Author's note: Thanks goes, as ever, to my wonderful beta-reader, clafount. I'd also like to thank Shinkansen for dropping a review, and of course, thanks to everyone for reading!

Merrill tugged at her scarf self-consciously as she wandered even deeper into Hightown, careful to never stray more than three steps from Carver's side. The haughty way the shem'len of Hightown regarded her was odd; the elf had gotten used to the indifferent hostility of the Alienage elves, and even the stubborn, juvenile superiority of the Lowtown residen ts hardly bothered her anymore, unless she forgot Varric's twine and had to ask more than one shem'len for directions back home.

The twine lay in the centre of her table this night, while Merrill herself was leagues away. She couldn't afford to lose sight of her companion, then, because the people who crossed her path frightened her far more than having to spend a wintry night stalking through the streets. At least then, one of the guards might try to throw her in the gaol, and then she could ask Aveline to give her proper directions.

"Here we are," Carver informed her, stopping right in front of an odd building; it had tables outside its clear windows, cordoned off from the boulevard by a flimsy fence of chain that anyone could step over, even if there weren't the unguarded gap . "They have tea from Seheron, I'm told," the warrior ventured.

Merrill's face registered her confusion. "Why would we come here?" Half of the tables were filled with finely-dressed shem'len who threw her dirtier looks than they would a rat. "You said you wanted to go out." Truth to tell, she was still a bit angry with him, though she knew she shouldn't be-he was safe, and he'd started talking to her again.

Except now Carver looked bashful, and Merrill knew she'd said the wrong thing again. "I said I wanted to take you out," the warrior corrected her. "You know...on a...date."

The elf was about to respond when a tall man approached them. "Excuse me, messere," he greeted, his voice like an oily rag. "You should know that the Memoires du Chevin has a...policy, about admitting servants to the premises." The man spared Merrill a dirty look that made her want to shrink away, lest she pull the marrow from his bones.

Carver's face glowed as brightly as a campfire. "What do you..." When it hit him, he drew up to his full height. "She isn't my bloody servant! She's my...friend."

The attendant's expression turned from scornful to horrified; he looked to each side, taking a step back from the pair of them. "My apologies, serah," he allowed. "Do you intend to bring your friend to dine with you at this establishment?"

Merrill could tell that the strange man was talking Carver into hurting him, without even realising it, so she stepped toward the warrior to place a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's alright," she assured him. "We don't want to cause any trouble..."

He sagged visibly. "I guess not," the warrior conceded, and he turned on his heel, and Merrill had to jog-carefully in the dark, to keep from stepping on something she shouldn't-to keep up with him.

When they were well away from the awkwardness that her presence had helped to cause, Merrill tugged on the sleeve of her companion's doublet. "What was that all about, anyway?"

The pair stopped in a deserted alcove, halfway between the Viscount's Keep and Carver's large, new house. The warrior couldn't quite meet Merrill's gaze, though. "I'm...sorry," he admitted. "I should've known that would happen. I guess if I'm not trying to kill something, I'm not doing anything right."

"Now that's not true," Merrill pointed out, her brows knitting. "We were walking perfectly well together before that strange man showed up out of nowhere." The entire situation still confused her. "And why would you want to take the date from me, anyway? You know it's the sixteenth of Firstfall as well as I." Carver managed to look her in the eye, but then he burst out laughing, and the elf got a hollow feeling in her stomach. "Wait...did I miss something again?" Her head tilted. "Was it dirty?"

Carver bit down on his knuckle for a moment and looked abashed again. "No, Merrill," he managed. "Nothing to do with the date of the month. It's...I just wanted to do something nice for you," he admitted. "To make up for being a bit of an arse. More than a bit, really."

"Oh," Merrill intoned, though she still didn't quite understand for a moment. And then she did. "Ohhh," she breathed. "You mean a vi'lath?" Suddenly it was her cheeks colouring, despite the lack of comprehension in the man's expression. "It's the first stage of courting," the elf explained. "Usually it begins with presenting the skin of an animal you've killed as a gift, though," she observed. "So...I suppose you were right that you should've tried to kill something first." Merrill only stopped babbling because her lungs had emptied, but she sought to remedy that by gasping.

