Anders' Clinic, Darktown

"Move aside!" Isabela barked. "Move your asses!"

The pirate queen was carrying Merrill in her arms, like a scantily-clad groom with the blushing bride. Except this blushing bride was an unconscious abomination with the ability to level the clinic with a twitch of her eyebrow. Hawke would have let out a dizzy giggle at the sight if she didn't know she was lightheaded only because she'd almost bled out all over Fenris' floor less than an hour ago.

She put a hand to her side as she limped past the single lit lantern that flanked the entrance to the Darktwon clinic. Fire still ripped through her side with every step and sticky blood soaked her armor, but the bleeding had stopped while they were still wandering through Lowtown. Thank the Maker for tiny blessings.

Anders looked up at them as Hawke and her group entered the main area of the clinic. A relieved look flashed across his face as he jogged over to them. "Thank the Maker," he sighed, gesturing toward one of the back rooms. "You can put Merrill back there. I've taken the necessary precautions now that I know what the Orlesian intends."

He put a concerned hand on Hawke's shoulder, gently peeling her hand away from her bloody ribcage. At the sight of the wound, he let out a muttered curse and said, "By the Blight, Hawke. You look like you've been mauled by a darkspawn."

"Close," Hawke said with a cough that sent a fresh spike of pain up the center of her back. "I was mauled by the elusive and dangerous Merrill."

"She did this to you?"

"The demon inside her, yeah. Pinned me up against the wall and stabbed away with her dagger. Isabela said it was the kinkiest thing she'd seen all week."

Anders huffed. "Even half-dead your sense of humor is as tasteless as ever. Come on, let's sit you down. That healing potion gave you some time, but you need a true healer. Take off your shirt; I need to see your wound before I can get to work on it."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Hawke staggered over to one of the cots set up around the room and did as she was told, collapsing onto the cot before fumbling with the laces to her battle coat. Once she was finished, she pulled the coat off and tossed it aside, leaving her only in her smallclothes from the waist up. Darktown was cold this time of night, and she shivered as goosebumps broke out across her arms and stomach.

Anders swiftly washed his hands in a nearby washbasin, calling over the young man who served as his assistant. The boy was carrying a tight bundle of medical tools under one arm. Hawke eyed them warily, still feeling dizzy from blood loss. "What exactly are you going to do with those? I've had my fill of knives tonight, thank you very much."

Anders sterilized long stitching needle with a quick blast of flame from his palm. "Healing magic can work wonders, but it doesn't do everything. You know that, Hawke. You're going to get some stitches, like it or not."

He knelt in front of Hawke while his assistant placed the tools on the cot next to her and scampered off to tend to the other patients. With soft, gentle motions, the spirit healer unwrapped Isabela's hasty bandages and took a look at the stab wound. As soon as he did, his face pulled down in a grimace and he quickly set to work threading the needle, preparing to do what he did best.

Marian could see the wound, if she craned her neck far enough. It was a series of long, ragged gashes along her side, halfway between her collar and her waistband. Dried blood caked the area, but the healing potion had stopped the bloodflow and sealed up the smaller tears in her side. What was left was a mess of twisted and sliced flesh covering an area about the size of her palm.

Anders surveyed this all at the same time before shaking his head with a weary sigh. "Maker you're a sight, Marian."

"Gee, thanks," she shot back. "You don't look too bad yourself."

"You know what I mean. Why would you purposefully take on an abomination face-to-face? You're no good to Merrill dead, you know."

"I've fought abominations before." Hawke sucked in a tight breath as she felt Anders' needle pierce her side, tugging at the skin.

"You know this isn't the same thing. Merrill didn't turn into some three-meter-tall monster hell-bent on world domination. This is a whole different game entirely."

"Is it?" Hawke groaned, fidgeting at the pain in her side. "I had no idea."

Anders gently slapped her arm, warning her to stay still. "I'm serious, Marian. You can't go at this like you usually do, setting things on fire and making bad puns while you do it. You need to take this seriously."

"You think I don't know that? You think – ow – that I'm not taking this seriously? Merrill is my friend, Anders. I'm taking this as seriously as I would if you were possessed."

