Author's note: As some of you with the email updates may have noticed, this is a bit of a double update, of sorts. I've recently gone through and done some edits to all of the prior chapters, as well as added a new chapter 2, which I'd always felt was missing. The edits in the other chapters were minor (mostly stylistic since I've grown a bit since I started writing this story). However, no major story content has been adjusted.

I will be trying to resume bi-weekly updates from this point forward. If you follow my other story, Destiny's Arrow, I'll also be revisiting that.

More soon! 3

- Sarahannmarie123


HAWKE

Fate, or whatever you want to call it, really has a way of mucking things up.

To say I've been stressed about this whole escalation between Meredith and Orsino would be a gross understatement. And now in comes this request from Merrill, too?

Maker, can't you grant a man a break?

I sigh and ruffle up my hair as I trudge up the last of the Chantry courtyard steps, leading up to the Hightown Estates.

If I'm going to have to tell Serena about this, I'm going to need backup. Zevran and I simply won't be enough to contain her from acting out this time. Especially now that she's no longer hiding her powers from us.

And although I know Fenris won't agree with allowing Merrill's decision, he's one of the few people I trust to help hold Serena back from committing mass murder, if only to protect her own self-interests.

Doesn't mean he won't still give me a noxious, verbal flogging, though.

I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose, already imagining it.

Dreading his scowls, I resign myself to the inevitable and knock at his front door. A moment passes, and . . . nothing.

No hint of a response.

Not wasting another second, knowing Fenris's lazier habits, I reach for the rusted doorknob. However, right as my fingers touch the cool metal, the handle moves.

The door creaks wide open, revealing Serena on the other side. "Hawke! Welcome!" She beams up at me, emanating the warmest excitement from her I've ever seen. "Come on in!"

She turns around and waves for me to follow her, deeper into the dim mansion.

I hesitate for a moment, just standing there, gawking at her retreating silhouette. Disbelieving my luck. Or more arguably: lack thereof.

When she's all but rounded the corner, into the main, central foyer, I shake myself out of my stupor and hurry after her, my body tensing with every step. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was slowly turning into a statue.

She leads me to one of the estate's old formal living room areas, situated outside the kitchen's crooked door. Fenris and Zevran sit relaxed on two adjacent sofas on the opposite end of the room, sipping from full wine goblets, while Anders lies stretched out on the cracked floor beside them, next to a messy tower of empty plates and bottles.

The lot of them perk up as we enter.

"Look what I dragged in," Serena points back over her shoulder at me with her thumb.

"We were just talking about you!" Anders raises his goblet up to me with a wide, ecstatic grin. "We were wondering when or if you'd ever show!"

Serena plops herself down beside Fenris, on his sofa, swiftly propping her legs up across his lap, while he passes her a drink from the neighboring end table.

I glance around at all of them once she's grabbed it.

They must've been at this for quite some time, based off Anders's reddish glow. Fenris's absent gaze is also a pretty fair, tell-tale sign. The Crow and Serena on the other hand remain so much harder to tell, as usual.

"Well, I admit. I wasn't expecting this," I gesture to their collection of discarded bottles. "What brought this on? Isn't it a bit early to start day-drinking yet?"

I raise an eyebrow at them.

"Early, schmerly." Serena flips a dismissive hand at me. "It's never too early to have a good time, I say!"

Okay. Yes.

They're all hammered. Or at least three out of the four of them are.

Maybe I can work with this?

No. I need to test the waters first. Her being drunk might make this even more dangerous. And I, for one, don't wish to test the might of a famous, magic wielding, dragon slayer.

"Agreed. But you still didn't answer my first question." I smirk, crossing my arms, heart racing just considering it. "What brought this on?"

Serena shrugs. "No reason." She grins conspiratorially at Fenris. "Anders showed up. And we just . . . felt like it. So, why not?"

I stare at Fenris, suspicious of the strange look they shared. He immediately glances away, taking a big gulp from his goblet again.

"I am more curious to learn about what brings you here, dear Champion," Zevran's smooth voice makes me jump.

