HAWKE
It's been an eventful two weeks. Between nearly throwing my lungs up to stop the release of saar-qamek in Lowtown for the qunari, to taking out the demon plaguing the Harriman family for Sebastian Vael, to then confronting Hadriana to defend Fenris, it occurs to me I've had close to no rest.
I can feel the effects of it in my aching limbs, and it's obviously taking a toll on the rest of our group as well, if the dull looks in their eyes have to say anything about it.
The only good that's seemed to come out of all this exertion—besides the fact that we helped save some lives and earned a bit of well-deserved coin in the process—is that Serena's foul mood has just about blown right over.
Apparently killing demons and slavers is her way of coping with whatever's been bothering her of late. And oddly enough, she appears to have garnered even more energy than usual, resulting in her being the only one of us who doesn't resemble the walking dead.
It's a good thing mind you, but it doesn't make me any less confused or envious.
Maker, I need some sleep . . .
That's all I can think as Anders, Varric, Fenris, Merrill, Serena, and I make our way out of Lowtown toward the city gates.
I ruffle the thick strands of my hair, hoping the contact might help me wake up. But it's useless. The afternoon sun has heated the tips, their comforting warmth only making me feel more groggy and tempted to pass out.
"So . . . As much as I enjoy traveling in the company of such fine-looking men and women, someone mind telling me why we're heading to Sundermount?" Serena asks, breaking the surrounding silence.
I glance back at her, and she grins.
"Not that I don't enjoy surprises," she says. "But having some info might come in handy. You know, in case this involves something . . . life threatening. Like an ambush. Or blood mages. That way I can keep an eye out for demons, fireballs, arrows, or all of the above. The usual."
I laugh and shake my head. "No, nothing like that." I shift my focus forward again. "Although, I'm sure you'd enjoy it if it was. We're going to the Dalish to ask the Keeper for an item Merrill needs to fix some mirror of hers." I pause and lift a finger to my chin, trying to recall the name Merrill told me earlier. "An . . . aruluholm? Is that how you say it?"
I glance back at Serena.
She's stopped moving. The others halt as well.
Merrill stands a few feet away from Serena, fidgeting with her fingers, looking down at the ground like a guilty child. The mood sours as if I've just delivered news of a loved one's betrayal.
"By the looks on your faces, I'm taking that as a no," I whisper.
Serena turns to Merrill. "An arulin'holm? Mirror? No. Don't tell me . . ."
"Lethallan, please try to understand—"
"Understand?" Serena shouts. "You want me to understand?" Her voice rises higher than I've ever heard from her before, the loudness drawing the attention of the nearby passerby, as well as scaring off a couple of doves.
"It's for our people! Think of how much we can learn!" Merrill persists.
"But at what cost?" Serena yells.
Merrill flinches.
Serena closes her eyes and clenches her fists so tight by her sides they shake.
She pauses for a long moment, seeming to try to recompose herself.
"That… thing…" she says. "It killed Tamlen. It nearly killed—" She gulps and glimpses off to the side. Biting her lip, she shakes away whatever else she was going to say and glares at Merrill once more. "The Eluvian was to remain broken. That's why we destroyed it. That's why the clan left Ferelden. It is dangerous. You would recreate it and put other people's lives at risk, even our own? Did Tamlen's life mean nothing to you? Does mine? Or are you that obsessed with your continuous thirst for knowledge? Of a time that's long since been forgotten?"
"Of course not! I—"
"Enough!" Serena pinches the bridge of her nose. "Mythal's mercy, I do not want to hear your excuses! If you are planning on recreating that dastardly object, I will take no part in it! I would rather die a thousand deaths than ever see it completed again. It should stay broken." She turns to me, an inexplicable amount of pain and anguish filling her hatred-fueled gaze. "Hawke, I am sorry, but you are on your own for this mission. I cannot condone this, not after what it's done to me and the rest of my clan. Creators, I hope the Keeper can convince you out of this."
Serena then turns around and marches back into the heart of Lowtown. I start to go after her, but a firm hand grasps my shoulder.
It's Anders. "Hawke, I'll go after her," he insists. "You all go on ahead. I'll sit out this time as well."