"Missed your chance, I'm afraid," Anders grunted, tugging at the stitches. Hawke flinched and cursed at him, but he ignored her. "I just had the good sense to invite in a spirit that didn't want to murder my friends."

"That remains to be seen," Hawke said. They sat in silence for a time, listening to Hawke's labored breathing and the gentle murmur of conversation from the other room. She eventually looked down at her friend and said, "So what was Leliana planning this whole time?"

Anders froze, then set to work again like nothing had happened. "She told me what she and her companions did at Redcliffe, exorcising the Arl's son and killing the demon that possessed him. I had heard tales of what happened there, but I never really believed it."

"Right. But what did you never really believe? What's our Lady Nightingale planning?"

Anders sighed. "She had me empty out my entire supply of lyrium and mix it into a concoction I'd only read about back in the Circle in Ferelden. Oh, if Irving could see me now…"

He pulled another stitch tight and continued, "She plans to have one of our resident mages drink the concoction. It'll put the person into a trance and their consciousness will be transported directly to the Fade. Like dreaming, only they'll be lucid the whole time. Able to think and see and-"

"And kill demons," Hawke finished. She let out a long breath, then flinched as Anders scolded her for moving again. "If we can send someone in, they can kill Merrill's demon from the Fade and force her into the real world! That should leave Merrill free and clear to live a long and demon-free life!"

Anders nodded. "You left out the hundreds of pages worth of magical theory, hypothetical attack points, and experiments regarding demonic influence in the Fade and beyond, but you're essentially correct. If we sever the demon's hold over Merrill's mind, it will have nowhere to go but out."

Hawke let out a relieved laugh and ran a hand through her hair. After all this fighting and scheming, Leliana had finally come through! They now had a concrete plan to get their young Dalish friend back to normal for good! She shook her head, hardly believing it. "I have to say, I'm impressed with Leliana. I thought she was trying to trick us again."

"Don't get too excited," he said. "I've seen this kind of ritual before. In the Circle, we call it a Harrowing. It's a kind of rite-of-passage ritual for all young mages, though I've never seen it used to exorcise abominations. Many mages I saw subjected to the Harrowing returned as abominations themselves. They were murdered by Templars soon after."

"The Templars forced them into this ritual, then killed them for failing?"

Anders let out a spiteful laugh. "The margin for error in the Circle is very, very small."

Hawke pondered over this, then said, "I guess it's a good thing we have no Templars here to ruin our plans, then."

"Amen to that." Anders leaned forward and cut the stitches with his teeth. Hawke let out a cry of pain as the stitches tugged tight against her skin, but the pain was quickly soothed away by a wash of sky-blue light that began to glow from Anders' hands. She grimaced when the pain finally eased and Anders straightened again, grabbing a fresh roll of bandages and wrapping them tight around Hawke's midsection. Once done, he patted her on the shoulder and stepped away.

"You can put your shirt back on," he said, turning back to the washbasin. His hands were stained with Hawke's blood. "And try not to aggravate the wound any further. If you make me stitch that mess up a second time, I swear I'll just cauterize it with a hot blade and be done with it."

Hawke snorted. "I've never seen a man so eager to get rid of a half-naked woman sitting in front of him."

"Please, Hawke. I'm acting as your physician."

"Fancy way of saying he wants to play doctor, sweet thing," Isabela called from the doorway.

Anders glared at her, scrubbing furiously at his bloodied hands. "Where did you even come from?"

The pirate queen sauntered over, resting her hands on her hips. "You know how I love to eavesdrop. And everyone in the other room is being so insufferably worrisome. It's getting hard to think straight in there."

Hawke pulled her heavy leather overcoat back over her shoulders, lacing up the front and adjusting the bulky metal shoulder plate. Her ribs throbbed, but she could thankfully move much better than before. Anders was good at his job, and Hawke would have trusted no one else to stitch her up.

"So this ritual," she said, straightening and leaning heavily on her staff as she rose to her feet. "When do we begin?"

"As soon as I'm ready."

Hawke narrowed her eyes at the healer. "As soon as you're ready?"

He nodded, drying off his hands. "I've already survived one Harrowing. I'm familiar with demonic attempts at persuasion and seduction. I've resisted it before, and I can resist it now."

