Chapter One
It had been nine minutes and thirty one seconds exactly. Merrill counted the moments under her breath, sat quietly, cross legged on the splintering wood floor of her Alienage home with the Eluvian towering in front of her. She was staring at her pale, bony hands, wringing them into each other as a cold sweat formed on her skin. She had been counting obsessively, trying so hard to distract herself since the door had shut with a gentle yet empty thud. The Dalish Elf sighed – that had been ten minutes and twelve seconds ago by her count, however she could feel the counting losing its power as the memory of now ten minutes twenty two seconds ago began to jostle more vociferously for attention. It sat dormant in the pit of her stomach, brooding, chastening her. She flinched as it dug in its claws, climbing up her little lean mage body to form a near painful lump in her throat. Unclenching a hand she placed a drenched hand to her burning throat. The sensation was too much; Merrill raised her eyes to gaze hopelessly at the broken mirror before her.
Her concentration was broken immediately by the sight of the ancient Elven relic; the crux of her anxiety and ultimately the catalyst that lead to the earlier conversation which was stubbornly refusing to shift itself from her consciousness. Merrill brushed her fingers delicately across the twisted frame of the Eluvian, and at the touch felt the lump in her throat uncoil into vines and snake back into her immediate awareness like poison ivy.
"Someday I'll make this up to you Lethallan"
She mouthed the words she had spoken to Hawke and instantly grabbed her hair in frustration and bit her lip,
"By the Dread Wolf Merrill!"
Three years. Three years she had waited and a better opportunity had not presented itself. The beautiful, kindly warrior had been sat here – in Merrill's own house, throwing complements at her! Even before the events at Sundermount over the Arulin'Holm Merrill had started to realise that Hawke was beginning to steal her affections, but when the warrior had handed over the ancient tool without so much as a frown, Merrill had tumbled the last few steps into full blown love. Hawke understood! She trusted her without treating her like a wayward burden like the Keeper did, or constantly reprimanding her like Anders or Fenris. Hawke had passed the Arulin'Holm into Merrill's hands without question, unflinchingly ignoring the council of the more experienced Marethari and disregarding the comments of nearly all of her other companions. It was a bold act of friendship and loyalty – perhaps even a little blind and foolish. Surely Hawke could only make a decision that impetuous if she too felt something stronger than friendship between the two of them? Even when Hawke had come round today she has seemed to be reciprocating Merrill's feelings somewhat. The kind remarks, the warm smile without a hint of pity or cynicism; it felt like Hawke had become because she wanted to, not because she felt obliged to. For once in her life, Merrill felt more than merely tolerated.
"It's hard to imagine someone more lovable than you"
She mouthed the words Hawke had used to describe her and felt an icy rush slink down the small of her back like a chilled finger. Was she lovable? Isabela was forever calling her "Kitten", but this somehow felt different, more serious. Was she lovable in the long-term, intimate sense, not just as one coos at a baby animal? Was there a chance that she could prove herself to be more than the pariah her clan were all merely waiting for her to become? If tall, fair haired Hawke with her enchanting blue eyes could love her, perhaps there was hope…
And yet, she had bottled it. She had her chance to test Hawke's feelings for her and had swallowed the words straight from her tongue and worried herself out of the critical moment. Even now she was unsure if she was merely constructing the scenario she longed for out of ambiguous cues. The whole notion seemed so dreamlike and improbable; especially taking everything she had put Hawke through into account: the Varterral, blood magic, the mirror, and practically forcing her to defy the Keeper. Merrill felt her heart sink, nothing she saw in herself was anything she thought could be properly loved. Not one inch.
"You fool" she whispered, "You're nothing but trouble"
Thinking back to Sundermount she wondered about Pol and felt guilt join her regret and worry. The elf had run straight into the hands of a monster rather than stand within five metres of her. They had been friends, once – when she had any left of her own kind. Now he lay, bludgeoned by the claws of the Varterral, all because of her, her demon, and her blood magic. Pol died because of her choices.
The concoction of debilitating emotions made the elf begin to tear up. Right now she could not think of anyone she wanted to see more than Hawke, yet she had pretty much allowed her to walk away unchecked – letting her believe that Merrill did not care for her. The young elf's feelings quickly morphed to frustration. Right now Hawke was probably prowling the Hanged Man, searching for Isabella or some other girl to fill her night. She became ridiculously certain that she had probably missed her one and only chance to win the warrior's heart. A woman like Hawke wasn't going to wait around for a troubled elven mage, too naïve to even figure out how to express her feelings.
Merrill snapped out of her self-berating and frowned at herself, chiding her cowardice. She had left behind her family, her clan, and now she was going to watch Hawke walk into the arms of another woman when in reality, she was almost all Merrill had to be thankful for, and the thought of losing her too was too bitter to imagine. Renewing her resolve, she stood up on her wobbly legs.
"Don't be so pathetic Merrill. Not this time."
She brushed the dust off her behind and smoothed her hair, trying to look less dishevelled. Casting out her rising doubts she turned on her heel away from the mirror and swung out into the Lowtown night.
The Alienage stood deserted, dark and unsettling, save for a suspicious looking male elf skulking in a far corner. He looked up at the sound of her door, squinted his grey eyes at her, then walked off. Merrill often marvelled at how little trouble she had run into in this part of town. It was almost as if someone was paying them to leave her alone…
As she padded through the dusky square in her sole less shoes, past shrouded shacks with drawn moth-eaten curtains, she was at a loss for what sort of plan she was going to enact if she did indeed manage to find Hawke tonight. At the sound of a box overturning and smashing, Merrill quickened her pace, putting space in between her and the raised male voices that sounded dangerously close. She began to regret her knee-jerk decision to run out this late at night. Hawke surely would not approve of it if she found out. She shivered and drew her tattered cloak around her trembling shoulders.
"Ma Vhenan" she whispered, "This better be worth it".