Chapter 4: Pariahs
It had been a long time.
Months had passed since she had last set foot in the Viscount's Keep. Months since the Viscountess had taken her life's work away, the salvation of her people. Though she had been promised that she would be able to work on the Eluvian in safety, she had not dared return, lest the humans steal everything she was trying to accomplish, everything she hoped to give back to her people.
Now she made her way down the cobblestone streets, hot on her feet, the slippers she wore when she was in the keep were in her bag on her shoulder. She despised shoes with soles, and wore them only when she needed.
Part of he wanted to turn around, forget about this, but that voice was so small compared to compulsion that pushed her forward.
She needed to see the mirror again, new ideas had come to her in the last year, she longed to try them out, to try and finish what she had started, to bring the old wisdom back to her people.
Merrill could no longer deny what she knew to be right.
It should have been easy. The Viscountess knew wards that would shield her work from the Templars. She had promised Merrill that she would aid her, that she would let her work on the repairs to the Eluvian. She had made a promise, but as with so many things with the shemlen, promises were quickly forgotten.
Merrill trusted Solona, but she also knew that many things held her attention. Things that drew her away from the promises she had made.
The Qunari attacked, and Lady Solona revealed herself to be a mage to all of Kirkwall. That act brought the Templars to the keep, that and the scrutiny of the Chantry, the very same chantry that supported the fall of the Elvhen homeland in the first place.
The Dalish had lost so much; she could not risk them taking the Eluvian too! They did not leave, the Templars remained, watching the Viscountess, every magical act she performed was now scrutinized and watched for any sign of corruption.
After that…she could not return, not if it meant being discovered, in the Alienage she was just another elf in the crowd, here she was one of the champion's companions that place invited jealousy and scrutiny.
Scrutiny was something that Merrill could not afford.
So she had stayed away, she lived in the Alienage away from her people. Lyna remained at her side, visiting their clan often, and always returning with words meant to convince Merrill to abandon her path and return home, return to the clan that loved her….
Loved her… but still cast her out among the shemlen. If she returned to them, it would be admitting that she had failed, that she had been wrong.
She knew she could not do that. She would not return, not until her work was done, not until she had something to show for everything that she had sacrificed up to the point. Lady Morrigan had shown her that she was on the right track. Lyna's return showed that she was on the right track.
Now she needed to return to work, hopefully, once she had done that…
The dreams would finally stop.
How many nights had she been awakened, how many nights had visions of the Eluvian haunted her rest? She…had…no…she needed to see it again, to continue her work on it. Everything might depend on it, everything, but first, first she needed to do something, something she did not like.
The very thought of that one act made her shiver.
When she did not dream about the mirror, she dreamed about Death's Hand, those long days and nights she had been his prisoner. How many times had he taken her from her cell? How many times had he tested his Templar abilities on her? He had harmed her many times, preparing for the fight with his sister, too many…to be sure.
If she was to return to her work, she needed to deal with this, to stand before him and let him know that he no longer had any power over her.
Lyna understood that. She saw the pain her clan mate was in, and recognized that she needed to face this nightmare.
You cannot let fear of the shemlen govern your life, lethallin, Lyna had said, her warm gentle hands cupping Merrill's cheeks, forcing her to meet her gaze.
The Dalish huntress frowned.
This is one battle that I cannot fight for you, only you can do this, but know, if you do, you have my support.
Merrill had smiled at that, grateful for her Lyna's warmth and trust.
She could do this.
She needed to do this.
She washed and cleaned her old gown; the one Varric had given her when she had spent her days in the court. She had said goodbye to Lyna and started out of the keep, her heart pounding against her rib cage. Old fears threatened to send her running back to her hovel. Yet, she did not falter.
She would face her fear.
She would face Death's Hand, and then…
She would begin work on the Eluvian again.
She needed to do it.
It was for her people and for them…
…she…would do anything.
IOI
No one challenged her as she made her way up the steps to the keep. It had been a while, but the guards still remembered her. She was one of Hawke's companions, and for a time sat in court with Viscountess Amell. No one even considered stopping her, why would they…?
