Merrill didn't want to open the letter.
Although, that wasn't strictly true; she did want to open the letter, but only if the subject matter she believed to be inside was explicitly positive.
The Dalish mage had recognised Varric's characteristic hand on the envelope as it had been handed to her by a young lad, a paid courier she expected. She had been so distracted by its arrival that she had tipped him far too much money, and the boy had left with gleeful haste, his scruffy mop of blonde hair bouncing as he ran off, while she had stared at his charge; paralysed with shock.
She supposed she should not be surprised. Hawke had been at pains to stress that her physical separation from her lover was only temporary, and out of necessity. There were higher callings to attend to, ends of the world to prevent, demons to skewer on her two-handed great sword. Eventually news would come of her fate, either way. Merrill knew this letter would contain one of two things: news of Hawke's location, or…
She tensed nervously at the thought of the alternative, digging her thin nails into the moulding wood of the table she sat at shakily. Merrill clasped her hands and self-consciously fingered the Sylvanwood ring that sat loyally on her left hand, exactly where a ring for marriage would sit if she could partake in such things. It had been a gift from Hawke many years ago, and she couldn't recall ever taking it off. She supposed she treated it like a wedding ring, practically speaking they had been together so long that Merrill considered Hawke the equivalent of her wife.
Oh, she would have gone with Hawke, if she had been given the option! But the warrior had insisted Merrill stay with the elves, stay immersed in her efforts to aid those displaced by the terrible fighting and chaos that the Mage-Templar war had engendered. Merrill had been barely able to whisper 'Dareth shiral' through the fierce tears that overtook her as Hawke had left; promising they would reunite, and swearing not to let Merrill put herself in danger for the Champion this time. She wouldn't tell Merrill where she was going or what it involved, because she knew the elf would only follow her. But Merrill had known it was perilous, otherwise Hawke would not have been so cagey and isolated about it. The fact that she wouldn't allow her to come only spoke of the mortal risk Hawke was facing.
Merrill shifted her head to lean on a trembling hand, and closed her eyes to marshal her wayward tears into stillness. Deep shadows lay under her long, pretty eyelashes that had formed over many sleepless nights, and somehow she looked slightly frailer than her trademark spindly frame usually conveyed. A cursory glance around her alienage shack would give the impression to anybody who didn't know her that she was a destitute squatter; the place was a mess. Tomes and papers lay scattered all over the floor, along with cracked crockery, splintered staffs, and discarded robes. It was a miracle that this building was still standing after the fighting, perhaps not so much of a surprise that nobody else had bothered to claim it in her absence from its chilly confines. The only thing that brightened it somewhat was the small wooden Halla that sat on the mantelpiece; another gift from Hawke that Merrill had somehow managed to salvage on her return to Kirkwall. Despite being somewhat battered, it still retained its charm…a bit like Hawke really.
She thought back to Hawke's Hightown mansion that they had shared, of the beautiful chandelier she had swung on one evening, of the four poster bed they had first made love in, Orana and her lute, Bodahn and Sandal, the Mabari hound that smelled of bog…all lost. Hawke had brazenly moved in a female Dalish lover in a neighbourhood which would judge her for dating anything less than a human noble male; and somehow they had made it work and created their own little corner of paradise.
Gone.
Merrill dared herself to open her eyes and look at the dreadful omen, taunting her from a hand's grasp away, and was instantly forced to take in a sharp intake of breath. She jerkily placed a hand forward and graced her ghostly pale fingers over the surface of the unopened envelope. Merrill instantly felt as if she had been hit by a bolt of enchanted electricity, and withdrew the fingers faster than if she had placed them into a flaming pyre. Her whole body shivered with a fell energy; two competing futures fighting for dominance in her fragile mind; one where she uprooted and left Kirkwall immediately, and one where the last shred of her tired heart was shattered irrevocably.
Both were exhausting prospects; but while one wanted her to rip the envelope open in anticipation, the other was making it impossible to touch the cursed thing.
"Ma sa'lath…" Merrill sighed, "Please…"
Filled with deep dread and heavy hands, Merrill finally made a tender grasp for the letter and brought back towards her fluttering breast. Suspending it there for a moment, she had to turn her head away as she hesitantly tore it open and slid out the neatly folded pieces of paper that ominously tempted her fingers to unfold it. She could only bring herself to look at it once her slender digits had opened the letter and laid the parchment neatly on the table before her.
Merrill steadied herself for a moment, trying to slow her breathing. Helping her fellow elves had been a poor distraction for her ultimate preoccupation of worrying over Hawke's fate; but now the answer was an eyelid's width away, she wasn't sure why she had been so eager to receive it. Sitting here like this was more torturous than being possessed by a demon, or being stuck in the fade with no means of escape. If she sat here forever, then perhaps Hawke could rest in this ambiguous state, where she was neither dead nor alive, but safely preserved in her dedicated lover's memory; like a lost spirit drifting across a forgotten city from a lost age.
