As they entered through the servant's entrance to the mansion, Fenris was relieved to see the kitchen crowded and chaotic. Elvish servants bustled about with various tasks, attendants carrying trays of food and drinks in and out while the cooks busily prepared food of all kinds. Most Fenris recognized, dishes from Antiva, Orlais, even Tevinter, but some were foreign to him, their smells wafting up from the cook pots and causing his stomach to rumble.
Merrill stepped inside the door after him, looking beyond apprehensive. He itched at the thick wool cowl draped around his neck. Though he knew it a necessary precaution, it annoyed him no less. Varric motioned to a lanky, slight elf, likely his contact, Piper. They converged half way across the bustling room to speak, but Fenris couldn't make out the hushed words over the din of the kitchen.
After a few moments he saw Piper talking to a cook, motioning toward Fenris and Merrill. The cook nodded in apparent assent and then turned away, continuing with his task. Piper turned back toward them with a nod, taking it as their cue to cross the room toward him. The heat, and thus Fenris's extreme discomfort, increased as they passed by the half dozen kitchen fires.
Piper set them to a task of filling trays of goblets with wine, indicating to them secretively the door they were to pass through later, then scuttled away past Varric, who gave the elf a pat on the back as he crossed by. Varric gave Fenris a significant look, then grabbed a goblet off a passing tray and drank the contents in one long draw. He stepped closer to the busiest set of doors - likely the ones that led directly out to the ballroom. He started to pace, whistling and flipping a coin casually. Fenris concentrated on his task, not wanting anyone to notice him giving the dwarf too much regard. The smell of the wine wafted up into his nostrils as he poured each cup, causing his mouth to water.
After only a few moments, Fenris heard a crash and looked up to find that two servants had somehow collided, plates of food and goblets of wine strewn everywhere. Varric stood nearby, feigning complete shock and attempting to help one of the servants up, only to 'accidentally' knock her into another attendant as they obliviously entered from the ballroom. The resulting pile up of attendants was positively catastrophic, it being labeled a 'distraction' was an understatement. He didn't expect it to be subtle, but this seemed excessively dramatic.
Merrill gaped at the dwarf, but knowing he should waste no time, Fenris grabbed her by the hand and led her down the now unwatched hallway behind them. He shuttled Merrill through the doorway at the end of the hall, checking over his shoulder to make sure there were no residual onlookers, then shut the door quietly behind them.
"Alright," Merrill said, breathing a sigh of relief, "So, it's right, left, left, right, right. Right?"
Fenris groaned, "I knew what it was before."
"Before what?"
"Before you started listing directions randomly!"
"They're not random, that's what it is… I think," she squeaked.
He took a breath and tried to clear his head, "I think it's right, left, left, right, left."
"No… I distinctly remember there being more rights. It must be right, left, left, right, right. Or right, left, right, right, left."
Fenris positively wanted to strangle the mage. Merrill must have noticed his ire as she exclaimed defensively, "Why didn't you just write it on your bloody arm then? You're covered head to toe anyway!"
"We could have been searched," Fenris growled.
"Then how about on your bum, they wouldn't have checked there!" she said vehemently, though despite her best efforts, the word bum still sounded adorable. Fenris clenched his jaw, deciding it best to turn away from her, so he didn't actually strangle her, then started down the hallway toward their destination… maybe.
After winding their way through the hallways for a few minutes, they came to the door they believed to be correct. This estate was enormous even by the wealthiest standards, and must have had over a dozen pantries. This was the only that shared a wall with the hallway that could lead them into the right section of the rest of the mansion. They opened the door and entered the small room. There was no lantern burning inside, so Merrill held the door ajar while Fenris found a sconce to light. As the flickering firelight filled the room, Merrill stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.
"Fenedhis - this isn't it," Fenris grumbled.
"What?" Merrill asked, her eyes growing wide with panic.
"This has no other door - the right one has an entrance on both the east and west side, we must have taken a wrong turn," he said, "I told you it was right, left, left, right-" Fenris was startled when Merrill suddenly reached a hand up to his mouth to quiet him. Whistling and footsteps, and they were growing closer. They both froze, not moving a muscle as it became increasingly clear where the footsteps were headed. Suddenly, Merrill pushed Fenris hard against the opposite wall, then leapt onto him, latching her legs around his hips as she locked him into a kiss.
"Blighted fools! What in the name of the bloody Void are you doing?" a rotund elf wearing a cook's apron exclaimed as he threw open the door. Fenris didn't have to feign shock as Merrill climbed down off of him, the mage blushing and turning to pander to the man.
"Messere, we're sorry, Messere - we were sent for flour and wine, Messere," she said, then cooed sweetly, "It's just, we just got married."