I fixate on the Crow. He's now sitting hunched forward in his seat, both elbows on his knees, watching me intently.

"What task do you have for us this time? Hm? Hunting bandits? Searching for treasure? Or is it something else entirely?"

His knowing tone and gaze make my nerves tingle and spike.

With a hard swallow, I glimpse over at the others, who are all now eyeing me expectantly.

Great. Zevran's just too perceptible for his own good. And apparently still somewhat sober.

"You . . . may want to put those down." I gulp and point at their goblets. Half of me now wishing he wasn't my backup.

"Why?" Serena squints at me. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

I sigh.

The concern in her voice makes me feel a million times worse.

"Please . . . just . . ." I wave for them to put the wine down. Waiting for at least Zevran and Fenris to do so, to ensure I have the extra hands.

They all do so, hesitantly, and I take in a long, deep breath—my mouth running drier than the Hissing Wastes deserts.

"Merrill . . . has asked a favor of me," I start, my pulse picking up speed, hammering hard against my chest. "One I want to emphasize I personally don't agree with, but . . ."

I pause, uncertain how to proceed.

Suspicion already flares in Serena's narrowed, teal gaze.

There's no avoiding her anger.

So, why am I hesitating?

I might as well just get it out and say it.

"She wants to go seek the guidance of her demon, in hopes it might help her restore her mirror," I spit out, as fast as I can.

Serena's expression falls.

She jumps to her feet, a raging wildfire burning in her depths. "She wants to what?!" her voice echoes off the mansion's split walls.

Both Fenris and Zevran sit up straighter that instant, looking prepared to spring forward, to grab her by the arms.

I stay quiet, knowing full well that she heard me, but just can't believe it. I still can't either.

Serena huffs. Her fists now clenching and unclenching in rhythmic motions. No doubt struggling to hold herself back. "I can't. . . How . . . Why did you even come to me about this? Don't tell me you agreed to it?"

"She didn't give me much of a choice! It's either I tag along with her to make sure she doesn't get possessed, or she goes off on her own and the whole city might be none the wiser!"

Serena curses, under her breath, and paces back and forth, looking prepared to run out of the house, to go on a magical fit of a rampage.

"I told her we could go tomorrow, after I had some time to finish up some errands. Mainly, telling the lot of you, as I felt you deserved to know." I bow my head to her slightly with the explanation.

"Oh! Well, thank you for the consideration," she sneers, her face scrunched up into a malicious snarl. "But why? Why would you—"

She sighs.

Her posture: wilting.

Lifting an exasperated hand to her forehead, she slumps forward. "What time are we leaving?" she mutters, the fight now gone from her stance and voice.

She lifts her gaze to meet mine again. A determination now seething beneath her rage.

"If we must do this, I want to be there to witness it myself. That way I can either kill that demon, or Merrill, if she's stupid enough to get herself possessed . . . I need to speak to the Keeper again as well."

I tilt my head at her, a bit leery of her sudden calmness and acceptance. It's seems a bit quick, especially for her, on this subject.

"We'll meet up in front of the Hanged Man at first light," I answer, although I barely get it out, due to the lingering anxiety.

"Perfect," Serena grumbles. "Just... perfect."

With a quick rake of her fingers through her hair, she plops back down into her seat beside Fenris, snatches her goblet back into her hands, and drowns it to the very last drop.


Muted.

That's the word I've been looking for.

Our world feels muted right now. The awkward silence hanging over our group almost deafeningly so.

Even the distant waves, crashing against the nearby shoreline, come off quieter somehow, as we make our way around the Wounded Coast towards Sundermount.

I glimpse over at Serena, who serves as the core source of the tension.

She's walking along beside me. A murderous glare still on her frowning face. The same she's donned since I told her of this fateful mission yesterday.

Merrill, Fenris, Zevran, and Anders trail along behind us. None having said a word for a majority of our trip, and all but Zevran appearing dour, like we might be marching to our dooms.