But Merrill was far wearier than she had been all those years ago, when she had thrown herself into Hawke's arms and allowed herself to be swept off her feet by a charming warrior, far wiser than when they had their reliable group of friends spread over Kirkwall to lean upon, and she simply needed to know.
Taking one last, long drag of air, Merril opened her eyes to read the first line of the letter.
"Daisy,"
Well, at least that verified who the author was, Merrill thought.
Filled with trepidation, she continued.
"I hope that everything is running smoothly for the elven refugees, and that you haven't been worrying yourself into a stupor."
"Too late for that" Merrill grumbled wryly,
"I'm sorry I haven't written sooner; I'm not going to sugar coat it for you, things have been pretty messed up. I suppose you have heard of the Inquisition by now?"
Merrill inevitably had, who hadn't? They seemed to be somehow involved in every little trouble in Thedas, surrounded by intrigue and danger. At the head of it all was the mysterious Tal-Vashoth, flanked by the Lady Seeker Pentaghast and a rag-tag band of followers that included Leliana, companion of the Hero of Ferelden. Most of what Merrill had heard had been rumours, and she had more personal troubles to concern her with, rather than the grand political machinations that gripped the nation like an unshakable parasite. She had suspected Hawke might have been sucked into the endless vacuum of problems that had drowned the populace since the rift above Haven had tore open the very heavens, but had hoped she had been mistaken.
Merrill shook her head sadly and continued reading.
"Why am I asking…of course you have. Not enough paper to explain everything to you properly Daisy, let's just say the rumours you have heard are probably nowhere near as extraordinary as the truth. Damn holes in the fade popping up all over the place like flowers, and not in a good way. Mages messing with the fabric of time, Templars drunk on the same red lyrium that ruined Meredith, makes me miss the Arishok sometimes."
This revelation did nothing to calm Merrill's nerves.
"It is true that the Inquisitor is a female Qunari (the Maker does have a sense of humour), ridiculously polite, you can tell she wasn't raised by the Qun, that is for sure. Inquisitor Adaar had done a fine job of taming the rabble, but she reminds me a bit of Hawke…uneasy with the power. You get the feeling she always wanted a quiet life. Even the Seeker is growing on me; apparently she has a soft spot for Swords and Shields! I seem to remember even you struggled to read that one. We've definitely got an interesting group of people forming here: crazy elves, apostates, a formidable woman with access to sharp objects…feels like the old days sometimes"
The comparison made Merrill wince with wanting, and the mention of Hawke's name quickened the pace of her failing heart once more. This time she could not still it.
"I'm going to skip to the relevant part and we can fill you in on the rest another time, I have a lot of damned letters to write. Do you remember all that bother with the Carta, and Hawke's family in the Vimmark Wastelands? With the dark magister Corypheus? Well…he is back, and with a pet archdemon to boot, wreaking havoc on all of creation as we know it. I realise this sounds as likely as the plot of one of my books, but unfortunately, it is all sodding true"
The puzzle pieces were starting to tessellate, even in Merrill's disordered state, no wonder they had wanted Hawke; who better to advise on the matter than the woman who supposedly killed him once already? Merrill had been present when they had felled him, and to think he had survived the beating they gave him was improbable at best. Merrill knew of the dark magic that existed in the Grimoires of old, but this was unspeakably evil, if it truly had come to pass.
Merrill kept reading, gripped, hungry for more information.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to strip the story down to the basics, or I'll end up crippling the poor messenger who sends you this with the weight of the paper, but we got into some deep shit. A group of Orlesian Grey Wardens were corrupted from Corypheus' influence: sacrifices, blood magic, demons, all the usual nonsense (no offence intended Daisy, I know you had your reasons for what you did). Hawke went with the Inquisitor to Adamant Fortress – a stronghold for the Orlesian Wardens, and predictably, the plan went quickly awry"
Varric's casual tone was reassuring Merrill that the dreaded coup de grace that she had been expecting might not be coming; he probably would have mentioned it sooner if Hawke had died. But Merrill couldn't relax until she read it in concrete words – you could never be too sure with Varric, he was unpredictable and prone to elaborate storytelling, even in the face of terrible loss, and he could just be dithering to avoid breaking the crucial news. There was always the chance that he would not tell her where Hawke was if she was indeed in any sort of living state, she hadn't considered that.
Irritatingly, the dwarf had left the end of the page on a dreadful cliff hanger, and so Merril was forced to frantically flip the paper over.
