Author's note: Edging closer and closer to the end! Thanks so much to clafount for helping me see this through!
The sun was just cresting into the window of the bedroom, but Merrill was already half into her clothes. Not the fancy, pretty armour that Carver had given her, but the earthy cloth and half-rusted chainmail that she had put together on her own, over years spent with her clan. She remembered receiving the steel and the fabric piecemeal from the Keeper, all except for the leaf-green scarf that the former First had scavenged from an abandoned cart in the Brecilian Forest. Now these simple clothes seemed their own kind of luxury, in this house of houses, where Merrill could dress and live as she liked.
And as the Dalish elf finished tying her scarf about her neck, she surveyed her large bed, filled as it was with the two people she loved more than she'd ever thought she could love anyone. Carver was awake, but all of his attention was taken with keeping Paqua asleep for just another few minutes, cradled in the crook of his arm. The sight was enough to bring a smile to her lips, and she wandered to the foot of the bed, even as a last flutter of nerves tickled her belly. "You look so perfect," Merrill breathed, mindful not to speak too loudly. " We could...stay. We don't have to do it, if you're not sure."
As slowly as ice melted, Carver shifted his blue eyes from the child tucked into his side to the Dalish elf, and the little wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows was undermined by his own smile. "We've already done too much for that Vael bloke to look at me kindly," he quipped. "As long as we're not going to go summoning demons, I don't see why we shouldn't do this ritual you told me about."
Merrill drew her bottom lip between her teeth and considered the man evenly; he was still attached to his stories of the Maker and Andraste, even if distantly, and she knew that he was more worried than he let on that he'd crossed a few too many lines to ever find their favour again. "Have you started walking in your dreams, yet?" It had been a month and a half since the warrior had taken his second draught of dragon's blood, and in that time, he'd come to weave magic about as well as Merrill could have done as an adolescent. Not just in manipulating his own and others' blood, either; Carver could spark a flame and cast a few minor hexes, and his lightning showed a bit of promise, too . When the man shook his head, the Dalish elf breathed a small sigh of relief. "You make sure to tell me if you do," she insisted. "I'm still not certain what that man did, but the spirits of the Beyond don't seem to think you're any different to any other mundanes. And as long as that's true, you shouldn't worry about them overly much ." Carver nodded, still unwilling to risk waking Paqua before the last minute, so Merrill went on. "I'm sure I've said it before, but I want to make sure you understand...once we do this, there's no undoing it. You'll always...have a part of me, just as I'll have a part of you, no matter what happens. It isn't like a Chantry ceremony…there's no annulment."
"I understand," Carver insisted, and there was no reservation in the trust and warmth he showed her. "Do you want to do it?" He asked, his head tilting to the side that their daughter snuggled. "Just because you read it in one of your old books doesn't mean we have to, if you don't think it's right for us."
The elf took a breath, casting another look about the rich bedroom. Her ears tuned to the subtle whispers from beyond their walls, of Orana and Meraxa setting about their duties, of Bodahn organising the library after she'd spent another night searching through her tomes, and of Bethany and Isabela...well, sometimes Merrill wished she could turn her hearing off, or at least dim it a bit, and she tried not to blush too furiously as she returned her attention to Carver . "I'm contented, letha'len," she whispered, letting her fingers fall onto the man's blanket-covered shin. A shimmer of the power his flesh now held made her fingertips tingle. "But I know that my heart will always have you in it, and I am not afraid to let the gods know how close I hold you." She felt the sudden warmth of her cheeks settle across her face as she shared a grin with her love.
"Then it's settled," the warrior allowed, bringing his left hand up to ruffle through Paqua's coal-black hair. "Time to wake up, you little monster," he chuckled, and then he pressed a kiss to the girl's forehead as she yawned herself awake. "Papa and Mamae are going on a little trip," he informed his daughter. "Do you want to come with us?"
Even in the girl's shroud of sleep, the prospect of a journey out of the house caused her to nod enthusiastically. "I wanna come," she declared through a yawn. "Where we going?" Paqua blinked at her father, who in turn looked to Merrill.
The elf sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over Carver's abdomen and brushing her forehead against the crown of her daughter's head. "We'll be going far out of the city," Merrill let on. "So far you won't be able to smell it anymore!"
The girl giggled and sniffed. "I don't smell nothing!" She gave another exaggerated sniff and then made a face. "Nothing 'cept Papa's feets, anyhow ." Carver grunted an objection, but he soon shifted from between mother and child, moving to get himself ready.