I expected as much when we first met up in front of the Hanged Man this morning. Serena certainly got in quite a few harsh words, at the start, the second she caught sight of her fellow ex-Dalish. But it's been silence ever since. Not even taking down the last remaining thugs, who kidnapped that noblewoman, Orlanna, seemed to help cheer her up. Nor did the revelation about Feynriel's involvement, coming to her rescue through a dream of all things! And bloody battles and unexpected reunions usually cure her poisonous fury every time!

Ugh.

This is going to be a long walk.

Time for an attempted intervention.

"So . . . what are the odds that Feynriel actually helped that woman through a dream, do you think?" I ask with quick clearing my throat.

"I don't know," Serena mutters. Not looking at me. "I might be a Dreamer, Hawke, but what they can do is still pretty much a mystery to me."

"Rightttt . . . How is that going by the way? Any luck with yours and Anders's practice sessions?"

"Some." She shrugs. "I think we're finding a balance, if there can even be one."

"Why don't you try reaching out to Feynriel, then? I'm sure he'd love to help. And if he really can reach out through a person's dreams, like Orlanna says, then-"

"Hawke." Serena halts, and I flinch. "Please. Just . . . stop. Enough talking right now." She raises one hand to me, her eyes closed, and face angled towards the sand. "I need some time and space to think. I'm sorry."

She walks past me. Back to the scowling she did before.

Well, it was worth a shot.

That definitely could've gone worse.


SERENA

I knew it was too good to be true. It had to be.

Life was simply going too smoothly of late, and that, that can only ever mean one thing.

Something big was coming.

But I didn't expect this.

I glimpse down at the new layers of blood coating my scythe. The only proof I need that I must be cursed.

Our group's currently on our way up to the top of Sundermount. Along our way here, we've not only encountered my clan, who shouldn't still be here, and a woman connected to Feynriel, my fellow Dreamer, but we also had to kill off the last of the Evets Mauraders, who we thought we got rid of three years ago. All while trying to track down a demon, who may or may not know a 'cure' for the mirror that nearly killed me and Tamlen in the first place!

It seems I just can't leave the past behind me, in any aspect.

Everything just keeps repeating. Coming back in unending, winding circles, reminding me I can never truly be free, move forward, in a series of unlikely coincidences. Like a bunch of checkmarks on Fate's list of 'how much more can we screw up Serena's day today'.

I sigh and shake my head.

This trip can't be over fast enough . . .

"I don't know why I'm bothering with this, but you do realize this is crazy, right?" Anders directs his accusatory tone at Merrill. Both of whom are trekking behind me.

"Believe me, I noticed. If I had any other choices, I'd take them," she responds. Still unwavering, despite even the Keeper's earlier warnings.

"You have choices! You always had choices!" Anders snaps. "Stop using blood magic! Get rid of that damned mirror!"

"In that case, I'll head back to Kirkwall and throw it away! Right after you abandon the plight of the Circle mages."

"At least his cause will help someone!" I shout, unable to bite my tongue any longer.

"I'm doing this to help our people!" Merrill retorts.

"No, you're doing this for yourself!" I whirl towards her, glaring her down. "You don't know what you're messing with Merrill! You think you do, but you don't. You weren't there to see what happened to me, to Tamlen. You have no idea what I've had to go through, what sacrifices I've had to make, what I've had to do, since I encountered that blasted mirror!"

I cover my face with one hand. The memories of that terrible day returning. Repeating. The vision just as clear as the moment it happened. Tamlen's horrified pleas ringing in my ears.

"Without that thing, I never would've become a warden! I never would've had to leave the clan—my home! I wouldn't have had to—"

I wouldn't have had to kill Tamlen.

My best friend.

My first love.

Tears burn my eyes.

Heart squeezing, aching, I turn away, fighting back a burst of sudden tremors. On the verge of losing to it.

"I . . . I know this must be difficult," Merrill whispers, less antagonistic, compared to before. "I know you've lost a lot from your . . . experiences. But those losses came about because the mirror is tainted! If we can restore it to its original form, remove the taint, I'm certain you'd see just how crucial it is to—"

"Enough!" I shout, clenching my fists. "Fen'Harel ma ghilana!"

