Chapter 25

Author Notes:

Hi! So, as noted in my profile, I have been trapped inside my house for a while due to massive rainstorms in my area, and the fact that surrounding streets were underwater, and my house (which is happily up on stilts, so no damage) was completely surrounded. Wasn't quite the way I would have wanted to get more time to finish this chapter, but with little else to do while we were stuck in here, I managed to finish it. It's not very polished though. I might work on it further, but in the meantime I'm going to put what I've got up because it's been ages. It'll do for now, right? Anyway. Enjoy, my friends, even though it's a rough job. I'm studying for my Masters as well as working now (why? Why did I think this was a good idea?!) but I will still write. I promise.

xxx H xxx

...Blood. Blood mist, and screams in the air. Flashing steel. Flaring mana... I feel... so drained, so dull. Hot pain explodes in my back as a cold laugh sounds behind me. A shadow appears before me. A glint of steel flashes, a blade rises briefly, and disappears as agony rips through my stomach, twisting, tearing. My strength fails, and I fall. The laughing shadow kicks my sword away from me, wrenches the dagger from my hand. Cruel fingers in my hair, twisting, jerking my head back. A grasping hand at my breast, gripping, squeezing. Foul, hot breath in my ear, a gleeful satisfied whisper...

"You're in my power now, aren't you, little mageling whore? The last thing you'll ever be this side of the fucking Void!"

A fresh stab of pain as the blade within me twists. A cry torn from my throat, answered by an anguished scream of rage, far away...

Merrill... Oh, Merrill...

"Hush, ma vhenan. I'm here. It's all right! You're safe now."

The voice in my ear becomes lilting, soothing, beloved; the hand on my hair turns gentle, stroking tenderly. Slowly, my eyes blink open to soft light, and blurred shapes. Gradually the world resolves itself, and I see the delicate features of my little elf, eyes wide in sweet concern as she gazes at me, softly shadowed by the canopy of our bed above us. I am home.

I am home, with Merrill, safe. And Meeran is dead. Dead.

I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief at the thought and Merrill takes my hand in hers, squeezing gently.

"You were calling for me in your sleep, ma vhenan. I'm sorry I had to wake you, but I thought it best."

I force my tired eyes to focus on her properly, giving her a loving smile. "Ah, but what a sight to wake up to!" I manage groggily, with more than a hint of my customary impudence. I try to tighten my grip on her hand, though my limbs still seem sluggish with sleep. "Don't ever be sorry for that. Besides, you were right. It was not a good dream."

A shadow passes behind Merrill's eyes, and she moves her hand down from my hair to cup my cheek, thumb stroking softly. "It's over now, my love," she says reassuringly, and I know she means so much more than the nightmare.

I move to sit up and stop suddenly, sucking in a pained breath as a deep throbbing ache twinges though my torso. My hand slips beneath my bed shirt, finding tight cloth bandages binding my middle. Merrill puts her hand on my shoulder to hold me still, shoving a couple of big fluffy pillows behind me at the same time, then pushing me gently back to rest against them. I smile at her gratefully, happy to be able to sit up and see the room around me without the effort it would otherwise cost me, injured as I am. How bad was it that I still require bandages?

Merrill smiles a little and begins an explanation as soon as I glance her way with questions on my lips. "You've been asleep awhile. Anders was here, do you remember? He came and helped us get you home from your uncle's?"

I nod. "I remember. But it gets a bit hazy after that."

"You were almost unconscious by the time we reached the mansion," Merrill says, her features tightening in a way that tells me she does not enjoy the memory. "Anders couldn't do much for you while we had to move you. We got you here, and he did some things; gave you some potions to rid you of the magebane more quickly, then did what healing he could manage. It didn't work as well as it would have if it weren't for the magebane, of course. That's why you're not completely well yet. Anders suggested putting you into a healing induced sleep for a few days so you would stay still and let the wounds heal and your mana regenerate faster, because..." She pauses, her expression somewhere between indignation and resigned affection. "Because... well, he said that if he didn't put you to sleep, you'd probably take no notice of his advice to stay indoors and move as little as possible, and end up accidentally fighting a dragon or something and undo all his hard work."

I raise my eyebrows at her slightly. "And what did you say to that?"

Merrill gazes at me seriously. "I got cross and said that as you are ten times the healer he is you wouldn't be so foolish, unless you had to save somebody, in which case it would be innate nobility driving you rather than wilful stupidity." She smiles a bit. "He didn't like that much. And I wasn't going to let him put you under without talking to you about it first, especially if it meant you'd be stuck in the Fade somewhere without me, but you weren't really awake enough to understand what was going on around you. And Leandra agreed with him anyway. So he put you to sleep. I'm sorry if that's not what you would have wanted, ma vhenan." She scowls. "He said he could give you a dreamless sleep."

"He was wrong," I say wryly, and smile at Merrill. "Don't worry, love. I'm alright now. It all worked out." I seek inside myself, pleased to find my mana almost back to full strength, though I know I am not physically strong enough yet to use creation magic. Not long, though. "And I should be able to heal myself the rest of the way, soon. In the meantime I wouldn't say no to a bite to eat," I add as my hunger makes itself known through a loud rumble in the vicinity of my stomach. But another, far more immediate need presses upon me as I become suddenly, urgently aware of my full bladder. "And a privy visit before I do anything else," I end in a strained voice, and Merrill rushes to help me, laughing a little.

Mother is waiting for us when we return, stirring a steaming pot on a tray on the sideboard. My stomach gives a mighty and highly embarrassing rumble as the smell of beef broth reaches my nose, even as I repress a grimace of distaste at the prospect of such boring fare. A knowing twinkle appears in Mother's eyes as she glances at me. "Hello, darling. I'm so happy to see you up and about!" She smiles lovingly at me, and then points commandingly to the four-poster. "Now get yourself back in that bed and you can have something to eat. I know broth is boring, but your friend Anders said that after you woke up, you shouldn't eat anything too-"

"Appetising?"

"Difficult to digest." Mother gives me an amused look, continuing as though I hadn't interrupted her, and she removes the cover from a plate of freshly baked rolls, breaking one in half and smearing butter inside it. "But I thought you might like something a little more substantial than broth. You can manage this, can't you?"

