A/N: Good news everyone: I have a new chapter. The bad news: it's not the last one as I thought it would be, as I basically threw all my writing in the trash and re-wrote this chapter from scratch. Now you'll have to bear with me for another chapter. They keep getting longer and longer too. What a monster I have created.
When Hawke woke up, she felt battered and bruised, if not physically, then emotionally. She was barely awake, then it all came back to her. Merrill had come to the estate, they had exchanged blood, and then she had left again. There was something else, something that nagged at her. -Creators, Hawke, how can you be so sad?- She put a hand to her mouth and stifled a sob that did not feel like her own. She blindly got dressed and stumbled towards Lowtown, looking barely presentable.
After knocking on Merrill's door, the door flung open. A distraught elf pulled her inside and then launched herself at Hawke, holding on to her desperately. While Hawke did actually cherish this physical contact, it was still awkward for her. Merrill's hair was tickling her throat, her breath warm on her collarbone. It took her at least a minute before she actually started hugging Merrill back, patting her shoulders. "What's going on, Merrill?" she murmured.
The Dalish stepped back, to take Hawke's hands. "It's not your fault, Hawke. You really have to think that. Believe me. It's not your fault." Hawke was so confused.
"If you mean the blood..." Merrill shook her head and then dragged Hawke over to a seat. "What then?"
Lacing the fingers of her right hand with Hawke's, Merrill gently stated "I felt it. You never meant to hurt your brother. It was self-defense. I think every young mage has to learn that lesson." She tilted her head. "I actually smashed a squirrel with a rock spell. I was so frightened, I thought a beast had come from the forest to devour us all. I think I was five. The Keeper scolded me, but then she helped me figure this out. I had not been training that long with her. I was so young! But she also hugged me and made sure that I was alright. Self-defense is not a bad thing. Mindless aggression is. You are not mindlessly aggressive, Hawke. You are a survivor, that's what you are." How gentle little Merrill looked, and how much care was in her eyes when she spoke about the Keeper. She misses her clan so.
Hawke's world was crashing down around her. She shook her head. It was too much to comprehend. Her mind was numb, but her lips were not. "He hates me. Carver hates me. Since then, and before. Because I am a mage. Because of the fire. I never wanted such a relationship with my own brother. I never wanted to spend my life running from him. I try to think...I try to think if there was ever a point where we just loved each other, but all I see is that day. All the connection between us, it was severed that day." She wanted to cry, but she still did not dare to. And then the day she died, a wall was built, separating us forever.
Merrill moved her chair closer, held both hands of hers now. "It's alright, Hawke. It's alright." She meant it, Hawke felt it with every word, wrapped into a layer of warmth inside. How does she do this? "You also didn't kill your sister. Please stop thinking that." Hawke tensed, nearly withdrawing her hands, but Merrill held on. "You. Did. Not. Kill. Her." Slowly spoken, with emphasis. Hawke was ready to run, run, run, run, from here and from everything. She would not speak about Bethany with anyone, not even to herself in her own mind.
The elf did not let go, just held her hands and absorbed her pain. Their eyes were locked on each other persistently, never wavering, never faltering. It was Hawke who looked away. In a voice that didn't even sound like her own, she heard herself say "Bethany was the beacon of our family, the heart that held it together. We all loved her. She was so gentle in nature. When Carver stomped on bugs, for fun, she would cry, and he'd never do it again. She made everyone just smile." Kind of like Merrill, really. Hawke took a shaking breath. "Carver and I were always fighting, always struggling, and she was there to extinguish all the anger between us. We couldn't fight when she was there. And it was good."
She looked down at Merrill's hands holding her own. It looked so fine. Her own hands were larger, though still very feminine, but Merrill's had longer, more delicate fingers, full of a grace of their own. She held on to those fingers, as she continued. "She hated her magic. She didn't want anything to do with it. My father was an apostate as well, and he taught both of us. He was a very stern teacher, who always instilled into our hearts that being a mage meant running. It came naturally to me, the magic, but Bethany was scared. She didn't want any part of it. She hated the flight from the templars, the constant changes to accommodation and the way we lived. She just wanted to stay in one place and live her life. We all did. Lothering was the best time of her life, I think. She had so many friends. She was devout, I think in a different life she would have joined the Chantry as sister."
