Thanks to all of you for your constant support and enthusiasm! This chapter puts me at over 600,000 words posted here since I got bit by the fanfic bug in March 2010, and I really am so happy writing all of this and sharing it with you. Hawke's reaction in this chapter is much like my own - I was utterly devastated when I finished Merrill's quest, horrified by what I had just had to do. Many, many thanks to my beta, WellspringCD.
"All I'm asking you to do is listen, Hawke."
"Varric, your judgment in this case isn't the best. If it were anyone but Merrill …"
The statement hit uncomfortably close to home, so he leaped to deny it. "I don't get caught up in all that nonsense. Blood magic, templars, mages … the whole argument gives me a headache."
Hawke looked at him skeptically, but then relented, as he'd known she would. "Fine. Let's go see her."
They didn't talk as they ambled through Lowtown toward the alienage. Varric cast glances up at his friend, but for once he couldn't think of anything to say.
Merrill was waiting for them inside her home, pacing up and down and wringing her hands. "Oh, Varric, you came! And Hawke, thank you!"
"Don't thank me yet, Merrill. I'm still waiting to hear why it's so important that we go to Sundermount. Something about your mirror?"
The elf cast a despairing glance at the elaborate structure in the corner of her bedroom. "It won't do anything! It doesn't even reflect. A mirror is supposed to reflect, at least, even if it won't help me unlock my people's secrets."
"I don't see how I can help with that," Hawke said. "I'm not a mirror-maker."
"No, of course not. I know how to fix it. You see, the demon that helped me cleanse the first shard I found is trapped, held in a cave above Sundermount. I need to go there, to get the answers straight from the demon's mouth." Merrill squared her shoulders, facing Hawke steadfastly.
"Oh, yes," said Hawke. "Because you can certainly trust whatever a demon says. 'Why, of course, Merrill, let me just help you with that mirror. Oh, me? I don't want anything … other than your soul and your body, that is. You won't mind giving those up, will you?'"
Merrill frowned at the sarcasm. "You sound like Fenris."
Hawke smiled. "Fenris wouldn't have come here in the first place, and if he had, he would have killed you the second you stopped speaking, just to prevent you from doing something so foolish and dangerous. Merrill, you're a powerful mage. If you turn abomination, a lot of people could be hurt."
"I know. That's why I need you to come with me. If I— If I fail, I need you to kill me."
Varric couldn't restrain the cry that came to his lips. "Daisy, no!"
She looked at him with affection. "Dear Varric. Now you see why I needed Hawke. She can do it, if it needs to be done."
"Is there no way to talk you out of this?" Hawke asked.
Merrill shook her head. "I have to do this for my people. Before we lose our history altogether."
Hawke looked from the stubborn elf to the dwarf and back before sighing. "Very well, Merrill. Meet me at the gates tomorrow morning." Outside, in the alienage, she turned to Varric. "We're bringing Anders with us. He's our resident expert on abominations, after all."
"Not bringing Broody?"
"And put up with his sulking all the way to Sundermount and back? No, thank you."
Varric met them at the gates the next morning: Blondie, glowering as darkly as ever the broody elf could have; Daisy, nervous but determined; Hawke, sad and resigned; and the Rivaini, looking as relaxed and ready for anything as ever, but Varric could see the tension in her.
"Thought I'd come along for the day, see if we can't keep this sweet little kitten out of trouble," Isabela said.
"If we're going to keep her out of trouble, we should keep her in Kirkwall," Anders snapped.
There was no good response for that, so they set out. Varric couldn't even muster up enough enthusiasm for a good Templar joke, not that Blondie seemed receptive to one today.
They were nearing the base of the mountain, the sounds of Master Ilen in his workshop growing louder as they approached, when Anders pulled Merrill to a stop. He glowered down at her. "This is crazy, you know that, right?"
To Varric's surprise, Merrill nodded, calmly. "I know. But I have no other choice. This is the only way."
"No choice? You always have a choice! Go back home, destroy that mirror, stop messing about with demons!"