Before the elf could continue, however, Carver spoke up again. "I knew it," he gruffed, shaking his head. "I'm...no good at this. I'm sorry." He turned to go, his shoulders rounded.

"Wait!" the Dalish elf strode beside him, concern creasing her features. "I'll get horribly lost if you just walk away," she pointed out. "And there's plenty of darkness left...and probably some bandits by the Chantry. We could see what kind of trouble there is to get into." He hadn't admitted his intent, but he hadn't denied it, either. And if she kept talking, he wouldn't get a chance to. "But I suppose you'd have to get your sword," the elf reasoned. "So we could...stop by your nice, big mansion. To pick up your sword. And maybe some biscuits?"

The man had been opening and closing his mouth for a minute or more, trying to get a word in. Finally he broke broke through, meeting the verbal avalanche with a sole syllable. "Yes."

Merrill swallowed, even though her mouth felt dry. "Good," she answered. "Biscuits are much better than Qunari tea, anyway."

"I meant that..." Carver began, though he looked away from her as they walked. "That I was trying to...court you, I suppose. But I guess I've cocked that up, too."

Her heart fluttered again- why could she never remember to ask Anders about that ?-and Merrill wasn't sure how to respond for a moment. "It's alright," she ventured. "I'm not the best at these things, either. Keepers don't normally take lovers, even from other clans. It risks making them partial...any disputes that involved their partner could never be judged evenly."

The estate's entrance appeared as if from nowhere, and Carver brought her into the anteroom, but he didn't reach for his sword. "But...what if a Keeper falls in love? Or wants to have children?"

Merrill jumped at the chance to explain, because it distracted her from her own questions. "Keepers have to live for everyone in the clan," she said. "It does happen that they fall in love, like with anyone else, but it's rare that they embark on the vi'lath. More often they arrange for the object of their infatuation to move to a new clan." The elf followed Carver all the way to the inner door which led to the main room of the house. The rugs on the floor felt wonderful against her bare feet. "It's more common for a Keeper to have a child, to preserve the gift of magic for the People, but the child is normally placed with a new clan as soon as possible as well."

"Just like what happened to you?" Carver still looked confused, and even a bit dismayed, but he was obviously trying to understand. Merrill was grateful for that.

"Oh, yes," the elf affirmed. "I was probably the daughter of the Keeper of my old clan. It also helps tie the clans together, no matter how far we wander. The clan I was born into roams around Antiva and Nevarra, mostly," she told him, though she was almost certain it wasn't for the first time.

Carver nodded. "You're not a First anymore, though," he pointed out. "I mean...you don't have to...you could..." He heaved a sigh. "We could do that vee-leth thing you talked about," the warrior said in a much smaller voice than usual. "If...if you wanted to."

The elf took a sharp breath, suddenly finding the grain of the inner door quite fascinating. "I've...never really thought about it," she admitted, a bit sheepishly. "N-not that I wouldn't like to," Merrill pressed on, when she saw Carver shrink down in the corner of her eye. "But I am still a mage of the Dalish, and I still intend to serve my clan," she breathed, glancing up at the man. "They are still my people, even if...even if they'd rather exile me than let me help them."

A mix of emotions passed over Carver's features, so quickly that Merrill couldn't sort them out. "They are," he assured her, his brows knitting together. "And I don't...I don't want to do anything to keep you from helping them." His chest swelled with a breath that he held for what felt like half a minute, before he let it out quickly. "But I'm fond of you, Merrill. Not just because of...you know. The blood thing."

Merrill felt her chest tighten as she remembered the jeers of her clan and the bitter disappointment in her Keeper's eyes when it became known that she'd delved into blood magic. Even before then, though, she hadn't really had any friends...except perhaps for Tamlen and Mahariel, but they was gone, and the mage held no illusions that they'd have reacted any differently than the rest of the clan even so. "I'm fond of you too," the elf admitted, realising it in the same instance that she'd given it voice. "You aren't like any of the shem'len I've met since I came to Kirkwall."

