Lucky's mind couldn't hold all the thoughts that raced through his head. Dread. Excitement. Hope. Hesitation. So long he awaited this moment, and yet now it seemed like the jitters caught up with him. As they climbed the mountain path, his mind was distracted by the task ahead of him, to finally forfeit his soul.
He recalled the last talk with the Keeper, the pity in her eyes.
"Sundermount is a sacred site where our elders would sleep in Uthenera. On top of the mountain, your old life will burn away, and you will be reforged."
"Into what?" he found himself asking.
The Keeper's smile was not kind. "Into what she requires."
There were already days he felt like a monster. He knew he already made mistakes he couldn't take back, left wounds he couldn't heal. His Father would no doubt be disappointed in his blood magic as well as the other choices he made.
The Chantry would love to hunt Hawke for his ability to weave dreams, if they wouldn't also kill him on the spot for being maleficar. He knew he pushed past the boundaries of his Father's limits, especially this past year; erasing minds of witnesses, using his enemies bodies like puppets to slay each other when he was hopelessly outnumbered, bending the will of those he needed to get past by just a little magical drugging and a charming smile.
Most of the time he avoided slaughter, not that it seemed to matter to his brother. They argued constantly, but Hawke never used dark magic without reason, and never carelessly. But still he knew Carver looked at him like he was scared of him, or for him. Lucky wasn't sure which.
What would the Witch turn him into? Lucky's moral compass wasn't always straight and narrow and the way one kills with blood magic can be so gruesome, the images would come back in his dreams, haunting him. What did serving Flemeth even look like? Would she ask for more death? Would he have to leave his humanity behind? His morals? What if this was the worst mistake of his life?
But Bethany was on the other end of this bargain. He wouldn't back out even if it meant burning down the world. At least until he got Bethany back. Then he'd figure a way out of this if it was possible.
And there was the other task, the girl. Merrill.
"She wishes to live among humans. Would you look out for her? Guide her? Show her how to survive in your world?"
He said yes to Keeper Marethari because how could he say no? Still, he could barely look after himself and his family. How would he also have time to teach her how to land an interview, pay bills, navigate the city, ride the bus, work a cell phone, or any of the other million things that she probably didn't know because she had spent all of her life camping in the woods.
Maker, where would she even live? He imagined bringing her home to his Mother and Uncle Gamlen. He couldn't imagine that conversation would go anywhere pleasant and yet could he abandon her at a Chantry shelter, hoping they would overlook her magic somehow until he found a more permanent solution?
But would he be able to do any of that if this 'funeral' had a more literal sense than he thought?
Thankfully it seemed like the others sensed Hawke's melancholic mood and seemed to have already taken Merrill under their wing. Merrill had dozens of questions about the city that Varric was happy to answer, usually quickly followed by Aveline's fact corrections that directly contradicted Varric, which confused the poor girl. Varric had a few questions of his own and would sometimes pause to jot a note on his tablet.
Carver hovered, hulking, awkwardly trying to be part of the conversation. He would begin to say something but his words, which were already quiet, would turn into a mumble when the others talked over him. Usually Hawke would be in that chorus of voices drowning Carver out, but he was distracted by his thoughts, and was barely paying attention to the ground beneath his feet. Boof was guiding him so he wouldn't lag too far off the path and kept him in pace with the others.
Merrill hesitated, stopping at the edge of the cave, halting the group. "I smell spider blood," she said, wrinkling her nose. The others started covering their noses at the acrid vinegar-like smell, too sour to be medicinal. "The hunters should have cleared the nest but be ready for dark things to walk the paths."
At the word 'spider' Hawke shivered, his eyes flinging upwards as his hands trembled, ready to fling a spell. In his nervousness, he forgot to keep track of his surroundings and bumped into Carver's back.
"Ow!" Hawke stumbled backwards, where Boof was suddenly behind him, there to steady him.
"Watch it!" Carver snapped.
"Sorry, just in my head," Hawke muttered, rubbing his forehead. Carver's back was hard, but not as hard at the glare Carver gave him. Hawke wasn't sure what he had done to piss Carver off, but he didn't need to feel his aura to see that he shared his foul mood.
Boof groaned, worriedly, placing a paw on Hawke's knee to check in with him.
Hawke petted his hound's ear fondly causing him to pant happily.
He didn't realize Merrill was watching him until she spoke up. "You won't die…probably."
Carver froze as Lucky looked up with an armored grin. "Oh, that makes me feel peachy."
Merrill went red as she started picking at her nails. "I mean death would be wasteful. Asha'bellanar would not be able to use you otherwise."
Lucky nodded, not sure if that should comfort him, but that was something. "So do you know what she'll want me to do?"
Merrill shook her head. "My Keeper, Marethari, is also Hasamara, bound to Asha'bellanar in her youth. She said she sacrificed too much to receive her wish. She never told us what she traded or received, but when Asha'bellanar comes to her dreams, she must obey, no matter what."
Carver looked pointedly at his brother. "Not too late to turn back now and forget this nonsense. Bethany wouldn't want this."
Lucky didn't want to argue about what Bethany would or wouldn't want because he knew better than anybody else that Carver knew Bethany best. He averted Carver's gaze. "Let's not fight right now," an edge to his voice trying to warn his brother not to push him.
But Carver put a hand on his shoulder forcing him to look him in the eye. "Think of Mom. She'll never recover. Besides, how can we trust anything that the Witch brings back? What if this is all a trick to get your soul in the first place?"
"Then we kill her and get my soul back," Lucky said matter of factly, not really acknowledging that they weren't really sure if that was even possible.
Nor did he see Merrill paling behind him, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her staff.
Carver snarled, his fingers digging into Lucky's shoulder. "Kill the Witch of the Wilds? Are you fucking stupid?"
Varric suddenly held up his hands to interrupt the argument booming through the cave, his face twisting in confusion. "Wait, you dragged me along so I can watch you sell your soul? That's fucked. I don't know who Bethany is to you, but are you sure any girl is worth that?"
Lucky's nostrils flared, slapping Carver's hand away. He glared at Varric. "Bethany isn't any girl. She's my sister. And there's nothing and I mean nothing I wouldn't do for her." He ran his hand angrily through his curls. "I'm not arguing about this. The Maker wasn't going to take me anyways. At least I'll get something useful from my soul. If you have a problem with me doing this, you're free to leave." He stormed ahead whistling for his dog to follow.