The warm scent of the bread is wonderful, and I grin at Mother appreciatively. "I'll manage it if it kills me."

Mother gives me slightly cross look, clearly unamused by my irreverent remark, and points again to the bed. "In. Now."

Obediently, I climb into bed once again, smiling at Merrill as she plumps up a pillow behind my back, and sit back gingerly, careful not to aggravate my newly healed injuries. Mother approaches with a small bed tray laden with bread rolls and a bowl of the dreaded beef broth, and places it carefully over my blanketed legs. I watch somewhat apprehensively as she picks up a spoon, relieved when she only hands it to me handle first rather than going so far as to attempt to feed me herself. As much as I am grateful for Mother's attentiveness, she can sometimes get a little carried away in her enthusiasm to take care of me, especially when I'm under the weather.

Merrill settles herself on a chair placed beside the bed, watching me as I work my way through the broth and bread.

Mother hands Merrill a roll too. "Here, darling. I haven't seen you eat much these past few days."

An abashed look flitters across Merrill's face, and she glances at me for a moment. "I keep forgetting," she says with a slight shrug, blushing a little at my frown. "I was worried."

"I'm fine, love," I tell her softly. "Please, eat. You don't want to get me worried, do you?"

Merrill smiles a little and takes a bite, earning an approving look from Mother as she moves to stand beside me. I feel her run her fingers through my hair as I finish my meal, and glance up to find her gazing at me with mingled affection and nostalgia. "You have such lovely soft hair, darling," she says wistfully. "Just like your father's. Why don't you grow it long again? Just for a change. You haven't worn it long since you were a child."

I swallow my last mouthful hastily to answer her. "I like it short. It's less trouble." And there's less of it for an enemy to get a hold on in a fight.

Mother exhales audibly. "Then at least let me cut it for you, won't you?" she pleads. "Let me make it a little neater. It's so ragged and messy, the way you do it. Anyone would think you use a butter knife."

"I don't." Well, sometimes, if that's what I have at hand, but Mother needn't know that. I aim my most charming smile in her direction, pleased to see an upward twitch at the corner of her mouth and a twinkle in her eye at my efforts. "And I really do like it this way. It adds to my mystique."

A delicate snort escapes Mother, and she ruffles my hair. "Mystique, indeed. Scamp."

"I rather like her hair like this too," Merrill says dreamily, not helping Mother's cause in the least. She reaches out and strokes the lock of hair ever falling into my eyes. "I especially like this bit, here. It's adorable. It suits her very much."

"Well, there you have it, Mother. I'm adorable," I grin up at her cheekily, handing her my empty dish.

Mother laughs, wiping a napkin over my face unnecessarily and then pretending to clean my ears with it as Merrill giggles. "I'll not argue that. Alright, I concede. You wear your hair as you see fit, my dear."

I snatch the napkin, tossing it playfully at Merrill as Mother kisses my cheek. "I was going to, Mama."

Merrill's eyes blink close as her mouth stretches in a yawn. I catch her eye as Mother busies herself collecting the empty dishes together on a tray. "You should take care of yourself too, love," I remind her gently. "Get some sleep."

Merrill shakes her head, a determined look in her eyes. "I'm fine, ma vhenan. I don't need to sleep, honest."

"Get some fresh air, at least," I urge her gently, not fooled. She's reluctant to let me out of her sight, which I understand, but I'm alright now and she needs to rest. "I'm out of danger, I promise. Get out of this room for a bit." I give her a fond grin. "Take a walk in the garden."

A frown appears on Merrill's face. "We don't have a garden, do we? Not really."

"Perhaps you could accidentally break into the Viscount's private garden again?"

Merrill blushes, smiling bashfully as she looks down and I take the opportunity to lock gazes with Mother, who nods, smiling slightly. Merrill glances up at me again. "Alright, Hawke. I will. Maybe while you're sleeping."

"That's all I ask, love." I resettle myself against my pillows, smiling as Mother tips me a knowing wink and bustles off to the kitchens, satisfied to know that she will mother Merrill into compliance and make sure she takes care of herself.

Once Mother is gone, Merrill abandons her chair and settles herself lightly on the bed beside me, turning my face towards her with gentle fingers to kiss me with tender care. "Are you really alright?" she asks softly. "The truth, now."

I smile into her eyes. "I'm going to be fine, Merrill. I'm not fully healed, my mana hasn't recovered all the way yet, and I'm sore, but I will be fine. Hardly worse than any of the nastier fights we've been involved in."

Merrill looks back at me steadily, her gaze penetrating and over-bright. "But it was worse, Hawke. That man was intent on hurting you. He hurt you before. He-"

"He's dead," I remind her softly. "You took care of that. I'm not saying I don't have wounds. But I will heal, in time." I reach up and wipe a tear from her cheek, cupping her face in my hand. "And faster, now that I have you."

Merrill smiles, laying her hand over mine and leaning into my touch. "I don't know if it's ever that simple, ma vhenan."

"No," I agree, my voice catching slightly on the word. It isn't so simple, however much I wish it to be. There are some scars that never fully close, some dark memories that will never fade. "But it will be alright. It will." I hesitate, afraid to ask, but needing badly to know. "Merrill… how much does Mother know? About… what happened…?"

"She knows that Meeran ambushed us with magebane," Merrill answers quietly, her eyes serious and knowing. "She knows that he wanted you to work for him again, and that he threatened me to try to force your compliance. I told her about the fight, that we were weak and tired, drained by the magebane, and that was how he managed to hurt you so grievously, but that we defeated them in the end and made it to Gamlen for help. I have told her nothing about what you truly suffered at that monster's hands, my heart, as you asked."

I let out a low breath, closing my eyes briefly. "Thank you, love."

I'm not ready for Mother to know anything more. Perhaps she does deserve to know, but I can't see that it would do any good. And I don't want to… I'm just… I don't have it in me to go through it all with her, to feel it again, to see the pain it would cause her. Neither of us deserve that. I can't decide if keeping this from her is strength or weakness on my part, but at this moment, I simply do not care.