"This coming from the man who already has a demon in his head?" Isabela scoffed. "Sorry, Feathers, but I'm not buying it. Let Hawke go."

Hawke nodded. "I agree. If anyone is going into the Fade to get Merrill, it's me."

"Marian-"

"I was the one who got Merrill into this whole mess. It'll be me who pulls her out of it."

"I can't just let you waltz into the Fade and openly risk you getting possessed as well," Anders argued. "Just look at what Merrill did to you. Merrill! The girl you've repeatedly said is the elven incarnation of a kicked puppy. Can you imagine what a demon could do if it got ahold of someone as destructive and pyromaniacal as you?

"So I like to set things on fire. That'll actually help in there!" Hawke glared at him. "What would you do? Throw copies of your manifesto at the demons and hope they run away screaming?"

"Hawke…"

"No," she said forcefully. "I'm going in there and that's final."

She brushed past the healer, walking with Isabela toward the door leading into Merrill's room. They hadn't gotten far before Anders' voice called them back.

"Wait."

They both froze. Something was different about the voice. It was deeper, more gravelly, like someone had taken Anders' voice and hidden it behind the growl of a wolf. Hawke slowly turned to find that Anders' eyes had been consumed by pale blue light. Lightning crackled just under his skin and blue-white fire consumed his hands up to the elbow.

Marian glanced at Isabela before grabbing her staff as a precautionary measure. The last time she had seen Anders like this, he killed an entire strike team of Templars all on his own and almost leveled part of the Kirkwall Chantry in the process. How they had escaped that mess, she still didn't know.

But Anders was just staring at them now with that unblinking blue gaze. His hands were limp and his head was cocked slightly to one side, watching them closely. Hawke raised her staff, taking a slow step back toward the mage.

"Anders?" she said. When he didn't respond, she licked her lips and tried again. "Or… is it Justice?"

That magic-infused gaze snapped to her now, and a frown creased Anders' face. "It is Justice. It is good to finally meet you, Marian."

"Yeah…" Hawke said slowly. "Likewise. Though I must admit, seeing my doctor turn into a one-man lightshow is a little disconcerting."

Justice ignored the quip. "That is not my concern. I must be brief; I do not have much time."

Hawke glanced at Isabela again before replacing her staff to its sling across her back. Isabela, however, did not lower her trusty dueling daggers. Her jaw was clenched, muscles straining as the piratess prepared to leap into action at a moment's notice.

"What's going on, Justice? Does this have something to do with Merrill?"

"Yes."

Hawke's heart skipped a beat. The spirit knew something? She took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to put a hand on Anders' shoulder. One look at the blue fire racing up his arms and she quickly thought better of it. "You have information about Merrill?" she pressed. "Do you know where she is? Is she safe?"

"She is not," Justice growled. "We are attempting to bring her back home from our world, but she has fallen into the clutches of an ancient and powerful fear demon. She will not last long under his influence."

Hawke's heart seemed to stop completely now, ice flooding her veins. "What? Can't you do something?"

"I am trying, but the demon is… exceptionally powerful. I fear I do not have the strength to allay Merrill's fears. We need the assistance of one who does."

He gestured to the door where they were keeping Merrill. "I know of your plan to send one of your own into the Fade to assist your friend. I support the notion, but you must hurry. We are slowing the demon, but we cannot hold it back forever. Whatever you intend to do, do it now."

Isabela hit Hawke's shoulder. "You heard the creepy glowing man. Get in there, before it's too late!"

Marian nodded and set off, a determined scowl pulling at her face. "Isabela, stay here and keep an eye on Anders. You're in charge of things until I get back. And no drinking."

Isabela pouted, but Hawke could see how serious she was behind the façade of girlish defiance. "All right, but only because you ordered nicely."

Hawke pushed open the door to Merrill's room and quickly took stock of the situation. Merrill was lying on the cot, arms and legs still bound. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing peacefully. Varric was sitting next to the bed, patting her hand and telling her one of his world-famous ghost stories in hushed tones. Aveline and Fenris were standing at the foot of the bed, deep in conversation. Hawke could guess how it went: Fenris wanted to kill Merrill and be done with it, while Aveline was urging the elf to be patient and follow Hawke's lead. It wasn't the first time the two had been through that particular argument.