It was clear that the conversation was over and they walked through the caves in silence, their hands on their weapons as the shadows shifted under them.
The hunters had clearly been busy. The cave stank of decay, dead spider body's were scattered around, their carcasses rotting as flies buzzed around them. Their fangs were collected and some of their eyes too, and their guts were strewn about, the bodies of giant rats, other insects, and vermin the spiders had preyed upon added their own pungent aromas to the awful stuffy cave.
Lucky squealed when he got too close to a corpse, his hands fidgeted near his guns as if they would jump up and attack him.
Suddenly a smaller spider, a baby that had just hatched climbed down from the ceiling and landed on Lucky's shoulder.
When Lucky felt the thing creeping and turned his head to see a dozen eyes blinking at him he screeched at the top of his lungs. It was a high-pitched primal thing that scattered rats and bounced down the cave walls.
The others rushed up, weapons drawn to see Lucky throwing the baby to the ground and smashing it soundly under his heel so it made a loud squelch.
"Ew, ew, ew, ew!" he squealed, lifting his foot and dragging it against the cave wall to scrape off the guts.
"Very manly," Carver smirked, trying to look more the part, pleased with Merrill's fit of giggles.
"Well, for your information I'm not a man right now." Hawke scrunched up his face, his eyes closed and still flailing blindly for Boof.
Immediately his hound was in front of him, pressing into Hawke's legs to let him know he was there.
"You changed your mind again?" Carver groaned, rolling his eyes.
But Hawke's relief was instant. His shoulders dropped as he was already smooshing the furry face that always calmed his heart. "No, maybe for the next hour or so or when it annoys you." To emphasize this he released some magic in his chest and let it grow back just large enough to give himself cleavage, pleased Varric returned an appreciative stare. "Ah, so nice when we don't have to worry about templars."
"Oh you're a rev'ash?" Merrill was suddenly beside Hawke again, bouncing excitedly. "I had a friend that was tel'ash."
"A what now?" Varric was careful to step in between the corpses while Carver made it a point to step on the legs, partly to make sure they were dead but also because the squish made Hawke jump.
Aveline glared at Carver, silently warning him to grow up.
"Oh how do you say it in Common." Merrill put a finger to her chin. "Rev'ash is like the moons. They shift between phases of man and woman and ashe. Tel'ash is more akin to the moonless sky, the expanse of the void, the denial all forms of ashe. Him'ma is change that comes from transforming from one's soul to the other phase and those who do it permanently are the hanalen-ma. They are the caterpillars that become butterflies while the ashe have as many forms as the spirits."
Hawke focused on her with fascination, completely unsure what she just said but only that he didn't feel so alone anymore. "What's ashe?" He formed the word carefully in his mouth, his tongue clumsy in its pronunciation.
"Beyond man and woman. Sometimes between man and woman," Merrill seemed to be delighted to share. "I would be happy to help you figure it out."
Hawke grinned, suddenly seeming to forget he was surrounded by spider corpses, though Boof was doing a good job leading Hawke through a clear path.
"I'd like that. I've just been calling myself a gender-shifter. Didn't know there was a legit name for it."
Merrill followed Boof's carefully chosen path, careful not to touch anything. "It is said that those with prominent him'ma are closer to the spirits and often make great leaders."
Carver snorted while Aveline groaned. "Please," he said, marching up to another spider corpse to stomp it with another wet crunch that made Hawke shiver. "Don't encourage him."
"Was your friend a great leader?" Hawke asked, ignoring Carver.
It seemed an innocent question but Merrill was silent, hesitating. Her eyes were downcast, her thick eyelashes brushing the horn-like vallaslin on her cheek, but she was smiling, like she was reliving a good memory. "They would have been."
The brothers both looked at each other, and the cave fell into awkward silence.
Suddenly one of the dead spider bodies twitched and Hawke jumped. "AIIIIEEE!" His fist turned into a flame and he punched out, so the creature's legs exploded from its body with a loud pop. The limbs sizzled, smoking and shrinking, stinking up the musty closed in air with its awful burning stench.
He shook his hand still on fire. "Maker! I touched it! Gross! Gross! Gross!"
Boof sniffed Hawke, whining as if to ask if he was ok.
"Sweet Grace of Andraste, Hawke, have a little pride," Aveline rolled her eyes, but Merrill was giggling, a sound that drew both of the brothers stares.
Boof lifted his head to the sound, and suddenly bounded up to Merrill and jumped up, placing his paws on her chest as he licked her with a slobbery kiss.
She froze as the dog just waggled, wrapped around her with his fuzzy arms, placing more slobbery kisses which elicited more giggles from her. "Oh that tickles."
Hawke balked. His dog liked strangers but usually knew that on a job it was not time for play. "Boof! No! This is not the time for hugs!"
But Boof ignored him, pushing Merrill to the ground with his kiss attack.
"Boof NO!" The brothers shouted in unison, dashing forward. Thankfully Merrill didn't land on any dead spider guts and she was squealing in laughter as Boof pinned her.
"I told you, you're spoiling him," Carver grunted, moving faster than Hawke had ever seen him. He wrapped his arms around the dog's chest and lifted him off like he was a pillow.
Boof attempted to twist out, groaning in protest.
Hawke waggled his finger at his dog. "No, I'm taking away snacks now."
"Oh don't do that," Merrill said, wiping her face as Boof howled in protest.
But Hawke ignored her, addressing his dog with a sharp, "ah," sound that caught Boof's attention and got him to stop wriggling in Carver's firm grasp. "Remember, you're a full member of the Hawke Company and we don't goof off on company time."
"Too late for that," Aveline muttered.
Hawke crossed his arms. "Remember if I can't convince the assholes up top that you're the bestest boy I have to leave you at home. Is that what you want?" Hawke's voice was surprisingly deep and stern and it made Boof's ears droop.
Boof rolled his eyes and harrumphed, but Hawke seemed satisfied and nodded at Carver to put Boof down. Boof stood straight, alert, and at attention, but his tail swayed sadly, his ears flat.