Merrill is silent for a while, biting her lip. "Hawke, when…" she begins falteringly. "When those men had me, and that monstrous man threatened to harm me, even kill me if you didn't do what he wanted, you… you said he'd get what he wanted, as long as I wasn't hurt." Her eyes meet mine, full of pain and horror. "Would you really have let him hurt you to save me? Did you have a plan? Or…"

"I…" I let my gaze fall, unable to hold her eyes. Maker. I knew she would ask this question eventually. I knew, and I dreaded it, because I really don't know what I would have done. "I'm not sure how to answer that. I had no plan. I didn't want to submit to him, but he would have had you killed right then had I refused." I run my hand through my hair and then rub at the back of my neck, feeling slightly panicky as I relive the attack. "He was going to kill us anyway, I know, but I had to try for time. When I went with him… my thoughts were going so fast I could barely hold onto them. I hoped that you could get away from them, but what if you couldn't? If I tried to fight Meeran too early, if I tried to attack him before he had me where he wanted me but failed to get away, or couldn't stop him calling out to his men, you would have been killed. If I didn't choose the right moment to make a move against him, you would have paid the price… and it would have been easier to take him by surprise when his guard was completely down, so I…" I sigh, looking up at her again. "I suppose the answer is… I don't really know exactly what I was going to do, only that I would do anything to stop them hurting you, Merrill. Anything."

Merrill's green eyes are haunted and reproachful. "Hurts can be mended, Hawke. I got away. I'd rather not have you hurt on my account. Especially not… like that."

"Many, not all, hurts can be mended, Merrill," I counter softly, "But death cannot be reversed. If your life is at stake, as it was then, I will do anything to preserve it. I would kill for you, suffer for you, and I would die for you."

"And I would do the same, Hawke," Merrill whispers, taking my hand and gripping it tightly. "But I… I would not want to live without you."

I nod slowly. "Nor I you." I bite my lip, thinking. We get ourselves into danger often… too often for comfort. We can't seem to avoid it. I would die to protect Merrill, I know I would, and she for me, but for the one of us left behind… I don't believe I would ever find life worth living if I lost Merrill, not if I lived a hundred years. "Alright," I say at last, beginning to feel very tired. "Then… when we find ourselves in danger, all I can say is that I will always do whatever I have to do to make sure we both survive."

Merrill gives a faint smile. "I can accept that. I will do the same."

We stay silent for several moments, thinking over what this means to us. Finally, Merrill takes a deep breath, laying her hand over mine. "Ma vhenan, Meeran said that… that some of the nobles tried to hire the Red Iron to kill us. Because… because of me… because of us…"

My jaw tightens. "If some self-righteous, small minded, gilded sack of shit hired scum to kill either or both of us because our love somehow offends them or makes them believe it affects them in any way, we will find out who they are, and we will convince them otherwise," I tell her, my voice fierce as my blood burns with rage at the reminder. "And if they will not be convinced, we will make certain by threats or by force that they do not attempt to harm us ever again. If anyone takes issue with that, I will take a leaf from Isabela's book and challenge them to a duel, as is my right, and I will prevail. I will prove them wrong in the sight of any god they name." I let my head fall back against the pillows and rub at my temples, feeling suddenly more exhausted and drained than before. "I promise. We will handle it, whatever happens. But for now, I just…" I turn my head to look at her pleadingly. "For the moment, love, I just want to live in the present. Perhaps take a nap? We can worry about our future when I wake."

"Alright, ma vhenan," Merrill agrees, running gentle fingers through my hair. "Would you like a story first?"

I smile at her in delight, and Merrill laughs quietly, settling herself into a more comfortable sitting position beside my pillows. "I thought you might. Lie down properly." She snuggles a little closer as I comply, tugging the pillows flat for me as she draws the blankets up to cover me. "How about… a story about Ghilan'nain, Mother of the Halla?"

I nod eagerly, and she begins. "They say Ghilan'nain was one of the People, in the days before Arlathan, and the chosen of Andruil the Huntress. She was very beautiful, with hair as white as new-fallen snow, and eyes bright as amethysts. She was as fierce as a dragon, yet as gentle as a fall of summer rain, and as graceful as a gazelle. She kept always to Andruil's Ways, and Andruil favoured her above all others."

"She was Andruil's chosen?" I interrupt interestedly. "Favoured above all others? What does that mean? That she was a vessel for the goddess, or that she was…"

"Her lover?" Merrill smiles, accurately following my train of thought. "The tales don't say, specifically. Not the ones I've ever been told, at least. But since it doesn't say either way, I'd say that my story is open to the interpretation of my audience. If she wants to listen?"

I bite back a grin, chastened, resting my head against her thigh. "Sorry, my love."

One day, while hunting in the forest, Ghilan'nain came across a hunter, a stranger to her clan. At his feet lay a hawk, shot through the heart by an arrow. Ghilan'nain was filled with rage, for alongside the hare, the hawk…" Merrill pauses to offer me a sweet kiss on the cheek, "… is an animal much beloved of Andruil. In her anger, Ghilan'nain demanded that the hunter make an offering to Andruil, in exchange for taking the life of one of her favoured creatures. The hunter refused, mocking her, and Ghilan'nain called upon the goddess to curse him, so that he could never again hunt and kill a living creature until he learned to show proper respect for the gods and their creatures.

"Ghilan'nain's curse took hold, and the hunter found that he could no longer hunt. His prey would elude him and his every arrow would miss its target. His friends and family began to deride and scorn him for his inability, for what use is a hunter who cannot hunt? Ashamed and angry, the hunter vowed he if he could no longer hunt prey, he would hunt Ghilan'nain and make her pay for what she had done to him…"

xxx M xxx

I smile at her, my Hawke, so lovable, listening to my story with eyes wide with wonder just like a da'len.