"Yes, of course, Anders. Why didn't I think of that? I'll tell you what, I'll tear apart the last piece of my people's history as soon as you give up your dreams of setting free all the mages of Thedas!" She ripped her arm out of his grasp, turning to march toward the Dalish camp.
"Nice try," Isabela said, patting him on the arm. "There's nothing like a bit of hypocrisy to send someone straight into the arms of trouble."
The mage grumbled under his breath, but he followed the pirate. As they approached the Dalish encampment, Varric looked around, wondering why the place always made him so uneasy. Other than it being outside and the Dalish being so consistently hostile to all of them, of course.
Merrill was searching for Marethari, poking her nose into all the landships and being rudely turned away. Varric always bristled at the way the rest of the clan treated Merrill. To avoid seeing it he wandered the other direction, his keen eyes observing the camp. It was as neat as always, everything perfectly ordered. Elves moved about, chatting with one another. But they never touched each other, he noticed, or displayed any affection.
It was then that it hit him, what set this encampment apart—this clan had been outside Kirkwall for the best part of ten years, and there were no children. None. Not a single elf of the clan was under the age of thirty. A chill worked its way through him. This was a dying clan; it had no future, no hope.
He was relieved when Hawke called to him. "Marethari isn't here," she said. "Just as well. She and Merrill would just have gotten into an argument anyway. Merrill says we're going to head on up the mountain now."
"Hawke …" But Varric wasn't sure what to ask. If his friend would tackle Merrill and tie her up to keep her from going through with this, maybe, but he knew both women well enough to know that wouldn't happen. He just couldn't imagine coming back down that path knowing that somewhere up on that Maker-forsaken mountain they'd lost the sweetest flower in Thedas.
"Let's get this over with, Varric." Hawke cast him a sympathetic glance, and then followed Merrill, Anders, and Isabela, who were already on their way up the mountain.
He put on as much speed as he could, cursing the fact that his legs were so much shorter than those of the others, and eventually caught up to Merrill, huffing and puffing. Once he had his breathing under control, he made his final attempt to end this madness. "Daisy. Think about this for a minute."
"I have thought about it, Varric. For years, not just minutes." She tried to smile, for him, but the attempt was a dismal failure, her green eyes filled with fear and resignation.
"It seems very likely to end badly."
"Look on the bright side," she said. "Think of all the stories you'll be able to tell later."
"If it's all the same to you," he said gloomily, "I can do without telling anyone that we murdered you on some mountain."
"I know you could make it sound better than that, Varric."
"No. I couldn't."
She didn't say anything else, turning her face up toward the summit and saving her breath for the climb.
The cave stood open in front of them, its darkness positively menacing. Varric felt sick to his stomach, and only part of it was from the exercise.
"Well," said Merrill. "I suppose this is it."
"It doesn't have to be, Kitten. Let's turn around now, you can find some dusty old library and read about mirrors. I'll steal you any kind of mirror you want," Isabela said.
"It wouldn't be the same." Merrill's eyes were far away now, her soul transported to someplace where she was the savior of her people, and Varric felt the full weight of how much she cared about this. It was a good thing his heart still belonged to Bianca, he told himself, because otherwise knowing he came in second—or worse—to a bunch of dead elves would have been downright depressing.
Merrill stepped inside the cave, Hawke and Anders right behind her. Varric and Isabela looked at each other helplessly, but they followed. They couldn't have done anything else.
A huge, hideous statue stood in the center of the cave, grimacing down at all of them. "Whatever he had for breakfast doesn't look like it sat well," Varric said. Hawke cast him a quick grin, but no one else was listening. They were all watching Merrill as she stopped in front of the statue, holding a little knife. She stabbed herself in the hand, not even flinching, and flung the blood at the statue. Varric held his breath, as did the others, but nothing happened.
Merrill poked at the statue, frowning. She smeared some of the blood over its lips.
"Something wrong?" Hawke moved to stand next to the elf.
"It's … it's like it's empty. I don't understand. I can't feel it here—it should be here!"
"Where could it have gone?" Isabela asked, looking apprehensively around the cave.
