Authors Note:This chapter came a little harder for me, it includes a quest from the actual game and I got so hung up on getting the game content right that I forgot about my story. So after a full rewrite, here it is. Not exactly to script, but definitely better for it. Reviews appreciated. :)
Update: This update extends the chapter what it was originally meant to be. I had cut it off early for reasons of length but the chapter works better with the true ending.
Welcome to Kirkwall
Chapter 11: A Promise Kept and a Promise Broken
Lyra had been talking to Anders in the Hanged Man half the night and when the new day dawned, she was considerably less than enthusiastic about it. The sun seemed unnaturally bright, and ungodly cheerful for the loathsome task she was now faced with. She wasn't sure which was worse. Facing Merrill again, knowing what she had done, and was planning to do, or returning to the Dalish clan after what had been said. What would the Keeper think of her if she thought she was trying to help Merrill rebuild the mirror? Wait a minute. What did she care what the Keeper thought? Keeper Marethari had been the one who had turned her away all those years ago. And instead of keeping Merrill from even attempting to repair the mirror, she had just let it happen. No, she decided, she was far beyond caring what the Keeper or any of them thought of her, and if Marethari wasn't going to put a stop to Merrill's foolishness, then she would.
She hadn't told Merrill what had really happened the last time she had seen Tamlen; hadn't been able to. But that was before she knew what Merrill was doing. She still wasn't sure if she wanted her childhood friend to know the truth, but if they were going to the Dalish camp, it would almost certainly come up. There was no way around it now. She had promised to try to talk to Merrill and that was what she was going to do, but if Hawke thought she was going to apologize to her, he had another thing coming. But first, she needed a good meal.
"What the hell?" She had opened the door of her room to find a misshapen package waiting for her, wrapped in light canvas and tied with bailing twine. She glanced up and down the hallway looking for whoever had left the bundle. It was a ridiculous action, of course. The gods only knew how long it had been laying there, but considering the neighbourhood she was in, and the type of people she regularly encountered, it couldn't have been that long, or someone would have certainly made off with it.
The package was considerably lighter than she had expected and she took it over to the bed to open it. Her mabari appeared from beneath the bed to investigate in case there was anything dangerous within the canvas wrapping and while he gave the package a thorough sniffing, she wondered idly how he had managed to get under the bed in the first place. Trouble looked up at her curiously, waiting for her to open the bundle as if he expected it might be something for him. She smiled and shook her head, then took one of her daggers and sliced through the string that bound the canvas. Her eyes widened at the sight of the armour. It wasn't new by any means, but had been well cared for. The leather jerkin had been well oiled and the metal chest piece, though marred, shone in the morning sunlight.
Unthinking, she pulled the cloth undershirt over her head then the leather vest with its metal plating over her chest and hips. The armour had originally been made for a man, probably quite a bit taller and more muscular than she, but someone had tailored the set and it fit her like a glove. It was surprisingly light and cool as well, meaning she wouldn't die in the heat of the Kirkwall sun. She stood in front of the mirror for a minute or so, admiring the way the leathers moved, then stopped. Who would have left a perfectly good, and probably expensive set of armour outside her door, much less tailored it to fit her? She went to the door, once again glancing up and down the hallway, but there was still no one in sight. Shrugging her shoulders she went back inside the room and strapped on her daggers. She glanced at her bow, sitting in the corner of the room and decided she would head into the forests around Sundermount and perhaps go hunting. Then she could meet up with Hawke and Merrill on the way to the Dalish camp.
The prospect of returning to the clan still gave her no great joy, but there was no help for it now. She picked up her bow and quiver and headed down the short flight of stairs to the tavern. It was practically empty, which she had come to expect, and she ate her breakfast silently and alone, then headed out toward the city gates.
Fenris was not waiting for her this time and she found she couldn't decide if she was glad of it, or disappointed. Not that she liked the moody elf. He was arrogant, sour and clearly didn't think any more of her than she did of him. So why did she keep glancing at the people in the streets looking for a face she recognized beneath a shock of white hair? She mentally kicked herself as she passed through the city gates and out into the forests, sternly reminding herself that she didn't care one whit for the elf and definitely did not miss his company.