Leliana stood by a shallow bowl of unfamiliar-looking liquid, which was glowing bright blue and lighting up the dark room with stark highlights. The bard was staring into its depths with a distracted gaze, her mind obviously far away. Hawke was pleased to see that her daggers were safely sheathed, her bow slung over her back. She obviously had no plans to attack anyone, at least not at the moment.

Everyone looked to her as she entered, obviously waiting on what she had to say. She hesitated, staring down at Merrill with a tight sensation in her chest. The woman looked so small and frail, her face drained of all color and her hands clenched tightly over her chest. She was growing weaker the longer they waited. Marian knew they didn't have much time before the little elf was beyond their help. They needed to kill this demon and kill it fast.

"All right," Hawke finally said, aware of everyone's eyes upon her. "We're going to get this ritual underway, no matter what Anders says."

She turned to the others. "There's no time to give a long, windy speech. But before I go diving into the Fade, I just want to say… you all are good people for putting up with this. Not many friends would go to such lengths to help each other out." She glanced toward Fenris and added, "Some of you may not be doing it happily, but you're contributing nonetheless. It means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to Merrill."

She clenched her hands into fists. "As soon as I'm under, you need to move both me and Merrill into the main room. Isabela will work on getting the other patients to a safe place. When Merrill and I kill the demon in her mind, there's a good chance it'll come spewing into our world. Be ready for a hairy fight when that happens.

"Varric," she said, "I want you to get Merrill to safety once the fighting starts. Make sure she's someone out of sight, where the demon can't find her. Then get as far away as possible and put Bianca to good use. Leliana will join you, providing support from a distance."

The dwarf nodded, reaching down and giving the weapon an affectionate pat on the stock. "You said my favorite words, Hawke. We'll be ready."

"Aveline," she continued, turning to the redheaded guardswoman, "you'll be our main defender. When it comes out, keep the demon's attention at all costs. I don't care if you have to stand on your head and squawk like a chicken. Just keep its attention focused on you."

The guard captain rubbed at her chin. "They never taught us how to fight demons in the army, but I'll give it my best. If it can live in this world, it can die in this world too."

"Good. Fenris, your job will be to join up with Isabela and do as much damage to this thing as possible. Hit it from the back and sides; you know the drill. I'm sure you and your sword are up to the task?"

The white-haired elf nodded, clenching a lyrium-tattooed fist. "It won't know what hit it. It still owes me for knocking in my front door."

Hawke nodded. "There's the Fenris we all know and love."

She turned to all of them. "I'm proud of you all. I just want you to know that. In case… In case things don't go according to plan…"

Varric scoffed. "With you at the helm? What could possibly go wrong?"

"Don't jinx it. This will be tough enough as it is without you tempting fate."

"I was being sarcastic, Broody."

Aveline ignored the two, holding Hawke's gaze with a determined frown. "We'll keep things secure, Hawke. You can count on us."

Hawke nodded. "I know I can. There's no one else I'd rather have at my side through all of this. And I know Merrill would feel the same."

"Aw, Hawke," Varric chuckled, waving her off. "Stop it before you make me blush."

"Merrill is our friend," she continued. "She only got drawn into this mess because she wanted to help us, the people she sees as family. Now it's our turn to return the favor, to stand up to this demon and tell it that Merrill is our friend. That she's part of our family. That she belongs to us."

She clapped her hands, feeling far more afraid than she looked. "So are we all ready to go demon hunting?"

Varric grinned and applauded while Aveline snapped off an old military salute and Fenris just folded his arms with a scowl. Leliana flashed Hawke a rare smile and nodded reassuringly, holding out the bowl of lyrium concoction. Hawke reached out and took it with surprisingly steady hands.

"It comes far too late," the bard said, almost too quietly to hear, "but I am glad I did not manage to kill you, Marian."

Hawke managed a nervous smile. "I'm glad you didn't manage to kill me too."

"Good luck," the bard said, then stepped back into the shadows.