Aveline helped Merrill up, helping to brush her off. "Are you alright?"
Merrill seemed to be tenser after the lecture. "I am. Thank you," her words were hesitant and quiet.
"Sorry about that," Hawke said, trudging forward quickly, his skin still crawling at the sight of dead spiders. He could already feel his feet sticking from the webs.
Merrill nodded quietly, starting to take the lead again, but when she passed Boof she looked back at Hawke, meekly, her pointed ears twitching. "Could I say something to him?"
Hawke raised a thick eyebrow, nodding, as he paused to see what she would say. To most, his dog was just a nuisance. He had to admit he was curious.
She knelt down to meet his warm brown eyes, and his feathery tail started wagging even faster. Boof had a crush it seemed. "I'm sorry for getting you in trouble, but thank you. I haven't laughed like that in a long time."
Boof yipped, about to lick her but he caught himself halfway through the gesture, and looked at Hawke with guilty eyes. Hawke's heart was breaking under the sullen stare. It was like Boof knew how to water them, dropping his ears in just the right way as his dark eyes were framed with golden eyelashes.
Hawke's hard expression faltered for a second. "If Merrill's ok with it, maybe you can play later."
Boof barked happily, prancing around Merrill in his way of asking if she would.
Merrill's smile could melt the Frostbacks. "Of course, Boof.
Lucky could smell the fresh air clearing out the scent of spider corpses before he saw the light filtering from the cave mouth. The gush of wind whipped them, trailing back over the Dalish camp below. The flags of their aravels waved, bright red against the lush green forest.
The group was still tense and quiet as they walked up the mountain path, worn with the paved stones that were carved straight into the mountain. As they climbed there lay a blue shimmering barrier up ahead.
As the group approached it, Merrill turned around, stopping them. She was trembling, staring at the ground rather than at them, appearing nervous and timid. "Please stay back. I will open the way forward."
"You heard the lady," Varric immediately turned around, keeping a few steps back, and the group followed except for Hawke who stared, curious to see what she would do.
Merrill took a breath to steady herself before she took out a knife from her belt and raised her arm pointing the blade at herself.
He widened his eyes in alarm, noticing some holes in her armor where lines healed of scabs were etched into her skin.
Without hesitation or a cry of pain, Merrill sliced her forearm and let the blood gush out. The air cracked, causing Boof to yelp and the group to turn back in alarm. The blood came to life under the direction of her hand and she directed the flow at the barrier. The air around Merrill was cold enough to see breath. The wound seemed to flow freely as the blood mixed with the iron taste of magic that crashed against the blue barrier.
Cack! Cack! Cack! Little flows of light streamed through the cracks forming in the barrier. With one more push, it shattered into a million shards evaporating in the air as the bonds broke.
Sheepishly, the elf turned around tucking a strand of black hair behind her twitching ears.
But before she knew it Hawke was next to her, examining her quite closely with a gleam in his eye. "Glory Hole of Andraste that was cool!"
Merrill squeaked going red, her gaze suddenly unable to meet his. Lucky didn't realize how close he was standing and took a good step back.
The others were paling in horror behind Hawke, Carver in particular unable to look at Merrill but Hawke on the other hand was brimming with excitement.
His hand glowed red with a special healing spell of his own that he placed on her knife wound, the flesh animating back together as he wove the strands of skin and vein back in place. He knew the sensation would be uncomfortable from experience but her eyes widened in wonder as she watched it. "That seemed to take a lot of blood. Are you dizzy?"
"A bit," she admitted, looking uncomfortable with him all of a sudden. Lucky shifted nervously. Was it too intrusive to heal someone without permission? "But it's not as bad as it looked. I have some enchantments and use magic that increases my natural blood flow."
Hawke smacked his head, smearing some of Merrill's blood into his hair. "Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that!?"
"Hawke!" He turned around to see Aveline as red as a tomato, looking terrified and angry enough to punch someone. "How can you condone that? That was blood magic! That was irresponsible at best, evil at worst!"
He could see Merrill visibly flinch and he glared back. "Harsh, Aveline. You didn't mind when I used blood magic to save you and your husband from that ogre."
She flushed deeper if that was possible, her green eyes flashing in anger. "That was different. There was no need for-"
"We needed to get through." Hawke walked away trying to end that conversation, but a flash of red hair whipped behind Aveline stalking after him.
"Shit," Carver grimaced.
Boof dashed from Merrill's side back up to Lucky.
"We could have found a better way, a safer way," Aveline hurried to meet Hawke's pace, passing neat rows of graves that were nestled into the side of the mountain, covered by huge slabs of stone.
"It's done. Let's move on."
"You don't get to decide when I'm done talking to you."
"Yes, I can. I'm doing it right now."
As the argument swelled, Boof barked, trying to shout it down but it just made it louder.
Merrill's eyes went wide and her lips started trembling, reaching out but her voice faltering. "I'm sorry-I didn't mean to-"
"It's not your fault. They've always been like this."
She jumped to see Carver suddenly next to her, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You don't understand," Merrill arched her neck towards him, her gaze so intense Carver couldn't meet it. "The Veil is very thin here. We mustn't attract attention."
The barking quieted to a guttural whine and they looked over to see Hawke crouched with Boof, smooshing his face rather than listening to the conversation he was forced into.
"You don't mean to bring a blood mage into city limits."
"Why not?" At this point Hawke was baby talking, emphasizing every other word with a wet smack to his hound's face. "There," smooch, "are," smooch, "hundreds," smooch, "already." Then he squished the extra skin Boof's cheeks together so he was frowning just as deeply as Aveline. "She'll fit right in won't she, buddy."
"Heeeung," Boof whined, his eyes more focused on the altar, a powerful energy emanating from the source.
Aveline clenched her fist, looking ready to use it. "And I'm supposed to ignore the danger she poses to Kirkwall?"
Lucky knew he had to calm Aveline down, but blood magic was one of those no no subjects around her. Any reminder that he was maleficar at all was uncomfortable for her, but he couldn't change or deny the truth, so what else could he do but try to brush off the argument before it swelled into something unmanageable.
Lucky could feel that the chill in the air had nothing to do with the weather. He tried to focus on his dog, keeping calm, like his Dad taught him, which was difficult with a woman as annoying as Aveline prodding him.