She didn't end up doing much hunting in the forest. She spotted some sign here and there and followed the fresh trail of a deer halfheartedly before giving it up and returning closer to the trail so she could watch for Merrill and Hawke. She was sitting in one of the uppermost branches of an old oak tree when she first spotted the pair. She slipped easily to the ground, careful not to make a sound. It wouldn't do for Merrill to know she had been watching for them. Her bow in hand, she crept through the trees and stepped out onto the trail a little ways ahead of the pair.
She turned to them as if spotting them for the first time, and waved a hand. She couldn't read Merrill's expression upon seeing her. It was somewhere between nervous, angry and disappointed. Hawke, on the other hand, was giving her a rather relieved grin. "Mind if I join you?" she said, walking up to them and replacing the bow on her back.
"Lyra?" Merrill said cautiously, glancing at Hawke as if she instantly knew something was up. "What are you doing..."
Lyra waved off her concern. "I was just out hunting when I saw you."
"Well, then. Don't let us keep you from your prey," Merrill said stiffly, and for an instant Lyra wondered what prey she was referring to.
She resumed her carefree attitude and said, "There isn't much game to be had around here. I thought I might join you two."
"Well actually..."
"Or was this supposed to be a date?" Lyra said quickly. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any alone time you two lovebirds had planned.
Merrill's face reddened perceptibly and Lyra could see Hawke grinning behind her back. "We're not..." Merrill began then seeing Lyra's grin threw up her hands in frustration. "Fine. You can come. We're going to see the Keeper." There was an edge to her voice, and Lyra wondered if she knew what had happened the last time she had visited the camp.
"Excellent! I need a new bow. These Kirkwall weapon smiths don't know a thing about iron bark."
Merril harrumphed and set off down the trail, leaving Hawke and Lyra to watch her for a second before starting after her.
"That's some pretty nice armour you've got on," Hawke said quietly. "Where'd you get it?"
"It was left outside my door this morning," Lyra shrugged. "I don't know who... Wait, did you leave this for me?"
"Not I," Hawke said. There was a mischievous grin on his face as if he knew something she didn't, and it was hard for her to decide whether to believe him or not.
"But you know who did."
"I'll never tell," he said smugly.
Lyra had the irresistible urge to slap that stupid grin off his face, but just then Merrill called out. "I would like to get there while there's still daylight, if it's all the same to you two." Hawke gave her a final grin and they caught up to the smaller elf.
They walked for some time in silence, before Merrill spoke again. "I'm not changing my mind."
"Did I say anything?" Lyra said, trying to look as innocent as possible.
"You don't have to. You are thinking very loudly. I can tell."
Lyra raised her eyebrows. "You can tell what I am thinking? That's quite the trick. Or did the demon do that for you too?" She hadn't intended for it to sound as harsh as it did and Merrill turned on her.
"Stop it, Lyra. Just stop it," she snapped. "You don't know anything about it and I'm not changing my mind."
"Good then," Lyra shrugged, still trying to sound casual. "Make a stand and stick with it. That's what I always say."
"You've never said that," Merrill muttered.
"Well, I've thought it."
"Duncan never should have destroyed the mirror in the first place. The things that mirror could teach us about our people, our history..." Merrill sighed and headed up the path once more, a determined look on her round face. "We can't just ignore it. It would be like choosing to forget."
Lyra quickly fell in step. "You're right. Our lore should be preserved."
"And that's not going to work, either."
"What?"
"Agreeing with me all the time even though I know you don't approve."
"What's not to approve of?" Lyra said, forcing a smile to her lips. "It's the Keeper's duty to preserve Dalish Lore, and add to it. Funny how she doesn't want the mirror repaired, isn't it?"
"Lyra?"
"Hmmm?"
"Shut up."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hawke seemed to be hanging back in case there was an explosion from all the tension between the two women. Fenarel didn't try to stop them again as he had the first time she visited the camp, but Lyra knew that even though the scouts weren't visible, they were definitely there. She could feel the eyes of her clansmen upon her when she entered and though no one was openly hostile towards her, she knew they were all thinking the same thing. She decided it would be best not to say anything. This was Merrill's show after all. She was just along for the ride.