"Thanks," the warrior replied. "I think, anyway."

"Oh, did I say something wrong?" Merrill's bottom lip stung with the force of her bite, and she suddenly tasted copper in her mouth. Carver must've noticed it, too, because he pulled in a breath and turned his gaze toward her chin. The little bit of blood let her hear the man's heart, pounding nearly as furiously as her own, even though they'd been standing still for quite awhile. "I'm sorry..."

"No," the warrior insisted, meeting her eyes once more. "You're not like anyone I've met since...well, since I was six years old." He shook his head. "Do you want to come in? Maybe have that biscuit after all? We've got some herbs for tea, too," he added. "They're not from the Qunari lands, but they'll do."

Merrill nodded, not trusting herself to speak, in case she blurted out something that would make him revoke the invitation. She followed the warrior and waved to Sandal at the dwarf's enthusiastic greeting, and soon enough she and Carver were in the kitchen, alone again. "Do you mean Athadra?" The elf ventured, as the man busied himself with setting up a kettle for tea. "Do I remind you of her?"

Carver's answer was a long time coming. "In some ways," he allowed, still turned away from her. He looked to be having trouble starting a fire, until he gave up and stole some from a candle. "She wasn't Dalish, but she was close." The man finally rounded on Merrill when the kettle had been set to boil, and he carried a platter filled with more hardbread than all of the food that Merrill had eaten that day. "I remember being fond of her, too, a long time ago."

The elf blinked, uncertain what to make of the admission. "Did you ever tell her about how you felt?"

The warrior's cheeks coloured lightly and he sighed. "I was a boy," he pleaded. "And she was apt to hit me even when she was in a good mood." He shook his head. "At first, I thought that I was just recalling how she made me feel as a child, when I was around you," he said. "But it's been...what? Seven months now?"

"Closer to eight," Merrill corrected him.

Carver gave her a rare, true smile, untouched by sarcasm or bloodlust. "Eight, then," he allowed. "And it hasn't gone away. Every time I'm with you, I feel...better. Like it doesn't matter that I don't belong here."

Merrill wished that the Blight-taken water would boil already, so that she could water the desert her throat had become. "I...think I understand," she answered, looking down at the platter. Despite her lack of affinity with elemental magic, the kettle seemed to respond to her wish, because it stole Carver's reply with an insistent whistle. The warrior answered the call quickly, and Merrill felt a bit embarrassed to have him serve her so.

Once the tea was steeping in a pot beside the biscuits, Carver sat back down. "Beth says that she's really different, now. Hardly recognisable."

The elf's brow quirked. "You've heard from Bethany?"

Carver nodded. "Just this morning, Bodahn got a letter. I was going to tell you after we sat down at the cafe," he claimed. "I still want to hunt that bastard down and teach him some manners."

Merrill giggled, thrilled at the news that his sister had survived after all, and more than a little tempted by his stated desire. "But then Aveline would have to come 'round, and with how often you've seen her lately, you don't want her new man to start suspecting something..."

The warrior gruffed a laugh. "Especially since I'm the one that got them together in the first place?" He shook his head, and poured each of them a good measure of tea. "Bethany made it to Redcliffe, but she can't say too much," he informed her. "Grey Wardens and their secrets. But she did say that 'her commander' wears full armour and uses a sword better than I do," he went on. "So believe me, I've got less than no interest in...wooing her."

The elf nearly choked on her first soggy bite of biscuit, but she managed to force it down, despite the nervous laugh that took hold. Was that what Carver was trying to do? Then another thought entirely struck her. "But I heard from somewhere that Athadra's a mage," Merrill mused. Her eyes widened. "She must have found the din'atish'esara," the elf breathed.

"The what in the when, now?" Carver's bow quirked, but an amused smirk played across his lips.

"I'm sorry," Merrill breathed, after taking another drink of her tea and nearly scalding her tongue. " There are hints in the lore of an old magic, developed in the days of Arlathan when first the Tevinters sought to subjugate the People. Mages learnt to pick up sword and shield, using their magic to give them great prowess in battle. We had to fight a few Ena'sa'lin on Sundermount with those talents, before we woke Asha'bellanar." She heaved a sigh. "It...wasn't enough, to keep the shem'len from enslaving us," the elf admitted. "And they tried to stamp it out, just like they did with esara'lin-blood magic-until only a few traces remained."

