A/N: Thanks for the reviews expressing interest in the story. I hope I can keep it interesting enough. Research into blood magic is exhausting for authors too!
Nothing seemed worse in Kirkwall than living through a hot, humid summer day. Frequent downpours would turn the roads and alleys in Lowtown into muddy pits. What looked like a puddle was in reality a bottomless well, sucking in boots and trapping many travelers. Hawke was of a mind to freeze any of those puddles, with a casual flick of her wrist. It would have been so easy. Focus on the heat of the day, and then just suck every little bit of heat out of it, until nothing was left behind but trails of ice, frosty layers, thick, steaming. It was harder for her to work with it than fire, its polar opposite, but she had mastered it, and at times she envisioned that her whole body was encased in a thick layer of ice, unbreaking. There were no cracks, no chinks in her armor.
But of course she was not just flicking her wrist. Instead she pulled a wet boot out of yet another puddle, and walked onwards, her booted feet making wet, sucking sounds with every step. Her coat was far too warm for a summer's day. The stench of sweating bodies lay like a thick cloud over all of Lowtown. The unwashed masses, ripe with dirt and sweat, and here she was, mingling with them, even though she had made it big, and owned the former Amell Estate in Hightown. Have I not worked hard to flee this decrepit hole? And yet half of her companions still lived here, did business here and most of her assignments for pay led her here.
Like today's. It wasn't exactly an assignment. It had been her idea to study with Merrill. Hawke should have known that it would not be easy. Once she had shown up at Merrill's house, she had been ushered out immediately. No one ushered Hawke out and she had been about to snap at the Dalish, but the smaller elf had been adamant.
Merrill skidded ahead, navigating each puddle with ease. She hopped, she jumped or circumvented the water instead of slogging through it. It must be a Dalish skill. The elf was famous for getting lost in Lowtown frequently, and her requirement to use a ball of twine to aid her finding her way was the butt of many a joke at the Hanged Man. Was it an act though? Merrill seemed so assertive, so confident today. Hawke irritably swatted mosquitoes away, drawn to humanity in eager hunger for blood. Was she like a mosquito too? Blood had brought her to Lowtown today.
Nothing about Merrill spoke confused and lost right now. She navigated the many booths of the Lowtown bazaar with obvious ease. This was a section Hawke had not been in, not that she could recall. This was where fenced goods were exchanged, and the crowd seemed a lot more exotic. Less Marchers and Fereldans, more Antivans, Rivaini, the occasional Orlesian looking like a brightly plumed songbird walking with puffed up chest.
"Here we are," the Dalish brightly chirped. The booth was a weapon stall. Knives and daggers, laying on the surface of the stall in neat rows. Some looked used. Some looked sturdy. Some had jagged blades and were obvious weapons of murder. Some of them looked exquisite. Isabela would have a field day. "And now we find the right blade for you," Merrill added and indicated the wares. The vendor himself was obviously Antivan, and immediately started praising his wares, in a thick and very unappealing accent. Hawke had no use for most Antivans, their mannerisms, their flowery patterns of speech, their backstabbing. She ignored him, and instead focused on the wares before her.
"You are looking for something that is very sharp. You want a new blade. It needs to lie easily in your hand. It needs to cut smoothly. It will be your most important tool." Merrill sounded very businesslike, but there was an undercurrent of excitement. She is enjoying this.
The Antivan merchant seemed to misunderstand and offered his selection of meat cleavers. Hawke quickly shook her head firmly, then pointed at the first knife she had noticed. Was there something mystical, something magical about the tool that blood mages used to cut themselves? If there was, it would be this knife that she wanted. The handle was carved into the likeness of flame, intricate woodwork, painted bright red. She wanted it. She didn't even know if blood magic was truly for her, but this knife was.