It wasn't to be however, for as soon as The Keeper had greeted Merril, she turned to Lyra. "After the words that were said the last time we spoke, I did not expect to see you back so soon, da'len."
"You and me both," she muttered.
If Marethari heard her, she took no notice. "I hope you and Merrill have decided to return to us at last?"
Lyra couldn't believe the Keeper was still trying to pretend she wanted her there. She was the one who sent her away in the first place.
But before she could say anything, Merrill spoke for her. "No, Keeper. I am here for the arulin'holm."
Marethari's face fell, and her expression became stern. Lyra remembered this face. She had seen it often enough whenever she and Tamlen had gotten themselves into trouble, which was rather a lot come to think of it. "You still wish to repair the eluvian."
"Yes," Merrill said firmly, and Lyra noticed how closely Hawke stood to Merrill when she made her request. It was almost as if Hawke was trying to shield Merrill from the Keepers glare. They could deny it all they liked but there was a lot more between them than they would ever admit. "You don't have to approve. I am in invoking vir sulevanan. I will do whatever you ask of me."
"Well, I'm glad to know I can still disapprove," Marethari said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at Merrill.
Lyra was only half listening to the conversation now. By invoking the right, Marethari would have to give her the ancient carving tool, as long as Merrill could complete the task set for her. The relics of the Dalish belonged to all the people, so any in the clan could posses them for a time. This particular relic was an ancient carving blade that had been carried by her clan since a time before Arlathan, passed down through countless generations. Clearly Merrill believed it was the only way for her to complete the eluvian. Lyra decided right then she could not let Merrill have that tool. Marethari might not be able to refuse to give her the arulin'holm, but that didn't mean Lyra couldn't steal it back from her, though she hoped she wouldn't have to.
Marethari had glanced in her direction several times, but she kept her eyes averted. She knew the Keeper must be wondering why she would be helping Merrill after so forcefully stating how she felt about it earlier, but she had no desire to explain herself. She shouldn't have to. She wasn't part of the clan. She could do whatever she liked. The truth was, she had almost decided to abandon the whole thing. Let Hawke and Merrill do whatever task was set for them on their own and head back to Kirkwall. She would have no part of it.
Then the Keeper mentioned a varterral that had killed three of the Dalish hunters when they had ventured into its lair. Generally they let the Dalish come and go as they pleased. Something must have provoked it, and she was suddenly very curious as to what that something was. Merrill agreed to the task of killing the creature and the set off again through the camp towards the mountain itself.
Lyra had seen Fenarel by one of the cooking fires. He seemed to be the only friendly face among them and waved to her as they passed. He was one she couldn't figure out. They had never been friends as children. He spent most of his time following Palin around and as she and Palin had never exactly gotten along, they rarely spoke. Why then did he carve the flute for her? And even though he had undoubtedly heard the argument in camp a few days ago, he didn't show any signs of the animosity she was feeling from the other Dalish in the camp.
That was a puzzle to figure out later though, right now she was busy ignoring the looks they were getting as they headed away from the camp and further up the mountain.
"The cave must be close to camp," Merrill was saying to no one in particular. "Otherwise the Keeper would have just warned the hunters away."
Lyra nodded. She had encountered vartarrel before, though she had been much younger at the time. They were ancient guardians, created by the Dalish in a time before Arlathan. It was said they were created from the elements of rock, tree, wind and rain, and an angry vartarrel was not a creature to be taken lightly. She suddenly missed Fenris' presence even more, though for far more practical reasons. The path up the mountainside was trampled and it looked like others had gone there recently, more than just the three hunters the Keeper had mentioned. The mouth of the cave was not far ahead and she stopped.
"What is it with people just leaving their dead lying around?" she said, pointing out the five or six corpses that littered the cave entrance. "Did the vartarrel do that?"
"I don't think so," Merrill said slowly. "Be careful. Something is very wrong."
As if on cue, the skeletal bodies rose from the ground emitting raspy snarls and gnashing what remained of their teeth. Their ancient weapons were gripped clumsily in what was left of their hands, but that mattered little. The idea was to kill your enemy before he could kill you, and if your enemy was already dead and still attacking, the odds were probably not in your favour.