"…But because he was cursed, the hunter could not kill her. So he left her, blind, bloodied and bound, in the forest to die. And Ghilan'nain prayed to the gods for help. She prayed to Elgar'nan for vengeance, to Mother Mythal to protect her, but above all she prayed to Andruil. When Andruil heard her chosen's cries, and knew of her pain, she was overcome with grief and rage. She sent her hares ahead of her to Ghilan'nain's aid and they chewed through the ropes that bound her, but Ghilan'nain was still wounded and blind, and could not find her way home. So Andruil hunted for her favoured one, and when the goddess found her at last, near dead from loss of blood, Andruil turned her into a beautiful white deer—the first halla. And Ghilan'nain found her way back to her sisters, and led them to the hunter, who was brought to Andruil's justice.

"And since that day, the halla have guided the People, and have never led us astray, for they listen to the voice of Ghilan'nain."

Hawke bites her lip a little as my story winds to a close. "When the hunter was hurting Ghilan'nain, why didn't Andruil stop him? Why didn't she save her chosen?"

"Our gods are not the type of god your Maker is said to be," I reply softy. "They are not all-knowing. Andruil was not with Ghilan'nain, and she did not know what was happening to her until Ghilan'nain called for her."

"Why couldn't she heal her?"

I can't help but chuckle a little, hearing her asking me the same questions I once asked Marethari. "Healing was not her strength. That distinction belongs to Sylaise. Andruil did what she could to save Ghilan'nain's life. She made Ghilan'nain into a new creature, restoring her body to strength and vitality in a new form until she could be restored to her original one."

Hawke's eyes blink sleepily at me as I stroke the hair from her forehead soothingly, letting my magic work gently through her body, calming her, carrying her towards the healing sleep she needs. "So… she was alright, in the end?" she asks, a note of pleading for reassurance in her voice.

"She was with her goddess, love. She had a new life. She was even made the youngest of the gods – but that is another story. Sleep now, love," I lean over her, placing a gentle kiss on her brow as her eyelids flutter, blink slowly, and finally drift closed at last.

I stay beside her as her breathing slows and deepens, smoothing her hair in a lulling, rhythmic pattern, weaving the spell she taught me to keep her from nightmares in the Beyond. How peaceful and untroubled she looks in slumber, how young and serene when not burdened by the cares and horrors of the world. My poor Hawke. If I had my way, you would be hurt by nothing and no one ever again, for the rest of existence. My poor, sweet love.

Soft footfalls approach beyond the chamber door and I look up from Hawke's face, smiling as Leandra enters quietly; her gaze flitting immediately to her sleeping child. She takes the chair I vacated and reaches out a hand to smooth the coverlets over Hawke's chest.

"She's truly asleep?" she asks absently, her eyes never leaving her daughter's peaceful face.

"She is. I made sure she'll have a dreamless sleep. She needs proper rest."

Leandra nods, lifting her hand and laying it against Hawke's cheek. She turns her gaze to me, meeting my eyes seriously. "How is she, really?" Leandra demands, her voice tight. "The truth, Merrill. Please. Don't spare me any details. I don't need to be protected; I need to know how badly my child has been hurt. Is she in pain?"

"A little," I concede. "Much less now than she was. The worst of it is over now that she has been treated. The truth is that she is well on her way to recovering," I take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "Meeran and his men hurt her terribly, but she is going to be fine."

Leandra takes a shuddering breath, sitting back in her chair. I watch as she seems to steel herself, a slight feeling of apprehension beginning to unfurl in my stomach. Why does she seem so agitated?

"Merrill, is there…" Leandra hesitates, apparently debating with herself, then meets my eyes with a determined gaze, folding her hands in her lap. Her fingers are clenched, white with the strain. "Merrill," she begins again, her voice steady. "Is there anything more I ought to know about this? My children fulfilled their contract with the Red Iron years ago. Why did Meeran want my daughter so badly? Why show her such violence because she refused to work for him again? Surely there are other apostates looking for work. Was it really just about that, or was there… more to it than Hawke is willing to tell me?"

I try not to let my alarm show on my face, knowing full well that I am probably not succeeding. I don't know how to answer without lying or revealing too much. But Leandra presses on before I can begin to form a reply.

"I saw her bruises, when we dressed her wounds," Leandra says, her voice low, her eyes dark and fearful. "The marks of a hand on her breast. What did that man want with my child? What has he done to her?"

Creators, I did not expect this. Hawke said Leandra did not know, did not suspect! Oh, Mythal, love, your mother knows you better than you think. She sees now.

Why did she not see before?

The silence draws out, broken only my Hawke's gentle breathing as Leandra watches me for a reaction. "Sometimes, at night," Leandra whispers into the quiet, "in the dark of the room we shared in Gamlen's house, beneath Carver's snores I could hear her crying in her sleep, hear her sobbing and calling for help." I feel a pain in my lip, and realise I have been biting it hard, almost enough to break the skin. "In the morning when I asked, she would say that it was a nightmare; that she was dreaming of the Blight, of Bethany's death, or of her father. And I believed her, or I tried to. We had suffered much to give us all nightmares, then."

I close my eyes tight and turn my face away for a few moments, swallowing hard. Oh, love…

Leandra is still watching me when I find the courage to look at her again. "Then," she continues softly, "there were the bruises. She tried to hide them but sometimes I saw glimpses, when she changed or bathed. She explained it away as being simply the result of a fight, but the shapes they took, the…" Her eyes harden, and she gestures to Hawke's chest. "The placement of them… the more I think about it now, the less I can believe it. The Red Iron made sure their people were well outfitted when they were on the job, even their indentured workers. The look she would get in her eyes whenever Meeran's name was mentioned… I thought it was guilt and shame; that hearing his name reminded my gentle, sweet daughter that she was being forced to support us by performing contract killings, being involved in threatening and hurting people, but oh, Maker, Merrill…" Leandra closes her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before fixing me once more within an iron gaze. "Was that man hurting my child, Merrill? Was he forcing her to… to…?"

"Leandra, please," I break in, pleading, the tears that spill down my cheeks mirrored an instant later on Leandra's face. "I cannot… please, I can't…"

"She has asked you not to speak of it, hasn't she?" Leandra's eyes are overbright and flowing as she gazes at me in understanding. "I won't ask that you betray her confidence, Merrill. Only that you do not lie to me. If my suspicions are unfounded, tell me so. Otherwise, simply say nothing."