Carver nodded for a moment, before a hint of confusion tinged his expression. "Wait...what do you mean, the Tevinters tried to stamp out blood magic?" There was no smirk to soften the cocking of his eyebrow, this time. "They're the ones who made it so bloody horrible in the first place."

Merrill clapped a hand over her mouth; she realised that she was sharing jealously-guarded scraps of knowledge with a mundane, a shem'len. Knowledge she'd spent her entire life collecting and guarding. Yet...Carver wasn't just any human. He looked at her with genuine curiosity, instead of the hostility she'd come to expect from others of his kind. And when she thought about it, he wasn't exactly a mundane anymore...not really. With a shaking breath, the elf decided to go against her instincts. They'd already spoken of the broadstrokes of history, after all...it couldn't hurt to fill in a few details. She could trust him not to misuse them. "That is true," the elf conceded. "But the magisters stole the secrets of esara'lin from the People, in the days when we took pity on them. Once the El'vhen were enslaved, the magisters made learning the art a capital offence for anyone but a magister."

The warrior made a thoughtful noise. "I suppose that makes sense," he admitted. "Tobrius and you have both told me that blood magic makes regular magic stronger-"

"Yes," Merrill broke in, her excitement at having someone to share her thoughts with overwhelming the urge to keep them secret. "And that was too much power to allow slaves or common shem'len to wield," she pointed out. "I suspect, from what we've done together, esara'lin was also how all of the People knew a bit of magic, before Arlathan. At one time it was learnt, just like any other skill." A sigh tore from her breast, tears suddenly clouding the elf's vision. "We've lost so much," Merrill lamented. "Almost everything. And the Keeper would see us lose more, still."

The warrior's hand was warm as it covered her left wrist, beside the platter of hardbread. "What do you mean, Merrill?"

His fingers anchored the elf, and she considered him for a long moment. "I never told you the reason that I was exiled," she breathed. "Did I?"

Carver shook his head. "I never asked. I figured it was for the blood magic, but..."

"It was," Merrill admitted. "At least partially. But it was also because of the El'u'vi'an." She'd already told him too much, but she'd never been able to talk to anyone...not even Marethari, in the end. And it felt so good to be able to talk about it. "It's a mirror," she explained. "Or, rather, a system of mirrors all connected by magic. They once covered the breadth of Thedas, spanning the El'vhen empire...before."

"Before Arlathan?" Carver ventured, only a hint of teasing in his tone.

The elf giggled. "Right," she said. "We found one, while we were moving through Ferelden to flee the Blight. It's almost unheard of to find an El'u'vi'an still intact," she assured him. "I couldn't believe it when Tamlen told me about it. I doubt he even knew what it was!"

Mention of Tamlen made the warrior stiffen slightly. "Is he...a friend of yours?"

Merrill bit her lip again and hissed, the sting of the re-opened cut ten times worse than the initial injury. With an annoyed sigh, she healed it inexpertly and washed the taste of blood away with the last of her teacup. "He was," the elf stated. "He and Mahariel. They were hunting partners, almost like brother and sister...and they would keep me company sometimes."

Carver's brows knitted in concern. "Are they...still with the clan?"

The elf shook her head. "Tamlen discovered some ruins in the wild mountains in northern Ferelden, where the shem'len hadn't settled. That's why we took that route to the coast, to try and keep out of trouble." Merrill tried to distance her thoughts from her heart as she poured herself more tea. "He told Mahariel about it, and they tried to explore them. The Keeper had me making poultices to help the halla sleep, for after we boarded the ship, so they didn't tell me where they were going..." Her voice cracked, then, and she had to look away. "But then Mahariel came running back, a few hours later, without Tamlen."

The warrior chewed thoughtfully on a biscuit as she spoke, but after a few moments of silence, he swallowed. "What happened to him?"