Bits of cloth and rotting flesh clung to their exposed bones and Lyra had a sudden vision of being seventeen again. She and Tamlen had been exploring an old ruin when corpses just like these had risen around them. Tamlen had said the veil was thin in that place, allowing the spirits in the Fade to enter the waking world, possessing the bodies of the dead. Was that what had happened here too? Was that what had provoked the varterral?
Then there was no time to think about it anymore as the creatures charged. Since that first encounter so many years ago, she had encountered more than her share of walking dead and she knew her daggers would be almost useless against them. Her daggers were meant for stabbing and slicing through flesh, but there was little or no flesh to be had on these ancient dead. No organs to pierce, no throats to slit, but the butt of her daggers could still crush bone and she did her best to disarm the skeletons. Hawke was having an easier time disposing of the creatures using his broad sword in sweeping arcs that hit two or three of the corpses with one swing and finishing them off with the second. Merrill was also casting spells left and right, crushing their attackers under piles of stone and freezing them with blasts of ice from her wand.
When the last corpse finally lay still, Hawke rushed to Merrill's side. "Are you all right?" he asked, lines of concern etched on his rugged features.
"I'm fine," she said in a shaky voice. She had been protected by stone armour she had cast around herself and barely had a scratch on her.
"I'm fine, too," Lyra called out, panting slightly from the exertion. "Thanks for asking."
"Well, I knew you'd be all right," Hawke said grinning. "The Hero of Ferelden doesn't get taken down by a few walking corpses."
"I told you not to call me-"
"Wait a moment," Merrill interrupted. "She wouldn't be hurt? What are you saying about me, then?"
Hawke's smile faltered, now caught between two glaring women. "Lets umm... Lets just get going shall we?"
He disappeared into the cavern and Lyra followed close behind, grinning inwardly at Hawke's discomfort. She glanced over to see that Merrill was grinning at her as well, but then seemed to remember who she was with and averted her eyes, her face turning serious once more.
Sunlight was filtering down from cracks in the roof of the cave and Lyra was surprised to see ferns and other plant life poking through the hardened earth and stone floor. At least they wouldn't need torches. She was somewhat less surprised to see wooden stairs and doorways built into the stone walls. This place must have been a mine at some point. Either that or some sort of hideout. She thought of all the Templars in Kirkwall and could very easily imagine mages trying to escape into the caves. Perhaps that's what had weakened the Veil and disturbed the varterral, blood mages practising their arts. She glanced at Merrill and wondered if she had ever come here.
They hadn't gone more than a few yards into the cave when she heard a distinctive hiss and clicking of giant pincers. She drew her blades once more as the massive spiders descended from above, dropping into their midst, one almost knocking Hawke over with its weight. She didn't hesitate and instant, but attacked the nearest cave spider as it turned toward her. These creatures at least had flesh and she knew exactly where to strike. Spiders like these had also infested the old ruin and as long as you avoided the snapping pincers and paralysing webs they spat at you, they were easy enough to dispatch.
She felled the last of the creatures with a dagger through one of its many eyes and it curled up its legs and rolled onto its back. She turned to find Merrill kneeling beside the body of a young elf she hadn't noticed during the fight. It had been many years since she had seen Rahda, but she recognized him all the same. They had all been trained as hunters together and though he had never been as good with a bow as the other young hunters, she remembered his carefree smile and easy laughter. He wasn't smiling now and the sight of his lifeless body lying twisted and broken on the cave floor stirred something within her she had thought long forgotten. A kinship, and a loss.
"What were these hunters doing in here?" Hawke asked, clearly surprised that elven hunters would have put themselves in such danger. Lyra herself had been wondering the same thing. The vartarrel would have let the hunters pass, but there was no game down here, unless you liked risking poisoning by eating spider meat.
"The Keeper would have sent them here to recover elven artifacts from the varterral before the camp had to move again," Merrill said as she removed Rahda's amulet and put it in a pouch at her waist.
"So your Keeper sent them to their deaths?"
"No," she said quickly, and Lyra found herself shaking her head along with the smaller elf. "Normally they let the Dalish come and go as we please..."
