Many thanks to Oleander's One for the beta, and thanks to all of you for reading!
A few Templars tried to challenge them as they made their way out of the tower, but none could stand against the combined prowess of Hawke's team for long.
"I wonder what the townspeople are going to do," Orana said nervously as they neared the front doors.
"Stay safe in their houses until it's over, if they're smart," Isabela said, but she held up a hand to make the rest of them stop and insisted on going first through the doors, just in case. The coast was clear, at least for now, and in a moment they were hurrying around the tower to where Merrill still lay in her son's arms. She tried feebly to rise as Hawke and Varric approached, her eyes lighting up.
They knelt next to her; everyone else stayed back for the moment, sensing that Merrill didn't have the strength to be descended on en masse.
"I should have known you would come," Hawke said gently.
"Miss the great adventure? How could I?"
Kethali's arms tightened around his mother. "I sent for her; I'm sorry, Mother. I shouldn't have let you use all of your strength. I could have—"
Merrill giggled, sounding so like the old days that it brought an answering smile to Hawke's face. "Don't be silly," she said, looking affectionately at her son. "Your powers are growing, but they aren't there yet. You've done very well, my son, and I am proud of you." Her green eyes shone up at him, and Kethali's dimmed with tears.
"Mother …"
"This has been coming for some time. My strength hasn't been what it once was since that illness in the alienage several years ago, and I can feel …" She glanced away, her face troubled. "I can't hold out much longer."
Hawke felt a chill deep within her at Merrill's words. She knew what the mage meant—the demons that had been coming after her for years, since she first dabbled in blood magic. "What can we do?" she asked gently.
A brilliant smile lit Merrill's face. "You understand. You've always understood."
"Oh, Daisy," Varric said, his voice even rougher than usual. "After all this time, we've come back to this again? I was hoping for a new song."
"Perhaps it is, just written to the same tune." Merrill moved her hand, so thin the skin was like paper, over Varric's. "Going home to Ferelden was the right choice, the right path, for me. I've done good work in the alienage—it hardly even deserves the word anymore. And I've brought fine children into the world." She smiled at Kethali, who tried to smile back even though his face was wet with tears. "If I had stayed in Kirkwall …"
"I know, Daisy. I know." Varric turned his head aside to clear his throat.
"Merrill, are you sure?" Hawke asked.
"There isn't much time. I hear … them, and they promise—" For a moment Merrill's eyes were far away from them all.
"Mother!" Kethali cried sharply.
Merrill blinked, and then her eyes were clear and back with them. "Thank you. Hawke, don't let me give up. I've fought … so hard … all this time …"
Fenris's deep voice came from over Hawke's shoulder. "You have survived much longer than I ever would have imagined you could. While I cannot condone the path you took, you have trod its stones with strength and honor. Hawke, give her what she asks for."
"You've wanted her dead for years, you broody bastard," Varric muttered, his voice cracking.
"Varric. Let her go. We love you, kitten." Isabela knelt next to the dwarf, laying the back of her fingers against Merrill's cheek. "You've been stronger than any of us, for longer than we could have been. You deserve to rest."
Merrill's hand closed around Varric's, and she smiled up at her son. "I spoke to your father before I left; he will not be surprised. You should go home when you can, to help him. The alienage can use your skills."
"I thought I was supposed to be making my way in the world, and helping Hawke."
"You have done that, as I knew you would."
"He's been a big help," Evelyn said.
"Dear Hawke." Merrill gasped, her face pinching as with pain. "Not … not much time left."
"I'll do it," Varric said hoarsely.
"No!" Merrill gripped his hand tighter. "No, Varric. Let Hawke do it. I won't—I won't have you carry that with you."
Hawke glimpsed Orana's face, tight and drawn, watching as the little elf turned away from the scene. Once this was all over, when they were home, when Varric had had time to recover, she would do something about that situation, she vowed. Until then … "Isabela," she said softly. The pirate understood, and detached a small knife from the top of her boot, handing it to Hawke, hilt first.
"It's my favorite, kitten," she said to Merrill. "Only the best for you."
Merrill smiled gratefully at her. "Isabela. Take care of yourself."
"Always do." Isabela was trying for her usual breeziness, but her wet cheeks and husky voice betrayed her.
Fenris's benediction had already been spoken, and Hawke felt him move away from the little knot of people clustered around the fallen elf, giving Merrill privacy. Bianca was somewhere behind her with Freddy; Bethany was still dealing with the mages. Orana was folded up, sitting with her back against a fallen chunk of wall with her head buried in her upturned knees. Best to do this quickly, Hawke thought, and end the pain for everyone concerned.
"Are you ready, Merrill?"
"Yes, Hawke. Thank you."
"No. Thank you. You've done your people very proud, whether they wanted to acknowledge that or not. I'm glad to have known you, my friend." At the last word, she slid the dagger in between two of Merrill's ribs and into her heart. The elf sighed, blinking once, then her eyes glazed over and she sank back into Kethali's embrace.