Silence falls.

I hear Merrill's light footsteps inch closer. Her soft palm touches my arm. "Lethallan, please—"

I swat her hand away.

"Dirthara-ma! May. You. Learn," I growl, right in her face.

I then stomp up the path leading up to Sundermount again, refusing to look back.


"You can feel how thin the veil is up here. Perfect place to bury your dead. The ancient elves were brilliant," Fenris snarks, upon reaching the peak.

"It wasn't always this way," Merrill comments, sounding as naive and chipper as ever.

"Are you sure about that? Logic wasn't our strong point, from the sounds of it."

That jab makes me chuckle.

Clearly, I'm not the only one not thrilled to be here.

It's good I can count on the others to have a little common sense. Unlike someone.

We approach the cave with the someone now leading up front, with Hawke. However, right as she draws near, a black shadow warrior appears, blocking off the entrance.

The spirit leaps out at us, and Zevran throws a dagger at it's chest, forcing it to disappear with a puff of wispy smoke. A shade materializes from its 'ashes'. Several nearby corpses also rattle and rise. Fenris, Hawke, and I all dash forward, striking the lot down, my blade embedding itself deep, down the shade's center. Anders and Merrill then burn the corpses with flames to prevent any further re-rising.

Yes, the veil's very thin here indeed, it seems.

I frown and glare out at the adjacent overlook. The whole world spread out below, before us. Hawke glimpses around at our group, as if it to inspect for damage, then waves for us to follow him inside the cave.

But I can't move.

I don't want to.

Why do we have to do this?

Why is Hawke allowing this?

We could stop her. We could—

Anders grasps my shoulder. He stares down at me with evident sympathy radiating in his light brown eyes. Zevran and Fenris wait and watch not that far behind him. The same sympathy, pity, on their expressions.

I bite my lip and force myself to the entrance, following Hawke and Merrill into the cave.

Darkness surrounds us at first, along the first of the steps. At the bottom of the stone staircase, though, the area opens up. Brightens.

Stalactites and stalagmites cover the rocky ground and ceiling, their spikes fitting for how prickly my nerves feel at the moment. Beams of sunlight drift in through cracks in the distant walls. Their borders torn open from overgrown tree roots, invading their space.

But no random ray of sunshine can lighten the lead weighing in my stomach, when I catch sight of tall shelf, full to the brim with ancient skulls, looming ahead of us.

Yes. Lovely.

Perfect accessory for a cave that would house a demon.

But . . . why don't I sense it then?

I'm normally very sensitive to to their presence. Yet . . .

I huff, and, scowling at Merrill again, I clench my fists.

She leads us down another staircase, to a lower level of the cave, where the source of light's coming from. Piles of stone, that could arguably be either graves or shrines, border the western and eastern walls—blue veilfire burning within their cores. Leafless, thorny shoots of felandaris—or demon weed, as many like to call it—lie scattered at their feet. Their twisted, dry branches reaching out, resembling skeletal hands. A big, strange, humanistic statue resides at the center of the already pleasant lower room, sitting beneath a wide, cracked, stone arch, missing a couple of bricks.

Merrill approaches it and stares up at the vaguely familiar, fat, cross-legged figure. "Something is wrong. This was where the spirit was bound. But now, it feels . . . empty," she says.

"Who bound this demon here and why?" Hawke asks, leering up at the statue.

Merrill glances back at Hawke. "There was a war, long ago. Between my people and the Tevinter Imperium." She turns to the sculpture again. "After the magisters sunk Arlathan, my people made a last stand here, fighting on the graves of our elders."

"I've heard of this . . ." Fenris squints at the floor. "A final, vengeful strike. They unleashed chaos upon this mountain to teach our people that resistance was futile."

Merrill lowers her head. "I don't know if it was the Elvhenan or Tevinter who bound the spirit, but he was left here from the war."

