We found ourselves in front of one of the ramshackle apartment blocks in the Alienage that always pretend to have rooms for rent. There are spaces you can hire there, and if you squint they look like rooms. These places are overcrowded and dirty, but have a kind of exuberance that isn't found in similar places in Darktown. For a start, elves love plants and there's enough sunlight here that every windowsill and balcony on the top few floors overflows with pots of greenery. I've seen matronly elves practically come to blows over more aggressive plants, and the legitimacy of a neighbour pruning them.

We fought our way through a gaggle of children playing Kick the Rock and into the lobby. We got strange looks wherever we went, and conversations died until we'd moved on. Merrill didn't seem to notice.

We climbed an exhausted staircase, and walked past an open door from which radio commentary of a wallop match was blaring. The floorboards creaked under our feet, and mould grew along cracks in the plaster of the ceiling. It would have been worse in summer.

We paused outside door 304. According to the Templar, that's where our thieves would be.

"Listen," I told Merrill, "if they see you, they're going to recognise you, or at least recognise your tattoos, and they'll know we're onto them. They might run, or get nasty and we don't want to start a fight. So just stay back out of sight for a while, and I'll see if I can get their story out of them."

I knocked on the door.

A young looking elf with blond hair and a face like a Chantry cherub answered it cautiously, opening the door only a little way.

"Yes, Shem?" he asked.

I waved my card at him, "I believe you have something for sale. I'm representing a client who has an interest in the item. Still got it?"

He took my card, read it, and then opened the door a little wider. I took that as an invitation. The room inside was as small and depressing as you might expect.

"Hawke, is it? You seem familiar." The elf did too, but I was too polite to mention it.

"My brother got his picture in the paper a couple of months ago," I said easily. "So, you understand I need to see the item before we can start negotiating," I said.

"What would you know about our artefacts? You're just a human."

"Enough to satisfy our client. For all we know it doesn't even exist."

He frowned at me. "Raise you arms, Shem."

"Just so you know this isn't the way we normally do business in Kirkwall." Nevertheless I raised my arms and the elf patted me down.

He stepped back and shook his head, "You're not armed."

"Should I be?" I asked.

"Not if you know what's good for you." He was trying to talk tough, but his face was working against him. I let him have his fun; it wasn't doing me any harm. He turned his back on me – stupid – and went over to the bed. There was a leather satchel on it and he opened it and removed an object wrapped in cloth. He presented it to me with a grave expression and watched me closely as I unwrapped an object that fit Bartrand's description quite neatly.

"How much are you asking for this?" I asked, practicing the kind of look a man who was expecting something covered in jewels might wear.

"How much are you willing to offer?" the elf asked.

I shrugged, "Oh I don't know. Four gold."

"Four gold? This item was used in rituals from before Arlatham, it has been kept by our people for countless years, and has priceless-"

"Then why are you selling it?" Merrill cried, her eyes bright with anger and indignation as she stood in the doorway.

The elf recoiled.

So did Merrill.

"Pol?" she asked, taking a faltering step into the room. "What are you doing here with the Arulin'Holm? Why are you selling it?"

Pol started backing away, although there wasn't anywhere much to back to. "Stay back, Merrill," he warned.

"What's going on? Please, Pol, talk to me."

He just shook his head, "Just leave, Merrill, this doesn't concern you. Please, leave."

"Does the Keeper know you're here? Did you steal the Arulin'Holm from your own clan?"

"No! I have Marathari's permission. And clan business no longer concerns you."

"He's lying, Trip," Merrill said. "He has to be."

"I think you should both calm down and discuss this reasonably," I said. This was turning into a domestic dispute and I really didn't want to be a part of it.

"There's nothing to discuss," Pol said. "Go away, both of you."

Merrill took a step past me, her hands held out beseechingly, "Pol, I won't hurt you-"

Pol didn't seem ready to take her word for it. He practically leaped backwards, and crammed himself through the window behind him.

"Go away!" his voice tore with real fear.

"Be careful!" Merrill said, "it's not safe." She darted forward, her hands outstretched.

"Merrill, back off!" I made a grab at her arm and missed.

Worse, she made a grab at Pol's and missed.

His expression didn't change much as he went out the window; still scared. I flung out my hands, trying to catch him in a net of force, but he was gone too fast. I flinched as I heard him hit the street below, like a sack of potatoes.

It was only three floors, a perfectly survivable fall if he hadn't been going backwards. Merrill let out a wail and leaned out the window. "Pol, oh Pol!"

I dragged her back inside after getting a glimpse of the body below. He'd hit the street head first; he wouldn't be getting up from that. "We have to go. It's unlikely, but someone might call the police, we don't need a murder charge even if they can't make it stick."

"Why did he do it, Trip? Why was he so scared?"

"I don't know." I shoved the Arulin'Holm into her hands, and dragged her out the door. Luckily, there was no one in the hall; everyone was probably staring out the windows instead. I hustled her out the fire escape and away through a back alley.

"We can't just leave him," Merrill said, twisting her head to look over her shoulder.

"Do you want to go back and tell the crowd what happened?" I asked. "Are you sure?"

