Merrill did not see either of them, Fenris or Hawke, for a long while after that.

She wasn't avoiding them, exactly. Just… not seeking them out. She went to all her usual places. The alienage, the lower markets, the spot in the Foundry district where the air smelled like caramel and she had the perfect view of the stars over the harbor. But she did not call on Hawke, and Hawke did not call on her.

And no one was seeing Fenris at all, it seemed. Even at the Hanged Man, where you would generally find him on a fortnight's basis drinking their sour wine and scowling at everyone, there had been no sign of him.

Anders confirmed that the tevinter elf had recovered enough to leave the clinic under his own power, alone, some time ago. Presumably he had gone to his house in Hightown, where he would sit alone in the cobwebs and shadows, and hopefully not concoct any more plans to conveniently get himself killed.

Merrill worried.

She wondered if her gift to him had been a gift at all, or just more of her meddling, like Hawke had said. He would have to know that she had done it by looking inside of his memories, which would be deeply uncomfortable for anyone. But for him in particular… Oh dear, maybe she shouldn't have. It seemed such a good and wise idea at the time, and now it was just another stupid thing she had done.

Even if she had not actively done him any harm at all, his state to begin with was… not good. He had struggled so under the burden of his history as a slave, and gradually all his hopes had been extinguished. She knew exactly how much he had contemplated the manner and timing of his death, and that he had been entirely committed to it. His only compunction had been whatever Sebastian had been saying about his soul and the will of the Maker and all of that sort of thing - perhaps she should have told Sebastian? He might have known better how to help him.

But no, she had already done at least enough and probably too much.

She found things to busy herself with, since Hawke was no longer calling on her for errands. Like helping Isabela get her new ship seaworthy again (although "helping" was a loose term: Isabela usually shook her head at Merrill's work and did it over herself, the care of her ship being the one matter on which she was utterly serious). Or sometimes she would be out gathering herbs in the countryside for Anders' clinic.

She had acquired a loom not too dissimilar from what the Dalish used, and was trying to learn to weave. The results thus far were not encouraging - she had managed to generate a bolt of fabric with only a few holes, but she didn't know how to make it into anything. Perhaps if she cut a bigger hole, she could wear it as a tunic? It took up time, at least, which was the intent.

Until Hawke invited her to come along and help kill things again, there wasn't much here for her in Kirkwall. Everywhere she went, she was in the way. She had no other skills apart from her magic that would make her useful, and her magic made even other mages uncomfortable. No one came to call on her in her little home in the Alienage. The other elves who lived around her still considered her Dalish and therefore apart from them, and the fact that she traveled with mostly humans and dwarves didn't help. Most of them turned their backs as she passed.

She had known it would be a lonely life without her clan. It was a price she had decided to pay. Now, though, in all this time spent alone and with the broken mirror still sitting in her bedroom, she had to wonder if it had all been for nothing.

Then one night she saw both of them, back in the Hanged Man as if nothing had happened. It was another night where they all played at cards and Fenris was back in his accustomed chair at the end of the table and Hawke was gossiping with Varric at the other end. Merrill walked in, late as usual, and saw that everyone was there all together and nothing was any different.

Which would be both good and bad. Good because that meant things were not-awful, bad because that meant things were not-any-better.

But she waited awhile, letting herself be lost in the crowd as she observed the group, and she noticed something. Hawke had come behind Fenris's chair to ask Sebastian a question, and she rested her hand casually across the back of his chair, and rested her fingers against the back of his neck. And he did not move away.

It was a small thing, and perhaps no one else would think a thing of it. But to her, it meant something important had changed.

Merrill grinned hugely.

And then Hawke noticed her there. Her eyes narrowed immediately, and she gave the young elf a glare of murderous intent.

Merrill gulped and retreated into the crowd, making her way into Varric's suite of rooms to hide.

Varric appeared perhaps ten minutes later and found her pacing worriedly. "Daisy, didn't you see us out there? We've saved a chair for you."

"Oh Varric, I don't know if I can." Merrill's lower lip trembled. "If Hawke attacks me will you be on my side?" she said pleadingly.

Without missing a beat, he answered reassuringly: "Hawke's not going to attack you - where'd you get that crazy idea?"

"She's kind of awfully angry with me. I did something foolish."

"Aw, Daisy, if we attacked each other every time someone did something dumb we'd all be dead by now. I seriously doubt she is that angry."

A deep voice cut in from the doorway. "I'm afraid she is that angry." Fenris's voice had not returned entirely, but it had recovered enough for them to make out a dryly humorous note to his comment. "She will get over it in time. But you would best stay out of her way for awhile."