Then Varric cleared his throat, his eyes looking spooked, "Hey lovebirds? Mind putting off your spat until-"
But Aveline didn't let him finish. The scowl on her face was sour enough for Varric to take a step back.
"We are NOT-" Crack! Whooooooor!
This time Hawke felt the shift, like the fall of a roller coaster, and his shoulders sagged. This was what he was hoping to avoid.
"Your anger has drawn the spirits," Merrill drew her staff, panicked.
"Oh, great. Didn't know that was a thing," Varric muttered and quickly followed Carver drawing his weapon.
Boof crouched protectively in front of Hawke, growling, waiting for instructions.
Hawke sighed, slowly rising to his feet, his hand reaching for his baton, clicking the button so it unsheathed into a long thin staff. "I told you to drop it," causing Aveline to flash a glare.
Slam! Crack!
The heavy slabs of stone split open to reveal bodies of skeletons, jerking to life. The air immediately stank of musty decay. Some bodies seemed almost naked, only shreds of the dress they were buried in, but plenty were clad in ancient elven armor still sturdy enough to take hits. They had swords and shields and bows still enchanted to be sharp even after millenia of disuse.
"Boof round them up," Hawke ordered.
The dog darted, kicking rocks as he bayed, calling the skeletons to him. Behind Hawke focused a heroic aura, strengthening himself and those around him with a healthy dose of magic.
Thwing! An archer skeleton took aim and Varric shattered its skull with a glowing bolt. It fell to the ground, but started to get up without its head.
Another sprinting skeleton with daggers was quickly thrown back by a heavy stone called by Merrill.
Carver rushed forward, lopping the shield arm of another skeleton.
A headless archer skeleton drew itself slowly up, its bones clattering and took aim once more at Varric's unguarded head only for Boof to pounce and shove it over.
Varric nodded at the dog appreciatively, his eyebrows raising as he surveyed the field of skeletons. "How do you kill something that's already dead?"
"Something more powerful is sustaining them!" Merrill cried, retreating a few steps and then plunged her staff in the ground, drawing vines from it that entangled the skeletons, slowing their tracks and making it easier for the other warriors to pick them off.
Aveline reluctantly joined the fray, each thrust of her sword and bash of her shield extra ferocious and Hawke had an inkling about who she wished she was hitting.
It was either a mage or a horror but from Hawke's detect life spell there was nothing hidden behind the crypts. He focused the spell, touching each speck of dust and bug and blade of grass until he met the altar and felt a lurch. There was a twist of dark energy floating and he followed his eyes upwards to see an Arcane Horror in lavish green ceremonial robes readying a spell at them.
Hawke had only seconds to react. He formed a barrier that caught Varric and Merrill right before the blast hit them, scattering them all across the field. Hawke hit the side of a gravestone, his clothes smoking from the light as the barrier light cracked and faded. He was dizzy, jostled, his shoulder popped from a hard landing. He moved his head in time for an arrow to miss, catching some strands of hair. He shook himself, suddenly awake. His hand shot out a spell before he could think, ice streaming catching the next arrow where it fell to the ground with a crash. The ice kept going until it caught the archer, freezing it solid.
Boof bayed, bouncing off the skeleton so it shattered into dozens of pieces.
The hound dashed up, snuffling in worry, but Hawke pushed him away. "I'm fine, Boof. Keep the others safe."
Merrill and Varric were back to back, keeping their distance from the skeletons as they picked off weaklings.
He turned to see Aveline and Carver flanking the horror on each side. The horror kept its distance in the air, hovering as it tried to break their defense with magic.
Hawke threw a chain lightning connecting the skeletons, the arcs pulling them closer to each other to make easier targets.
Some of the skeletons lifted from the ground from the force and when they collapsed, Merrill stabbed her staff, vines sprouting from them to tie them down and ensnare them so they couldn't move while Varric shot off sword arms and cracked skulls with his bolts.
Boof grabbed a shinbone of one archer and dragged it off, breaking off its leg, herding another sword-wielding skeleton closer to Aveline like he was trained to so she could cut the skeleton's head off.
Carver kept his attention on the Arcane Horror, knowing it was the real enemy. He tried hard to keep the Horror's focus but it kept teleporting out of reach, avoiding his more lethal attacks.
Suddenly it appeared above the altar, rising into the air, as the sky swirled around it.
"Aveline! Carver! Get out! It's called a tempest!" Hawke cried.
As if in response the clouds cracked with lightning, the horror, charged up with electric arcs building in its hands.
Aveline dashed out, but Carver raised one hand up in half-prayer and closed his eyes, concentrating.
The arcs of lightning began to connect from the sky to the horror's hands and Carver was right in the path.
"Carver, what are you doing?" Hawke cried out as he froze another attacking skeleton in place. There were still so many in his path.
"I can dispel it!" Carver shouted as he began to glow blue and bright.
"Carver N-"
But the lightning arced into both of the Horror's hands and charged at Carver. Carver released his dispel, shooting out the bright blue light towards the lightning which dissipated it into a glittering mist.
The mist continued to creep up, erasing the lightning into sparks of dust until it reached the Horror. The creature faltered in the air but Carver's power was running out and the next arc of lightning shot from the sky and raced back towards Carver.
Hawke stepped halfway into the Fade, dashing through bodies in the field in a blink of an eye and pushed himself in front of Carver. He caught the lightning with his staff and redirected the stream with his hand into incoming enemies, digging into his blood to keep up the effort.
Carver stood there stupefied, as the static in the air made his hair rise.
"It's reforming the tempest. Hurry and retreat."
Carver took an unconscious step back, his eyes on the lightning arcing wildly in Hawke's hands. "What about you?"
Hawke turned his head and grinned. "I'm nuking it."
Carver took one step then another and then started running, grabbing Merrill's hand as he passed the others with a frightened look on his face. "Everyone get back! My brother's doing something stupid!"
The Arcane Horror kept directing strong arcs of lightning at Hawke but he pulled the energy apart so the arcs in his hands started to deteriorate into red dust that shimmered in the air, trailing up and creating a cloud. Blood gushed from his head wound as he fed it into the spell, helping him keep control and the magic from detonating early. "Merrill," Hawke called out. "I need the strongest barrier you can make."