"Something must have provoked it," Lyra finished for her, repeating the thought she had had upon hearing of the varterral attacks. Hawke turned to her, giving her an odd look, but her mind was on the distant past filled with sunlight and a young boys laughter. "Lets go," she muttered. "We're here for the varterral, not a bunch of cave spiders."
She led the way further into the cave, unsure of why the sight of her dead kinsman had affected her so. She had seen friends die before. The darkspawn had claimed more than a few lives before the Archdemon had been killed, not to mention the people of Amaranthine, but this was something else.
She suddenly wished she had never come here. Until now she had been able to separate her old life from the one she lived as a Grey Warden. She preferred to keep the Dalish as a distant memory, far removed from her daily life, but this... this was too close. She reminded herself of how angry she was with the clan for sending her away, of how her old life was dead and buried and how it was better that way, but even she couldn't deny that some part of her still wished she could go back. Perhaps if she had been here instead of out saving some damned shemlens this wouldn't have happened. But there was no point on dwelling on things that were gone and would never return.
A wooden staircase led down into a larger chamber and as they descended, she forced her mind back onto the present. They found Hershal's body a little way on down a side passage and Merrill retrieved his amulet as well. She looked almost in tears as she whispered the elf's name. "Oh Hershal... I'll tell Ineria for you..."
Lyra remembered how close Harshal and Ineria had been and wondered if they had been bonded after she left, but didn't ask. Sometimes it was best to just leave things lie.
They descended another flight of stairs and again heard the now familiar hissing. The cave and wasp spiders were no more than a nuisance for the three, now that they knew what they were facing and they made short work of the enormous insects. The body of the third hunter lay not far along. Chandan had been quite a bit younger than Lyra and she was suddenly sorry she had not spent more time with him. Perhaps she could have taught him how to avoid something like this. She averted her eyes as Merrill spoke over his body, tormented by images of things she would much rather forget.
"We should give their clan amulets to the Keeper. Their families should know they died bravely."
Bravely? Lyra thought. There was nothing brave about this. They had died because they hadn't been prepared. They died because someone had angered the varterral and it attacked them. There was no bravery in this, no honour or glory. They were just dead, for no reason at all other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Merrill seemed to be having a hard time holding it together as it was and for the first time in a long time Lyra felt some small compassion for her one time friend.
Suddenly, Lyra heard running footsteps from deeper within the cave, and she turned toward the sound.
"Is someone there?" Hawke called. "It's safe, you can come out."
"Hello?" The voice emerged from around a bend in the tunnel, and an elf, not much younger than Lyra, poked his head around the corner. "Praise Andrast... I mean the Creators. I thought I'd never get out of..." His voice trailed off when he saw them.
"Pol?" Lyra said in surprise. She had only met him once, right before she had left the clan, but she did remember him. He was a city elf who had left the Denerim alienage to find the Dalish. She had teased him about the Dalish sacrificing young elves to the gods.
"Wait," he said studying her curiously. "I remember you. You're Lyra Mahariel. The Hero of Ferelden. And..." His gaze shifted. "Merrill?" His expression turned from surprise to fear and anger. "Stay back!" he said, backing toward the tunnel he had just emerged from.
"Pol, whats wrong? I'm here to help," Merrill said earnestly but he wasn't listening to her.
"Stay back! Don't touch me." he snarled. "Lyra? You're... you're helping her?" He shook his head in disbelief. "They were right about you. You ARE cursed. You and her both."
"Be calm, Pol," Hawke said, trying to sooth the panic stricken elf. "We'll help you get back to the camp."
"You don't know what she is! What she's done! Those two will kill us all!" he cried, and dashed back down the tunnel.
"Pol, no!" Merrill cried chasing after him. Hakwe and Lyra took off after her. There was no telling what was in the cave beyond, but judging by what they had encountered so far, it would not be good.
The varterral was already advancing on Pol, trapped in a far corner of the room, so massive it almost filled the entire cavern. Its scorpion like legs seemed to be made of stone and pounded into the earth with each step. The five legged creature had a small body with long skinny arms and a spiked tail that could cut straight through a man with a single blow. And worse, it could not die. As long as the varterral had a duty to perform, it would live on, no matter how many times it was defeated... if they could defeat it.