"Great. So it's not only a demon, but an ancient demon, tied to both our people and Tevinter," I grumble, fussing with my hair.

And here I thought there couldn't be any more coincidences . . .

Guess that explains the familiarity, however.

Hawke frowns. Placing a pensive hand to his beard, he hums quietly to himself for a moment. " . . . Maybe it freed itself?" he offers.

Merrill shakes her head. "It would have taken powerful magic to break him free of his prison. You couldn't just set him loose. Nobody could. Not without doing something terrible. This is very wrong."

"Us being here is what's wrong," I scoff, furrowing my brow.

"Alright. Enough." Hawke scowls at me, and I roll my eyes. "It couldn't have just vanished! Let's track it down."

Merrill approaches Hawke, her head still hung low, stuck deep in thought. "He shouldn't have been able to leave! What happened to him?"

"I . . . happened," a familiar voice speaks up behind us.

I jolt, and we all turn to face the Keeper. She looks so much more tired and strained than she did back at camp earlier. As if she's gone days with no sleep in the span of a few hours.

My hearts picks up pace at her weary look—her words. Its rhythm beating loud in my ears. Breath becoming harder to intake.

"Keeper, what have you done?" Merrill steps closer. Her voice so quiet, drowned out by this thumping in my ears.

"The demon's plan was always for you to complete the mirror," the Keeper says. "It would have been a doorway out of this prison and into our world. You . . . would have been his first victim. I couldn't let that happen, da'len."

"What did you do, destroy the demon?" Hawke tilts his head at her.

Marethari paces back a few steps, facing away from Merrill. "The demon hasn't been destroyed. Not yet. It's still here. I couldn't fight it in the Fade while it was trapped. And I couldn't banish it, without making it stronger. So, I made myself its prison. Kill me, and it dies too. Merrill . . . will finally be safe."

Cold.

A bitter cold falls over me.

No.

No.

I didn't hear her right.

I couldn't have.

How could—

"No! You can't ask . . . I won't do this!" Merrill shouts, glaring at the Keeper.

Marethari faces her again. Resignation clear in her calm gaze. The likes I've never seen from her before. "You always knew your blood magic had a price, da'len. I have chosen to pay it for you." She lowers her head and closes her eyes. "Dareth shiral." Her whole body starts to glow blue.

The light spreads, consuming her entirely. Swallowing up the Keeper as it expands.

Taller. And taller. To almost the height of the ceiling. Into something not elven. Not human.

The light dissipates, revealing a massive purple pride demon now standing in her place. I gawk up at her—it—unmoving. Not breathing. The beast strikes out at us with a wide swipe of its claws, hunger penetrating its dark, eight-eyed gaze.

Eyes that were once green. Mortal. Two. The Keeper's—

Its claws nears, and I'm suddenly tugged backward, out of reach, behind Zevran. Fenris phases forward in a blue blur and slashes it across its hip.

Blood dances across my vision. Mixing with Fenris's blue luminance and other subsequent bursts of magic.

"Traitor! May the Dread Wolf hunt you for the rest of your days!" a ghostly voice calls off to my left. I flinch and glance over at the nearby 'shrines' to see a spirit of Radha, one of our old, deceased, fellow hunters.

"I was trying to rebuild my life! Why did you have to come back and destroy it?" Pol's specter manifest next, across the room.

"We're cursed. The whole clan. And you brought this upon us," Harsal's apparition emerges next.

"You couldn't let go of the past, could you? Now look at what you've done!" Chandan adds.

All of the hunters' revived ghosts charge at us. Their shouts still spiraling inside my head. None of this—least of all their appearances—making sense.

Zevran and Anders both shield me, slicing out at them, taking them down in their own unique ways, while Fenris, Hawke, and Merrill stand off against the still swinging pride demon.

Eyes wide, I crouch low to the ground, covering my ears. Tears streaming down my face.

Horro wracking through me.

No.

No.

This can't be happening.

It can't!

This is just a bad a dream! A night—

"Curiosity . . . is a dangerous thing, Merrill."

I gasp at the new familiar, ghostly voice.