Her stomach turned when she thought of the next part, and now she had to hold on painfully, her knuckles white with strain. Merrill's fingers were crushed in her hands, and yet she never even flinched. "When the darkspawn came, when we ran, I yelled at her. I screamed, I yelled, I drove her on. I taunted, I made her angry. You know how I am. I still treat people like that." It was the only form of motivation she had ever learned. "She would never have gone headfirst into the darkspawn, if it hadn't been for me. The ogre would never have grabbed her, but for me. The brightest light in this world, extinguished, because I was so...so...STUPID!" She jumped up, kicking her chair back, full of self-loathing that transferred into anger.
Merrill didn't let her rage. She followed Hawke as she stomped across the front room of the house, and wrapped her arms around her from behind. She held on with all that she had. "Hawke, stop it." It was a struggle, until Hawke stood still. "Listen, Hawke. If the ogre had not taken your sister, it might have been your mother, or your brother, or Aveline or even you. Would that have been better? Do you really think so?" Hawke nodded. "What if you had not been there to kill that ogre? You are an exceptionally strong mage. What if it had been you? What if it would have meant the others were to perish too? Would this have been better?" She walked around and touched Hawke's face, looking up at her.
Hawke took another shaking breath and closed her eyes, relaxing into Merrill's touch. "You have to let go, Hawke. What ifs will not heal you. They won't change anything. You cannot turn back time. You can live and learn and go on with life. Don't suffocate on your guilt, lethallan."
Hawke's eyes opened, boring into Merrill's. "What about her? The Dalish girl from your dreams, the one you are trying to see in the eluvian. Are there any hidden what ifs there?" She felt Merrill flinch, both physically and in her mind, but she didn't let go.
"Her name was Mahariel. She found the eluvian when it still contained the taint. She died from it. Only a Grey Warden would have been able to save her. Like Aveline's husband, I suppose." There was pain in Merrill's eyes, but also determination to share. "I loved her. Of course she is my what if. What if she had lived? What if we had never found the eluvian? What if what I am doing here is completely pointless? It can help me with obtaining knowledge of my people that will help us all, but it can never do the one thing I wanted most when I started on this path. It cannot bring her back. I can only move on, and pray to the Creators that I am actually making the right choices. I probably don't, but..." Her smile was sad.
Hawke leaned down to kiss the sadness away. The kiss was short yet sweet. After that, she let Merrill hold her, crying as she tried to let go of her sister's death and all the many years of guilt. It was extremely draining, and yet so cleansing.
"Andraste's teats, alert the guards." Hawke stopped walking at those words of Varric, arching her brows in alarm, reaching for the staff on her back. So were the others, all stopping, in a dark and particularly smelly alley in Darktown. They had just returned from Anders' clinic to get patched up after a particularly vicious fight with Coterie henchmen.
"What's going on?" Aveline's jaw was tense as she looked around. "I don't see anything amiss, dwarf." She shrugged and stared down at him.
He pointed up at Hawke. "Look at her. Something's not right. Hawke, feared apostate and renowned hero in Kirkwall, with a smile on her face. This never happens." Aveline and Isabela turned to look at the mage who gave Varric a wide-eyed stare. It was undeniable that her lips were actually locked into a smile. She couldn't help herself. It was too hard not to.
The downside of this blood connection she shared with Merrill was that it didn't really just mean dreams anymore. They both were usually aware of each other whenever either of them felt strong emotion. Hawke had no idea how her strong emotions affected Merrill. She had seemed a bit tense and prone to actually snapping at people when they did their subtle barbs of how awkward and silly Merrill could be in her naivete. "Kitten is a tiger now!" Isabela had proudly declared more than once and attributed the change to her fantastic influence. Maybe Hawke's anger rubbed off on her instead.
Hawke knew how it affected herself. Sometimes she felt so melancholic that she had to go sit in the yard of her estate for hours, sitting under a tree, feeling the bark under her hands, sensing the breeze on her face. Sometimes she felt sad and then often found herself in the alienage, giving coin to those city elves who were desperate enough to beg. She had errands run that she didn't need, and she actually had one elf boy who bought food for Merrill and then dropped it off on her doormat. Merrill was convinced that she had a secret admirer. Not so secret, really.
It turned her into a weakling sap, and Hawke didn't mind. Unless the others found out. That would be bad. For her reputation, and her personal sense of well-being.
Today, she felt happy, because Merrill was overjoyed with life as it was. It had something to do with sunlight and spring and birds coming to eat breadcrumbs from her hands. It involved butterflies and pigeons and flowers, and things of glorious brightness and Hawke couldn't help but smile at so much joy. Curse it all. Think darkness and despair.