I do not see that there is anything else I can do. I cannot lie or dissemble, not to Hawke's mother. Not when she asks me so bluntly, so openly. I cannot deny it.

I say nothing; I only look at Leandra, seeing the full weight of her understanding settle on her heavily as she realises the truth that echoes in my silence. She puts a trembling hand to her mouth, gasping in silent pain as she turns anguished eyes on her battered, sleeping daughter.

"I didn't know!" Leandra gives a soft cry, almost a scream, dropping from the chair to kneel beside Hawke, reaching out a hand to her before drawing it back, as though afraid to touch her, as though unsure of her right to do so. "I only ever had half-formed suspicions, soon forgotten whenever she dismissed my concerns. She explained them away with such assurances… but I should have seen through her. I should have seen, I should have let myself realise it. Why couldn't she have told me? I would never have let her suffer so!"

"But what could you have done?" I ask quietly. "If Hawke could have found another way for you all to survive, she would have taken it. But by the time she knew what Meeran was, it was too late; the contract with the Red Iron was signed, and he knew that she was a mage. He held her freedom tight in his vile grasp, and yours too. The Templars here under Meredith are much less forgiving than they are elsewhere. If they had discovered Hawke, both you and Carver, perhaps even Gamlen, would have paid the price for harbouring an apostate, had Meeran whispered in the right steel-clad ears. She knew there was nothing that could be done, but to suffer him. She kept it from you to spare you the torment of helpless knowing."

"Oh, Maker!" Leandra tries to stifle her sobs. "My baby, my little one..."

I rise, kneeling beside her and drawing her into my embrace. "You can cry, Leandra," I tell her, letting her lean her head on my shoulder. "She is deeply asleep, I have seen to that. She will not wake."

Leandra begins to cry in earnest, and I hold her, as I once held her grieving child in a dark place, a dark time, my own tears of horror and pain for my love running unchecked down my cheeks.

I do not know how long it is that I remain on the floor, comforting my lover's mother over the suffering her child bore on her behalf. Eventually she quietens enough to sit up, to restore some measure of composure. I fish for a handkerchief in a drawer and hand it to her.

"Thank you, love," Leandra manages, wiping her eyes and cheeks. She seats herself back in her chair, and I sit once again beside Hawke, still sleeping peacefully. "For everything. Maker. What do I do? I feel like… I must talk to her. Blessed Andraste, what can I say?"

"She didn't want you to know," I remind her softly. "I promised not to tell anyone unless she decided otherwise. I don't know if she could handle it, if she knew that you are aware of what happened to her. Not yet. Not now."

A shuddering breath escapes Leandra, and she gazes at her daughter, her expression filled with pain and grief. "Then… I will not speak to her about it, for the moment. Not unless she breaches the subject first. But oh, Merrill… by the Maker, this is…"

"I know." I meet her eyes in understanding, knowing full well the helpless anguish she feels at the knowledge of Hawke's pain and suffering. "She will be alright, Leandra. That, I promise you. I will ensure it."

Leandra sits up straighter, giving me a measured look. "I believe it." She gives me a smile, as full of affection as it is of pain. "You make her so happy, my darling girl. Happier than my dearest wish for my children. And…" She rises, coming to stand before me, placing a steady hand on my head, smoothing my hair as she did to her own child. "Though no one can replace Bethany, I feel… I feel as though you have taken the place of a daughter in my heart, little love." She bends, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, and envelops me in her arms. I bring my own up, trembling slightly, to return her embrace, feeling yet more tears well up beneath my eyelids. She… she thinks of me as a daughter? Truly?

When Leandra releases me at last, she smiles and watches her daughter sleep for a few moments, giving me time to wipe my eyes dry. "Now would be a good time for the both of us to have a nice long heart-to-heart, I think," she says, reaching over to gently stroke Hawke's cheek. "Uninterrupted. There are many things I think we have not been able to speak of properly. For differing reasons."

I note the critical look she gives me as I nod in agreement, smiling at her reference to the way Hawke so completely absorbs my attention whenever she is about. I find it is hard to hold a conversation with anyone else when my lovely Hawke is anywhere within my line of vision. That she is currently unconscious might make it a little easier, but… "Perhaps we might go elsewhere to talk?" I suggest softly. "We can leave Hawke to rest."

Leandra raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you sure? I would have thought I'd have to drag you from the room to get you to leave her side."

"I'm certain," I inform her sweetly. "She won't wake for some time. And besides; didn't Hawke tacitly get you to promise her that you would make sure I took care of myself?"

Leandra laughs. "You don't miss much do you, love?"

"Oh, no, I miss rather a lot, actually," I disagree cheerfully, standing and following her over to the chamber door. "But I'm getting better at not missing things. Especially when it comes to understanding my Hawke."

The moment Leandra unlatches the door, it swings inward under the force of the determined mabari, who barges his way in and moves immediately over to the bed, rising on his hind legs and planting his front paws on the edge of the mattress to peer critically at his sleeping human, sniffing her relaxed fingers and whuffling softly. A small white blur pelts after him across the floor and Feathers leaps up onto the bed, prancing up towards the head of the bed to sniff delicately at Hawke's face.

"Be careful, boys," I call to them, and they both turn bright eyes upon me. "She's not well yet, but she will be alright. She only needs rest."

Hawke's trusty mabari chuffs gently, then pushes his nose into Hawke's hand and giving it a few affectionate licks before hopping up on the bed and settling down at Hawke's feet to guard her. Leandra moves as if to remove him but I stop her, shaking my head with a smile. "No, let him. Just this once. I think it will be comforting for her. Smelly, but comforting."

"And Feathers?" Leandra asks quietly, her eyes uncertain.

I gesture to the bed, where Feathers has flopped down and settled himself firmly against Hawke's side, small paws tucked beneath him. "He will help her too. Just watch."

A low, rumbling purr begins as Feathers half-closes his eyes, his coat beginning to shine with ripples of his special healing magic. I beam approvingly at him, feeling awed once again at his abilities and his intelligence. My helpful, wondrous little fellow. Leandra smiles, and I motion her out the door, leaving Hawke alone to rest.