Most of the skeletons were petrified or tangled in vines by now, writhing their severed limbs.
Merrill popped up from behind a gravestone and said, "Alright, but I'm not the best at them."
"I trust you!" The shimmer was all over the Horror now and it cried out in frustration, purple arcs sparking the mist, but Hawke held the magic dormant with his will.
Merrill closed her eyes, drawing a circle with her staff.
A blue glyph lit up under Hawke and he could feel the encasement of cool magic engulf his skin. He trembled all the way down to his legs in effort, his hands burning and blistering with the overflow of magic wanting to burst apart at his fingers.
His blood was burning, his vitality sapping and he gritted his teeth as dizziness threatened to overtake him. He knew he could hold only a few seconds longer. His vision began to get spotty as his grip faltered. Finally the barrier was finished and Hawke let go, the effect of the lightning licking the corrosive powder instant.
The explosion rocked the mountain, his barrier cracking instantly as he was thrown back. The sound deafened Hawke temporarily as his ears made a ringing whine as he flew through the air. The barrier shattered against the wall as he hit the back of his head hard, and then promptly passed out.
At first all he saw was blackness and he felt like he was floating. Then a memory started to form, speck by speck around him. The face of his mother was tear streaked, still bloody from holding Bethany.
So it was this dream again.
She grabbed the sides of his face, her dark eyes boring into him. Even in memory he could not meet his Mother's gaze.
"You can't go through with this."
Why now? Why place this doubt when he was already here?
He took his Mother's hands from his head and handed them back to her. "Mom, it's done."
His Mother exploded like he knew she would. "No! Bethany is with the Maker now." She grabbed him, as if he would disappear if she let go. "I can't lose two children."
Her grip was so tight that he felt like he couldn't breathe. And then he realized it was because he couldn't breathe. Carver was crushing him to his chest, while Boof was snuffling his head with panicked kisses.
As Hawke coughed and groaned, trying to push Carver off, Carver shook him and crushed him into one more hug. "You idiot!"
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," Hawke groaned, still limp and dizzy.
"What were you thinking using that spell?"
"I was thinking that'd be dope if I could pull it off."
For that Carver smacked him in the back of the head.
"Ow! Hey, I might have a concussion."
"I'll give you another one if you do that again!"
"Oh c'mon that was awesome. Right Varric?" he turned to see the dwarf busy writing something in a notebook about the size of a pocket.
"Awesome that I'm alive," Varric chuckled, not looking up. He seemed to be distracted by the thought that had caught hold of him.
"Oh c'mon, Merrill?" Hawke looked around for the elf to see that she was kneeling in front of the corpse of the Arcane Horror, in prayer.
From the waist up the torso was completely missing, blackened and charred, wafting the air with the nauseating taste of a putrid skin. She turned just her head towards him, and he could see a streak of a tear run down her cheek.
"Merrill?" Hawke repeated, pushing himself upright with some difficulty.
Carver and Boof had already abandoned him, rushing to see if they could be of aid.
"Emma ir abelas*," she apologized with a shaky voice, her face red with anguish. "Forgive me for disturbing your rest. May Falon'din carry your souls to the Beyond."
Hawke stopped in his tracks, looking over at Aveline who avoided his gaze, but he didn't need blood magic to tell they were feeling the same guilt. They both slowly approached followed by an awkward Varric.
Boof pushed his head into Merrill's lap letting her cry on him, while Carver hovered, his lips in a thin line.
Hawke was kicking himself. He forgot. These weren't just random skeletons. These were Merrill's people, and they had just majorly desecrated their graves. He looked at all the damage he caused. Reckless. Stupid. How could he possibly make this up to her?
"We'll rebury them," Hawke offered, wanting to put a hand on her shoulder, but decided against it.
Merrill stopped crying for a second, sniffling, but she didn't look at him. After all he'd done he was sure she hated him now. "Thank you, but it will be more dangerous if we're here after dark."
"We can handle-" Hawke started to protest but to his surprise Merrill's head snapped up at him.
"No," her voice was so stern it made him swallow, her meadow gaze fierce with unspoken fury that even made her jump. She quickly looked away, speaking softer. "You are kind, but my clan knows the proper rites." She petted Boof's head fondly before rising up to her full height, wiping her face with her palms before she expelled a jittery breath. "We should not keep Asha'bellanar waiting any longer." She then offered her hand towards Hawke. "Follow me."
Hawke found himself staring at her hand, unsure, and gingerly took it. His hand wasn't much bigger than hers, but they were just as calloused and strong. He could feel someone glaring and glanced behind him to see Carver. The unbidden heat rose in his cheeks faster, making him go a few shades browner.
She led him towards the altar, the heavy feeling sinking in his chest, but the warmth of Merrill's hand comforting.
Boof followed just behind, his ears low and his eyes darting. As they stepped up on the platform, the braziers on both sides of the altar lit up with green fire, causing Hawke to jump.
"It's alright," Merrill said soothingly, and continued to lead him to the center. "It's just veilfire. She knows you're here."
Hawke warily eyed the green dancing flames as it whispered, soft and murmuring. He tried to concentrate on what it was saying, but the voices often overlapped, and he wasn't even sure if any of them were speaking Common.
Merrill let go of his hand, drawing her staff. "Place the amulet in the bowl. Then I can begin."
Hawke reached for the chain around his neck, the amulet strangely heavier. As he walked up to the altar, the hair on his neck started to stand. He looked into the golden bowl, engraved with Elvish writing, to find it filled with water. Or something that at least looked like water. He held the chain over the bowl and caught his distorted reflection in the ruby before dropping it in with a plunk. As the amulet sank to the bottom, Merrill spoke an incantation.
"Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas."
Merrill's words seemed to resonate and the veilfire began to dance wildly. The amulet rose, dripping with water, the ruby glowing with a yellow light. The light from the amulet separated into an orb that grew. One wing formed from the orb and then another, curling over it protectively as it swelled into a torso. From that it sprung a blobbish head and then angling limbs. The light began to grow more solid, the head growing horns, the limbs sprouting talons that jutted out and shaped back into daintier claws.
The figure of light stepped upon the altar, a sound heavy and solid, and Hawke took another step back, feeling that aura that visited his nightmares, but somehow in person it felt so much worse.
