A/N: So, this is it. When I started this story, it was supposed to be a fun reprieve after writing the very serious Choir full of Longing story. It turned out to be just as serious, I suppose. A life of its own. I owe a big thanks to Tom Shears of Assemblage 23 for filling my head with his wonderful lyrics. This story is inspired by many of his songs, in particular for those last two chapters. Special thanks to Heath Wingwhit for reading all those chapters in advance and being entirely too encouraging and kind. Also, special thanks to the rest of you who have left me so many wonderful reviews, you have made this story very special for me!
Forgive me my mistakes,
I'm only human,
I bleed just like you,
From time to time,
So why can't I convince you,
I'll be fine?
- Human, Assemblage 23
Of course she had been right. Isabela had come back, just like Merrill had predicted. When Isabela had entered the throne room, stepping over corpses, Merrill had been sure that this was the first time in many months that she had felt any kind of genuine joy. Isabela had not run, and her words had been honest. Overcome with emotion, Merrill had smiled at her friend. "I am so happy you are back, Isabela. Everything will be alright now!"
Isabela had done the right thing. And then Hawke did the right thing and defended her, protected her from the Arishok.
When Isabela decided to leave again, unable to deal with the aftermath of the Qunari mess, she at least said farewell instead of just running off. It was something.
With Isabela gone from Kirkwall, Merrill began to withdraw to her shell again. She still worked on her history of Elvhenan, but it no longer seemed enough. Some nights Merrill kneeled outside, before the vhenedahl, feeling the bark underneath her hands. Sometimes the hahren of the small alienage of Kirkwall asked her to recite stories, as if she was a real Keeper, not just a First in training who had not been with her clan for several years now. When the people sat around the tree, listening to her, she felt an intense longing to return to her people.
She would just give up her blood magic, forget about the eluvian, and settle back in. She would forget about Mahariel, Tamlen, and the potential of the mirror. She would travel in an aravel from one camping site to another, always roaming, never resting, and relinquish any claim to greatness. In a world of shemlen, the Dalish were destined to travel like beggars and never to find significance again.
No. That would not do. They all deserved better. Master Ilen, craftsman without compare. The valiant hunters of her clan, like Fenarel. The lorekeepers, the mothers, the children. Sons and daughters of the Dalish. Keeper Marethari. It cut her heart into tiny pieces that not a single one of them believed in her, but she believed in them.
A year after Isabela's departure, Merrill reached under her bed and unwrapped the arulin'holm. On the large scale of things, her work on the eluvian was the most important thing she had ever done, and could do for her people. She gave it up for Hawke, for a time, but time did not mend all wounds, and she had lost her for good. If she had come back to her, accepted her letters asking for forgiveness, if she had given any sign, it might be different. But she had not, and Merrill's life had to go on.
Isabela's absence left such a void in her that she felt returning to her work was the only thing that would possibly keep her going. It was time to return to her clan, one way or another.
When word came through that Isabela had returned, it was like the weight of the world was lifted from Hawke's shoulders. Often, she had wondered if she'd even done the right thing, fighting a duel that had seen her on the brink of death, for someone who had betrayed her, had betrayed all of them. It was one of those terrible decisions she had to make so often, the ones that were eating her alive.
In truth, she had spent less than a second thinking about it. There was no question. None of her friends, none of her family would come to harm in her care. She lived by Aveline's words. The guard was her best friend because they both had the same gut instincts. Protect what matters with everything you have, or you'll have nothing and deserve it. Isabela mattered. All of them mattered.
Even Merrill. It was good that Isabela had returned, someone else to look out for the elf. Hawke hadn't really done a good job of it. She had financially supported Varric's endeavors at keeping the girl fed and safe, but she was utterly incapable of approaching her. Her heart was an open sore, it would just burst open again.
When Hawke entered the Hanged Man, she found Isabela by the bar as usual. Upon her return, there had been a few awkward moments, but once the two of them were at ease, Isabela casually offered that she'd stick it out for now. They had eased into a light friendship. Light, because often Hawke was convinced Isabela found her to be a stick in the mud, a boring old fart, not on her level of excitement. It was fine. They could still be friends.