Hawke willed the smile to go away and instead glared at her companions who were all very bemused. "Hey, a smile looks great on you, Hawke. Makes you more beautiful. Did you finally have sex or what happened? If so, count me in!" Isabela fluttered her lashes and had a jolly good time mocking the ever earnest Hawke, who had no trouble scowling now.
Especially as Merrill's joy was evaporating with terror. Hawke gripped her staff, frowning. "Stop staring at my face and let's focus on our next task at hand. Viscount's Keep, now. Where do you keep prisoners, Aveline?"
Merrill looked extremely sheepish when she stepped out of the jail cell, waving to the drunkards and pickpockets she had shared the cell with. "Dareth shiral, and please don't try to rob the next poor soul coming in here. I had nothing anyway." She ignored Aveline's glaring, and didn't look at Hawke, embarrassment rolling off her in waves. Hawke tried to soothe her with her mind, but it didn't usually work. She lacked the empathy for it. Unlike Merrill, who seemed to be able to target emotions at her quite well. "I am so sorry, Aveline. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to be there."
The guard-captain shook her head in bewilderment. "Merrill, there are guards and high walls, and barbed fences everywhere, and yet, you thought to climb into the Viscount's private garden would be okay? The honor guard might have killed you!" The Dalish merely smiled timorously some more.
"He has such a pleasant garden, the viscount. Fresh spring flowers, and a fountain, and so many pigeons! They liked my bread, I threw them crumbs. I just followed a pigeon, I love them. Did you know that Hightown pigeons are a lot bigger and healthier looking than those in Lowtown? It's quite amazing! The ones in Lowtown are more like rats. They probably eat them too." Merrill was bubbly even while defensive, and Aveline just shook her head in frustration with a groan.
"Just take her home, Hawke, and make sure she understands that next time she won't just get to spend an hour in jail and then be off free." Aveline paused and then stared at Hawke. "How did you know she was there anyhow?"
Hawke looked at Aveline, cooly, while her mind was trying to come up with a perfect explanation. "I wanted to see where you keep prisoners. That was all." Having a connection also meant Hawke was losing her edge. This was the most pitiful line she had ever come up with. Even Aveline didn't buy it, giving Hawke a long piercing look, before stomping off. She had this really angry stomp that made her look like she could easily run down a dozen smugglers on her own without blinking.
Hawke unthinkingly took Merrill's arm and walked her home, chiding her all the way. Inside, she was still smiling, because if it meant she'd feel happy like this again, she would actually help Merrill break into the Viscount's garden personally. No, actually, if it meant that Merrill herself would feel this happy again, she'd do it, even without their tenuous blood connection. I wonder if you can buy pigeons as a present.
The wood felt surprisingly smooth under her hand. Hard but smooth. Both good things. Hm, how would it feel against my bare back? Or hers. Hawke tilted her head, pushing the books she had been studying aside. For some cheap tables they had bought in the bazaar from one of the carpenters, the hexagon-shaped wood actually looked very nice. Especially if you imagine a naked form pressed down on it. Which was exactly what Hawke was doing, instead of focusing on research texts about entropy spells. There had been this delightful dream. She didn't even know whose. Had it been her own? Merrill's? It didn't really matter. It had been rather incensing. As in heat, not anger. Was it hot in here?
"Hawke, you are impossible." Merrill laughed as she returned with cups of water for them. "Shall I douse it upon your head?" It hurt Hawke. In all those years of this weird relationship she had with Merrill, a relationship long past mere teacher and student, or even companions or just friends, one thing Hawke could not abide was Merrill's lighthearted approach to all things physical. It was such a serious matter for Hawke. Especially as their only ever physical connection had gone so awry. She had never sorted it out, never worked up the courage to try it again. She had awkwardly tried, but how do you flirt with someone who a) doesn't really understand dirty comments and b) you yourself had no experience whatsoever? Awkward was too small a term.
"Relax, Hawke," Merrill breathed, and smoothed back a lock of hair from the other's face, tucking the hair behind Hawke's ear. The touch made Hawke's skin prickle all over. "I hate being serious about it, Hawke. You get carried away, all greedy, because you are so used to being all bottled up. You don't do things small, either you explode with emotion, or you repress. You need some levity about it. Some appreciation for it. It's got to be something you really want, and something you really want to give. It's got to be beautiful." She bit her bottom lip and then added with a smile. "I am not saying it wasn't beautiful then, Hawke. You are gorgeous, and it felt wonderful. It's not a fond memory, overall, but I do think about it. I am not immune to you." No? Then why do you still mourn the Dalish woman from the mirror? Though to be totally honest, Hawke hadn't seen her image at all since Merrill came back to her.