They both turned to look at him in the doorway. The tall elf looked more or less back to normal, though with a still-healing scar across his throat.

Varric looked between the two of them. "Anyone want to fill me in?"

Merrill spoke uncertainly. "The foolish thing I mentioned… It involved Fenris."

"And it seems Hawke has a hidden vengeful streak where I am concerned," the elf admitted with evident amusement.

Varric snorted. "I could have told you that. She'd rip the face off anyone who messed with you. You didn't know that?"

Fenris dipped his head thoughtfully. "Not exactly. It has been… a pleasant surprise."

Merrill smiled hopefully.

"I was wondering… I shouldn't ask I know but — did it work? What I did?"

Merrill didn't see him coming. With a sudden predatory movement, Fenris had crossed the room in a moment and stood over the shorter elf. With one hand he gripped her shirt by the collar, forcing her up on her toes in order to remain standing. She had to look up to see him, how his nostrils flared with anger and his large green eyes hardened to a deadly gleam.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear," he said with no small amount of threat. "Do not, ever, presume to know what I need. The thing you did in the clinic? Never do it again. Not ever, for any reason. Or I'll kill you myself."

"Hey hey hey," Varric cut in firmly, gesturing purposefully towards the stand where Bianca rested, "no death threats in my room! At least not against anyone else in my room!"

The taller elf glared at her until she nodded rapidly, and then let her go.

The dwarf casually inserted himself between the two of them. "I think we should all go back to drinking and cards, all right?"

Fenris ignored him and addressed her directly. "You have been… discreet on certain matters. So we will call it even. Understand?"

"Um," said Merrill, who didn't understand.

Fenris rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "The scene you witnessed."

Varric broke off and started looking around for a pen. "What scene was this? This is juicy stuff!"

"Oh! The thing that I know! Yes of course, that's a secret, I wouldn't tell a secret to anybody, unless they wanted me to for some reason—"

"Found it!" Varric said, grabbing a piece of paper as well. "Let's start at the beginning then…"

Fenris held the bridge of his nose and swore quietly in Arcanum.

"It's nothing, Varric," Merrill insisted. "Just something that I meddled with, that was probably going to be sorted out all on its own. You know me, always stumbling around ruining things. As if anyone would ever need my help!"

Varric squinted at her suspiciously.

Fenris stalked around the suite as Merrill talked, and paused before the floor-length mirror Varric kept in the corner.

Merrill had a feeling Fenris rarely looked at himself, knowing how he felt about the lyrium brands that covered his body. He looked at himself now, pensively.

"It is… interesting to look at myself and see something other than punishment and injury. I am accustomed to thinking myself a weapon forged by a madman. I did not think there was anything more to see." His head tiled slightly as he considered certain features of his own face. "But there are a few things – I can see her in places, parts of her. Her face. Her eyes. It is… comforting. More than I would have thought."

Varric continued to take notes. He would ask Merrill to fill in the details later.

Fenris trailed off, moving away from the mirror. This was as much as he was prepared to share with Merrill, clearly. But it was enough; now she knew her spell had worked. He remembered. He could see his mother's face now, solid in his memory, and maybe hear her, know her, as well.

It was a small thing. But big changes can come from small things. Seismic shifts happen below the surface. Merrill could feel it – something inside him was shifting.

Merrill was happy just to know that much. She didn't expect anything more; Fenris seemed about to walk out of the room without another word. But he stopped at the door and turned around.

"Merrill."

She looked up apprehensively, not sure even now if he was going to curse her for her meddling.

His mouth opened, and at first no sound came out. Then Fenris dropped his head, hiding his eyes behind his messy white hair, and his lips pressed together in a thin line. Then, having thought about it further, he looked up again.

"You're not a monster," he said.

Then he left.

"Oddest compliment I've ever heard," Varric said, writing it down.

He didn't notice Merrill's eyes glistening as she stared after Fenris. Of course Varric couldn't have known that this was exactly what Merrill most needed to hear.

And it came from a man who had himself called her a monster more than once. That meant a lot, it really did.

It might even have meant, "thank you."

She walked over to the doorway and watched Fenris walk up behind Hawke, who sat with a hand of cards. In a smooth, subtle motion, he leaned over and said something into her ear that made her giggle. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, gently. Then he walked the rest of the way around and took his place at the table, and he may have been the furthest from Hawke of anyone there, but the way they looked at each other, they could have been the only two people in the room.

"Nothing is ever really lost," Merrill whispered to herself. Then she smiled and joined her friends.

Author's note: this was originally the end of this story, but I have decided to add an epilogue. So watch for one more part.