It was not like she was up to no good.
The foyer of the keep was busy; so many people had arrived for Hawke's wedding. Merrill's ears twitched with nervous irritation.
It was so loud in here, how did the Viscountess' people stand it? How did Hawke stand it?
It was as busy as the Lowtown market during lunch hour.
Merrill did her best to squeeze past the passing lords and dignitaries, some shot her dirty looks but said nothing, her clothes marked her as more than just a servant, and a few even blinked when they saw the swirling tattoos that covered her forehead.
She made for the steps that led up to towers, two Viscountess' guards stood near the entrance. She was nervous that they would try to stop her. That they would bar her way. If they did she would likely have to track down Varric or Aveline, but if she did that they would ask too many questions about why she was here, questions that might make her lose her nerve.
She had no desire to explain herself to anyone, even her friends. They might support what she was attempting here, but then again…they might not.
Fortunately, she had worried for nothing, the guards let her path. She murmured a quick thank you and hurried on her way.
Now, she thought, left at the old suit of armor, than right next to that room with all the old pictures, two lefts more, then the stairwell on the right, or was it left…no it was right…it…
The Dalish blinked.
Oh Creators? I'm lost!
Getting lost was nothing new, it still happened on occasion, even after living in this city for years. There were just too many corners in Kirkwall, and the keep was just as bad.
She stopped for a moment and tried to retrace her steps. She had only been in the towers only twice, and both times she had been following the Viscountess.
She sighed with frustration.
Why did she have to be so feather headed!
The sound of footsteps approaching almost sent her scrambling for a place to hide. If she had stumbled into a place she was not supposed to be, whoever was coming might get very cross. They would also likely drag her before the Viscountess, that did not worry her, but it would likely put a stop to her plan.
She wanted to think that Solona would understand. She wanted to believe that she would realize why this needed to be done.
If she waited any longer, she would likely lose her courage. She would not allow that.
She swallowed hard and stood up straighter. She decided that she would not cower. She would ask for directions, if they refused her, then she would bring up that she was both a companion of Hawke the Champion, and a friend of the Viscountess…
That would likely, hopefully get her the help she needed.
"Milady Merrill?" a familiar voice said, "What are you doing here?"
She almost smiled.
The creators it seemed favored her this day.
IOI
From his room in the tower, Daylen Amell watched as the wealthy and powerful of Kirkwall flooded Kirkwall. The streets were full down there, a sea of reds, blues, greens, and golds. A royal wedding always brought out the powerful, this one was no different.
The young noble shook his head.
The last time so many had gathered for a wedding it had been his. Oh, how they flocked to the see the marriage of the Lord Hand and his beloved Lady Poole. Angelique had been so radiant that day, his every desire given form; his future had seemed so bright, so much…potential, but now…
…It was all gone.
For a moment he felt the old anger starting to rise, the unreasoning rage, that had haunted him these last few years.
They stole what was mine!
They are nothing but thieves. They are thieves and usurpers.
Let them all pay!
Let them all burn!
He took a shuddering breath, the anger passed away with it. It no longer had a hold of his soul; he could step back and see the madness for what it was.
Why had he not been able to do that before? Why had he been a slave to it?
He had no answer to that question.
So he sat beside the open window, breathing in the good sea air. He watched the gather crowd below and thought about everything that was likely going on right now.
They look like ants, he thought, and like ants they would consume my family if they could, if it would bring them even a chance to gain more power.
Even now, there were likely plots being hatched down there. Nobles discussing treason as they fanned themselves and drank from golden goblets of wine, no doubt they all dreamed how to turn this wedding to their advantage.
He did not blame them. It was simply the way the game was played, he knew that well.
He had been a very skilled player once. He…
"Planning on jumping, Your Lordship?"
He glanced towards the door, Ser Graydon Stark stood before him, and if he was not mistaken, Hawke's little friend Merrill.
He gave them both a sad smile.
"Would that please you?"