He then dashes after Serena, leaving the rest of us standing there, wondering what in Thedas we've signed up for now.
SERENA
How could she? How could she?
That question keeps repeating in my head, as I storm further into the depths of Lowtown.
Everything around me feels clouded, claustrophobic, stuck in a burning, fuming haze.
No matter how I look at it, Merrill seemed so innocent up until now—minus the whole blood magic situation.
Has she completely lost her mind during my absence? Not only has she conspired to work with a demon, now she wants to reconstruct the eluvian? That eluvian? Has she forgotten everything we sacrificed because of that mirror? How much we all suffered? How much I suffered?
Even now, I still feel Tamlen's blood on my hands.
His death, my joining the Wardens, all of it was because of that mirror. And she wants to bring it back? For a history lesson? What valuable piece of history could that thing possibly provide considering it's already sacrificed one life, and it's so close to taking another?
"Serena, wait!" A familiar voice calls after me.
I stop and turn around to see Anders, tailing behind me. "Back off, Anders. I'm not in the mood," I warn.
Anders smiles, slowing to a abrupt halt beside me. "Sorry, toots. You can't scare me away that easily."
I huff and continue walking.
"I understand how angry you must be feeling right now," he says, rushing to move in unison beside me. "Let's go somewhere quiet, so we can talk about it. There has to be some way we can stop this."
"Stop it?" I plant both feet firm on the ground and glare at Anders. "You think we can stop it? Stop her? That girl . . . she is determined to reconstruct that monstrosity, no matter the cost! I could see it in her eyes! We can't stop it! All we can do is hope that Hawke and the Keeper can somehow deter her long enough before . . . before—"
My eyes widen. A new plan starts to formulate in my head. A plan that involves a bit of sneaking and . . .
Yes. Yes, if I do that . . . then . . .
"Oh, no you don't, love." Anders grabs both of my shoulders. "I know that look in your eyes. Don't go hatching up any crazy ideas."
I swat his hands away and scowl at him. "Well, what else am I supposed to do? Huh? Stand back and watch her kill herself? Kill others?"
Anders frowns, a bit of hurt now reflecting in his sympathetic gaze.
Guilt twists in my stomach. I realize now that I've only been snapping at him, while he's only been trying to help. But it's nothing compared to the pain I feel right now—to the strong sense of anger and betrayal, breaking me to the core.
I've never felt so shattered. So ill at peace.
Not since . . .
Damn it.
"You have no idea how much I wish that thing had been wiped off from the face of Thedas, all those years ago," I whisper. "It deserves no less. It's the cause of all of this! Everything!"
Tamlen. The Wardens. And . . .
Creators, forgive me.
The clan doesn't even know!
Anders purses his lips and crosses his arms. "So, you're just going to . . . what? Waltz right into her house to try to destroy or steal it? How? Do you even know if it's there? Or what kind of reaction destroying it might cause? How about all the people's lives you might put in danger?"
His words feel like a direct punch to the gut.
I click my tongue and look away, feeling only slightly ashamed by his correct assumptions. But for the wrong reasons.
"You need to regain your composure," he says. "You have every right to be angry, but to act on your emotions alone is not acceptable. And you know that."
He grabs me by the arm.
"Come on. Let's go someplace to talk all this out. I suggest your place, since it's closest. And it also doesn't smell like urine. We can wait there until Hawke and the others get back. I doubt he will let Merrill go through with this. Not after your outburst. He's got a good head on his shoulders."
"I hope you're right." I reluctantly nod.
For if he's not, I might just have to burn this whole city to the ground.
FENRIS
The chaos of the night resounds throughout the Hanged Man.
Hawke, Varric, Sebastian, Serena, and I all sit gathered around a table, playing an intense game of Wicked Grace.
Our group returned to Kirkwall four days ago from Sundermount. Since then, the blood mage has locked herself up in her home in the alienage, refusing to leave the premises. The reasoning behind her reclusive behavior: Hawke didn't give her the arulin'holm as she expected. A welcome relief to many of us, especially the other Dalish.