Merrill was already screaming and casting spells at the monster while Hawke and Lyra charged. Lyra managed to get underneath the beast, its soft underbelly being its only weakness. But from this position she not only had to avoid the elongated hands reaching for her, but also the spikes on its massive legs as they stabbed into the ground, trying to crush her.
The fight seemed to go on forever. She could hear the clicking of spiders over the harsh screeching of the varterral every time one of her daggers found its mark, or Hawke's blade struck the creatures body, but she ignored them. The varterral was the real threat. It was Merrill's magic that seemed to be doing the most damage. Rocks rained down from the roof of the cavern and Lyra couldn't tell if they were caused by Merrill's magic or the varterral itself. After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, she saw the creature waver and start to fall. She dived out of the way before the stone beast could fall on top of her and lay on the ground breathing hard and waiting for her heart to return to her chest.
"Pol?" She heard Merrill's voice echoing around the cave, and saw Pol's lifeless body lying not far away. "Maybe it's not too late," Merrill was saying as she fell to the ground beside him. Digging in her pack for some potion that might revive him. Hawke put a hand on her shoulder and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands. "Why did you run?" she wailed. "You shouldn't have run!"
"There was nothing you could have done," Hawke said, picking her up off the ground.
"He was more afraid of me that the varterral..."
"Us, you mean," Lyra said approaching them cautiously. It made no sense. What exactly had Pol been told about them that had literally scared him to death?
Merrill nodded and Lyra knew she was thinking the same thing. Then her eyes turned hard. "Something is very wrong here. I have to see the Keeper."
Lyra was in complete agreement. Even if Merrill had resorted to blood magic, the Dalish were not as fearful of magic as the humans in the city. Not all spirits were demons after all. Justice was proof enough of that. But perhaps it wasn't the demon that they feared.
"The varterral is dead," Hawke said to the Keeper once they were back in camp. Lyra had been watching Merrill and could see the conflicting emotions washing over the smaller elf. She had always felt things more deeply than Lyra. Or perhaps she simply could not hide it as well. Now she had a look of steely resolve, marred only by a lingering sadness for the fallen hunters.
The Keeper seemed genuinely pleased to see them, and Lyra wondered if she had not expected them to die in the varterral's lair. "Ma serannas," she said. "I'll breath easier knowing we will lose no more people to it."
Merrill handed the amulets over to Marethari, another wave of sorrow flooding her soft features. "We found these."
Marethari nodded solemnly. "I'll return them to their families."
"We lost Pol. In the cave he..." Merrill's voice caught in her throat. "He fled at the sight of me, straight into the varterral."
"Many of the clan believe you will bring back the corruption, or worse, from the mirror."
Lyra could stay silent no longer. "From the mirror, or from me?" she demanded. "Pol said I was cursed."
"Are you not?" Keeper Marethari said, turning an icy gaze on her. And there it was. The clan feared her almost as much as they feared the eluvian.
"You told them to fear me, didn't you?" she snarled. "And Merrill. You told them we would bring back the taint."
"I am their Keeper, da'len. It was my duty to warn them." Marethari turned back to Merrill, leaving Lyra seething with rage. "It's still not to late for you to return to us. Both of you. Reconsider... There's no need for you to live alone."
"How can you say that?" Lyra exploded. Marethari had told the clan that she and Merrill would bring death down on them all and then expected them to just accept their return? It was strange to feel such kinship with Merrill after everything had happened, but Marethari had painted them both with the same black mark and she could not wash it away now.
"Lyra's right," Merrill was saying. "You'll never accept what I'm doing."
"I don't either, for the record," Lyra snapped at her. If Merrill thought she was going to support her she was dead wrong, and right now Lyra was ready to fight everyone.
"The eluvian is a trap," Marethari said firmly glancing at Lyra. She always did that, ignoring the outburst and pressing on, never giving in. Lyra wondered if she had ever felt the rage that burned within her own mind. "It cost us Tamlen," Marethari went on, "Turned you to blood magic. Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?"
"And who am I?" Merrill demanded. Her fierce tone caught Lyra by surprise. Who indeed? Lyra had never seen Merril so defiant, so sure of herself, and she had certainly never stood up to the Keeper before. Was this the demons doing? Or had Merrill finally grown up? "We've done as you asked," she was saying. "Honour our bargain. Give me the arlulin'holm."