"Fifty sovereigns. Look at the quality of the woodwork. The finest crafters worked on this. Look at the blade. It's a piece of art." It looked like one, but fifty sovereigns was preposterous. Merrill's eyes were round in her face, and she pointed at another blade, far more basic, maybe to deter Hawke. Hawke wasn't to be deterred. She just stared at the merchant, coldly. Her gaze was as cutting as all the daggers he was selling.
"For fifty sovereigns, I expect to grab this knife, stab you in the eye with it and then take all the rest you have here. That would be worth that much money for me." Hawke slammed down a five sovereign coin, challenging the vendor with every stare. Her gaze was menacing, and cold. In fact, she drew the air around them to her, creating artificial cold with a flare of power. She wanted him to be scared. She saw his breath fog, and his gaze waver. "This is the Lowtown Bazaar, isn't it? Or are you a weaponsmith of the Viscount's household?" She let the magic go, and the wave of warm humidity that hit them was almost sickening. The merchant leaned forward, his hand closing over the coin, bowing his head.
Hawke picked up her new knife, and turned to leave without offering the merchant a further look. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Behind her, Merrill gasped. "That was amazing, lethallan! I didn't know you could do this. I always pay what they ask of me. He looked like he was going to pass out. It was so intense, I thought it got colder there for a moment. Do all Fereldans shop like this?" When they had done their food shopping for Merrill, Hawke had paid all and not actually paid attention to what Merrill was buying.
"It's called haggling, Merrill. I might teach you." Hawke did not know why she said that and scowled. Friends taught each other things. They weren't friends. She sheathed her new knife and focused on navigating the puddles to return to the alienage.
It was dark and cool in Merrill's house. Candles provided the only source of light in the windowless house. It was soothing after the glare of the sun outside, and the throngs of people in the bazaar. Merrill touched her shoulder, in a gesture of familiarity that made Hawke extremely uncomfortable. "Take off your coat. It's too fine to be stained with blood. It might be...messy." She disappeared to the backroom.
Sensible thought. Always good to have sensible thoughts. Hawke nodded assent and took off her far too warm coat, hanging it carefully over the back of a chair. Underneath she wore a simple, white, hip-length shift, damp with perspiration. It clung to her body, to every curve. Hawke did not pay attention to it. She knew that some found her beautiful and alluring. She was more adept at sidestepping advances made towards her than sidestepping puddles. For men, a sharp 'Back off' was usually sufficient. For Isabela, a slap to the wrist was sometimes an additional requirement. She waited for Merrill to re-appear.
She did but stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Hawke. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was frozen. Hawke eventually snapped her fingers. "Wake up. What's wrong with you?" Merrill immediately flushed and turned around, not facing Hawke anymore. She seemed embarrassed. Maker, what's her problem now? Hawke looked down herself and did not notice any issue.
"We're ready to start now," Merrill said, walking into her bedroom. Her voice sounded oddly strangled. Hawke shook her head, having no patience, no understanding for any quirky behavior. She followed Merrill into the bedroom, unsheathing her new dagger. She put it down on the bedside table and then spun around, inspecting the room. She had been in here before, but briefly. The room was dominated by the massive frame of the eluvian sitting right next to Merrill's bed.
How cute, she has embroidered pillows. The contempt was loud in her head as she looked at the sheets and pillows. There were a couple more pillows on the floor, which actually looked swept. On the bedside table were a set of vials filled with clear liquid. Hawke had no idea what they might be. Her throat was dry now, as nervousness started to fill her. She would never admit to it, but she had this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Gut churning. She kept her cool veneer and sat down on a pillow when Merrill indicated to sit. Her magic was close to the surface, making her fingertips hurt like sharp pinpricks. Is it going to hurt? Am I doing the right thing? What's right? Her thoughts were racing.
Merrill wordlessly handed her a skin that was uncorked. Hawke sniffed at the skin. Red wine. Smelled like cheap swill from the Hanged Man. She put it to her lips and drank. It was sour on her tongue and still flowed down her throat, cool and soothing. Merrill sat down crosslegged opposite of her, and removed the long fingerless gloves she was wearing. "It's best if you relax, and in the early days I found spirits helped me relax the most. I mean alcohol. Not real spirits. You get the drift. Don't get too intoxicated though."