Merrill wrapped her fingers so tightly around the Arulin'Holm I was afraid she'd cut herself. "We need to tell the Keeper what happened to him," she said softly. "And find out what's really going on; why he was here."

"Okay," I said.

"Will you come with me? Back to Sundermount. I can't face her alone, I'm so sorry, Trip."

I wasn't gonna say no.

Merrill drove us up Sundermount in almost total silence. I didn't have much to say either, so I smoked and watched the scenery as we climbed steep, winding roads. A few blackberry bushes clung grimly to the banks beside the road, their leaves looking black and frosted.

Back in Fereldan, they'd be expecting the first snows.

Merrill drove us right into the middle of her village. It looked much the same as it had in summer, only the grass was dead and dried, and the elves were wearing fleece-lined vests and caps.

They recognised Merrill's car, and the lookouts did not challenge us as we drove in. Merrill parked before the Keeper's weatherboard house, and killed the engine. Complete silence descended.

Merrill took a shaky breath, and I noticed her hands were trembling. "I'm always like this," she said. "Can I have a smoke, just quickly?"

I handed her my cigarette. "Courage," I told her. "I'm right behind you."

We alighted and Merrill strode over to the Keeper's door and knocked. Marathari opened it and nodded politely enough to me.

"Merrill, have you come back to us?" she asked.

"Keeper, something terrible has happened."

Marathari invited us into her house. I blinked in the gloom and didn't dare move lest I knock over something in the dark – I could make out vague shapes that might have been furniture. The smell of wood smoke was strong in here.

Merrill declined tea and a seat and told the Keeper what had happened in the Alienage.

When she was done, Marathari bowed her head in grief, "Poor Pol. Thank you for telling us of his fate. We shall have to see if we can retrieve his body."

"It probably won't be in the morgue," I ventured. "The elves don't let the city get involved if they can help it. They try and keep everything within the Alienage and avoid trouble."

"I see. Thank you. Will you return the Arulin'Holm, Merrill?" the Keeper asked.

Merrill frowned uncertainly, "Why did Pol have the Arulin'Holm in the first place? He was going to sell it! And he said you already knew about it."

Marathari sighed, "He was telling the truth, child. The enthusiasm with which some of our people have embraced bootlegging has caused its own problems. The people we deal with are not inclined to be reasonable. The clan owes money and we haven't been able to sell our wares as safely since the Carta got raided. Pay-offs went up."

"But this is our history! It's all we have!"

"It's tainted, Merrill. Perhaps it would be safer in the hands of someone who didn't know its true purpose."

Merrill's jaw dropped, "All this because blood magic? Magic that hasn't even been performed in hundreds of years?"

"We both know that's not true."

"I never would presume to use the Arulin'Holm."

"The damage has been done."

"Pol died because of this."

"He died because of you, Merrill. He feared you, and rightly so, and you kept coming."

"No, I didn't scare him, you did. What did you tell them about me?"

"Nothing more than the truth."

"If that's the way it is, I'm not giving you the Arulin'Holm back, I refuse."

"Are you sure about this, Merrill?"

"Yes."

"Very well, we will find the money elsewhere."

Merrill looked surprised, "I thought you were going to argue about it."

"Why would I? You have made up your mind, and fighting about it gets us nowhere. I don't enjoy this, Merrill. Nothing would make me happier than to see you come back to the clan again. We miss you."

"You know I can't do that," Merrill said quietly, "that I won't do that."

Marithari looked at me, "What about you, Hawke? Perhaps an outsiders perspective would help."

"You're a mage too, Keeper. You know what that means. Merrill's willpower and stubbornness should be something to celebrate; if she does not bend to you, she will not bend to a demon. Even if it wears your face."

"Then I hope and pray that your faith in your friend is not misplaced. Safe travels to you both."

We left Sundermount as we had arrived; in almost total silence.

When we were safely out of view of the Dalish villages, and Kirkwall lay somewhere beyond the rise ahead of us, Merrill pulled over and burst into tears. I rubbed her shoulder and let her cry into her handkerchief. She had plenty to cry about.

Eventually she fell silent. She produced a flask from the glove compartment and took a swig before offering it to me. I shook my head.

She wiped her eyes. "I wish I had a family like yours, Trip."

"I thought you said Gamlen was creepy."

She managed a faint smile, "But he let you stay in his house. He never thought to throw you out."

"Oh, I'm sure he thought about it." I looked at her seriously, "Merrill, you've got to do your own thing. Carver taught me that. You've got the Arulin'Holm, and now you have to take responsibility for it. Things will work out, you'll see. That clan up there is not the only clan in the world. When Ma left Kirkwall, she left her entire family behind. But she made a new one, the one you envy so much."

"I can't just make my own clan, that doesn't make sense."

"Why not? It doesn't have to be Dalish. I'd rather the elves hear what you have to say, rather than the Qun."

"That's an interesting idea." She smiled, "You're really smart, Trip."

"So they tell me."

Merrill fixed her make-up and drove us back home.

When we back to Lowtown, Ma heard Merrill's motor and came out to tell us that Varric wanted to see us.

"Us?"

"Everybody. He said to spread the word, so I am. I suppose you'll be visiting the speakeasy tonight? Should I leave dinner in the oven?"

"Maybe better just wrap it up for leftovers," I said.