"Alright, my dear," Leandra says, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "Let's go and make some calming tea to help us settle for the night, and we can talk more about… all of this. And perhaps later, I can finally tell you stories about my daughter without receiving icy glares and eyebrows raised in oh-so-subtle warning."

"Oh, she was such a little rascal!" Leandra laughs, her hands cupped about a mug of fresh-brewed sleep-ease tea, leaning forward over the rough kitchen worktable to smile into my eyes as she regales me with stories of the child my Hawke once was. Our conversation has lasted well into the night, and is much more pleasurable now that I have managed to turn Leandra away from darker topics to these delightful episodes from the Hawke family's time in Ferelden. I have learned much about my Hawke tonight, and about her parents and siblings as well. "So wild, and irrepressible. The little scamp absolutely refused to put on shoes, most days. She insisted on going barefoot practically everywhere she went. And the strays she brought home! Every other day, a bird with a broken wing, a half-starved fennec pup, and at one time when we lived close to the Brecilian forest, she even rescued a halla faun with a hurt leg from a hunter's trap. She would bring them to her father and he would help her to heal them, and go with her when it was time to release them back into the wild." She shakes her head, smiling tenderly. "He would warn her not to let herself get attached, but of course she always did, and when the time came to release them she would cry, every time. But she would be so happy that they were finally healthy and free." Leandra gazes into the kitchen fire, caught up in fond reminiscence. "My sweet girl. Such an open heart. She was such a wonderful elder sister to the twins. She was a friend and protector to Bethany, and to Carver, a comrade, and sometimes…" She sighs in mild exasperation, "… a rival, whether she intended it or not. But they all loved each other to pieces. They could have such adventures together."

I smile, thrilled to be hearing some of the more pleasant tales of Hawke's childhood. "It sounds like they were quite the handful."

Leandra chuckles. "Oh, they were, all of them together. And I thought my eldest was trouble enough on her own, before her brother and sister came along! But I wouldn't have traded any of them for the world." A wistful, pained smile comes over Leandra's face. "I love the woman my daughter is now, and I wish to the Maker she had never been hurt… but I must admit, it has been rather nice to take care of her again, as I did when she was small."

We sit in contemplative, companionable silence for a few moments, until Leandra looks up at me, an odd sparkle in her eye. "Merrill… this is none of my business, I know, but perhaps you will indulge me…" She trails away, giving me a questioning look.

I smile at her. "You can ask me anything, Leandra. I won't promise to answer, of course, depending on your question, but you can always ask."

An appreciative laugh escapes Leandra, and she gazes at me fondly. "That is fair, I suppose," she concedes. "Very well. What I wanted to ask, Merrill, is… have you ever thought about… children?"

Have I ever thought about children? What an odd question! Of course I have, from time to time. I'm thinking about children right at this moment, since the word is in my head now. What sort of answer is she looking for? "Well, of course I have, I suppose," I reply slowly, frowning a little. "I was once the First to Keeper Marethari, and it is a Keeper's responsibility to teach the young ones our history, so I've had to think about them a lot. How to mind them, how to talk to them-"

"Oh, no, sweetheart," Leandra interrupts, waving a hand to stop my words and smiling at me, eyes twinkling in amusement. "What I meant was... have you ever thought about having children? Having a child yourself, I mean."

Oh. That's… oh. "Well…" I stay quiet for a moment, wondering how best to phrase my thoughts. "Yes, I have considered it in the past. Among the clans, while it is not law that anyone must have a child, not exactly, it is expected of Keepers to… to pass on the magic in their blood to the next generation, so the gift is not lost. If they are physically able, anyway. Regardless of whether they find someone to spend their lives with, there are always… arrangements that can be made." I sigh, unable to stop my face from wrinkling in distaste at the thought of what I may have been required to do for duty. "If I couldn't have found a suitable… mate… myself, then the Keeper would have chosen one of the young men of the clan to give me children, preferably one with magic in his bloodline to increase the chances of passing on the talent."

"Arranged pairings?" Leandra asks softly, her eyes wide. "Such a thing seems like… a very mercenary agreement, much like noble marriages. Do the Dalish often practice arranged marriages?"

"Well…" I hesitate, feeling as though this conversation is moving into unsteady waters. "Not really. Not often in my clan, at least. Mostly, people are free to love who they love, at least in the larger clans. Though it is… encouraged, for arrangements to be made for couples to have children where they cannot produce them naturally, such as… well, in cases such as with Hawke and myself. Although not with humans, obviously, since… well, you know. But, I have heard that in the smaller clans, it is a necessity to have more children to keep the clans alive, and often at the Arlathvhen gatherings, arranged marriages will take place if necessary, to prevent inbreeding in the clan bloodlines." I am rambling now, I know, but now that I have begun speaking of this, I have to explain myself properly. I know it must be difficult for an outsider to understand. "But in the case of Keepers... or anyone with magic... there is a much, much higher expectation bordering on law that those elves pass on their magical bloodlines. Sometimes this is even expected of those with mages in their ancestry, though they themselves have no magic. Like Mahariel. The Keeper before Marethari was very powerful, and while his daughter was not a mage, everyone thought any children of hers would stand a very good chance of being just as powerful."

"Mahariel?" Leandra says, clearly interested. "The Warden? The Hero?"

"Yes," I nod. "No one ever really said it out loud, at least, not directly to her face, but... there was always a clear expectation that she should find a good, strong young man, and that her children might even become my apprentices one day, as well as my own children... the same was expected of me, you see." Leandra has an odd look on her face, a look of sadness and understanding. "So everyone was very pleased when Tamlen – a hunter, and our clan-mate - started courting her. I always thought she was happy enough, although..." I pause, remembering something suddenly in a different light. "She did say to me once that she wasn't sure if what she wanted and what the clan wanted were the same thing. She said she felt trapped by tradition, and all the expectations the clan had for her, and that perhaps she wanted something different. But when I asked her what she meant, she would stutter for a bit, and blush, and then change the subject."

"Did she, now?" Leandra looks thoughtful. "Were you alone, when she spoke of such things to you?"