She held her fingers in the man's face as if to show off a wedding band, though Fenris was fairly certain she had no rings on. The man pushed her hand down and out of his face, looking annoyed.
"Bloody hired help - just get back to the kitchens," he grumbled, giving Fenris a stone hard look as he and Merrill quickly exited past the cook. Maybe Merrill was going to be better at this than he thought.
The two said nothing and did not look at one another as they marched down the hallway toward where they must have made the wrong turn. As they passed the corner, Fenris stole a glance back at the elf who was busily filling a basket with supplies and shaking his head grumpily.
They continued down the hall until Fenris was certain they had retraced their steps and corrected their route. He stepped inside the pantry, confirming the door on the opposite side which indicated it was the correct room.
"I panicked," Merrill breathed apologetically as Fenris shut the door quietly behind them.
"It's fine," he said, though he was still quite disturbed, "It more than likely saved us."
Merrill said nothing more but nodded to herself as if conferring with an inner dialogue. Fenris tried the door on the opposite wall - barred from the other side, much as they'd suspected. This was the first place he'd have to cross through to start their journey inward toward the room that held the tome.
"This is it," he confirmed, and Merrill looked like she was trying to pull herself back together with a concerted effort. Fenris was surprised at the flush he still felt on his own face, and wasn't sure if his heart was still racing from almost having been found out or because of Merrill's unexpected tactics.
"Ok," she said, "So how does this work? Is there some kind of trigger, like an incantation or..?"
"Not so much…" he said, "I just need a few minutes to focus."
He turned toward the door. It had become harder in recent years to use his power at will. When he had used it for Danarius, it was because he had to, he didn't know any better. He had been programmed, trained like an animal and when his master said the word, he had replied on cue. He tried to remember how that felt, how he was able to turn it on and off with such ease.
"I think you and Hawke are so sweet together," Merrill said suddenly. Fenris sighed.
"Thanks, Merrill," he said, trying not to seem too irritated.
"I was so surprised when she kissed you. After she died, I mean!" the elf sounded delighted, "Just sat right up and grabbed you by the shirt!"
It went on like that for a while…
"Do you ever miss Isabela? I know what she did was bad, but she was always so kind to me."
"Have you ever thought about moving out of that dreadful mansion? Pff, of course you haven't - even an old, empty, lonely mansion is nicer than the alienage."
"Did you see how nicely Anders cleans up? It was so weird to see his hair like that… yours too!" she exclaimed as she gave his newly blackened mane a toss with her fingers.
"We don't talk much, just you and I. This is nice."
"Do you ever get tired of scrubbing them clean?" she picked up her own bare foot and held it out next to Fenris's, "And the callouses can be so painful - sometimes I wonder why I don't just swing up to Lowtown and pick up a pair of boots."
"What's it like in Tevinter? I mean, I know elves, slaves, badness. But free, powerful mages? That must be fascinating!"
He couldn't let it go on any longer, so he grumbled irritably, "Yes, it's all parades and blood magic in the streets. Merrill, the chit chat isn't really working for me, can we just be silent for a while?"
Merrill picked quietly at her fingernails for a few moments as he tried to focus on using his ability. He was just starting to think it was the longest she may have ever gone without speaking when she piped up again.
"Too bad you can't phase objects through with you, then you could just walk right out with the tome!" she said enthusiastically.
"Yeah too bad," he replied irritably.
"Say, how come you can't take objects but your clothes come with you? That's strange, right?" she said, sounding intensely intrigued by her own question. Pausing just long enough to take a breath, she continued, "And the floor, right? Why don't you just fall through the floor and into the cellar?"
"This is hardly an exact science, Merrill," he growled, "Before I met Hawke, I used this talent for one and only one reason, and that was to crush the still-beating hearts of my master's foes from directly within their chest."
"Oh it worked!" she squealed. He turned to see his tattoos glowing with the familiar blue light. He quickly pressed his hand into the solid wood door, the uncomfortable feeling of the lyrium-fueled power pressing on every fiber of his being. He slid the rest of the way through, surprised by the effortlessness of it.
He could only imagine the fit of glee Merrill was currently enthralled in on the other side of the door. He clenched and released his fists, watching as the glow subsided along with his ire. He was reminded of the last few times he'd used his power. Once while fighting the Belhim'irsa, he'd negated what would have been a killing blow by letting it pass right through him. And before that… when in a fit of rage he couldn't even remember, he killed the Prophet Malefica as Hawke lay dying at his feet.
Those two things seemed to predictably allow him use of the ability - instinct and fury. It was going to be a long, angry night.