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7. Seriously, Don't Fall off the Mountain

Kazar was having a difficult day. His roommates had kicked him out of the tent in the early hours of the morning (again), and there was a tear in his robes that he'd been forced to submit to Master Ilen for repair. As if asking the craftsman for a favor wasn't embarrassing enough, he only had the one set, so had been forced to borrow a shirt and trousers from the craftsman... which were itchy and uncomfortable in weird places. He far preferred robes, but the only mages in camp were both women, and there was no way he was walking around in women's clothing.

As if that weren't bad enough, he burned himself at breakfast. Actually burned himself. He hadn't done that since he was nine, when he mastered the finer points of gauging a safe distance for throwing a fireball.

Meila had whipped up a salve, of course, and now everyone knew he was some bumbling idiot who burned himself. Ugh.

Kazar's Pride had been a prickling thing all morning, and he felt balanced on a knife's edge, one subtle tease from lighting up like a demonic firefly.

Marethari could tell, of course. She could always tell when he was having trouble staying calm and humble. She suggested he spend the day in meditation, and he was happy to take the excuse to leave the camp.

An immeasurable stretch of time later, he found himself wandering up Sundermount, dragging his staff idly and deep in a state of contented superiority. He'd lost his shoes at some point, and marveled at the symbolism inherent in that. Dalish. A strong, resilient people. A worthy designation.

He found an outcropping in the path that overlooked a broad arc of the mountain range around him, and Kazar planted his staff and settled down to look out. All this was once the domain of the Dalish. Perhaps it could be again.

He smiled, contented, for the moment, to indulge in the dream. In the back of his mind, a tiny voice scrabbled against his awareness, saying that he'd lost control, and that he should pull back before this got dangerous. It made him laugh. Danger? What danger, to embrace such greatness. No danger... freedom.

He dangled his feet over the edge of the outcropping, gazing down the long drop below him. Too far a fall to survive, perhaps, but he knew no fear. Pride had nothing to fear from glorying in the risks.

"Kazar? Are you... oh." He glanced over his shoulder to see Merrill standing on the path behind him. "Oh my. That's new."

He should be worried, right? It seemed ridiculous, but that little voice was scrabbling in panic. She saw me. She knows! She knows! He quashed it, because it was silly. Why not let her see him in his true glory?

"Merrill," he said, delighting to hear the demonic dissonance in his voice. It had been so long since he'd used his true voice.

"Are you... um... feeling all right?" She hovered back, tugging on her scarf.

"Better than I have in months." He turned back to look out at the majestic view. "Come, First. Sit."

After a few moments' hesitation, she took a few steps toward him. She crouched down next to him, though seemed to be peering at him more than at the view. "Does the Keeper know that you... um... glow?"

"Of course she does." He glanced at her, and she visibly twitched back at his gaze. It made him smile. "She's trying to 'fix' me." He laughed, because the success of that endeavor spoke for itself.

"How are you broken, exactly?" She asked carefully.

"I'm not. I'm complete. Denying my true magnificence is what makes me broken."

"Well, it would be inconvenient, don't you think? Glowing all the time? You'd never be able to get to sleep at night, because the light is too bright. At least, I wouldn't. Maybe you should... you know, turn it off?"

He scoffed. "Your ideas are small." He turned to her, an idea taking hold. "Would you like to see greater horizons, Merrill? You could."

"No. I think I'm okay. I rather like the horizons I already see."

"You do not know what you turn down." He smiled and turned more fully toward her. "There is no greater sensation than being joined with a being beyond mortal bounds. It is transcendent. Would you not like to transcend?"

She scooted back a step, toward the edge of the overlook behind her. "No, thank you. I really think you should turn back, now."

He crawled—prowled—after her. "You wish to repair an artifact of Dalish history? I could help you. There is power that you cannot comprehend in such a partnership."

She backed away a bit more, until she hit the edge of the outcropping, and glanced down at the drop behind her. "You should really stop now."

"Stop? I've barely begun." He moved forward another step, and she leaned back... and, with a yelp, slipped off the outcropping.