"Mahariel said that they'd found darkspawn in the ruins," Merrill went on. "Along with a few strange-looking shem'len that attacked them just like the darkspawn, too sick with the Blight to help themselves." She blinked away her tears. "At the centre of the ruins stood the El'u'vi'an...and it glowed with a sickening light, to hear Mahariel tell it. She tried to pull Tamlen away once they'd killed all the darkspawn around it, but it captivated him, and..." The elf closed her eyes for a moment, willing the memory away, even as she recounted it. "He...stepped through the mirror."

She heard Carver gasp. "...What happened then?"

Merrill took another drink to steady herself. "Mahariel told me that the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, and she took off running, all the way back to the clan." More tears came, unbidden, staining the elf's cheeks and dripping into her scarf. "But she must've got injured in the fighting with the darkspawn, because soon after, Mahariel got sick with the Blight. She..." The hand at Merrill's wrist shifted, until her and Carver's fingers laced together, and somehow that gave her the strength to keep talking. "We had to ease her pain ."

"Maker," Carver exclaimed, his voice raw. "I had no idea. Now I know why you didn't want to come with me on the expedition." When Merrill nodded but offered no other response, he took a moment to ask the obvious question. "But...how does all of that have to do with you being exiled?"

The elf caught her breath, pushing the painful thoughts as far down into the back of her mind as they would go. "I was a First," she explained. "When Mahariel spoke of ruins, and the mirror, I knew exactly what she described, even if she didn't. And...I couldn't let their discovery just disappear. I couldn't let their deaths be for nothing."

Carver's grip did not melt away, but he did pull back from the table a few centimetres. "What did you do, Merrill?"

"I tracked down the ruins," she said in a rush. "I sought the chamber with the El'u'vi'an, and I took one of its shards before we moved on." A shiver crawled over her shoulders. "The Keeper had forbidden me to do so; she said that it had already taken too much from the clan, but...I just couldn't."

The warrior's hand jerked involuntarily. "You took a tainted piece of glass away from a temple filled with darkspawn corpses?"

Merrill looked sharply at the man, the accusation in his undertone all too clear. "I was careful," she vowed. "I wanted to cleanse the El'u'vi'an of the taint...restore it to its working order. I thought...that would have made their sacrifice worthy."

Carver relaxed, and so did Merrill, once he took her hand again. "I guess that's true," he commented. "And you must've found some way to fix the piece you took, since you're still here."

"I did," Merrill assured him. "That's what drove me to learning blood magic. Marethari kept dithering...she would not help me, and she didn't have the power to take the shard away from me. If I'd had piles of lyrium lying around, I wouldn't have done it...but the spirit offered its aid, when my Keeper would no t."

The warrior nodded. "I'm sorry you had to do that," he said. "For what it's cost you. Having to leave your family..."

The elf's voice fled her at the earnest look of sympathy she got from him. Oh, Sylaise, she thought to herself. Why can't Carver be Dalish? Merrill swallowed. "It's not your fault," she assured him. "And I will keep trying; I will keep Tamlen and Mahariel alive in my work."

"Does the little piece work?" Carver leaned forward, then, more of that all-consuming curiosity in his eyes.

Merrill took a breath. "No," she admitted. "It needs to be whole. I've been trying to reconstruct an El'u'vi'an with other pieces of glass, built around the true sliver, but nothing I've tried seems to be working."

Carver considered his teacup for a long time, and then shocked the elf more than he ever had before. "What if you had the rest of it?"

"...What do you mean?" The elf managed, after her heart skipped a beat.

"I mean," the warrior went on, "what if we...went back to Ferelden? Got the missing pieces of the mirror, and brought them back here?" His sapphire eyes were clear as they looked at her. "I could even write to Bethany and Athadra, to see if they were interested...just in case there are any darkspawn still lingering about."

Merrill's knuckles hurt with the force of her own grip, but Carver made no complaint. "You would really do that?" She breathed, incredulous. "For me?"

"I know it's not a deer pelt," Carver shot back at her. "But...it might be a start? " When he smiled, the room seemed to brighten almost beyond recognition...and Merrill's own future no longer felt half so shadowed as it had for most of a year.