I look over at him. His ghost form the same as I remember. The same as the day he vanished.

"It will never let you rest." He steps toward us. "Never."

My heart plummets into the abyss.

"Tam . . . len . . ." I whisper.

More voices cry out, but I don't hear or see anything else. All I can fixate on is him. Rushing toward me. An angry scowl contorting his usually smiling face.

He lifts his daggers, ready to swipe at me. To end me. Just as I ended him, so many years ago. Rightfully so.

But then a long sword slices through him, ripping his spirit clean in half in a puff of black smoke.

Hawke's tall, armored figure stumbles into its leftovers, looks back at me, and reaches for my arm, pulling me back up onto my feet. His gaze focuses on something behind us, and I turn to look.

The pride demon glows bright red, blood swirling all around it. Fenris slashes at its chest once more, and a white flash fills the cavern.

I blink as it dims. My sight slowly returning, as if waking up from a dream.

The giant demon's gone now. Only Marethari remains. She falls to her knees in that same place, her white-silver bun unkempt, her tan skin pale. "D-Da'len?" She gapes up at Merrill, as she runs up to her.

"Keeper," Merrill whispers.

"You've beaten it, da'len." Marethari pushes herself up onto her feet. "You are . . . so much stronger than I imagined. The demon is dead!"

"Keeper, I—"

"Let's leave this awful place. The clan should hear the good news!" She smiles.

But no.

That's not Marethari's smile.

My nerves, tingling within me, warn me so. Though, I wish it were true.

"You told us that the demon was bound to your life." Hawke glowers. "That it would only die with you."

Marthari grimaces at Hawke, at us, and takes a retreating step back.

"Ir abelas, Keeper." Merrill steps forward, stabbing her chest with a knife.

Marethari clutches at the seeping wound, falling, panting.

Her back arches with a spark of purple electricity, and then she gasps. Lies motionless.

The life in her green eyes fading.

Fading.

Gone.

Merrill drops the bloody knife with a clatter on the stone.

My knees collapse.

I can no longer hold myself up. Tear my gaze away.

"Keeper!" Merrill cries, falling to her knees as well, beside her. "What have you done? I don't want this! I never wanted this!" She lowers her head and closes eyes. "Creators, please let this be a bad dream! I'll wake up and feel like an idiot, and she'll scold me for not listening!"

A hand grabs my shoulder. But I can barely feel it. All I can really feel is my body trembling. Cool tears dripping down my cheeks. The emptiness of my breath.

"No . . . No!" I shout, curling forward, into the rising pain.

The cold.

"Keeper!" I scream, every part of my soul feeling like it's tearing, fraying at the edges.

No. No. No. No.

This can't be happening. It can't.

You can't be dead!

I still had so many things to ask. So many things to say.

"If you hadn't been obsessed with that stupid mirror, she'd still be alive!" Hawke yells, his voice unusually harsh and not with an ounce of restraint.

"If there was a price to pay, I should've paid it! She had no right to interfere!" Merrill shouts back.

I grasp a handful of dirt in my palms. "She didn't want this to happen to you!" I glare up at the blood mage.

Merrill hangs her head, slumping her thin shoulders. "Why couldn't she have believed in me?" she whispers.

"Why didn't you listen? I warned you! She warned you! Didn't we? This is your fault. This is all your fault! Why didn't you listen? Why…?"

A sob wracks through me, forming a lump in my throat.

I bow my head down again, succumbing to it, letting the tears flow.

Hands are on me then. Multiple. Everywhere. Whose I don't know. I don't care.

None of it matters.

"That was the noblest thing I've ever seen anyone do," Anders says, off to my right. "The world is poorer for having you in it instead of her," he snipes at Merrill.

"For once, we agree on something," Fenris chimes to my left.

My heart squeezes at their talk.

It's like a blasted hole is ripping its way through my chest.

My being.

Growing bigger and bigger each passing second.