Hawke looked down into the bowl with a nervous gulp. She had never been in the Fade before, knew next to nothing about it besides the tales her father used to tell her as a girl. If those tales were any indicator, this would be one strange trip. She wasn't looking forward to the journey, but she wouldn't allow anyone else to make the trip in her place.

The liquid pulsed in the bowl, flashing blue-white light into her eyes with a strangely hypnotic rhythm. She licked her dry lips, then glanced up at the others and murmured, "See you all on the other side."

"Happy trails, Hawke," Varric replied, looking just as nervous as she felt.

Hawke nodded and brought the bowl to her mouth. The lyrium was cold against her lips, like all of winter had been distilled down into water. It froze as it passed down her throat, instantly racing through her veins and out to her fingers and toes. She grimaced at the sensation and forced herself to drink more.

If I don't see Justice or Merrill as soon as I wake up in the Fade, she thought as she choked down the draft, demons will be the least of Justice's worries.

The cold sensation began to sting now, sending tiny slivers of pain through her body. She closed her eyes and forced herself to continue drinking. She was aware of the lyrium glowing even brighter, pulsing faster. Sensation began to bleed away, uncomfortably close to the sensation when Merrill was stabbing her. Was this what death felt like?

Her breath was coming in short gasps now, heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't feel her feet or her fingers, but she continued drinking. She had to keep drinking. She couldn't stop now.

Her ears began to ring, a shrill tone that made her head hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut and downed the last swallow, feeling it form into a hard ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. She stood still, shivering hands clenched into fists as she felt winter course through her veins. Her skin stung with every slight motion now, head spinning and stomach lurching. She felt like she was falling through the pitch darkness, tumbling end over end. When she opened her eyes, she found that the world around her was just as black as the inside of her eyelids.

Her heart began to pound faster. What had happened? Something was wrong. This couldn't be how it was supposed to be. Her breathing quickly turned into panting, fists clenching and unclenching as she looked around for something to guide her through the endless blackness.

There was nothing.

She was still tumbling, falling through the dark. Just before she let out one final scream, she heard Varric's voice, echoing toward her as if from far, far away.

"Hawke!"

"Hello, Merrill."

In an instant, all was plunged into darkness. Victory, Justice, Sloth, and the entire hallway dissolved into ash, leaving her standing alone amidst a whirlwind of shadow. The only illumination came from a pillar of light that pierced the center of the whirlwind, lighting up the rocky ground where Merrill now stood. She cried out in fear and surprise, her blood magic tapering off as she clutched Hellathen close to her chest.

"What are you doing in this place, Merrill? Garas quenathra, lethallan?"

She shrank back, feeling the sensation of thousands of eyes upon her. She couldn't let this fear demon win. She would never let it steal her mind, not like Validation had. "H-how do you know my name?"

"I know many things about you, Merrill," the voice said. It let out a deep chuckle, joined by a distant clap of thunder. "Do you not know who I am? I am Dread, dear Merrill. I am your every fear made flesh."

"I... I don't believe you! You're just a demon, like all the others."

"Oh yes. I am indeed a demon. But I am nothing like all the others."

She felt a soft touch along the back of her neck, a gentle caress that made her squeak and spin toward the touch. Nothing was there. The voice purred, obviously pleased with her terror. "I can see your every fear, young one. Your every worry, your every waking horror. Do you wish to see them with me? To know yourself better through your fears?"

The darkness around her rippled, and something moved in the blackness. Merrill shrank back, raising her staff. A bright light sprang from the crystal head, but it did nothing to chase away the darkness. What was moving? The demon? Validation? Or could it possibly be something far, far worse? Before she could decide, the darkness was ripped away and a spider the size of a horse charged for her, its many-joined legs skittering over the ground as it gnashed its mandibles and screeched. Merrill screamed and covered her eyes, turning away in hopes that it would miss her and-

And as soon as it drew close enough to strike it exploded into a cloud of shadow that wafted over her in a frigid gust of wind. She whimpered and clutched her staff close, as if it was her only hope of escaping this awful place.

"Merrill, Merrill, Merrill," the demon sighed. "Aren't you a little old to be afraid of spiders?"

Her eyes widened as she looked around for the demon. "Stop playing games with me. Let me go!"