"Nowhere. It was sealed. It would have required powerful magic to remove it."
"It did."
At the new voice, they all turned. Keeper Marethari, looking much older than the last time Varric had seen her, came forward from the dark depths of the cave. She was shaking, tremors moving through her body.
"Keeper!" Merrill moved toward the old woman. "Keeper, what have you done?"
Marethari's face softened as she looked at the younger elf. "What needed to be done, da'len. The demon's plan was always for you to complete the mirror, to escape into our world through it. You would have been its first victim. I could not allow that to happen." She took a deep breath, her hands clenching in front of her, the knuckles white with strain.
"She's containing it, but just barely," Anders said. "I've never seen such power."
"I could not fight the demon, not without making it stronger, so I—" She cried out in pain, wincing. "I took it inside me. If you kill me, it dies, too."
"No!" Merrill was fighting tears. "No, Keeper, I can't."
"You must." Marethari fell to her knees, panting with the strain. "You must kill me, da'len. You must!" She fell to the ground, her body lifting and twisting in agony, and soon where the old woman had been stood the hulking purple form of a pride demon.
Anders wasted no time, his staff swirling in the air and calling down winds and the freezing blasts of a blizzard. Varric pulled Bianca, cocking and releasing the first quarrel with practiced precision. Isabela disappeared into the shadows, reappearing behind the demon with her daggers out, looking for vulnerable places in the flesh. Hawke's blade flashed in the dim light as she sank it deep into the demon's thigh.
Merrill hadn't moved yet. She stood in front of the demon, her lips moving soundlessly as tears slid down her cheeks.
The demon laughed, a deep, dark sound that shook the cave, and reached out a hand for her, whether to sweep her aside or gather her up Varric couldn't tell.
"No." Merrill stood her ground, her staff hitting the floor with a resounding clap. The demon's hand turned to stone, weighing its entire arm down. "No." Merrill repeated, her staff hitting the ground again, and the demon staggered back, the blast from Merrill's mind hitting it with the force of an avalanche. It staggered, disoriented and unable to defend itself from the attacks of the other fighters. "NO!" The staff pounded the ground one more time and lightning split the sky above them, thunder roaring so loudly Varric couldn't hear Bianca's voice. A lightning bolt speared through the demon's skull, sending it to its knees.
And then the transformation reversed itself. Varric noted uneasily that there was far less agony than before. Marethari knelt there, her white hair drenched in sweat and her face an unpleasant shade of grey.
"Keeper!" Merrill knelt next to the old woman. "Oh, Keeper …"
Marethari lifted her face to Merrill's. "You've done it, da'len. You are … so much stronger … than I imagined …"
"Is that it? Is it over?" Hawke asked.
Varric didn't think so, and a glance at Anders's face, taut with tension, confirmed his fears. The mage stood, staff at the ready, and Varric knew it wasn't going to be this easy.
"I thought she said she had to die," Isabela said, casting a worried glance at Merrill. The elf pulled Marethari close.
"I'm sorry, Keeper." And the little dagger she carried found a home between two of Marathari's ribs. The Keeper, or what had once been the Keeper, screamed, writhing on the ground. There was a sound like a thunderclap, a sharp smell not unlike lyrium, and the body stopped moving.
Merrill rocked back and forth, sharp, keening cries coming from her mouth. "Why? Why couldn't you have trusted me to know what I was doing? Why did you have to think you knew so much better?"
"She did know better," Anders said. "I have never seen such a noble sacrifice. The world is a poorer place today because you live—and she doesn't." He stalked out of the cave.
"I've spent years studying," Merrill whispered. "I knew what to do. Why couldn't she have trusted me?"
"She wanted to protect you," Hawke said. "She loved you."
"She never saw me as anything but a child."
There seemed to be nothing to say to that. Varric, Hawke, and Isabela stood, wordless and uncomfortable, while Merrill straightened Marethari's body, closing the old woman's eyes for the last time. She got to her feet. "Come," she said. "We'll need to tell the others what happened. They'll need to come take care of her." Her voice quavered, but she held herself together. If she broke down, it wouldn't be in front of the clan.