"Not I," Stark said coldly, "But Lord Hawke might consider it a good wedding present."
Daylen frowned.
"That is a rather cruel thing to say, is it not Lord Stark?"
Merrill stepped out behind him, for a moment he realized the error in him just sitting by an open window. He knew about Merrill's magic, he had seen it first-hand.
If she decided to push him…?
"You," The Dalish stammered, her slender arms shaking her hands clenched into fists.
"You…you…you," she repeated.
He made no sudden moves, any move really, any such movement might just result in his death.
He simply sat there, not even trying to close the window.
"Is there something you wish to say to me, Milady?" he inquired, "Do you wish to call me a monster? Do you wish to throttle me for what happened while you were…my…guest here?"
Stark glanced nervously between the two. No doubt trying to decide who he should protect if this went bad. What had she said to him that he allowed her to accompany him up here? Perhaps this was his sister's justice, perhaps she had allowed this and the Dalish was to be his executioner.
If she was…so be it.
Daylen had no intention of resisting. What he had done, both as Viscount and after was unforgivable. It almost felt like those acts were committed by someone else. That he had read about them instead of actually doing them.
Whatever had happened to him, he doubted that a simple apology to the Dalish girl would be sufficient.
She was…furious, terrified, a bit of both perhaps…likely in equal measure.
"You want to kill me," he said, "I don't blame you."
He gave her a sad smile.
"There is nothing I can do to make up for what I did," he began, "You did what you could to save me when I lost my hand, and I repaid that kindness with treachery."
Merrill blinked, perhaps the girl had not expected this, she looked pale with fear but her eyes flashed with anger.
"There is nothing you can do…you…you shemlen," she spat angrily, "I'm not afraid of you! You won't hurt me again! Do you hear me! I won't let you!"
Stark remained where he was, simply watching the confrontation going on in front of him. Daylen doubted he would get involved if they came to blows, not that it would be much of a fight. A Dalish blood mage against a one handed, unarmed cripple.
"I hear you," he said in the most soothing tone he could manage, "I'll never try and hurt you again. I swear on my mother's ashes."
Some of the tension went out of her, but it was clear that she still felt like a hare being watched by a fox.
"Good," she said, "Just…just you remember that. I'm not your victim, and I never will be again."
She spun on her heel and fled the room, the two guards outside parted quickly letting her pass. She might have slammed the door dramatically, if she had been thinking.
Still, Daylen said nothing; there was really nothing for him to say.
He did not doubt that Merrill could kill him if she wanted. He did not doubt it in the least. He had fought beside her and Hawke after all.
He knew at least some of what she was capable of, and why her people had cast her out in the first place.
He turned to Lord Stark; the knight had said nothing since his early barb. He had been the one trusted to escort Daylen from his room to the meetings where he continued to give up what he knew about his old allies.
The young noble suppressed a desire to sneer.
Stark had once been a climber here in Kirkwall, he had had the faith of the Viscountess and the loyalty of the army. Daylen had not heard all the details of what had happened in the Vimmark Mountains when Avery Howell was killed, but he knew enough.
Stark had been one of the masterminds of that plan. That he had had violated a personal order of the Viscountess. His sister was sometimes too merciful for her own good. The fact that Stark had been reduced to being Daylen's babysitter was proof of how angry his sister was.
Perhaps that was why he had allowed Merrill to accompany him, perhaps he was feeling lonely. Perhaps, he was just another pariah searching for the company of another?
Not that the reason mattered now, of course. Solona had made her judgment, now Stark had to live it with it.
The man should have been happy, he thought, Solona could have had him banished, or beheaded.
"Is it time?" he asked his escort.
Stark nodded.
Daylen straightened his robes and followed him out into the hall. He wore no shackles to these meetings, they were unnecessary, but the two guards behind him, Stark next to him, and the two guards in front were more than just for show.
Solona was taking no chances with him, one attempt to flee, and he would die.
Daylen smiled.
It was nice to know his sister had learned something during their conflict.