Today, Isabela looked unusually solemn when Hawke approached her. She worried at the stud underneath her lip with her tongue on the inside of her mouth, moving it from side to side. Hawke could have sworn she was nervous. Isabela, nervous? She grasped the edge of the bar, expecting the worst. "You had asked to see me, Isabela?"
"Yes, Hawke. Thanks for coming" The pirate pursed her lips for a moment, then pushed forward. "I don't want to beat around the bush. Merrill would like to see you. In private. Whenever it suits you."
"Never." It burst forth from Hawke's lips unthinkingly.
Isabela glared and slammed her cup of rum down on the bar. "Andraste's teats, will you bloody give it a rest? It's been years and you still refuse to see her? This stupid emotional crap. You two are the perfect example that you should never let feelings come into the mix. She needs you, Hawke. It's as simple as that. Kitten needs you. She's repented. I know she's sent apologies to both you and Fenris. Can you not fucking forgive her and move on?"
Hawke pushed a hand against the bar, leaning heavily against it. Her hair fell into her eyes as she stared at every line in the cheap wood of the bar. You could see every spot where woodworms had eaten through the wood. Rough and worn out, just like her heart still felt when she thought about Merrill. "I...I thought that one day I would be ready. But then I think about it and I don't think I'll ever be ready. She betrayed me, she used me, only because I looked out for her. She ruined what I could have had with Fenris, and...made me care for her, and ruined that too."
"What could you have had with Fenris?" Isabela snorted. "I won't lie to you, sometimes I go see him, and we have a bit of fun. Once, he was really drunk, and he told me that he threw you away because he understood he wasn't ready for a relationship. Even if she hadn't done anything, do you really think it would have been different? Would she have been able to make you care this much if you and Fenris were to be?" She spit in the sawdust on the floor. "This talk leaves such a bad taste in my mouth. Why must I be the one to talk to you?" She angrily downed more rum.
"Still, she betrayed me, and she lied to me. How could I ever trust her?" Hawke looked at Isabela accusingly.
The pirate leaned forward, her nose almost touching Hawke's. "I am a liar, a cheat, a thief. I caused a devastating war in Kirkwall. My actions cost the city its viscount, the viscount's son, and many innocent citizens' lives. The Qunari were here because I was a greedy, cheating liar. I betrayed you. I lied to you. How could you ever trust me? How can you even stand to talk to me, Hawke? You who always does the right thing. Didn't you mention this time and again, how that's so important for you? Explain that to me. How you can talk to me, but not talk to her."
Hawke tried to think of a clever comeback, or even an angry one. Isabela's face was still so close, with anger and worry both in her eyes. "I...can't explain that."
The Rivaini leaned back and nodded. "Go see her. When you see her, you will understand she needs help."
Hawke leaned her head against the door, her hand resting on the doorknob. She could not believe she was back, here, in Kirkwall's alienage of all places. It had been years. How many? Almost four years. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. The last time she had been here had been the day of the rain.
She could not linger on the memories. Four years, and it still made her heart break. Almost four years of completely avoiding each other. Sure, they would run into each other in the Hanged Man, for their monthly meetings. Even as Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke made sure to always attend those. Those people, they were her family now. They and Gamlen Amell were all she had. Merrill did not come to every meeting, especially not after Isabela had left. Hawke never questioned her absence, though some nights she lay in bed and could not sleep, worrying.
She had asked Varric how Merrill was doing and he often merely had shrugged his shoulders, looking unhappy. What a coward Hawke had been. All for good reason, a voice inside her head was saying, but after talking to Isabela, and remembering Varric's pained expressions about his Daisy, she wasn't so sure anymore.
Her hand turned the doorknob, and as she pushed the door open, she took a deep breath.
Beyond all hope, Merrill had not expected Hawke to come. She had hoped, and prayed to the creators, and besought Isabela to charm Hawke into coming here. Isabela's charm never failed to get the job done. When Hawke came in, Merrill turned her head from her position by one of the tables, staring intently. She had been waiting, for days, patiently. There was nothing else left to do.