Alarm broke through his Prideful haze, and he snapped forward a burst of rock magic to try and catch her. At the same time, she summoned a tangle of vines, and they lifted her safely back to the landing. It was a near thing, though, and the shock of having nearly killed her finally broke through his Pride.

He skittered away from her, back toward the path, and snapped his eyes shut. I'm mortal. I'm weak. Jowan died for me. I nearly killed Merrill.

"Kazar?" he heard her take a step toward her.

"Stay back!" he snapped, holding up a hand to halt her while the other rubbed at his forehead (as if that did anything). "Just... give me a minute!"

I'm mortal. I'm just some dumb kid who was tricked by a demon. I'm weak.

Bit by bit, the Pride faded away, the space left behind filled with self-loathing instead. By the Fade... had he done that? Attempting to tempt Merrill? With what? He couldn't exactly possess her.

A cracked laugh left him, and he dropped his forehead to the dirt, letting the cool sensation ground him. Yep. Definitely feeling more mortal and stupid now.

"Are you all right?" she asked, still somehow sincere after he'd tried to do that. Seriously, what was this girl made of?

He cracked an eye open to peer at her from the ground. She still kept a reasonable distance, at least, but looked more concerned than anything else.

"Seriously?" he managed. "Nothing to say? I nearly killed you."

Merrill shrugged. "But then you tried to save me. You wouldn't really have hurt me, so I wasn't in any real danger."

Kazar huffed into the ground. "And the attempt at demonic temptation? No alarm over that at all?"

"The Keeper says that one should never trust the words uttered by spirits. They are always trying to trick you."

"Yeah. Wish I'd realized that a year ago." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, scowling as dew-softened mud caked his face and clothes. He brushed them off. "Don't tell the Keeper I tried to do that, please? She'll make me do the clan's laundry for a week."

"So what you said just now was true? She's trying to fix you?"

"...yeah." He peered up at her, but saw no judgment in those big green eyes, only curiosity. "As you can see, there's work to do."

"So you're an abomination, then? I wasn't aware... fixing... such things was really possible."

"It's not. I'm not. I mean..." He grit his teeth, because he was not going to start babbling. "I'm not... technically... an abomination anymore. The demon's gone. But it wasn't really a clean break."

"Oh."

"Just... 'oh'? I'm part demon, and the only thing you have to say about it is 'oh'?"

She shrugged. "You made a mistake. It happens all the time, especially with mages and spirits. That is why the Keeper says that you can never trust anything in the Fade. It's all a lie, meant to draw you in. You didn't know that."

"But I did!" he spat. No risk of Pride here: his shame burned strong and hot. "All my life, the Circle told me not to trust demons, and I went and learned blood magic, and joined with a Pride Demon, and broke my soul for power. Because I was arrogant enough to think that I knew better than a thousand years of mage mistakes!" He slapped the ground, but it was an ineffectual display of force. He'd rather be throwing a fireball, but the only target for his current ire was himself.

Movement in front of him broke his spiral of anger, and he glanced up to see Merrill sitting down, cross-legged, in front of him. When she saw him looking at her, she offered him a gentle smile.

"Why are you still here?" he snapped. "How can you still trust me?"

"If the Keeper thinks you can overcome this, then I believe her. She is very wise."

"She's not right about everything."

"No, she's not." Merrill paused, her eyes darkening (thinking about her shard, most likely). "But I think she's right about you."

He scoffed, but found his internal conflict soothed by that all the same. "How, exactly?"

"I think you can be saved. And I think you're worth saving." He glanced up at her, startled, and she grinned. "If only so that I have someone else who knows what it's like to be the receiver of her disappointed frown."

Despite himself, he found himself kind of smiling. "It is a thing worthy of legend."

She giggled. "Can you imagine, a thousand years from now, the loremasters telling Dalish children about the terrors of disappointing Keeper Marethari? They'd have songs, too, about how she could look at you and turn the proudest warrior into a guilty child!"

Kazar smiled, and the day seemed a bit less difficult.