They followed her out of the cave and down the mountain, no one speaking. Anders walked ahead of the rest, practically shouting his disapproval with the stiff set of his shoulders and the angry precision of his steps.
At the base of the mountain, they found the clan gathered. One of them, a particularly bristly sort Varric remembered from other visits, stepped forward, folding his arms. "Hold it right there, shems. We want to know what you've done with the Keeper."
"Oh, Fenarel," Merrill said. "The Keeper—"
"Look!" shouted another of the elves, stepping forward and pointing to the front of Merrill's armor. "She's covered in blood!"
"Where is the Keeper?" the first one shouted.
"She's dead!" Merrill's voice was thick with tears.
"You killed her?"
"No!"
Hawke stepped forward, shielding Merrill. "Marethari was possessed. There was no other choice."
"It's her fault, that … thing. She never belonged with us."
"She's a disgrace to the elvhen!"
"Stop!" Hawke looked around her in disbelief as the elves moved in closer. And then, out of nowhere, an arrow embedded itself in Hawke's upper arm. She stared at it in shock. "Wait, what are you doing?" Her blue eyes were huge in her face as she looked around at the elves. "We don't want to fight you!"
"Good," said the pugnacious elf in front as he drew his weapons. "Then you can all die for your monster."
The blue light of Anders's healing glowed briefly around the arrow in Hawke's arm, and it fell to the ground. Hawke barely glanced at it, still trying to convince the elves to stand aside, but it was too late. Men and women, archers and warriors, cooks and tailors and even old Master Ilen were armed and attacking. Merrill's staff was moving, flashes of white light stabbing through the air, crackling as they hit her former clanmates. Isabela threw herself out of the path of an oncoming sword, rolling across the ground to come up behind an archer and stab the elf in the back. Varric pulled Bianca and Anders drew his staff.
Hawke had her sword out. She automatically parried a sword thrust from the angry elf, whirling to slash at Master Ilen, who had come up behind her. The old man grasped her sword with hands grown tough from years of hard work, pulling Hawke off balance enough to land a dagger thrust to her ribs.
"Hawke!" The light from Merrill's staff darkened to a thick, dense purple that struck Master Ilen in the chest, sending him flying backward across the ground. Isabela made short work of him while he was down.
Several of the elves were advancing on Anders, but he managed to shoot a cool healing stream of light at Hawke. She was using her blade awkwardly now, though—the blow had weakened her, despite the healing.
Merrill raised her staff to the sky, calling out words in elvhen, and clouds rolled in, thunder rumbling above them and lightning crackling down, fat, heavy raindrops splattering on Varric's face. The lightning moved like a living creature, electrifying elf after elf. They jerked and twisted, crying out in pain, many of them cursing Merrill with their last breath. Her face was set, her body strong and powerful as she cast. She seemed not to hear them, and if she did hear, didn't care.
Hawke had her back against the mountain, parrying the blows aimed at her but not attacking, her side red with blood. Isabela was covered in mud, breathing hard. Anders dodged the elves' attacks, but they kept him moving too fast to cast more than small spells. Varric seemed to be largely ignored, despite Bianca's deadly song that struck through the elves' armor as though it was so much butter. Maybe they thought dwarves were insignificant creatures—he'd run into that attitude before. Merrill, hidden in the center of the tempest, was impossible to reach. Every one of the Dalish who tried to get through fell.
The angry elf who had started it all was still standing, beating at the edges of the storm, his blows weakening. "Fenarel!" Merrill's voice was large and terrible, coming as it did from the center of the storm. "She was your Keeper, but you were her clan. You were the lead hunter. You should have saved them all, taken them away from here years ago. You doomed the clan by your inaction, as much as Marethari doomed it by her twisted concern for me, and now it will die because you let it. Think of that as you go to meet the Creators."
A bolt of lightning curled around Fenarel's waist, dragging him off of his feet. He screamed as the lightning twisted around him, until nothing was to be seen of his body but pure white light.