"Let you go?" its voice was incredulous. "But we've only begun to play, my dear. Come now, it is your turn. Suggest a game, and let us play."

Merrill squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to clear her mind, to not think of anything. The more she tried, though, the harder it became.

Just think of happy things, then, she thought, still keeping her eyes shut. Puppies and flowers and Hahren Paivel's stories, Pol's songs during long trips in the aravels…

"Lost friends," the demon hissed in her ear. "Long gone. Never to return. They never loved you, you know. Not even when you found that statue to June the craftmaster in the woods, lost for centuries. You were always a burden, always the weak link in the great Dalish chain."

Ignore it, she thought. Don't listen to it. Think about the smell of fresh-buttered bread and the taste of fresh spring strawberries. Think about how the flowers in the mountain pass will be blooming, and the birds will have little chicks all peeping for their mothers…

"Such beauty holds no meaning here, dear one," it said, continuing its onslaught. "Do you really think flowers grow in the Fade? They are wilted and dead, trampled under the feet of demons and monsters. The baby chicks here starve through endless winter, waiting for food from mothers who will never return back to their roost, just as your mother never returned to you?"

"Shut up!" she shouted, covering her ears. Don't listen to it. Think about only happy things. Think about how glad everyone will be when you manage to kill this demon. Think about the smile on Victory's face and the way Hawke and Varric will cheer and order everyone drinks and—

The demon interrupted her. "A vision of the future, then? As you wish."

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around her neck and she screamed in terror. She whirled, trying to dislodge the heavy weight that had pressed against her back. The arms tightened, crushing the breath from her. Gasping for breath, she hunched her back and twisted, throwing the heavy weight from her back. A familiar face staggered into what little light she could see. It was an elf, with a tattooed face and blue-black armor. Her eyes blazed with light and her raven-black hair was disheveled. A crooked grin stretched across her face.

Merrill's eyes widened. "V-Victory?"

The spirit laughed, throwing her head back. But Merrill instantly saw that it was not Victory; where once purple-white lightning had arced around her graceful hands and crackled out from her eyes, the discharge was now an unhealthy red. Her skin was a pale grey and her armor was dirty, torn, and soaked in blood.

"If that is what you wish to call me," Victory laughed. "Lyna Mahariel, Victory, Domination. It makes no difference to me. Different names for the same face, different faces for the same name. I am beyond such petty cares now that I have my mistress Validation looking after me."

"No," Merrill said, tears welling up in her eyes. "No, no, no. You hate Validation!"

"Nothing could be farther from the truth!" the spirit insisted. "We are very old friends. She cares for me, keeps me safe in this dark and evil place. And in return, I give her things she wants. Like you."

"No, no, no. This is a trick," she whimpered. "This has to be a trick. It's just Dread, trying to get in my head."

"Oh, how I wish it was," Victory said with a sympathetic frown. "Poor, sweet, naïve Merrill. Without you to stop her, Validation killed us all. Justice, Sloth, Valor. I survived by pledging my service to Validation. She gave me a very special gift. Do you know what it was?"

The shadows shifted again and another figure stepped forward. It was a woman, almost a whole head taller than Victory with her head bowed and her long black hair obscuring her face. Merrill stared at her, uncomprehending for a single moment. Then her heart fluttered in her chest when the woman looked up and revealed glassy grey eyes and a long scar stretching down the right side of her face.

"Hawke!"

"Yes," Victory said, trailing a finger down Hawke's armored shoulder. "A very own human of my own, to play with as I saw fit. But like all good toys…"

Victory made a pouting face as she reached up and brushed Hawke's hair from her face. Merrill's eyes raked over Hawke's features, looking for some sign of recognition, some sign that the heroic mage was here to save her. But Marian wouldn't so much as talk, standing dumbly next to Victory with a blank expression on her face, like she was lost in thought.

Then Merrill saw it: the graceful curvature of the Chantry sunburst, branded into the flesh of Hawke's forehead. The brand of Tranquility.

Everything else in the world ceased to matter. She stared, dumbfounded, at the brand. All the blood in her face drained away and her knees buckled. It can't be true. It can't be true! Creators, please let it not…

Victory sighed and brushed Hawke's hair behind her ear as she finished, "…someone came along and broke her."