I nod. "Yes. She often sought me out when I was on my own. To keep me company, or to bring me things I needed."

"What sorts of things?"

I think back. "Oh, you know. Things I needed for potions, herbs and blossoms. Sometimes she would let me have something she had carved while on watch at night, little wooden animals she had no use for beyond alleviating her boredom. Or she would bring me little cakes she made..."

"Ah," Leandra nods knowingly. "The blackberry ones, yes?"

"Oh yes!" I agree, remembering speaking of this over breakfast one morning. "That's right. She knew how much I love blackberries."

"So, she brought you flowers, gave you carvings she made herself, and made your favourite food." Leandra smiles gently. "Forgive me, dear, but... it sounds like this Mahariel was a little bit enamoured of you."

"She… what?"

A few long moments of silence pass as my mind confusedly tries to process that statement. Mahariel... she… she liked me? In that way? No… she wasn't... she never...

But the more I think about it... the more it seems to fit.

She... but... she and Tamlen... He was courting her! But... now that I think about it, knowing what it's been like for me and Hawke... I don't really think the way she acted towards him was anything more than friendly. And... and she did always want to spend time with me...

No. No, she couldn't have been! Mahariel would have made her feelings known, surely. Maybe she didn't want Tamlen, but that doesn't mean she wanted me. "Mythal… no, she couldn't have been… We were just friends! Truly…"

Leandra gazes at me kindly, seeming to know my thoughts, at least to a degree. "Perhaps not then. But if she was in love with you, would it change anything, if you had known?" she asks quietly.

I shake my head. "I... I don't know. I don't think so. I always thought of Mahariel as a friend, a sister. I loved her of course, but... in a completely different way to how I love Hawke. Maybe, if I had known, had time to think of her in that light, things might have been different then… but then, she probably would have had to leave anyway." I am speaking more to myself now then to Leandra, though she waits patiently without interrupting with questions as I babble. "I was in lessons with the Keeper when she and Tamlen entered that blighted cave; nothing would have changed how her life played out beyond that point. Though I suppose if I was as in love with her as I am with your daughter, I suppose I may have forsaken my clan to follow her to Ostagar, but I doubt that would have ended well. If I found out now that she truly did have feelings for me then, it would certainly not change my mind or my heart if I saw her again, if that's what you mean. Not when I have Hawke." I shake my head, still disbelieving. I will have to think on all this later, to process it completely, but I cannot handle it now. I really just don't think it's possible. I would have to ask Mahariel, and Creators only know if that will ever happen. "This is all assuming she was actually... that she really wanted... not that I really see why she would, but..." I trail off, suddenly missing my friend terribly, wishing I could see her, speak to her now. Oh, Mahariel… "Oh, wherever she is now, I hope she's alright. I hope she's happy."

"I'm sure she is, sweetheart," Leandra says reassuringly, reaching across the table to pat my wrist, then leaning in in a sort of conspiratorial manner. "The current rumour is that she has been spotted several times in Denerim, and sometimes Orlais, looking very happy in the company of an Orlesian minstrel with "flame-touched hair", who supposedly helped her stop the Blight." She winks at me. "If that is true, then I doubt you have anything to fret about."

She's in Denerim? Oh, then she's alright! I hope it is true, and she is happy. I wonder who this Orlesian minstrel is? I feel as though I have heard of her… perhaps in one of Varric's stories about the Fifth Blight? I haven't really paid too much attention to any such stories up until now, since I cannot be certain of the veracity of any of them, especially Varric's, and he tells so many I might have forgotten I heard it, but if this story is true, then that's just wonderful! I will have to ask Varric to tell me again, I think. And make sure I ask him very firmly for the true, non-embellished version.

"And now that you're in a relationship with my daughter?" Leandra asks softly, gently drawing the conversation back to where it began. "Have you ever thought about raising a child together?"

"I… we…" Creators. I feel a tightening in my throat. "Yes. Yes, I have thought of it before," I admit, unable to look Hawke's mother in the eyes. "But it's always been just that. Thoughts, dreams." Fantasies I have kept to myself, trying to picture what a child of Hawke's would look like, a heart-felt longing for a dream that I know can never be. I glance up at Leandra at last, seeing my own longing reflected in her eyes.

"It needn't be a dream, love," Leandra says, smiling gently. "A child is a blessing beyond anything I can describe, and the two of you, so loving, so strong, so wonderfully compassionate and utterly devoted to one another… you would both make amazing mothers. And I admit, I would love to be a grandmother."

But... after what we've been talking about, arrangements to produce children and all… I stare at Leandra, trying to understand. "Are… are you suggesting that we... that I or Hawke… For one of us to bear a child, we would need a man, and that's not... it isn't... we wouldn't want to… to..." I let out a deep breath, feeling an oddly panicked feeling at even the thought of me or Hawke being intimate with someone else, even just for the purposes of having a child – Creators, no, I can't even think of it without cringing. "Oh, Leandra, it would feel like such a betrayal, even if such a thing was planned between us… we couldn't…"

Leandra's eyes widen in alarm at my outburst, and she shakes her head quickly. "No, no, sweetheart, that isn't what I meant at all. Though…" she hesitates, a light appearing in her eyes as an idea occurs to her. "Perhaps there's a way to conceive… magically?"

I blink at her stupidly for a moment, and then feel a slow surprised smile spread across my face. Of anything she could have suggested, I would not have expected that. Likely if any way to create a child using some sort of magic ritual exists, it would have its origins in blood magic somewhere along the line. It wouldn't have occurred to me at all, even so, and yet Leandra thought of it. She must really want a grandchild. "Well, none that I know of. But there are lots of things I don't know. Yet."

"Well, perhaps you will find a way. Though that wasn't what I really meant anyway," Leandra tells me gently. "Blood doesn't matter so much. You don't need to be tied to someone with blood to consider them family."

I beam at her at these words, feeling the truth of the deeply in my own heart. "You're absolutely right, Leandra. After all, I was raised by my clan as one of their own, though I came to the Sabrae from another clan altogether as a child to be Marethari's apprentice. And Mahariel was taken in by a lovely woman, after her parents died when she was just a baby."