"I wasn't there to see it myself, but the party ended up trapped in the Fade in order to escape the demon that Corypheus controls. I'm glad I wasn't there – that time with Feynriel was enough. I'm sure you don't need to be reminded either."
Merrill cringed with guilt and briefly had to look away from the letter, reeling from the memory of betraying Hawke in the fade. She still hadn't forgiven herself for succumbing to the persuasion of the Pride Demon and putting protecting (what she thought was) her people before her closest companion. These were, after all, the same people who had been one wrong phrase away from murdering her after the tragedy with Keeper Marethari; they had never deserved her devotion, and she wished she had not wasted so much time trying to elicit it. That very effort had been what pushed them away, ultimately.
Refusing to dwell on past burdens, Merrill regarded the letter once more.
"I am told they were trapped by a Nightmare Demon, and it began taunting them with their greatest fears. I heard from the Seeker that the demon mentioned you to try and unnerve Hawke. Nasty, but clever I suppose."
Merrill felt a spurt of icy chill in the back of her throat, morphing to deep nausea. The idea of a demon using her as a pawn against Hawke was a little too reminiscent of all the troubles that the brave warrior had already endured in the name of the Dalish blood mage's poor decisions. Perhaps it had been better not to bring Merrill along, it occurred to the elf that Hawke may have factored this into the decision she made to travel alone, and not told Merrill to avoid crushing her feelings. Merrill couldn't guarantee even to herself that the demon would not have taken advantage of her susceptible mage body and harnessed the power that came with it; perhaps it could have corrupted her in her entirety and Hawke would have been forced to kill her, or else forced to let the demon kill her. It would be just like when poor Leandra had become that terrible, amalgamated, reanimated puppet. Merrill grimaced shamefully, wondering if Hawke would be able to strike the blow on her if she was possessed; the final insult to the woman who had lost everything.
"The party made it to the rift in the fade unscathed but were forced to battle a part of the Nightmare Demon, it wasn't enough, and it became apparent that someone would have to distract the demon in order to save the remaining party. Both Hawke and the Grey Warden Stroud, who accompanying them, offered to be the one to attack the demon, and Inquisitor Adaar was given the ultimate decision of choosing who stayed behind"
All time seemed to suspend momentarily, and Merrill's slender palms shook so violently that she was in danger of dropping the letter, or not being able to read it, for it was moving so quickly. Her skin seemed to be ignited by some invisible fire which skirted over every inch of her body. Merrill realised she had paused on Varric's final sentence, and seemed incapable of going any further, despite the niggling feeling that Varric would not present the situation in such a dramatic light if Hawke had indeed been left behind in the fade. The mere possibility of it happening was enough, however, to draw every sensible thought from Merrill and shatter them into tiny pieces around her distraught body. She made a silent pact, that if Hawke had been trapped in the fade, she would take the blade to her skin, or perform whatever dark ritual was required, to go after her. It was irrational, and the exact opposite of Hawke would have wanted her to do, but the thought was comforting enough to persuade her to read ahead. Dying searching for Hawke was a more pleasing possibility than living in a world devoid of her.
Merrill allowed the terrible decision to wash over with a fanatic certainty, and it was enough to convince her eyes to drop to the next line.
"The Inquisitor left Warden Stroud in the fade, Hawke is safe Merrill."
A warm tide of delirious relief flooded over Merrill like a wave of beautiful, liberating light. The effect was so profound that the slight elf almost passed out with the euphoric rush that accompanied it. Her face was damp with happy tears before she had acknowledged that she was crying so heavily; they had come with no warning. It was incredibly telling that Varric had deviated from her usual nickname in this revelation; even he acknowledged this was not something to be cocky or blasé about.
"Ma serranas…" she heaved through broken sobs, "Ma serranas, ma serranas"
Though she had never met this Tal-Vashoth, she found herself feeling impossibly indebted to her. As much as Merrill doubted the heroic Stroud deserved his fate, Hawke had spent her entire life cleaning up after the mistakes of others, and it seemed just to Merrill that the Wardens were held accountable for their own predicaments, even if it was only slightly the lesser of two great sacrifices. She spoke a silent prayer to the fallen Stroud, blessing him for his bravery, and knowing she would never repay the great service he had inadvertently paid her. For once, it seemed, Hawke had been saved by someone else, though she knew the Champion would not be glad of accepting the demise of another in her place.
Bleary eyed, she read on eagerly, now buoyed with the possibility of finding out her lover's location.
"Daisy, I don't want tell you what to do, and I know you probably wouldn't listen anyway. Hawke didn't want you caught up in the mess, and honestly, she was right. I wish I'd never dragged Hawke into this in the first place, I wish had just kept lying to the Seeker. I almost got her killed and I can barely look myself in the eye for it. But she needs you. The experience in the Fade was more traumatic than even I could describe with all my exaggerations, and if I know Hawke well enough, she will blame herself for Stroud's death."