He watched as the figure took one more heavy step forward off the altar, and the light faded.
Her battledress was as red as blood, ripped and studded, her skin only a few shades lighter than his but looking both ancient and ageless, eerily beautiful. Her hair was fastened into horns, wrapped in red ribbons making her tower over him.
He made sure to meet her gaze, glowing yellow more animal-like than human. Her lips, purple as a bruise, twisted into a predatory smirk.
"And here we are, at last." Her voice had an ancient ring that couldn't hide amusement.
"Holy shit." Varric's jaw dropped like he couldn't quite pick it up off the floor. Lucky could see the tremble he was concealing in his hands. He couldn't blame him. The witch had that effect on people.
Flemeth laughed, and Lucky unconsciously shivered at the chill that violently took him. The sound was not inviting and his legs buckled, instinctively wanting to run. But the witch turned her powerful gaze from him to Varric, seeming amused by her unexpected guest.
"There is nothing holy about me, creature of stone."
"And the urge to shit myself just became very real," Varric muttered in a joke that sounded too close to the truth.
Merrill had stepped forward, her staff in both hands as she kneeled low to Flemeth. "Andaran Atish'an, Asha'bellanar."
Flemeth's eyes slid down to Merrill. "One of the people. So young and bright. But do you know who I am beyond that title?"
Merrill shook her head, her many braids swaying. "Only a little."
Flemeth knelt down and took Merrill's chin forcing her to look in her eyes. Merrill's eyes widened to find that her gaze was actually kind and almost sad. "Then stand tall and proud, child," she led Merrill up by her chin. "Do not kneel to me or anyone." She patted Merrill's cheek, before she dropped her hands, the cruelness returning to her eyes as she turned back to Hawke who was staring her down. "So, you've finally made your choice."
Hawke lifted up his chin defiantly. "I want to see my sister first."
Flemeth chuckled as if he had told her a joke. "So little trust." Her fingers dragged along the amulet's gem, glinting eerily in the veilfire. "Planning to spirit her away from under me?"
He scoffed, crossed his arms, and didn't meet her gaze. "Lots of charlatans claim to bring back the dead. Maybe it's not even possible."
"And you would be right," Flemeth nodded.
"Then what am I doing here!?" The anger flashed in Hawke before he could bite it down. Merrill flinched, taking an unconscious step back.
Boof was now completely behind Hawke, his tail between his legs, whimpering.
"Didn't I tell you?" Flemeth smiled, a little too wide and sharp to be human. "Your sister is alive." She then dropped her eyes to her talons, the points seeming to extend as she flexed. "I have her but she will remain where she is unless our pact is completed."
Hawke stepped forward, trying to steady his temper, but his fists were clenching. "So you're holding her hostage?"
Flemeth barked out a short laugh. "As if I would have needed to." She captured him in her predatory stare once more. "But you misunderstand. She cannot be awakened until your soul is tributed. If spells could be powered from nothing then anything would be possible." She then shrugged her shoulders and began to walk away from the altar. "But if you've changed your mind it can't be helped. You've already done what is needed. I won't force the issue."
She walked past Hawke and he reached out to grab her, but stopped just shy of touching her. "Wait!" He panicked, knowing that Flemeth was toying with him and yet he didn't know what to do but bow, deeply like Merrill did before, his nose almost touching the ground as he got on his hands and knees. His face burned with the humiliation but she stopped, looking pleased as she gazed down at him. "Forgive my poor manners. I'm just…" he fumbled for the words as his temper and panic roiled against him. "Eager…to see Bethany again."
Flemeth couldn't keep the hum out of her throat. "You're lucky I'm used to such rudeness from my daughter. I will be generous. Just this once."
Hawke pulled himself off the ground, but didn't dare look up because he knew it would be a glare and he couldn't afford to piss off the Witch anymore. Not before getting Bethany.
Flemeth stayed where she was, the others unconsciously lining up on either side of her trying to give her a wide berth. She turned back to Merrill, who squeaked under the power of her gaze. "Are you ready to re-tie this mortal's threads?"
Merrill bowed only her head this time. "I will not fail." She stepped forward, guiding Hawke to a slab of stone decorated by an elven rune. "Do not move from this spot until it is over," she explained and took her place at the rune across from him.
When he had looked over at Flemeth she was on her own platform, everything in place.
"Are you ready?" Merrill asked him.
He nodded. "Let's get this over with."
Merrill tapped her staff causing the veilfire to shoot into the sky, swirling the clouds into a green sea crashing against the orange of the setting sun. Hawke stared at the clouds, feeling the shift, the pull of enormous energy filtering from the fire.
He had only felt so much raw power in the Fade itself and when he glanced back at Merrill she was glowing green, her eyes just flashes of light. When she spoke, her words echoed in the sky as if she was calling to it.
"Enas, lanalin elithastaan!"
Threads of blue light shot from the veilfire and attached to Merrill's staff holding it fast.
"Inana dara hasama siya nuvenan."
The blue threads that creaked against Merrill's staff suddenly shot into Hawke's chest. He could feel the pull in his heart and beyond it, tethering to him as it twined into his body, the feeling like vines snaking through his veins and rooting into his bones.
Then Merrill tapped her staff. "Ver ahn is lasem-" The string between Hawke's heart and Merrill's staff broke instantly turning red.
"Augh!" Hawke dropped to his knees, feeling like his whole being was unraveling, every memory, every thought, every urge unfurling into a pile of strings being cut and pulled apart and he started to lose a sense of who he was as the agony overtook him. His chest was red and glowing, light dripping out of him like globs of blood that splattered on the surface of the stone, also glowing with light.
Boof yelped, trying to get to his packleader but it seemed on instinct he knew not to touch Hawke even as he convulsed.
He found himself struggling to breathe as he tried to close the nonexistent wound on his chest, but no soothing magic came to his aid.
"Lucky!" Carver called out, rushing to aid his brother but he was stopped by a quick glare from Flemeth.
"Sul'emahn lasem kailangan."
Flemeth raised her own hand, her platform glowing with a dark light. The light gathered in her hand and shot out to Hawke's chest holding it fast, turning the red energy into a dark purple.