How funny it was that silly little Merrill turned into a serious and confident person the moment she started talking about blood magic. Were her constant affirmations that she knew what she was doing the full truth? It seemed like it. Hawke took another long swallow and then put the skin aside. She took a long look at Merrill's arms. The skin of her left arm that had been covered by the glove showed a weave of criss-crossed, thin white scars. You had to look very closely, but they were there. For a moment Hawke wondered if her skin felt rough, full of tiny ridges. But why would she touch anyone? Scientific interest. She turned her arms, to look at the insides of her forearms, the skin soft, pale and completely without blemish.
"It is said that the magisters of Tevinter used blood magic to conquer Elvhenan, leading to our fall. I am working on restoring the eluvian to receive more knowledge of that time, to restore our former glory, of the days of Arlathan. As such, I should hold blood magic in contempt, shouldn't I?" Merrill had her hands on her knees and looked relaxed. "But no. Only with blood magic was I able to cleanse the taint from my shard of the eluvian. It is a tool. It's an alternative to common magic. Powerful. I think you can exert the kind of control that will be necessary to succeed at it." She bit her bottom lip for a moment, but not as sign of insecurity, more a sign of thinking hard. "If you falter, if you fall prey to creatures from the Fade, then I will stop you. If you become a risk, I will kill you, Hawke."
Hawke was impressed, and solemnly nodded. She did not expect any less. Both of them had seen enough blood mages who had become corrupt. They had killed such blood mages. "I would do the same to you, Merrill." The elf smiled at this. What a strange thing to smile at, to be satisfied I would kill her if I must.
Merrill moved closer to Hawke, her knees touching Hawke's. As always, any sort of physical contact made the Feraldan uncomfortable and she tried to move back, but Merrill's hand closed around her wrist, and then she took the other one as well. Hawke wanted to complain, tensed up, ready to forcefully withdraw, but Merrill spoke up. "If you do not trust me, then we might as well stop. You must relax, and let me show you. You must work with me, not against me."
Hawke gritted her teeth and gradually relaxed. She did not voice that she trusted Merrill. She could not. She trusted no one. Merrill let go of her wrists, and straightened her left arm. It all happened very quickly now. She cut a long line into her left arm, a shallow cut, but it bled profusely. Some dripped onto the floor, some onto Hawke's leg, because Merrill held the arm her way. Just blood, as she had seen a thousand times before, in all of her fights.
The elf took control. The blood no longer trickled down her arm, it rose into the air. A swirling vortex of red, the eye of a storm. It swirled around Merrill, like a second armor. The elf was suddenly covered in thick layers of rock, looking like one of those frightening golems they had seen in the Deep Roads. And then, she was gone. Moments later she reappeared, right where she had been before, literally rising from the ground. Hawke had never seen her use this skill before.
Hawke's throat was parched, and she felt so dizzy. She never paid much attention to what the others were doing in a fight, but being so close to Merrill using her blood magic wreaked havoc with her. Hawke's hands were shaking, and she felt like she had goose bumps all over her body. Even her breasts hurt, every nerve ending seemed sensitive to this easy display of power.
"You don't draw your power from the Fade. You draw it from life itself. It will draw all the creatures of the Fade to you, because they crave life so much, but it is in your hands to control it. At first, you have to find out how deep you need to cut, and how much blood to use. The first couple times, it should just be pinpricks. Droplets. Then gradually more." Merrill's Rock Armor had faded and she was seated comfortably again. Her cut was still bleeding, albeit it was a mere trickle now. The elf dabbed at it with a clean cloth she had held in her lap.