Evelyn leaned forward and kissed the still face, then stood up. Everything in her wanted to turn to Fenris, to feel his strong arms around her and to rest her head against the shoulder that had been her comfort for so many years, but she lacked the assurance she had always had that that shoulder would be there for her. He had left her with no warning, and there was nothing stopping him from doing it again, nothing but his word, and he had given that many times before. Instead she looked to their daughter, opening her arms. Bianca came into them, and she held her daughter close. She wanted to weep for Merrill, that her friend would never know what it was like to hold her child again, but this had been Merrill's choice. She had gone on her own terms, in her own time, in the place of her choosing, and in Hawke's belief, was more to be envied than sorrowed for.
Varric remained crouched there, holding Merrill's hand, staring into her face as if searching for some remaining sign of life. Isabela got down on her knees next to him, gently taking Varric's hand and disentangling it from Merrill's. "So what do we do?" she asked Kethali. "Her people bury their dead, don't they?"
Kethali swallowed hard, clearly not comfortable with being the person who had to make the decision. "The Dalish do, yes. But … the Dalish haven't been Mamae's people for a long time. Not since before she went to Kirkwall, to hear her tell it … and I don't think she would want to be buried anywhere near this place, anyway." He looked up at the ruined tower with disgust. "I—I think she would want to be sent to the Maker. It's where Papae will go, and … the rest of you, I imagine." He looked doubtfully at Varric, who gave a watery attempt at his usual grin.
"The Stone certainly doesn't want me. At least with the Maker I won't have to deal with all those stuffy dwarves from the Merchant's Guild."
"Well, then." Kethali gave an uncertain smile in return. "Do—any of you know how?"
Hawke closed her eyes, a chill passing through her. She had a dim recollection of her mother's pyre, but she couldn't bear to think of that, much less to use the memory for help with Merrill's. This was an entirely different circumstance. Her mother had had her life ripped from her, her body defiled. Merrill had given herself willingly, freely, for those she loved, and to prevent herself from being taken by a demon. Seeing Merrill to the Maker would be a true celebration of a sweet, loving spirit.
"I can assist," she heard a familiar, if surprising, voice say. Fenris was striding forward toward Kethali. "It has been some time, but I believe I recall the appropriate words of the Chant."
Hawke found the offer startling, though not the claim of familiarity with the Chant. She remembered standing in the doorway of Bianca's nursery, listening to that deep voice rumbling the rhythmic rise and fall as he sang the Chant to the baby, and laying her head on his chest and letting the sound surround her. She shivered, longing to be that way again, the comfort and familiarity and excitement of being his wife. If only she could trust him.
She turned away suddenly, letting go of Bianca, who joined her father and Kethali in beginning their preparation for the pyre. Hawke sought out Orana, still sitting apart from the rest of them, and sank down onto the grass next to her. "There will be time," she said quietly. "Once we're away from here, when we go back to Kirkwall. I think … I think maybe he's ready now."
Orana's face was pinched with pain. "I don't think he'll ever be ready. He likes his life the way it is. Maybe he'll acquire a dagger and name it Merrill." She made a watery sound halfway between a bitter laugh and sorrowful sniff.
"That's not like you."
"How do you know?" The question was spoken so softly the anger in it didn't register with Hawke at first. "You left Kirkwall; you abandoned him, you abandoned me. We both waited for you. So did the Viscountess and Ser Donnic. And when you came back, we dropped everything because you needed us. But you don't know us anymore; you haven't for years. You expect to come back and find us all the people we were when you left, forgetting that there's been twenty years of our lives since you went away. I'm sorry, Hawke, but it doesn't work that way." She got up and stalked away, leaving Hawke staring after her.
There was no time to consider Orana's words further, because the pyre was ready. Hawke got up to join the others around Merrill's still form. She looked at peace, and despite the white hair, as youthful as when Hawke had first seen her on Sundermount, all those years ago.
Varric stood next to her; Isabela and Bethany hand in hand; Bianca next to Kethali, holding his arm. Freddy stood a bit apart, head bowed. Orana was nowhere to be seen. The rescued mages milled around, but none of them approached Hawke and her crew. Fenris took his place near Merrill's head, looking down at her.
"We never agreed, Merrill and I. She was ever an optimist, I a pessimist."
It was a tribute to how upset Varric was that he didn't make a comment. Hawke considered making one in his place but decided against it.
Fenris kept going. "In the end, however, I am forced to concede that she was right. She was much, much stronger than I ever gave her credit for being, and I …" He turned to the body on the pyre. "I am sorry for doubting you."
Isabela burst into tears, burying her face in Bethany's shoulder.
Fenris looked at her with a small, affectionate smile on his face. His eyes were suspiciously wet, and Hawke wanted to go to him, but something kept her feet from moving. As she hesitated, Fenris broke into the Canticle of Benedictions. It was the right choice, Hawke thought. Merrill had stood before the corrupting influences in her own life and she had never faltered; she had been the champion of the just, far more than Anders or Justice had ever been. A wave of love for her old friend washed over Hawke, and she wept freely, reaching down to put a hand on Varric's shoulder. He covered it with his own as he stood, dry-eyed, watching as Merrill flew away into the sky.