But Marethari turned away from her and held out the small carving tool to Hawke, who had wisely been keeping silent. "Hawke, because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please... Don't let her do this." And without another word the Keeper turned and walked away from them.
Lyra couldn't hide the conflicting emotions within her. She agreed with the Keeper of course, but at the same time, Marethari could have stopped all this before it had ever gotten this far. Besides, she had turned the whole clan against her. Lyra tried to remind herself that she didn't care. After all, it was the Keeper who had cast her out in the first place. Of course, she would have told the people what she had done was for the best. But still... the fear in Pol's eyes... In that moment she knew exactly how Merrill was feeling.
"Thank the Creators," Merrill was saying as they made their way out of the camp. "I thought maybe she'd go back on her word."
"Don't give it to her," Lyra said, suddenly coming back to the present.
"What?" Merrill stopped in her tracks.
"Don't do it, Hawke," she said again. He still had the arulin'holm. Not Merrill. As long as he didn't give it to her... "As much as I don't like the Keeper and what she has done, in this we do agree. Nothing good will come of it."
"Don't say that!" Merrill cried, the shock evident on her face, as if she expected Lyra to support her. "With this I can fix the eluvian. It will be whole again. I told you, I purified it. It's not dangerous. What about our history?"
Lyra was shaking her head, unable to believe that Merrill still could not see the truth. "Don't do it."
Hawke was looking looking like he didn't know which way was up. "I'm sorry, Lyra, but if this helps your people at all..."
"They're not my people," she snapped, a little more ferociously than she had intended and glanced around at the hardened faces of the elves who weren't even pretending not to listen in. Some small part of her had always hoped she could come back some day. The ghost of her former life, reminding her of who she used to be. But that was gone now. She was still a Dalish elf, but this was no longer her clan. "And repairing the eluvian won't help her people either." She stabbed a finger at Merrill who was close to tears again, her resolve now broken.
"It could have helped Tamlen," she cried, and Lyra froze. The tension between them was palpable, taught as a bowstring about to be let loose. Tamlen... It always came back to him, didn't it? Tamlen, the Taint and the mirror... It was like the three had become one. You couldn't think of one without the others. They were inextricably linked, but Merrill couldn't see it. "Even the Keeper thought she could use it to find a cure. But Duncan destroyed it without even trying. And you!" She stabbed an accusing finger at Lyra, tears of anger streaming down her face. "You ran off to fight darkspawn or some other enemy that has nothing to do with our people, leaving Tamlen alone, sick and dying somewhere. You promised you'd find him!"
"I didn't have to," she said quietly. "He found me. So sick and twisted with corruption he could hardly remember his own name. And when he begged me to end it... I killed him, Merrill. And I would do it again."
The shock of her words seemed to stop Merrill in her tracks and her eyes widened in horror. "You? You killed him? Why?" she cried. "I could have helped him. If I could have saved him then maybe he..." her voice trailed off into sobs and Lyra thought perhaps she knew how that sentence would have ended. "But you! You didn't even try to help him. All you know how to do is kill. The eluvian could have fixed everything. But you never even tried! This is all your fault, murderer!"
Lyra watched the younger elf a long moment before saying anything. The words had been like a slap in the face, but it was one she had been expecting. The small sadistic voice in the back of her mind had been telling her the same thing for years. "You're right," she said, her jaw quivering, torn by anger that Merrill would try to use Tamlen against her, and the guilt of knowing that at least in some small way, she was right. "It is my fault. I'm the one who killed Tamlen. And I'm the one who has to live with it every day. But listen when I tell you there is no cure."
"But I thought the Grey Warden's-"
"Becoming a Grey Warden doesn't cure the taint. It only delays it," she said. "Pol was right, I am cursed. And I have to live with that, too. Tell me, Merrill, if something did go wrong. Would you be able to live with it? Is it worth the risk?" She turned away from them, swallowing hard, before the war of emotions within her could bubble to the surface.
She didn't wait to see if Hawke would give the arulin'holm to Merrill, didn't have to. She knew he would. He loved her, how could he refuse her anything? And for an instant she remembered what that was like.