He screamed until he was hoarse, the light shooting out of his mouth and eyes, and he felt like he was being burned within and without as he was fused with the light.
"Enan kurbata," Merrill's voice echoed across the mountain into the green sea sky. Flemeth pulled the string on Hawke's chest. "Enaan kapalan soronaan!" The light suddenly sealed inside his chest, closing up, the pillars of green veilfire flashing until they collapsed, the sky growing calm and lax.
Suddenly Boof was in Hawke's face, licking and snuffling him.
Hawke was still shaking, even the memory of the pain so sharp he couldn't move even as Boof was shoving himself in his lap. He felt stronger arms around him, helping him up and he warily looked up to see it was Carver, more worried than he'd ever seen him.
"Our sister," Hawke still managed a glare at Flemeth though he still felt dizzy and weak. Carver squeezed his shoulder in warning.
Flemeth tutted impatiently. "Very well. Bring out your sister's body."
The brothers froze, looking at each other in panic.
"What for?" Hawke asked, already dreading the answer.
"Where else am I going to put her soul?"
Carver's eyes darted back to Flemeth, the remorse in them. "But we cremated her."
Flemeth threw her head back cackling, the sound causing a surge of fury to well up in Hawke. "Oh, this is delicious." She then took a gleeful gaze at Aveline and Varric who shrunk under her sudden attention. "And I'm guessing these extra bodies are not to serve as her vessel."
Hawke stepped forward, shaking from his hands to his shoulders. "What about my body? I'll be her vessel."
Carver gawked at his brother, about to protest, but Flemeth's amused laughter cut him off. "I'm afraid you are already spoken for." That's when Flemeth gestured to the amulet around her neck, the veilfire making it look hazy and foreboding. "But don't worry she is quite safe where she is," she said, tapping the gem. "But I'm afraid with no vessel here she will stay."
The horror of Flemeth's words dawned on the party and all eyes turned to the brothers who both looked unable to contain their fury. Carver was grabbing Hawke and Hawke was grabbing Carver, as if they were both trying to hold the other back.
Even Boof had taken to growling as he turned his eyes at Flemeth, who seemed to take even more delight in their helplessness.
"But don't take this so hard. She'll never die of hunger, thirst, or age. A small price to pay for immortality."
Hawke's hand twitched.
Flemeth smiled wider. "Honestly, she's rather lucky."
That did it. Like a fuse going off, Hawke drew his gun and fired right at her head. "You bitch! This wasn't the deal!"
Hawke lunged, Boof's hacking barks right behind him as he followed, but Flemeth raised one finger and Boof was stopped in his tracks by a barrier of light that froze him mid-air. Hawke froze too, but by no extra spell. His limbs locked tight and he could not move a muscle. He gawked in horror at Flemeth who plucked the frozen bullet from the air and flicked it away like a fly.
She glared at Hawke, the amusement gone.
"Do you misunderstand what being bound means?"
Suddenly his locked arm started moving but he wasn't controlling it, more like his arms were attached to strings that he could feel being pulled so his aim was locked onto Boof's head. He yanked back, but his muscles stayed unresponsive, the strings refusing to pull loose. "Wait!" he shouted, his hand trembling against his gun.
"You make so many demands!" she growled.
He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye where Carver was suddenly kneeling. "Please, my brother is an idiot, but don't take it out on Boof."
"Oh a volunteer?" she crooned, and with no motion of her own, Hawke suddenly shifted his aim, swiveling his aim at Carver's head but Aveline was already pushing Carver away from the barrel's path.
"No!" her eyes stayed locked on Flemeth, full of hate and fear. "He's just a boy. If you must take someone, take me."
The tears spilled out of Lucky's eyes as he pressed the gun to Aveline's throat. Every muscle burned with effort as he tried to push back against the strings, but he felt like a doll. No matter how strongly he pushed, he couldn't gain an inch. He panicked as his finger moved for the trigger. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It won't happen again."
His body stopped moving, his finger barely hovering. Flemeth smirked malevolently. "No. It won't."
He closed his eyes as his finger squeezed.
BANG! The kick of the gun pushed his hand back and his heart stabbed in agony. He killed her. He couldn't stop himself. Carver warned him. How could he have been so stupid trying to take on the Witch of the Wilds?
Flemeth's cruel laughter echoed across the mountain and when Hawke had opened his eyes to glare he saw that his aim was altered, missing Aveline by inches.
Suddenly Hawke collapsed, the strings cut, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but gasp in relief. The gun dropped with a thud and he looked at both of his hands as they shook violently. Before he could get a sense of what just happened Flemeth was suddenly behind him, dangling the amulet around his neck with a cold expression. "Perhaps this is punishment enough."
As soon as the amulet touched Hawke, his vision blackened and he was overwhelmed with an avalanche of pain and confusion. He clutched his stomach, his insides suddenly having a sense of being crushed and he struggled to breathe through the darkness. The pain was so debilitating it was all he could do to stay conscious. He opened his eyes weakly, but suddenly he was no longer on Sundermount but somewhere just as sinister.
The West Hill Highway. More specifically the place where Bethany died. He blinked, turning his head trying to get a clear view of which direction to go but the highway was empty of the fire that scorched along the rolling hills, and though his memory remembered the slick of darkspawn corpses strewn about, he was alone. But he could hear something over his ragged breathing. Crying. Specifically Bethany crying.
"M-maker! Make it stop!"
She was close. He tried to shoot up to his feet but the agony of whatever spell Flemeth put him under made him collapse under his own weight and he coughed violently. Still his only thoughts were of Bethany. She was trapped here and he needed to get her out. But through his tear-blinded vision he couldn't see her. Was she hiding in the hills? But she sounded closer. So much closer.
"Bethany!" he called out through a ragged gasp. Move! He urged his body.
He could feel a swell of hope from her somehow, giving him a burst of energy as he struggled to sit himself upright.
"L-lucky?" he could hear her call out. "Where are you?"
Before he could respond another voice cut him off. "Lucky, are you ok?"
He could feel Bethany's heart take comfort at the sound. "Carver's here too?" He could hear her break down in relieved sobs.
"Beth, tell me where you are. I'll find you," Hawke breathed out raggedly. He tried to sound strong but he felt like he was on the verge of passing out. What did the Witch do to him?