"No," Merrill moaned. She fell to her knees, arms going limp at her sides. "No… not her!"

"I tried to get her to behave herself," Victory said, in that same pouty tone, "but the abomination she became was… unstable. Destructive. Her friends were the first ones she killed, poor things. Never seen such carnage in all my eons. Especially that short one, Varric. She ripped out his tongue first, if I recall. Put an end to all those outlandish tales of his."

Merrill wrapped her arms around herself, hunched over as uncontrollable sobs wracked her body. Hellathen clattered to the ground, slipping from her limp fingers. Hawke just continued to stare ahead with that lifeless silver gaze. Victory stroked the mage's hair with a regretful sigh. "I guess that'll teach me to be more careful with my playthings next time."

"Why?" Merrill sobbed, tears falling from her cheeks. "Why her? Why did you have to take her?"

Hawke finally spoke. Her voice was just as lifeless as her eyes, devoid of any kind of inflection or emotion. "Do not cry for me, Merrill. I am at peace now. No more demons can hurt me. It is safer for everyone."

"B-but what about me?" Merrill gasped, reaching out and grabbing for Hawke's hand. It was pale and cold beneath her fingers. "Y-you said… you said we were going to pick more flowers. And we were going to visit your old farm in Lothering, and go to the Brecilian Forest where I grew up, and… you weren't going to end up like this! You promised!"

Hawke slowly pulled her hand away, her movements jerky and stiff, like a puppet on strings. "I'm sorry, Merrill."

She broke down again, burying her face in her hands as she knelt at Hawke's feet. Everything was gone. It was gone, just like when Lyna had vanished and this time it wasn't going to get better. Hawke was Tranquil, the others were dead… all because she hadn't been there to help them. Because she had been drawn into Validation's clutches like a fat, stupid fly drawn to a spider's web.

"There it is," the demon purred. "The fear that you hide deep down within. The fear of letting others down. The fear of actually being the failure they claim you are. The fear of trying to help and only making things worse for everyone."

"I'm sorry," she whimpered through her hands. "I'm so sorry, Hawke. I could have saved you. I could have saved you…"

"You could not have saved me, Merrill. It was always going to end this way."

"Do you see it now, Merrill? The source of your fears? The source of your turmoil? Hawke left you, just like Marethari and Lyna and your parents before her. She abandoned you, just when you needed her most. Do you see now the scars that left?"

Merrill's breath hitched and she stopped crying for a moment. What had the monster said? Scars… She slowly looked up to Victory and Hawke once more with the memories of an earlier conversation suddenly washing back to her.

"You have seen much strife in your time, young one," Justice had told her, "and have had many injustices done upon you. Such occurrences leave scars upon the psyche. These scars are all interconnected and stem from a single source, like the epicenter of a fractured mirror."

Her eyes slowly widened and she looked up to Hawke with dawning realization. Justice's words continued to return to her. She could hear him, as clearly as if he was speaking directly to her now.

"Validation feeds upon emotional turmoil," he had said, "anchoring herself to a powerful source of contention within her host. Until you find that source of contention, young mortal, Validation's control upon your mind will be too strong to break."

The demon's voice boomed around her again, but this time it was soft. Pressing. Urgent.

"Do you see, little Merrill? Do you see what waits for you?"

She nodded, sniffing and wiping at her wide eyes. With trembling fingers, she reached out and scooped Hellathen back into her palm. "I…" her voice was shaking. "I-I do. I know what Validation plans to do."

"Good. Then you are learning. You must hurry if you are to do what you are destined to do."

"I don't…" she stared up into the dark whirlwind. "Why? Why did you do this? Why fight us only to… to help me now?"

There was a dark chuckle from the shadows. "The greatest lessons cannot be taught in peaceful conversation. The most telling trials are trials by fire. You have passed yours."

"B-but… but why? Why help Validation in the first place?"

"A very dangerous woman once said, 'one expects a knife to strike from the front or back, but never from the side.' That is a very wise sentiment, and one that Validation has never thought to heed."

Victory reached forward and shoved at her shoulder. "Go, now! Free yourself from Validation's grasp, and us along with you!"