Merrill pulled Paqua into her lap. "Auntie Betha will come with us," she told the girl. "Along with a few other friends of ours. We're going to do magic." It still seemed a bit odd to talk so freely about the craft with others, even those as close to her as her daughter and her lover, but the excitement in the child's face was a sight to behold.
"Mamae," she called, "do you think I ever can magic? Like you and Auntie Beffa?"
It wasn't the first time the girl had posed the question, and Merrill gave her usual reply. "I don't know, da'lath," she cooed. "You're still too young to know for certain. But...when you're older, I promise that I'll teach you all I know." Even if I have to slay another dragon, she thought, glancing across at Carver as he hopped into a pair of simple trousers. "Now, the place we're going is really far away," Merrill repeated, drawing her gaze back to Paqua. "If you want, Papa and I can carry you."
As expected, Paqua didn't seem to like that suggestion in the least. "Not a baby," she protested, looking offended. "I can walk the whol e way."
Carver peeked at them from the foot of the bed. "Then you'd better go get your shoes on," he laughed. "A clean gown wouldn't hurt, either. Come on." He gestured for the girl to come to him, and Merrill let her crawl over the bed. Her father picked her up and took Paqua to get ready, and Merrill took one last look at the bedroom she shared with the both of them before she moved to follow.
By the time they were prepared and in the sitting room, Isabela and Bethany had finished waking up; much as they both denied it, Merrill knew they'd gotten at least a couple of hours' sleep at some point over the course of the night, though as the two women descended the stairs, the elf kept herself from pointing this out, as she didn't want Isabela to play it off with the kinds of jokes that weren't really very funny. Before Merrill or Carver could say anything, however, Paqua squealed with glee and bounded over to the new arrivals. "Auntie Beffa! Auntie Bewwa!" She exclaimed, very nearly tripping on the rug as she went. As quick as an arrow, though, Isabela caught the girl before she fell. "Guess what? Guess what?"
Paqua kept repeating her entreaty until the pirate nearly rolled her eyes. "What is it, little birdy?"
"We're going on a trip," Paqua reported, as though it were her duty. "I'm gonna walk the whole way!"
Isabela blinked rapidly, looking from the girl to Merrill, then to Carver and Bethany. "That...was today?" She knew about it, of course; Merrill had told Bethany, and Bethany had invited almost everyone else in their merry circle of crooks and mercenaries. The elf didn't expect Fenris to come along, since he'd always made his feelings about mages as clear as a running stream, but she hoped to see Anders and Varric at the very least. S omething in Isabela's eyes said that the pirate was trying to make up an excuse. "I...uhh…"
And just as Merrill had steeled herself for the woman's exit, just as Bethany's eyes had skirted sideways and Carver had breathed a heavy sigh, Paqua blinked up at Isabela. "Doncha wanna come, Auntie Bewwa ?" The question was tentative, almost ghostly, as though the answer could spell the difference between a tantrum and a serene morning. "Auntie Beffa's gonna come."
Merrill was about to intervene, to step between her daughter and her oldest friend before one or the other did their best to lay her morning to ruin, when Bethany gave the pirate an expectant look. "I…" Isabela began, and then she seemed to crumple slightly. "I guess I've got nothing better to do," she informed the child in front of her, sparing the girl a tight smile . "You're too adorable, you know."
Paqua nodded. "I know." And she must have grinned, because Isabela grinned back, throwing a long-suffering glance at the girl's actual aunt.
Carver turned and stepped into the anteroom that served as the estate's entrance chamber. "We'd better get going if we want to collect the dwarf and his pet healer, " he called over his shoulder, before moving to retrieve his greatblade from the wall by the door.
Merrill gestured for Paqua to come beside her, and the other two women took up the rear. "Aveline might've liked to come," Bethany mused lightly, though she did little more than sigh at Carver's answering snort.
"I dunno," Isabela wondered. " I think Big Girl might be uncomfortable about bearing witness to blood magic when her arse isn't hanging over the fire…"
The woman's words led to a series of questions that they all had to field from Paqua , which took the troop all the way to the Hanged Man, where Varric and Anders stood ready in front of the door.
"Well lookie here," the dwarf gruffed, elbowing his companion in the hip. "Looks like you weren't lying when you said they'd gone and spawned, Blondie." Paqua chose that precise moment to hide behind her father's legs, though, so Varric cupped his eyes against the sun's glare. "Funny," he said. "Could've sworn I saw a little hawkling just a second ago. Where could she have got off to?"