Well, more accurately, Ashalle took care of Mahariel as her own daughter after Mahariel's father died and her mother abandoned her. I pause, reflecting sadly. My friend was so quiet and dejected when she spoke of what Ashalle had told her of her parents, after Mahariel had finally woken from her sickness. I don't know what made Ashalle decide to tell Mahariel the truth of her history. I knew there was more to the tale than any of the da'len were told, though the Keeper asked me not to speak of it. Marethari told me of what had happened to her predecessor, Mahariel's father, and so I knew the story of how he was killed when human bandits attacked him and his pregnant bond-mate. But I believed, as did Mahariel, what Marethari had implied; that Mahariel's mother died in childbirth. I did not know that she had survived what must have been the traumatic birth of her child, the one remaining link in this world to her beloved bond-mate, only to abandon her newborn daughter to disappear into the night, likely into death as well. But the Dalish do not speak much of the dead, especially those whose passing was tragic, and the elders of the clan must have decided it was in the past, that there was no good in reopening old wounds, and filling Mahariel's young heart with sadness and a burden of awful knowledge she was yet too young to bear. Perhaps Ashalle had been frightened, as we all were, that Mahariel was never going to wake, and could not bear the thought of her child going to her death without knowing the truth of her history. Perhaps she decided Mahariel ought to hear it when she finally awoke, that she was old enough at last. But my poor friend…

Mahariel came to me soon after Ashalle spoke to her. She was so distraught, wondering whether her mother had abandoned her to rejoin her old clan, or to kill herself, knowing that either way she had considered either option as preferable to staying with her own child; too great a reminder of her lost love. Creators, I could never do such a thing. If Hawke and I… that is, if it were actually possible for me and Hawke to somehow have a child together that was ours by blood, a life begun by our love (though of course such an idea is nothing more than foolish imaginings, how could there ever be such a child?), and if… if Hawke died, and left me alone with our baby… Mythal. As much as I would be devastated by Hawke's loss, as much as I do not want to live without her… I could never abandon our child. It would be all that was left of Hawke, and our wish for a family. How could I leave them? How could I not love them, not be strong enough to stay, to live for such a child? How could Hawke ever forgive me if I did not? Mahariel's mother cannot have loved her bond-mate more than I love Hawke. But then, Mahariel said that Ashalle told her that her mother was grief stricken, and could not carry on without her father... and perhaps the manner in which he had died had affected her. Perhaps the injuries she suffered under the bandits' assault affected her in more ways than anyone had thought.

Perhaps the clan should have kept a better watch on the grieving, broken woman.

"Merrill?" Leandra's gentle voice breaks into my maudlin thoughts, and I blush as I realise how far I let my thoughts drift from our conversation. "Are you well?"

I sit up straighter, smiling at her abashedly. "Yes, sorry, Leandra. I'm fine. I was just thinking of my clan."

"You miss them," Leandra observes sympathetically.

"I do," I confess, nodding to her gratefully as she squeezes my arm encouragingly. "But while they will always be in my heart, I have a new home now. And a new family. You are right, Leandra. You don't need to be connected by blood to be a family." I feel a flutter in my chest, thinking of my beautiful human lover. "You don't even need to be of the same race. Not so long as love is involved."

"Precisely." Leandra inclines her head in agreement, delicately raising her cup of tea to me in a sort of genteel salute. "I have suggested this to my daughter, albeit briefly, but if you two ever do decide you might want children, you could take in an orphaned child. I don't believe my daughter would be at all opposed to the idea. It's something to consider."

She gives me a smile, which I return in earnest. "I certainly will consider your words, Leandra. Thank you."

Leandra rises, taking her empty teacup to the washstand. "This was lovely," she says as she returns, standing by my side and placing a gentle hand atop my head. She raises her eyes to the stone ceiling above. "How long do you suppose our patient will sleep for?"

I consider. "Well into the morning tomorrow, I should think. She probably won't wake until nearly noon. I made certain she will get a great deal of rest. Why?"

"I thought it might be nice if we could go out tomorrow morning to get some air," Leandra replies, giving me a wink. "Even do a bit of shopping, if we have time. Perhaps even meet with my tailor? Your clothes are lovely, my dear, but I do think your current wardrobe could do with an expansion. Would you like that? My treat."

"Alright," I agree, thinking it could very well be a good opportunity to create a greater bond with Hawke's mother. I've not been to the Hightown markets very much. Hawke is not nearly as fond of shopping as her mother is, so she usually tries to avoid it if she can. But this may be fun! "As long as we're back before noon. I don't want Hawke to wake alone."

"We will be, sweetheart," Leandra promises, before bending to kiss my brow. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Goodnight."

Once Leandra has retired, and my own tea is finished, I head upstairs for a nice warm bath, stopping briefly to let out Feathers and his mabari companion, directing them to the bowls of chopped meat I left for them by the kitchen door as a reward for their vigilant care of Hawke.

When I leave the bathing chamber, I douse the lamps around the walls, leaving only the light from the low-burning fire in the hearth as I clamber carefully up onto the bed beside Hawke, moving carefully so as not to disturb her, though I know I likely won't wake her, deep as she is in her sleep. I watch her for a while, stroking her silken hair, tracing the velvet curve of her ear, gazing at the impossibly long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks. She really does look so peaceful when she sleeps, sweet and innocent as a babe. In my mind I take the image of my Hawke and try to picture what she looked like as a baby, wondering what a child of her blood would look like. Any child of hers would be utterly beautiful, I'm sure… but that's a foolish idea. If we do raise a child together, it will be one that we take in, and will not look like either of us, obviously.

But it would be wonderful to raise a child with her. Someday.

I climb beneath the covers and lie down next to Hawke, carefully cradling her body against mine, letting her steady heartbeat lull me into the realm of dreams, knowing I will likely see the child of my imaginings in the Fade, a dream that will never be. A sigh escapes me, and I draw closer to my sleeping love, seeking comfort from the warm reality of this wondrous woman. She is a dream come true, and that is more than enough for me.

"Andruil protect you, my Hawke."