And then it was over. The storm ceased, the clouds rolling back. Isabela wiped herself off as best she could. Anders rushed to Hawke's side, his fingers probing the gash the dagger had made. She held his shoulder, wincing and then sighing in relief as the healing magic did its work. Varric ran to Merrill, who had fallen to her knees, spent from the tremendous power she had used.
"Daisy."
"Varric, I never wanted this." The words were spoken so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard them.
"They didn't exactly invite you to a tea party." He winced at the flippancy of his own words, but Merrill looked up and smiled.
"Take me home."
"Kirkwall?"
She nodded, her eyes closing and her head drooping. He reached out, his hand closing around her arm, which was slender and delicate beneath his thick fingers, and helped her up.
It was a subdued and bedraggled party that made its way back to Kirkwall. Anders fumed, Merrill staggered along leaning on Varric's shoulder, her eyes glazed with weariness and shock. Isabela stuck close to Hawke, who walked with tears rolling silently down her face.
By the time they reached the gates it was nearly dark. A familiar figure stood talking with the guard on duty. Fenris's lyrium markings were visible in the twilight, a faint white glow all about him. As he caught sight of them, he turned, hurrying toward Hawke.
She gave a wordless cry and threw herself into the elf's arms. "Fenris, the Dalish—"
He pulled her against him, cradling her with automatic tenderness, looking to the others for explanation. Isabela gave it to him in just a few words.
Hawke lifted her head, looking at her lover. "Why did they make me do that? I didn't want to kill them. A whole clan of elves!"
Merrill stood still and silent, her face set as if in stone.
"It's this monster who should be weeping. It was her fault." Anders pushed by Merrill. "You should be ashamed that you still live."
Varric bristled at that, but there was no talking to Blondie these days. The broody elf, to his credit, didn't even glance at Merrill. His focus was entirely on Hawke. Sliding his arm around her waist, he led her toward Hightown.
"How are you holding up, Kitten?"
"I'm fine, Isabela. You'd think I wouldn't be—my whole clan. But …" She shook her head. "I'm fine."
Varric didn't believe a word of it. He walked with Merrill all the way to her home in the Alienage. At the door, she turned to look at him. "Varric. You've been … very sweet. But I think I need to be alone."
He looked at her doubtfully, and she laughed, a sound far too brittle and harsh to be his Daisy.
"The only damage I'm going to do is to that cursed mirror," she said. "Without that, Marethari would have taken the clan and moved on, instead of letting them sit here and stagnate. I think she did it for me—she put protecting me above the needs of the rest of the clan. I always wondered what happened to the halla," she added thoughtfully. "I'm thinking Marethari got rid of them to keep the clan here. Love can go too far, Varric. Remember that."
He was left without any fancy comebacks; nary a joke was to be had. He shook his head.
"Good-night, Varric." Merrill went inside and closed her door. He stood, listening, for a long time, until he heard the crash of breaking glass and the sound of her sobs inside the little house, the keening wails of a broken heart. With everything that was in him, he wanted to go to her … but he knew that if he did, she would pretend to be fine in order to avoid distressing him. She was a lot like Hawke that way. Hawke had found someone she could cry to, but much as Varric would have liked to be that man for Daisy, he knew he wasn't.
Several days later, Varric walked into the alienage in response to a note from Merrill. He saw her as soon as he turned the corner, sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was listening with absorption to the crazy old woman who had talked Blondie into helping the Templar and his girl.
A faint green light shimmered around the old woman, but no one in the alienage seemed to notice. They were experts at that, going about their business and ignoring everything that might get them in trouble if they knew about it.
As Varric neared them, the old woman leaned forward, grasping Merrill by the arm. "Let it go," she said. "Turn toward the light, not inside."
"I will. Thank you." Merrill smiled up at the old woman, something remarkably close to her old smile.
The old woman squeezed her arm and scurried off. Merrill looked over her shoulder. "Varric! Thank you for coming." She got smoothly to her feet. "Sometimes I think Anders has the right idea. Do you know what they did to her? That poor thing; she had a family, a husband and a child, but her husband was taken away into the Gallows, and when she wouldn't let the man who took him … touch her, they Harrowed her."