Hawke rose, and slipped her arms around Merrill's slender waist. "You are so lovely, Merrill. Levity, you say? Well, humor me, please." She lifted the Dalish up on the table and then disrobed her, smiling. She breathed out in wonder at all the sights she had missed in those long months in between. If she had known how, she would have breathed loving endearments into Merrill's ears, but she did not have the words. She did not have any words. All she had was her awkward, hesitant but enthusiastic touch, the heat of her lips, and her genuine appreciation for the elf.
Soon Merrill was bending beckwards, and all the books were swept off the table. The Dalish arched towards her, and Hawke found all those sweet spots that made Merrill sigh and ask for more. Who would think that kissing the inside of the elbow's crook could move a woman to deep, throaty moans? They would look at each other and laugh, and kiss and cling to each other. It was exceptional. Whatever she did to Merrill, she felt it straight back for herself through their connection. Hawke felt like she was on fire with every kiss that she placed on the elf's skin. When the time came, Merrill's legs wrapped tightly around Hawke's shoulders, while Hawke lost herself between the softness of the elf's creamy thighs. When Merrill found tremulous release with her fingers tangled and buried in her lover's hair, Hawke finally had a moment, a memory that felt more happy and precious than fury and destruction with blood magic. Something better and infinitely sweeter than any magic.
Hawke's heart was beating hard in her throat as she rushed through Lowtown. Aveline pointed towards the next trail of blood but she needn't have, because Hawke could feel it. It was blood magic that had been used here, and it was foul. Corrupted, tainted, disgusting. Hawke felt like throwing up, but she had to rush on, deeper into Lowtown. -Relax, take a deep breath, everything will be alright.- Hawke shook the thoughts off, they were not her own.
The rest was a blur as they charged into the foundry, and found Quentin's terrible shrine and then the terrible...thing that Quentin had created. It wasn't her mother, it couldn't be.
Then Hawke remembered nothing but a terrible rage, as she destroyed the blood mage and all of his summoned creatures. Nothing but a curtain of rage and blood, so much blood, everywhere. By the end of it, she was on her knees, cradling her mother's body (no, not hers, just her face, oh Maker, what is this?) in her arms.
"I knew you would come," her mother murmured, and all Hawke felt was this overwhelming feeling of failure. She stroked her mother's hair, feebly, not knowing how to comfort this broken shell of a body.
"I wasn't fast enough." Hawke slouched, looking into her mother's eyes that lacked the spark of life. And yet, she was still talking, and still caring. Telling her not to fret. Talking of Bethany and father. Worrying about her being all alone now. And Hawke hadn't even been able to tell her that she loved her. She so did. But late, too late, always too late, that was her. Having shed the guilt for one death in her life, only to have acquired new guilt to wear her down.
She barely heard the others. She felt touches to her shoulder, she knew they were talking to her, but Hawke didn't take any notice. All she could do was to cradle the cold body and look down at the dead eyes of Leandra Hawke.
Merrill's voice was the first that reached her. Her hands rested on Hawke's shoulders, and the moment that happened, Hawke felt all her inertia being sapped from her, replaced with grief. She leaned against Merrill and allowed herself to cry.
She didn't remember how she had gotten home. She had not wanted to leave Leandra behind, and so she had waited for hours until people were there to assist with carrying the body to Hightown, to prepare her for funeral. Gamlen had come by, another awful conversation to have, but necessary.
Now, she was seated on her bed, so blank, so empty. Nothing but a shell. She looked down at her palms, at her arms, seeing the faint scars of her use of blood magic. She took a gasping breath. It felt like she was asphyxiating on panic and guilt, once again.
"Ir abelas, ma vhenan." Words softly spoken by Merrill. She had appeared out of nowhere, standing over the dejected Hawke.
Hawke tilted her head, not looking at Merrill. "What's it mean?" she asked, her voice sharper, colder than she had intended.
"I am filled with sorrow for your loss." The elf sensed that something was not right. "Are you angry with me, Hawke? Did I say the wrong thing?" Merrill was usually so confident around Hawke, but right now, she was not. She sat down next to Hawke, waiting for her answer.