Merrill wiped her sore eyes, regaining a meek control on her tattered emotions. The idea of Varric shaming himself for all this demonic nonsense was just another horrible side effect of this impossible situation. Everything was so knotted that Merril was having trouble delineating all the different strands of consequence that her friends were ensnared in – like the angry vines which grew from her deep, natural magic. But she could not control the terrible ties that were suffocating Hawke, or Varric, and that frightened her so thoroughly that she returned to the letter to avoid thinking about it, moving on to the second piece of paper.
"Hawke is more alone now I think she has ever been, and now I can't keep watch over her either. I would say I don't want to put ideas in your head, but I know there is nothing I could do to anyway to stop what I am going to suggest – as you would already be preparing to do it as soon as I tell you what I am about to tell you.
Hawke shouldn't have to face what is coming alone, Daisy. Things are getting so serious that I genuinely fear that we won't all live to tell the tale about it in The Hanged Man over celebratory drinks.
She had gone to Weisshaupt Fortress to address the Grey Wardens, the stronghold in the southern Anderfels. I expect she will stay there for a while to help settle things, she will believe that she owes it to them after they lost Stroud.
Go to her Merrill."
The elf was stunned still by Varric's admission. She realised that she hadn't honestly expected him to relinquish Hawke's location, it had been a vague hope cowering at the back of her mind, crying out in the dark, not expecting to be released.
The only reason she could surmise for him going so blatantly against the wishes of one of his best friends, was that the whole affair was in such a dire state that he feared Hawke would die. He had good reason to anticipate it happening considering that Hawke's life had already nearly ended on the same chance as a coin flip. Now this had shaken his resolve, she understood why he wouldn't want Hawke to suffer in stoical solitude. Perhaps he even felt regret for denying Merrill the knowledge of Hawke's whereabouts sooner; given that Hawke had almost been taken away from her in her absence?
Trying to work out the motivations of the roguish dwarf was like trying to swim in a sea raging with towering, competing waves of thought. He was far more complex than he would dare to admit.
"But please don't tell her I said that, or anyone else for that matter"
Merrill managed a smirk; that was more like the notorious Varric she remembered.
"Anyway Daisy, it's your call.
If you need me, I'm at Skyhold. But I doubt you will.
Please stay safe, and try not to stray into any gardens that don't belong to you. More trouble is on the way, and I don't think it will discriminate on who it hurts, no matter how adorable you might be to us.
If you do see Hawke, tell me she owes me a drink.
Your faithful friend,
Varric"
Emotionally exhausted, Merrill let the pages of the letter drop into her lap as she sighed and let her petite head fall back towards her aching shoulders. Closing her eyes, she briefly indulged in a short daydream that the tall, muscular Hawke would materialise behind her and massage the pain out of her tired body. But she couldn't enjoy the fantasy, and soon a demon invaded the image, striking a grizzled hand through Hawke's unarmoured breast.
Starting up out of the chair in shock, and letting the letter fall to the floor, Merrill was forced to take command of her now heavy breathing as the vile image dissolved out of her mind and focus on her next move. Weisshaupt would be a long, arduous journey, especially in her current condition, but there was no choice implied. The thought of being reunited with Hawke was like being injected with pure lyrium, igniting her veins with a pulsating energy that drove her near insane with the urgency of its beating. It was a forgone conclusion that she would go to her, and whilst leaving behind the elves was not a proud notion, it would not be first time she had abandoned her own race to run to Hawke's side.
She also doubted it would be the last.
She knew a couple of more senior elves who would look after the rest, they could surely do without her, and even if they could not, she loved Hawke too much to let the concern become a priority. She would leave tomorrow, at the first sign of light. She would take little, enough to sustain the journey, but no comforts. There was much to prepare, and becoming business-like and driven with the endeavour helped to keep Merrill from obsessively re-reading and re-interpreting the words that Varric had bestowed upon her. By the time she had dealt with all the practical preparations, she had fallen into a fitful sleep, splattered with nightmares where Hawke died in a variety of creative and awful means.
The thread between the elf and the human has always been tight, but now she felt it tug, even from across the miles, and she was bound to its pull no less than the Darkspawn to an Archdemon, or the Grey Wardens to their Calling. It was a song she would always answer with the answering harmony; a destiny she had dedicated herself to since the first days of discord with her people had been paralleled with the melody of a beautiful stranger, walking into the Dalish camp and deviating the course of her life forever.
"Ma Vhenan…" Merrill murmured in her sleep, "Ma Vhenan…"