It was all this power that sang to her that made Hawke respond very uncharacteristically. She reached out and touched Merrill's arm. Her fingertips slowly slid over the inside of her arm, and then halted as her fingers came to touch Merrill's blood. A droplet was on her index finger, and she removed her hand, marveling at this touch of life blood. Just for a moment she focused, and tried to feel its power. It hit her so hard that she felt she was choking. So close, I only need to reach out now, and I will feel power I have never known before.
That was until she felt the sharp sting of a slap to the face. Hawke's eyes focused, and her hand was yanked roughly by Merrill, wiping the blood from her finger. "Don't you ever dare do that again. That was my blood. You haven't learned a thing yet. I might as well end teaching you now, you bloody idiot."
Hawke's face was burning, with pain, and with shame. She was certain that the print of all five fingers would be visible on her face if she had a mirror. Thankfully, the eluvian was a blind mirror. She didn't know what to say. The Dalish was bristling with anger. What to say. Am I losing control this easily? If she had touched me like this before, I would have killed her. But I deserved it.
"I am sorry, Merrill. So sorry." She stumbled through the words, visibly and audibly shaken. She was not used to apologizing, she was the least apologetic person in Kirkwall, she was sure. But that had been wrong. "Forgive me." She meant it.
It was her first lesson in humility.
That night, Hawke lay in her large bed in Hightown, utterly unable to sleep but exhausted in body and mind. Merrill had been so angry, and it had taken her a while to calm down. After that, they had talked, trying to get to the bottom of the matter, of Hawke's strong reaction to Merrill's display of power. Her first lesson was to control her thirst to use the power that was available, before she would be able to wield her own.
It was past nightfall when she left, and she stumbled more than walked to Hightown, ignorant of the puddles. After a long cold bath, she expected to fall asleep within seconds.
She didn't. Her body still felt like it was humming with power, but there was something else. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself. Her dark hair was matted to her forehead , sweeping across her eyes. She was wearing the clingy shift again. No, she was removing it. She was naked. She smiled wickedly. What, I never smile like that! It was like being watched by someone else.
She must be dreaming. She flushed, ashamed, because in her dream, Merrill came to her. Cute, awkward Merrill, so adept at using magic, so adept at using...Maker, what is she doing with her tongue? First it was just kisses, gentle, then not gentle anymore. Deep and consuming. Excruciatingly sweet. Does she really taste like this?
They both hungrily devoured each other, and it didn't end at kisses. Merrill was caressing her all over, until all her senses were reeling. Then it changed, and now it was Hawke who did the touching and kissing, with skill and experience that was so absolutely alien to Hawke. I did not know you could do this. She had never, she would never. There was no room for desire in her life, beyond the feeling of safety and power.
She opened her eyes, wanting to get rid of the images that danced on her mind. The tips of her breasts were so pert that it was painful. Pleasurably painful. Blood rushed in her ears, thrumming loudly, and a throbbing was consuming her. She tried to channel magic, to cool herself down, but ice was so far gone from her mind, all she knew was fire right now.
Finally she gave in, to both actions that called to her. She closed her eyes, and Merrill's soft voice promised her pleasures untold, whispering in her ear. Her hand slid down between her legs, and soon she bucked her hips with release, flooding her body with even more heat.
She felt like crying. Was she already losing herself to a desire demon? She hadn't even started her work yet. Hawke threw an arm above her eyes, gnashing her teeth. No weakness. It can't be. Maybe it's a drive all people have. I should not have let her touch me. I shouldn't have touched her. I never will again. It hadn't even felt like her own thoughts.
When she finally fell asleep, and dreams haunted her, she ran endlessly, Carver always at her tail. She was a child again, but then grew while running, and before her, screaming, was Bethany, driven into the arms of a towering ogre by her fleeing sister. Noooo, Bethany, don't go! Please stay with me. I can't bear to lose you again. Please, sweet sister.
In the morning it felt like tears had dried on her face. She had not dreamed of Bethany in years. She never even allowed herself to think of her sister.
She felt defeated before she had even started using blood magic.