Hawke looked splendid wearing the mantle of the Champion of Kirkwall. Her armor was full of ridges and pointy bits. It was probably good that they weren't on any level where they would hug each other, because the pointy bits looked like they would hurt. The armor looked powerful, dangerous and grand, all terms that would describe Hawke well. You could add a bit of dashing hero with the roguish look of the red scarf that was wrapped around her front. She was so beautiful and solemn that Merrill had to avert her eyes before the guilt washed over her.
"Merrill." The elf shivered when Hawke spoke her name, with such obvious surprise carried in it. "Maker, you look terrible." This made Merrill look up at Hawke to meet her gaze, which was full of concern.
"I see you are taking your lessons in charm from F...friends. Like Isabela." Merrill laughed shakily. She shouldn't bristle like that at a simple statement. She knew her clothing was more loose lately, and that she did not eat enough. She knew that she probably used blood magic too much than was healthy for her, explaining the pallor of her skin. She had looked better. "You look fine, Hawke. Thank you for coming. I know it must not be easy." She rose to offer a seat to Hawke and then poured her some water. She had nothing else, there was no time to waste in pretending otherwise. She had always been a terrible host.
Hawke stared at the cup of water, and turned it where it stood on the table. It left a ring of water on the worn wood of the table. Did she see her own reflection in the water? What was Hawke seeing or feeling right now? She no longer was an open book for her to read, not like in the past. It was Merrill who had made her guard herself so. She missed the less guarded Hawke, who smiled so easily. But then, she wouldn't smile anyhow once she heard what Merrill had to say.
"I shall make it brief, Hawke. I know you don't support any of this at all, but please hear me out." Merrill held on to the back of one of the chairs, speaking her words while standing. "I can't fix the mirror. Not with the arulin'holm, not with blood magic. I wish to return to my clan, but I cannot until I have given it one last try. I need to speak to the spirit." Hawke's mouth opened in protest, but Merrill held out her hand. "I know you want no part in this, but there is more. I will go, you cannot stop me. I wish to ask you to come with me. It is possible that he possesses me. In that case I need someone with a sure hand to kill me. You. Or Fenris. Or both. I am aware of the danger. I would trust no one else with this but you."
"Is this...your idea of evening the score, Merrill? If so, it's sick and twisted and perverted, and I cannot believe you would waste my time like this. Didn't I give you what you bloody wanted?" Hawke was actually angry, jumping up so hurriedly that her chair fell over. So angry that she actually kicked the chair and a leg broke off.
"I know you must think I am cruel, but there is no ulterior motive, Hawke. I just mean to finish what I started. It is something I have to do. I don't ask you to understand. No one understands why this is important to me. It's...imagine you are Hawke, the beggar who came to Kirkwall. Only that you are not powerful enough to work yourself to the top like you did. Imagine that your uncle never got you in and you lived in the Gallows in misery, or in Darktown. You knew that you have so much more potential, that you and your family could accomplish anything in life, if only you got the chance. Instead you are starving, and lonely, and trying to figure out that one thing to save your life. Now imagine this on a scale of people. All of the elves, so capable of achieving more, if we knew how. Would you not want to try? Would this not be important to you?" Merrill put her everything into those words. The comparison stood on shaky legs, but maybe Hawke would see.
Hawke stared down at the remains of the chair, kicking pieces of wood around. When she looked up, her eyes were still full of anger tempered with sadness. "It might be important, but I would try to find another way. A way where the price would not be so high. There's always another way."
Merrill shook her head. "You risk your life all the time, Hawke. You always pay the highest price. Have you not already paid it ten times over, that highest price? And still you continue, because that's how you are." She turned her back on Hawke, walking to stand in front of her eluvian. "And this is how I am, now. I do not ask for you to defend me or assist me. I only ask for you to dispose of me when I lose myself to possession."
She felt Hawke stand behind her, seething with rage and other emotions. She finally burst out behind her. "Do you really not know that I loved you, Merrill? Then you broke what I felt for you, and now you're asking me to kill you?"
Merrill wished that the eluvian showed her reflection. Any reflection. That way Hawke would see how she fell apart under those words. "I loved you too, Hawke. I know it seems impossible to believe, but it's true. You are the only one I trust. If you loved me, you will do what is right."