Merrill sighed. "I'm sorry, Varric," she allowed. "Paqua's always a bit nervous around strangers. We really should have brought her down here sooner…"
Varric laughed out loud. "I think I can understand why you wouldn't want to show your daughter around Lowtown ," he assured her, waving the concern away. Then he cocked his head, leaning to get a peek at the girl from between Carver's legs. "Hey, did your dad ever tell you that one time he got so drunk he tried to kiss Isabela and got a face full of table?"
This news served to confuse the child out of her shyness, at least enough for her to look back at the pirate. "Did you really hurt Papa?"
"Only a little bit," Isabela confessed. "And it was a very long time ago, sweetling. Before you were even here. But you shouldn't believe everything Varric tells you; he's never been very faithful to the truth."
The dwarf grunted. "I resemble that remark." Then he bowed low. "Varric Tethras, madam, at your service." Varric rose and tipped his head toward the human mage beside him. "I take it you already know Anders."
Paqua nodded slowly; she'd seen the mage not less than once a month, and often at least once per week, for all twenty-two-and-a-half months she'd been alive. And she seemed to accept Varric's presence with Anders as one of her parents' friends, perhaps not quite as trustworthy as Isabela and Bethany.
With the greetings done, they all passed through Kirkwall's Lowtown gate; they hiked for more than two hours, until the city was little more than a memory behind them. Carver held his tongue when Paqua grew tired enough to beg for his arms , and her enthusiasm for the hills and the rare trees they passed made the miles they crossed go more easily beneath their feet. After a break for a late-morning meal, Merrill guided her family and companions to a high hill crowned with a solitary tree, not too far away from the valley where her clan had camped for so long.
Part of her wanted to go all the way to the vir'shiral, where she could be certain of Mythal's presence, but the Dalish elf knew better than to disturb the ancient spirits; after her folly in the Alienage, Marethari had all but commanded her to confront and slay the demon at the summit of Sundermount, and then the Keeper had moved the clan at long last . She'd claimed that Merrill was welcome to join them, but the former First had seen the mistrust and suspicion that lingered in the other elves' eyes, and she'd elected to remain amongst the shem'len. Now the Dalish mage had little cause to regret that decision; she felt more at peace and in place amongst this unlikely band of shem'len, along with their trusty dur'gen'len, than she ever had with her elven kin. And Merrill still kept collecting Dalish lore, she kept learning history and old magics, and one day she would pass her knowledge on to her own daughter, even if she never found a proper place with the Dalish themselves .
Shaking her head to clear it of those maudlin thoughts, Merrill found a flat spot on the hill. "Here," she told her fellows, and for the first time since she'd left the estate, the mage began to feel a bit nervous. "Normally, when the Dalish bond, their kith and kin spread out in a circle and link hands...but we don't really have enough people for that," she observed. "Not that that's bad," Merrill hastened to point out. "It'll be alright."
"We can still stand in a pentagon," Isabela pointed out, after looking around the company. "If the mutt can be trusted to stand still, that is," she teased the mabari hound, who'd followed them all the way from the estate. "Paqua can sit with him," the pirate suggested, smirking down at the girl; somehow, incongruously, the child had ended up marching hand-in-hand with the Rivaini rogue during the last leg of the journey.
Barcus whoofed congenially, and he deigned to accept the child's hugs and kisses with all of the dignity a warrior of his standing could muster, but he did not move as the humans and the dwarf arrayed themselves around Merrill and Carver. The Dalish elf turned so that the girl was firmly within her sight. "Alright," Merrill began, searching her mind for the right words to use with all of her friends' eyes looking upon her so expectantly. "Thank you for coming out here with us...that is, with Carver and me. You all know why we're here."
"You two're getting married," Varric supplied, from somewhere behind her. "'Bout time you and Junior made it official."
Carver gave Merrill a wink, and Paqua made an awed sound, but the Dalish elf glanced back at the beardless dwarf. "Not...exactly," she corrected him. "It isn't like a shem'len ceremony. We're going to bind our magic together." Her eyes turned to Anders, who looked a bit uncomfortable, but the human mage said nothing. "It's an old Dalish rite, performed in the days of Arlathan, when all Elvhen had the touch of the earth and the blessing of the sky. A promise for and by the gods, that two of the People become one in their eyes. It...hasn't been properly done in nearly a thousand years, as far as I can tell, but I know what I'm doing ."
"And I trust you, love," Carver assured her. "Just tell me what I need to do."