Since Hawke informed Serena of the result of our quest, it's as if her angry outburst never happened. At the mere mention of the blood mage, however, a glint of anger still blazes in her eyes. It never lasts long, though, due to everyone taking extra precaution to change the subject. A wise move, if I do say so myself. For I would hate to be on the other end of her daggers.
"Four Serpents! Looks like I win again, boys." Serena places her stack of cards face up on the table for everyone to see.
Hawke and Varric both groan in unison. Echoing the mood of the rest of the party.
This is her third win tonight. And the night's just getting started.
"By the stone, how do you do it? I've kept my eye on you the whole time!" Varric slams his fist on the table.
Serena grins and pats Hawke and I on the back, as we're the ones seated next to her. "Luck is on my side, Varric. That's all you and your stories ever need to know." She winks at him, and Varric shakes his head.
As if on cue, Norah stops by our table to serve us our fourth round of drinks. She places a mug in front of each of us. But the moment she puts one in front of Serena, Hawke snatches it away and downs it in a few gulps, being careful to guard his own from her during the whole process.
Serena glares at him. "How long are you two going to keep doing that?" she snaps and eyes me as well, as I took her last mug. "Can I not have even one sip of ale?"
Hawke squints at her. "You've had enough alcohol in your past to probably drown the entirety of Kirkwall. Twice. Maybe three times. You don't need another pint, especially tonight. We need you alert and ready to walk to the Wounded Coast tomorrow. None of us are going to carry your arse on our backs."
"One drink won't result to that!" She smacks one hand on the table.
Sebastian places his cards down and quirks an eyebrow at Varric. "What exactly happened three weeks ago to cause all this? Was it that bad to condemn her consuming alcohol entirely?" he asks, his voice thick with his Starkhaven brogue.
"That depends on your opinion, Choir Boy." Varric shrugs. "To give you the gist, Serena got more sloshed than a dwarf who's won a Proving championship, planted one on Fenris, then passed out in his arms. The two of them ended up watching her until daybreak to make sure she didn't die of alcohol poisoning."
Both Hawke and I sputter on our drinks.
Serena shifts her attention onto me, and I look away.
Heat swarms my face under her scrutinous gaze.
"Fenris could tell you all of this himself, mind you, if you don't believe me," Varric continues. "My sources are usually correct, however . . . I personally think his face, though, says it all." He smirks in my direction.
"Quiet, dwarf," I bark and take another quiet sip of ale. Eager to disappear. To drop this subject and be done with it.
"Well, this is news to me," Serena purrs, leaning in closer to me. "I remember getting sloshed, but it looks like you got a little something else out of it, huh?" She flashes me one of her teasing, wily smiles.
My heart thuds in my chest.
"It was nothing," I insist. "You were intoxicated. We'll leave it at that."
Serena frowns, clearly disappointed by my answer.
But it is what's best.
We are both better off forgetting. Nothing good or lasting can come about otherwise. We are friends. And friends we should remain. Regardless of how my more base desires may crave otherwise.
Serena goes back to her regular sitting position, obviously pouting over her ruined fun.
"Don't listen to him, sweet thing," Isabela's sultry voice pops up behind us. Serena and I both look back, and suddenly, Isabela's lithe, tan arms wrap around Serena's neck in a soft, intimate embrace. Her busting cleavage pushes against the side of the Dalish's face, no doubt giving the opposite side of the table quite the view. "I would love to have a taste of those lips of yours, whether you are sloshed or not," the pirate hums, lifting Serena's chin with a graceful finger.
Serena smiles and puts a hand between their lips before they can touch. "Nice try, Isabela. I'm not that drunk . . . yet," she says.
Isabela frowns. "Spoilt sport." She releases her. She then plops down across from us, right next to Sebastian.
The rest of the night continues on in similar fashion. Everything seems to be going well, as usual. But near the end, when we are all about to leave and call it a night outside, I notice a troubled look dance across Serena's expression.
For a few, long moments, she just stares straight down at the ground, her gaze concentrated, as if trying to listen to something off in the distance.
Before I can say anything, she turns around and looks about the streets. Whatever she's looking for though, it's unclear if she found it. She simply returns her gaze to the floor and excuses herself, the same troubled look still on her face.