It always came down to that for Hawke.
"Move. Let's move out. I don't want to be slaughtered for her filthy actions. The murdering monster." Fenris snarled behind them as the group stumbled through the camp. It felt like walking through a storm-filled sea, waves of hatred clashing over the elf on her right arm. Merrill's other side was flanked by Isabela. The two of them held on to Merrill, to get her away from Sundermount as quickly as possible. Merrill was wounded, and would need Anders' help.
"I want you to shut your mouth, Fenris, and I want it now. Give it a rest." She should have said this years ago. Lately, Hawke felt herself bristling with anger. All the stress of being the Champion of Kirkwall, between the lines of the Circle and the Templars was wearing on her. This enmity of Fenris' was wearing on her. Merrill broken by Marethari's sacrifice was wearing on her. She didn't even stir when Hawke yelled at Fenris.
They reached the center of the camp, passing Marethari's space, where she had always greeted them on all their visits. Suddenly, Merrill spoke, her first words since Hawke had accepted all responsibility for Merrill's actions when confronted by Fenarel. "They...they would kill me if I wasn't with you. They will kill me." Her voice was tinged with hysteria.
Hawke squeezed Merrill's arm protectively. "Do not worry, Merrill. I will protect you. I am your shield."
On the other side, Isabela spoke quietly. "Hawke is your shield, and I will be your sword arm, if anyone dares lay a hand on you."
Fenris didn't speak. He would be her shadow, trailing them on their return to Kirkwall.
The first few days were unbearable. There was nothing left. When she smashed the mirror with her staff, two words burned in her mind, the words that she had heard spoken when the elves of Kirkwall saw her. They whispered them amongst each other, as if she was deaf to them. Dalish Pariah.
What did Pariahs do? Did they have any goal left in life? She did not know. Pariahs were alone. Merrill was. And yet, she wasn't. They all came to see her. Isabela and Varric, of course. Aveline, the protector. Even Anders, though for him it seemed another opportunity to try and have her dedicate herself to the plight of Kirkwall's mages. At least he capably saw to her wounds. Sebastian offered to pray for Marethari, to properly mourn her. Only Fenris didn't come, but then, she didn't expect him to.
There was Hawke. Her shield. She made sure that Merrill did not linger in her house all by herself. They were wary with each other, careful. Caring.
When Hawke found that the eluvian was destroyed by Merrill's hands, she smiled. "The right thing. I know you did the right thing." She helped clean out all the shards, and disposed of the frame, to remove any trace of the mirror.
She knew she shouldn't address him, but it burned on her tongue. Merrill and Fenris kept their contact minimal, but there were always days that they both travelled with Hawke. Tonight was one of these moments. As they walked through the quiet streets of Hightown to supposedly infiltrate a meeting between templars and mages, Merill could no longer keep her mouth shut.
"Do you regret it? What happened with your sister, I mean?" Did Fenris even have regrets? He always seemed bitter, brooding, yet for the most part stoic.
"No." Merrill was not surprised she only earned one syllable. She saw Hawke turn her head briefly, from where she was walking ahead of them.
"You don't wish...that maybe you hadn't found her again?" Merrill thought that in his shoes she might have preferred not knowing the truth about how his lyrium tattoos really came to be, or that his sister had betrayed him in order to become what he hated the most.
"Whatever I wish, it is already done." He sounded so uncaring. In truth, Merrill had never understood him. It was as if the only emotion he was really capable of was anger. Where once it would have pleased her to make him angry, it now only made her feel sad. For him, for Hawke, for all of them. But maybe it was easier for him, with little emotion. Maybe he was better off.
"You are lucky, then. There are so many things I wish I could undo." Merill didn't even know where to begin her list. So many things. Her obsession with the eluvian. Not listening to Marethari. Striking a deal with a pride demon. Not understanding how much the Keeper had loved her. Her self-absorption. Tamlen. Pol. Her ridiculous vengeance plot of 'homewrecking'. Sending Fenris that letter. Her inability to tell Hawke about the true depth of her feelings. Marethari's death. Losing Hawke. Losing her people. Losing herself.