"Safe travels, Merrill," Hawke droned, eyes still fixed straight ahead.

Merrill stepped back, taking one last look at Marian's cold, lifeless gaze before turning her back. She clutched Hellathen tight, walking for the edge of the shadowy whirlwind. She looked up into the blackness and said, "Before I go… promise me it was all a trick. Promise me that none of this was real."

"I cannot do that, young one," Dread rumbled.

"T-then it's true? Victory is truly corrupted? And Hawke…"

"In a manner. It is a prediction of the future. A premonition of what will happen should you fail."

Merrill squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, then stepped into the whirlwind. Before everything faded away, she heard the demon let out one last dark chuckle and whisper, "Sweet dreams, dear Merrill."

The fear demon suddenly arched back and let out a deafening screech. There was a blast of pale green light that sent all staggering, shaking the ground beneath their feet. A pulse of magical discharge blasted them, knocking Merrill off her feet and sending her sprawling amid razor-sharp rocks and chunks of the shattered statue. She cried out in pain as the magical explosion slowly subsided.

She blinked, rubbing at her eyes as she clambered back to her feet. When the nauseous green light finally faded, the fear demon was nowhere to be seen. Victory – her skin tone back to normal and her usual purple-white lightning arcing across her arms once more – slowly picked herself up off the ground, daggers clenched tight in her hands.

"Where did it go?" she muttered. "Why did it leave?"

Sloth shook its shaggy coat, dust falling in thick clouds from its fur. It rested back on its haunches and inspected one paw with bleary, lazy eyes. "I do not know… perhaps it simply grew bored of toying with our young mortal friend… and decided it would rather spend the time sleeping."

"That's what you would rather be doing."

Merrill said nothing, for she had eyes only for the other figure clambering up from the ground, leaning heavily on a carved wooden staff capped by an amber-hued lyrium crystal. The new figure shook a wayward strand of raven-black hair from her eyes and coughed, holding her side.

"Well," the new woman sighed, "that was definitely more exciting than I had anticipated. Is this all in a day's work for you demons, or are you as lost as I am?"

Merrill's face broke into a joyous smile and she charged forward, throwing her arms around the woman's waist and hugging her as tightly as she could. She felt solid and whole and real in her arms, and she smelled of warm blood, sweat, and the sharp tang of magical discharge. Merrill had never been so glad to smell something so foul.

"Hawke!" she cried, hugging the mage – if possible – even tighter. She buried her face in the human's strong shoulder, weeping tears of joy into the thick leather armor. In her mindless happiness, she forgot to even speak in the human's tongue, crying out, "Aneth ara, lethallan! Fenedhis lasa, ir sulahn'nehn somniar ma, ma vhenan!"

"Merrill?" Hawke stiffened at the sudden joyful attack, then let out a laugh and hugged her back. "I don't know what even half of that meant, but it's good to see you again!"

She pulled back, putting her hands on either side of Merrill's face and raking that vivid steel gaze over her features. "Maker, you're a sight for sore eyes. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Merrill laughed, blushing furiously now that her earlier words caught up with her. She was glad Hawke hadn't understood what she'd said, as it would have been most embarrassing. Over Marian's shoulder, she could see Victory narrow her eyes; she obviously had understood Merrill's words. Thankfully, the spirit said nothing.

Hawke was still fussing over her, so Merrill gently reached up and removed the human's calloused hands from her cheeks. "I'm fine, lethallan. Better than ever, now that you're here."

"Yeah, finally," Hawke rolled her eyes. "You gave us quite a show on the other side of the Veil. Took a hell of an effort to get here."

She looked up around her, at the dark stone that surrounded her and the crumbling statues and demon corpses. "Though now that I mention it," she murmured, "I'm not even sure where here is."

Merrill smiled and squeezed Hawke's hand. "Come on. I'll explain everything."

Author's Note: I still have no godly idea how I'm managing to write so much so quickly. But, if all goes to plan, Chapter 6 should be the last chapter of the story. We're almost there!

Oh, and as a side-note, Merrill's burst of elvish roughly translates to, "Shit am I glad to see you, my love." Just for those who are curious and/or have no desire to translate it themselves. ;)