"Ir abelas, lethallan," Merrill's voice creeps close. "This should've never happened. I didn't mean to—"

"Banal nadas." I glare up at her, tears of rage and hurt seething in my eyes. "Ma banal las halamshir var vhen! You do nothing to further our people!"


HAWKE

"Come on. We're almost there," I guide a crying Merrill, out of the cave. The emotions inside were just too tense, with Serena's grief, and when things only continued to escalate, I thought it best for us to get some air and add some space.

The afternoon's golden sunlight beams down on us from outside the entrance, blinding me for a second, after stepping out of the dark. Merrill blinks alongside me. Sniffling. Rubbing at her tattooed cheeks in the cool wind.

Approaching footsteps interrupt her weeping.

"We know the Keeper came here," a recognizable male voice follows. I glance up at the blond, green eyed Dalish. The one I've met the past few times at their camp. Several other familiar Dalish hunters trail along behind him. "What's going on?" He spread his arms out wide, shaking head. "Where is she?"

His voice takes on an aggressive, suspicious tone.

Merrill frowns and lowers her head "Fenarel . . . The Keeper, she—"

A golden eyed she-elf with short black hair, tied back in a ponytail, glares at her. "Look at her Fenarel! She's covered in blood!" She scrutinizes Merrill from head to toe.

I glance down at the two of us.

Crap. She's right.

Merrill most of all.

Fenarel steps closer to the cave, his cold stare still glued on Merrill. "What have you done, Merrill?" he growls, stopping at the cave's entrance. "Keeper! Serena! Can you hear me?"

"The Keeper . . . she's . . . she's dead . . ." Merrill whispers, her voice high, trembling, and she looks away.

"I should have guessed you'd turn on her." The dark haired she-elf crosses her arms. "You monster!"

"This was a tragedy." I step between the two, watching the other elves reach for their daggers. "I promise you, I'll make sure no one else is hurt by Merrill's blood magic."

"The Void you won't!" Serena's voice calls from the cave.

She storms right up to us, out of the dark, the others in tow, and I can see the malicious glint in her murderous gaze, simmering with bloodthirsty rage.

I hold one arm up in front of Merrill.

"Move, Hawke," she says, halting, but not moving her glare onto me. All her focuses only on Merrill. "She needs to die for this. Now either you can kill her, or I will."

"Serena . . . I'm so sorry," Merrill snivels. "I never wanted this. I—"

"Ma harel!" Serena snaps. "You lie. You wanted this. You knew the risks. You just didn't listen!"

"Please, Serena. I'm sorry. If I could have saved her . . . if I could have died instead, I would have!" Merrill pleads.

But it's useless.

Serena's glare burns with a mounting fury.

"Na abelas," she says. "Na din'an sahlin!"

She lunges forward and Fenris and Zevran both grab her by the arms. I brace myself in front of Merrill, holding her back, prepared to block for her, if she escapes.

"Serena, stop. You don't want this. Not really," I try to intervene.

"Don't tell me what I want or don't want, Hawke!" she shouts, struggling to free herself from Fenris's and Zevran's grip. "She's a murderer! She didn't listen to or care about anyone! She deserves it!"

I continue to stare her down. Unyielding. Hating this, but not willing to dismiss our morals.

Serena's wriggling calms, and she slumps, fixating on the ground, tears dripping off her cheeks.

"I didn't lose Tamlen and my life at the clan for this," she says.

The fight at last completely leaves her rigid stance, prompting the others to lessen their hold.

Serena rips her arms free of them a moment afterward and stomps past the hunters, back toward the slope, leading down the mountain.

"I never want to see her again. Ever." She stops, scowling over her shoulder at us.

She then storms off, out of sight, Zevran rushing down the path behind her—nodding to the rest of us to wait back while he goes on to calm her.


Translations:

Fen'Harel ma ghilana - Dread wolf guides you.

Ir abelas - I'm sorry.

Banal nadas - Nothing is inevitable.

Ma banal las halamshir var vhen - You do nothing to further our people.

Ma harel - You lie.

Na abelas - You'll be sorry.

Na din'an sahlin - Your death is come.