Regret was the rusty blade that served to remind her of the pain she had caused.
How well he lied. The witch had no idea what he felt like inside. Of course Fenris was full of regret. He did not regret killing Danarius and Hadriana. The rest...too painful to linger on. If he could he would undo so many things as well. Fighting to free his family from slavery at the price of memory loss and agony. Killing the Fog Warriors in what was possibly the happiest time of his life. Lingering in Kirkwall, getting attached to this ragtag band of mage supporters. His inability to commit to Hawke when he had the chance. The missed chance of killing the elf, to spare him the pain of even considering his regrets.
Hawke shivered at the pain and loneliness in Merrill's voice. So many things she wished she could undo. She understood the notion. Regret. She would have kept her sister in Kirkwall instead of taking her to the Deep Roads. Bethany would still be alive. She would have kept her mother safe from Quentin. She would have found out the truth about Isabela's relic before so many died because of it. So many things.
She would not have waited years to forgive Merrill for her actions.
The air was still and oppressive, dark clouds rolling in from the sea. No matter what year, summers in Lowtown were never pleasant. Merrill sat outside her door, leaning her back against the wall. No one bothered her, no one spoke with her. She was always left alone, as Dalish pariah.
Hawke stepped through the gate of the alienage. When she spotted Merrill sitting outside her house, she lowered herself to the ground as well, sitting next to her. "I wish the storm would roll in already. Too stifling inside?"
Merrill nodded her head, pulling a knee to her chest. Her chin came to rest on it, as she idly looked at Hawke. "Too stifling, too dull inside. I find I cannot really spend much time in there anymore. I don't know what to do with myself."
"You are so smart, so intelligent, so talented. You could do anything, Merrill. Even without...that blasted thing." Hawke leaned her head against the wall, looking up at the sky.
Merrill smiled sadly. "Why are you here, Hawke? What do you come here for? I am not complaining. I just don't understand what changed."
"I...forgave you. I knocked down this stupid wall I had built around myself so that I would not have to look at you. I pretended that by not acknowledging your existence, you would no longer have any significance." Hawke opened her eyes and locked gazes with the elf. "Look at you. Beautiful and in so much pain. I meant it when I said I want to be your shield. Have you not suffered enough? Have I not suffered enough?" She did not smile. "I missed you. I missed our friendship. It just took me a couple years to find out it was not all falsehood and lies."
Merrill pressed a cheek against a bony knee, flushed and embarassed. "Did you know I tried to drown myself?" Hawke's eyes widened in disbelief. "I should thank Varric and Isabela for keeping quiet about it. But you know what? I didn't want to drown. I just wasn't strong enough to carry all this weight. I am...damaged, Hawke. I keep drowning metaphorically, all the time. I learned to swim, a little bit, because Isabela forced me to learn, and I can just keep myself afloat now. I am scared that I will drag you down into this water with me. It's cold and unpleasant." She blindly stared at the vhenedahl in the center of the alienage. "I want to go back home. I just don't know where home is, Hawke."
Hawke reached for Merrill's hand. "Let me be your home. I can guide you. I can carry your weight, and mine. You will not drag me down. You only need to be honest with me. No tricks, no games. No vengeance. Just us."
Thunder was crackling loudly, as the storm finally rolled in. Hawke moved an arm around Merrill's thin shoulders, and looked up at the tall vhenedahl, the leaves shaking in the wind. "It's going to rain, Merrill."
The Dalish looked up as well, with a smile. "Have you ever been as happy as that day? I felt like I had no care in the world. Just the rain, the relief from the heat, your laughter and your touch. I have never felt like it again."
Hawke rose, as the first raindrops started falling onto their skin. She pulled the elf up with her. "We'll always have the rain, Merrill, and new, happier memories to make. I think I can be happier than that day. Don't you think?"
Impulsively, Merrill threw her arms around Hawke's neck. "We'll always have the rain." She stretched up to kiss the far taller Hawke. The rain soaked their skin within moments, and neither could tell, absorbed in each other. The kiss tasted like sweetness, like promise, like rain.
It tasted like home.