Do you know the strongest force in the universe? It's love. Quentin's words were haunting Hawke, they were turning her stomach. Something so vile, committed in the name of love. By a blood mage. "I think you need to go, Merrill. I was a fool. I dabbled in something I should never have touched. Blood mages are to be reviled and hunted down. I should have known this, before I fell into this...this mess of my creation."
Merrill tensed and started to speak, but Hawke didn't give her the opportunity. "This connection between us, it is so wrong. It's a perverted use of magic, just like my mother's death today. Go, Merrill. Go." She put all force behind it that she could muster. It had to be believable. "Damn you, leave now, and don't come back."
She did, and it shredded her heart to tiny little bits when Merrill disappeared. Their connection had been fading recently, so the elf would not know the truth. The perverted truth of Hawke pushing Merrill away, far away, so that she would not be added to the list of people she loved and lost.
The next morning, Hawke didn't even want to rise, get dressed, or do anything. What good was doing anything in life, when it all came crashing down around her anyway? Bodahn however was very insistent about knocking on her door. "Messere Hawke, there's a templar asking to you see you."
Hawke groaned and threw her pillow at the door. Who could it be? Thrask, Cullen or who else? Bodahn spoke again. "Messere, he said his name was Carver." Now that had her sitting up in bed straightly.
When she hurried downstairs, after having dressed just as hurriedly, Hawke expected the worst. She put on on her chilliest impression and slowly and deliberately walked downstairs. The first thought to enter her mind when she saw Carver was that his templar armor became him well. He no longer looked like a scruffy puppy growing into what he should become. He didn't even look like a bully anymore. He looked regal. He also looked like every other templar who had ever hunted them down.
"Why didn't you send for me?" Carver spit out the words as soon as she stood before him. He was bristling with anger. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked so like Bethany and their mother. It would so easy to rise to the occasion and to rage back at him. Maybe three years ago she would have had him removed from the premises immediately. But that was before.
"Because I didn't know how, Carver. We haven't spoken since the day I returned from the Deep Roads. No, let me change that." Hawke put a finger to her lips, deep in thought. "I don't think we have ever truly spoken, beyond accusations and strife." She looked down at the tips of her boots. "Uncle Gamlen told you?"
Carver shook his head. "He sent me a message to come see him, but I had no time. There was trouble." There always was, these days, ever increasing. Either mages or qunari. "And then Merrill showed up at the Gallows." Hawke looked up sharply at this.
"Merrill? At the Gallows. Please tell me she's okay." She could not keep the worry from her voice, because a night is not enough to stop caring, even if you want to be an uncaring person again.
"She's fine. We took a walk. She got us lost in Lowtown. She told me about it. Everything. That he was a blood mage. And that you killed him painfully. Did you?" Carver looked at her intently, thirsting for the answer. Hawke craned her neck. She didn't even remember that she had to look up at him so. She nodded. "Good. Hawke. This is why I am a templar. To hunt bastards like this blood mage."
Hawke couldn't resist saying it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and then defensively stated "I thought it was because you wanted to be someone besides my brother." It was so easy to get aggravated at him. That's all she ever had done. But he did not rise to the bait, so she had to add to it. "You realize Merrill is a blood mage. Do you realize she taught me? Are you still hunting us? Look at the scars. I cut myself to use my blood." She held out her arms, her scarred palms. She saw him grinding his teeth, pale from shock.
"I told you I wouldn't hunt you, because I know the value of family. I also wouldn't turn in Merrill. I am shocked that you would use blood magic, but not surprised. You won't come to a good end, being eaten up from the inside by this maker-cursed magic of yours." Carver raised his hand defensively. "I did not come here to fight with you, sister. I came here to grieve with you."
He hesitated and then added "She told me that she knows about Bethany's death, and that you grieve for her too. I still miss her too. Merrill reminded me that you are all alone now. So am I. She asked me to make my peace with you. Will you?" He sounded tired, and sad, and above all, genuine.
Hawke dug her nails into her palms. Why after all these years, why would she and Carver suddenly see eye to eye? Why did he not even have a screaming fit or revulsion at seeing her scars? Had it always been her who was the problem and not Carver. Her memories didn't agree, but it had been so many years ago.
-I don't want you to be alone. Accept.- Hawke's eyes were stinging with unshed tears. She finally offered her hand to her brother, and he took it. It was an unpolished gesture with little affection, but it was a start. "Let me get changed. Then we can go mourn those we lost."
And that they did.