by two dozen corpses of malefactors and mabaris.
Merrill is wracked by horrible guilt and is never seen or heard from again.
The end.