She sniffled. "I d-don't know." His eyes darted, trying to find her voice but he saw nothing.
"This is not a place, but Bethany's mindscape," a malevolent voice sounded behind him. He looked to see Flemeth standing over his broken body, taking pleasure in the way he writhed. "You are experiencing her memories, her pain."
"But where is she?" he hissed, wanting nothing more than to take a blade and shove it deep into the Witch's heart.
She smirked. "You're quite dull." She kneeled down looking into his eyes but with a kindness she never reserved for him before. "Bethany. Child. This pain is not real. You need not hold onto it." She reached out her hand as if to help him up.
"The Witch of the Wilds?" Bethany's voice was so panicked he could feel it vibrating in him like a plucked string.
To his surprise he bolted back without thinking, raising his fist on his own. Bethany's voice cried out, his mouth forming her words. "Stay away!"
His arm raised and someone called a fire to the palm of his hand using his magic. No! He couldn't risk raising his hands to Flemeth again and yet he couldn't quench the flames, the intrusive presence overriding him. But he might as well have willed it. His panic was like a runway stallion, so thick, it coated his throat.
But like before his wrist held fast in invisible strings, and the flame died out with no mana to sustain it.
Flemeth tsked her tongue, looking disappointed. "Tch! You Hawkes are so stubborn. Very well."
The strings pulled Hawke's hand, moving it into a vice-like grip. His vision went spotty, going white as he was pulled again.
This time instead of falling, he felt like he was floating in a void. Panic that wasn't his, roiled in his chest and then he realized he could still feel Bethany, could feel her thoughts racing, trying to put together a sense of what happened. He could feel her flailing and instinctively he reached out, trying to comfort her.
She seemed to latch onto his presence as color started to pierce through the white.
He could see the impression of bodies, the intense pain fading like a bad memory and he blinked rapidly to see Carver and Merrill's worried faces staring over him.
He realized he was still hunched over, clutching his stomach, but the crushing pain was gone, his breathing easier. He looked at Flemeth, confused and still unclear of what just happened to him when he saw her. Bethany.
She was just like he remembered her, except she was a ghost, a mirage. Flemeth held up her hand, glowing red with some magic and he realized there was a light shooting from him. Well not him exactly, the amulet. It coated Bethany in a haunting red color, so transparent she looked like the wind would blow her away, her freckles glowing in spots of light, her eyes so golden they burned like embers. She was staring at her own trembling see-through hands in confusion.
"I've removed the memory of her body's demise. It may be wise not to trigger the memory until Bethany has more self-control," Flemeth said looking bored.
"Body's…demise?" Bethany's hands dropped as she stared in horror at her older brother. "Lucky, what did you do?"
"Nothing I wouldn't do again," Hawke sniffed sharply. He knew full well that tears were spilling from his cheeks but he didn't care who saw. She was here. He could feel her heart thrumming as his own. He could taste her emotions, and he could recognize her sensing him too, their senses a swirling cocktail overloading him. It was undeniably Bethany. He recognized that presence and at once he felt a scar deep in his heart heal over as he drank in the reality.
Carver reached out to Bethany, placing a shaky hand on her shoulder but it phased through her.
Bethany gasped in horror and Carver pulled himself back like he was burned.
"She is just a projection," Flemeth explained. "I'm afraid unless you learn a few new spells, communication from now on will be restricted to whoever wears the amulet."
"Will you teach me?" Hawke asked.
"Ha!" Flemeth guffawed. "I see you haven't lost your nerve." Then she closed her fist, and Bethany collapsed into a pillar of light.
Hawke could feel Bethany reorienting inside his head, reeling into his senses. He could feel her dizziness and steeled himself, and somehow she latched on, until his senses were also hers. His heart continued to beat as rapidly as Bethany's thoughts she swirled into a panic attack.
Her questions came so fast he could barely catch them all.
"Lucky, tell me this isn't true. I didn't die. I'm not dead."
But he couldn't answer her. It was all he could do to stay present. Boof pushed towards him and he clutched on, shaking, trying to get some semblance of sanity but he felt him being pulled along in the rush of Bethany's turbulent emotions. A dark overwhelming presence pushed his head upwards and he could see Flemeth staring cruelly down at him through his bleary vision.
"Now I have work to do and so do you." Her yellow gaze sharpened into a glare that stripped him hollow. She grabbed his chin sternly, the cold metal biting and unforgiving, making him shiver. "Make better choices, young one, or the fate awaiting you will not be a kind one."
Flemeth released him and he collapsed into himself again as the witch turned her gaze from Hawke to Merrill, her eyes already much kinder. "Tell your Keeper she is released. For now. You've done well."
Merrill squeaked, bowing her head low but stopped herself from kneeling. "Ma Serannas."
"And child." Merrill looked up from her bow to meet Flemeth's gaze once more. Flemeth let her eyes drop disdainfully on Hawke, still trembling over his dog who whined sympathetically as he cuddled him. "Be careful who you follow into the dark."
Flemeth walked past Aveline and Varric who backed away from her. She walked into the middle of the cemetery where she began to glow yellow, her body melting into light. She collapsed on all four limbs, her clawed hands growing into fierce talons, her flowing dress into a waving tail, her neck elongating, growing long spikes. From her shoulders sprouted two massive wings and her styled ribboned hair snarling into four black wicked horns. She screeched, her piercing cry echoing over the mountain and she took to the air with three wind-inducing wingbeats taking off in direction of the setting sun.
Silence crept over the graveyard except for Boof's soft whine.
Varric scratched the back of his head, not sure what would be appropriate to say right now. "Well….shit."
Terms for elf trans language credited to dalishious on tumblr
Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas - Elder your time has come. I am sorry. Weary eyes to need, to lust, to desperately desire, to rest. Your heart has become grey and slow. In waking sleep is freedom
Enas, lanalin elithastaan. Inana dara hasama siya nuvenan. Ver ahn is lasem. Sul'emahn lasem kailangan. Enan kurbata enaan kapalan soronaan.- Here, Mother of Choice, watch over the bound as he makes his wish. Take what is given and give what is needed. As a witness, I tie your threads together into one.
Emma ir abelas*- I'm sorry
Ma Serannas- I thank you