He glanced over at Stark. He gave the man his most winning smile.
"How is your lady friend," he asked.
Stark glared daggers at him, the man's look spoke of a slow and painful death. Stark's lover Naishe, formerly known as Tallis and before that Isabela was a sore subject between the two men. That was not surprising, given that it had been Daylen that had turned her over to the Qunari in the first place.
Stark was extremely protective of her. He loved her, but had she not joined the Qun, the two of them would likely have never met, who knew, maybe Hawke would be marrying her now instead of the guard captain?
It was something to ponder, if nothing else.
"You will not mention Naishe again, Your Lordship," Stark growled, "If you do I will do something most unpleasant to you."
Daylen almost chuckled.
He was already imprisoned; an executioner's ax awaited him if he stepped out of line even once. Not to mention the fact that many of his old allies likely wanted him dead now, including his former lover, Neria."
If she got ahold of him, Starks threats would likely be like a cool swim on a hot summer day by comparison.
"As you wish," he said dismissively, "I trust the last information I gave you proved valuable?"
Stark grunted in response.
"We seized two more of your old weapons caches, no guards though. They seem to have been abandoned months ago, nothing had been touched."
Daylen considered that. He was surprised that Neria had not cleared out everything in that cache, or at the very least had used it to set a trap, the fact that she had not left one very interesting question.
What had happened to Neria? Surely the little elven blood mage had not given up, and if she hadn't given up, what was she up to now?
He pursed his lips in thought.
Where would she go?
IOI
While Daylen Amell was considering that question, almost half a world away, it was being answered.
Another pariah was about to begin her mission.
Neria Surana, blood mage, and once a servant in House Poole was roused from her sleep by heavy knocking on her cabin door.
The elf started, but calmed quickly as her mind returned to wakefulness, leaving the beauty of the fade behind. She was like most mages, she could dream with complete consciousness, and used the fade to commune with her patron, the demon known as Famish.
She sighed heavily.
He was not very pleased with her latest choice.
We have arrived, Milady," the sailor said loudly, "We will be in the city within the hour."
She slid out of bed, quickly wrapping herself in her scarlet robe; the sea air coming through the window was cold on her nude body, especially now that she was no longer indulging in idle pleasures.
She looked down on the bed. Feynriel, her servant was still sound asleep, the dreamer was often tortured by demons when he tried to rest, but had quickly discovered that sharing his night with another left him too exhausted to be troubled by them.
Neria smirked as she ran her hand through her short red hair, making sure that each little braid was presentable.
She had always hated sleeping alone. Feynriel was not her first choice of lovers, but he could be trusted. He was so in awe of her that he obeyed her whims without question.
He was powerful, likely more so than hurt, but she had broken him to her will early, now he was a willing servant.
She would need that in the days to come.
When Daylen had first proposed this latest scheme to her she had been intrigued, it was cunning, and ruthless, far more than anything else they had attempted since the loss of Angelique and Kirkwall. His willingness to include her in it, had gone a long way to repairing their relationship, which had been majorly strained in the past few months.
Now, she was on her way to a foreign land, gathering what was needed for the next stage of this latest scheme. It would no doubt require all her wits and skill, but that did not bother her.
She had confidence in her abilities.
She let Feynriel sleep. She might need him later, for now she pulled on her slippers and made her way up on deck. None of the sailors looked at her as she made her way to the bow of the ship. The Faithless that accompanied her had quickly broken these men of any lustful glances they might direct her way.
Neria did not mind such glances of course, but she preferred they come from her betters, not her lessers.
So much the better because she could use those feelings to control those betters, and bring victory to her lord and patron.
Her ears twitched as she saw the great city rising in the distance. She had never been this far north before, and likely would not go farther.
She had no intention of drifting into the arms of the Qunari. Some might hold a grudge for what happened in Kirkwall. Still she had little to fear from the ox-men here.
Here, another power ruled, a far older one.
She smiled serenely.
"Good morning, Minrathous," she purred excitedly.
"I think we are going to get along just fine."