"What's so bad about that?"
"They didn't finish. But then this spirit of Anguish found her in the Fade, and they merged together, and now they exist half in and half out of the Fade."
"No wonder she's crazy. I'm surprised she can function at all."
"Anguish seems to take care of her." Merrill looked in the direction the old woman had gone, her eyes misty. "Imagine feeling anything that strongly."
"You do, don't you, Daisy? Your mirror, and your cl—history?"
"Not anymore. The mirror is gone, and my clan … well, I never really had them, did I?"
Varric was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. "What are you going to do now?"
"That's why I asked you to come here today. Will you help me?"
"Do what? Redecorate?"
"Go back to Ferelden."
Varric knew he should have been surprised, but he wasn't. It felt as though they had already had this conversation, as though its ending was inevitable. Somehow he had known this couldn't last. "What will you do in Ferelden?"
"I think I've spent too much time focusing on my people's past, and not enough time on their future. King Alistair has done a great deal for the elves in Ferelden. I'd like to help him clean up the alienages, maybe teach the children of the city elves about the Dalish. My people shouldn't be fighting amongst each other—we should share our history, and our future."
He couldn't have argued with that, even if he'd wanted to. "That sounds like you, Daisy."
"Will you help me?"
"Of course."
The next ship left for Ferelden four days later. It was sooner than Varric would have liked, but once Merrill had made up her mind, she wanted to go as soon as she could. The group loaded her down with gifts for herself and for the elves she was going to assist. Hawke had given her a letter to King Alistair himself. He had gone back to Ferelden about ten days before Merrill's ship sailed, so he should be there when she arrived.
There had been a rather subdued party for her at the Hanged Man the night before, and everyone had said good-bye to her then.
Varric and Hawke were there at the docks bright and early to see her off.
"Merrill, are you sure you won't reconsider? There's so much you can do in the alienage here," Hawke said.
For the first time since that dreadful day on Sundermount, Varric saw Merrill's control threaten to break. "We should never have come to Kirkwall in the first place. This city may represent a new life for some, but it was only death and sorrow for my clan." She shook her head decidedly. "Ferelden is where I belong. Besides, I miss the mud."
Hawke smiled. "Sometimes I do, too."
"Then come visit. There's always room for you, anywhere that I am." Merrill hugged Hawke impulsively. "And take care of Fenris. He's much less cross when he's with you."
"Good-bye, Merrill." Hawke withdrew, leaving Varric alone with her.
"Daisy, I—" But the words wouldn't come.
"I know, Varric. And I wish … But I can't. And I don't think you can, either."
"You'll write?"
"My letters won't be as interesting as yours. Write me all the stories I'll be missing, and I'll close my eyes and pretend I can hear your voice."
He nodded. "Merrill, about Bianca …"
"Don't tell me now," she said. She placed her fingers over his lips, soft and cool and smelling of some kind of fresh herb. "Some day, when I'm ready to hear, I'll ask."
"I'll be counting the days, Daisy." He stepped back, watching as she turned and walked up the gangplank. She waved a handkerchief until the ship had pulled away and she was nothing but a speck at its rail.
Varric didn't have to turn to know that Hawke had rejoined him. "That's that, I guess."
"She'll be back. Or maybe you can go to her. You're always saying how much you hate Kirkwall."
"Yeah, well, I lie a lot."
"No!"
He grinned. How well she understood him. "I suppose you have big plans with your broody elf all day."
"Not a one. I'm all yours. Got any cookies?"
"I've been saving just the ones. You'll love them. Chocolate on the outside, but with this rich, creamy filling. I'm told you can break them apart and lick the filling right off."
"Sounds truly debauched. Lead on."
Thanks to my reviewers: Hatsepsut, ProwlingLeo, Letticiae, NoMadKa, WellspringCD, Josie Lange, pwny5153, Biff McLaughlin, Nameless-Sinner, Torilund Archer, and Enaid Aderyn.