Merrill nodded, at once nervous and relieved by the faith the man showed in her. She was almost certain that the ceremony would work, and would mean something more than the empty symbols that the mundanes contented themselves with... and she was almost as certain that no harm could come of it. "Hold out your hand," she told her lover. He extended his left arm, palm skyward, and with another nod, the Dalish elf reached around the back of her own neck to undo her earthen scarf. She wrapped one end firmly about Carver's wrist and let the rest unfurl, so that it hung halfway to the ground.
Then the elf unsheathed her da'mis'u, the blade that she'd used to teach Carver his first lessons with blood magic, years before. She spoke in the old, forgotten tongue of her people. "Mythal, the Great Protector, please cast your soft light upon we so gathered here, so that no matter how dark the paths we walk, we can always find our way back to you." Merrill could tell that none of her companions understood her words, but when a light breeze shook the leaves of the nearby tree, the elf took it as a sign of the goddess' acceptance.
Merrill lay the flat of her dagger across Carver's palm, and then pressed her own left hand over metal and flesh. "Sylaise," she went on, letting her eyes go half-lidded. "Hearthkeeper, you have blessed us beyond counting. Please guide us in our power, and in our weakness. With your wisdom, give us strength." Her gaze danced over her daughter before it returned to Carver's face. "I love you, Carver Hawke," Merrill declared, for all the world to hear. "I will walk with you all the days of my life...and should Falon'Din guide me to the Beyond before you, there I shall wait until you c an follow."
Carver's fingers tightened around hers, his heat warming the metal between their palms. His dragon-born energy seemed to pulse with his grip. "I love you, Merrill," he affirmed, his voice hardly above the stray breezes that had begun whispering through the grass. "By the Maker and all of the other gods, I swear it."
He didn't seem to know what else to say, but Merrill silenced any doubts he might have had with a tight grin and an inclination of her head. "This may hurt a bit," she warned him, and only when he nodded to her did she turn the blade so that its sharp edges pressed into their skin. With a quick jerk, the elf pulled her da'mis'u free from their grasp. The sting of the cut made her hiss, but Carver hardly blinked, and as their blood mingled in their hands, Merrill took up her prayer to her gods once again. She beseeched Ghi'lan'na'in to guide them and keep them safe from Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, with his tricks. She asked June to keep their cloth and their crafts pure, and she begged Elgar'nan to stay his vengeance, though they might deserve it. All the while, Merrill felt the fiery strength of Carver's blood leeching into her wound, and she fancied that her own earthier energy tickled through his veins. "We stand here," the elf concluded. "Two made one, in flesh and blood. And though miles might come between us, we shall never again be parted in our hearts ."
As she spoke, Merrill sheathed her dagger, and wrapped her scarf around their clutched hands. Blood ran in drips onto the ground between them until the cloth bound their limbs tightly together, soaking up the crimson liquid and sealing their bond. The sun seemed to burn more brightly across their shoulders, though Merrill knew that at least a bit of the warmth she felt came from within...and when she listened closely, she could hear a second heartbeat echoing within her own chest, over and above the cacophony from the gathered witnesses. The elf was about to unwrap the cloth and declare the ceremony finished when Carver pulled her forward, catching her by the shoulder with his free hand and drawing her into a one-armed kiss.
"I love you," he whispered again, his forehead against hers. "And I always will. I promise."
Merrill didn't trust herself to speak at first, so she just buried her face in the crook of Carver's neck and held him tightly. After blinking away a few unshed tears, she pulled away from their embrace. "Thank you," she told him, and then she repeated her gratitude to everyone present.
"Hey," Paqua called as Merrill and Carver began undoing the blood-soaked scarf. "I didn't see no magic!"
The Dalish elf's lips parted for an apology, but Bethany stepped closer to her niece, going down to one knee. "Sometimes the best magic can't be seen," she told the girl. "But look here." The woman extended her index finger, and a moment later, an orb of ice coalesced above the digit. Bethany deftly caught it and held it out to Paqua. "Now you've seen some magic, little one."
Varric chuckled. "If you repeat that when we get back to the Hanged Man, Hawke, I'll pay for the drinks ."
Merrill healed the cuts across her and Carver's palms as the rest of the party bantered, and she made sure to leave a sliver of a scar in their flesh, so that they'd never have cause to forget the new depths of their bond. Then she followed her friends back into the city that had become her home, though each step she took away from the great foothills and untamed grasses only felt like a half-step; Merrill might live with shem'len and have a half-elven child, but she was Dalish, and she'd come to learn that nothing would ever take that from her .
