To the Deep Roads! Note: The perspective switches mid-chapter for the first time here. Again, 'xxx M xxx', for Merrill's POV, obviously, And 'xxx H xxx' for Hawke. Just trying to make it easier to follow. Nothing too dramatic here, I don't think. Well, maybe a little. Not as much as later on, though. But mostly just a little more fluff for now. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

xxx H xxx

"So this expedition thing works out and you'll have enough money to find your own place, at last?"

I abandon the search for a sturdier pair of boots in my storage chest and look over my shoulder at Gamlen's gruff question.

"That's the plan, Uncle."

He crosses his arms, shuffling his feet a little. "Good. Then you and your brother will finally get out of my hair, and take your noisy dog-breath mongrel with you," he says, glaring daggers at my poor dog, who growls in answer, hackles lifting. I give a low whistle and he subsides, but his eyes remain fixed steadily on Gamlen, who coughs nervously. Unfortunately, Uncle has never quite managed to grasp just how intelligent a mabari is, leading to rather a lot of unpleasant conflicts between them. Well, unpleasant for Gamlen, but hilarious for anyone watching.

I raise an eyebrow at my irritable uncle, holding back a grin. "Oh, Uncle Gamlen, you can't fool me. I know your cantankerous veneer of irritation and indifference is nothing more than a mask to hide your true feelings. Don't worry; no matter where I go, you'll always be my favourite uncle." It's true enough, considering he's the only one I've got. Well, as far as I'm aware, at least; the Maker alone knows if Father had any family. He never saw fit to tell us if he did; or anything about his past, really. "Besides, once I'm gone, then who will charm the debt collectors and thumb-breakers for you? You'll be wanting me back in your hair inside of a month," I tell him, giving him a small wry smile to take the sting out of my words. "Probably badly enough to consider washing it for a change."

"And here I thought your father was an apostate, not a court jester," Gamlen says, though I think the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, just a little. "Just... just hurry up and get going, girl. The sooner you're out of my business, the better." He scratches at his stubble, then moves towards the door, skirting gingerly around the wary mabari sprawled across the floor.

"I'll say goodbye and good luck and all that now, then. I'm going out, to, ah, a friend's place for a while."

Carver, standing in front of Gamlen's writing desk, glances briefly up from the letter in his hand and snorts in disbelieving scorn at Uncle's words.

"To the Blooming Rose, you mean. Why not just come out and say it?"

"I-I only go there for the... the medicinal benefits, that's all!"

"Oh, Gamlen!" Mother sighs reproachfully, not looking up from the note she is penning by the fireplace.

Gamlen glares around belligerently at all of us before stalking out the door, letting it slam shut behind him. I smile to myself in quiet amusement and resume my search for the elusive boots. Honestly, how did I fit so many random things into this chest? I make a mental note to thoroughly clean it out once we return. Aha! I pull the boots out in triumph and pull them on. These should stand up to whatever the Deep Roads have to throw at us. I move to stand up and then hesitate for a moment, thinking, before bending back to the chest and rummaging until I find what I'm looking for. I open a side pocket of my already bulging pack and cram the small pair of sandals safely inside, thankful now that I didn't just sell them when I found them. I doubt if Merrill even owns a pair of shoes, much less that she would think to bring any to the Deep Roads, but what with all the rubble and stone and rivers of lava Varric keeps telling me about, I'd feel more comfortable knowing she at least has the option of a little foot protection. Just in case. I'm not entirely comfortable with bringing her along on such a risky expedition, but the Templars have been sniffing about in Lowtown more persistently than usual, particularly in the vicinity of the alienage. I don't want to come back and find she's been locked up in the Gallows while I was gone. Or worse. It's not a perfect solution, but maybe getting us both out of Kirkwall and away from the notice of the mage hunters for a while wouldn't hurt.

I make a quick run through of my mental checklist; I want to be absolutely sure we're ready for this. Ready as one can be to go crawling about in Darkspawn infested holes, anyway. I can't think of anything we've overlooked, and Carver finished packing long before I did, which I doubt he'll let me forget. Time to be off, then.

Carver is completely absorbed in his letter; so much so that he doesn't hear me coming up behind him. It must really be quite a letter; to make Carver read. I frown to myself, deliberating; what if he's gotten himself into some sort of trouble? Surely that would make it my family duty to violate his privacy. And after all, what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't pry into his personal affairs? I raise myself up on my toes and stretch my neck to look over his shoulder at the letter in his hand. His fingers cover most of it, but I can just make out the last paragraph:

...Why haven't you been writing, Carver? Did you find another girl in the Free Marches?

Remember: no girl will ever do what I did for you behind Barlin's shed that time. You just think about that!

Write me soon! I love you!
Peaches

My eyebrows hit the ceiling and I giggle involuntarily. Carver whirls to face me, crumpling the letter behind his back. Too late.

"Who is 'Peaches'? Been holding out on me, Carver?"

He bristles, glaring. "A girl who lived in Lothering. Nobody you know, alright? Shut it!"

I raise an eyebrow. "And what exactly did she do for you behind Barlin's shed? Or do I really, really not want to know?"

"None of your bloody business!"

"Alright, brother, I'm sorry," I say, raising my hands to placate him. "You know I'm just teasing you. Ready to go, then?"

"I've been ready for bloody ages, waiting for you." He's still upset with me. But then, what else is new? Caver never could take a joke, certainly not one at his expense. Unfortunately for him, little brother baiting is another of my family duties. And after all, I didn't make the laws; I just follow them. Sometimes, anyway.

"I'm so sorry for wasting your valuable time, dear brother. At least it gave you a chance to catch up on your correspondence," I say, stifling a laugh, then quickly continue before he can explode at me again. "We'll go and fetch Merrill from the alienage, and then meet Varric in the Hanged Man before we head to Hightown."

"I'm with you, sister. For now," he says, resentful as always.

Mother, apparently having missed the bulk of our conversation, suddenly looks up from her writing and stares at me, a frown on her face.

"You're... you're not really still planning on taking Carver with you, are you?" she asks worriedly.

Carver turns toward her, wearing a look of exasperation. "Mother, don't start. We talked about how important this is."

I knew that Mother was unhappy about the expedition from the start, and she'd spoken out repeatedly against the idea, especially whenever Carver expressed his intention to be a part of the venture. She'd understandably become much more protective of Carver since Bethany's death, always wanting to know where he was going, what he was doing, who he was with. She wanted to keep him close. Unfortunately, her behaviour had only made Carver indignant, resentful, and more determined than ever to go into the Deep Roads with me, if only to escape her constant mothering. I understood where they were both coming from, but Carver was nineteen years of age now. He'd fought in a war, and against the blight. And thanks to Isabela, who during one of her frequent tipsy bouts of 'friendly concern' decided to inform me, in as much descriptive detail as she could, of all my little brother's recent visits to the Rose, I was well aware that he was no longer, shall we say, 'innocent'. Not to mention this new testimony from the mysterious 'Peaches'. When it came down to it, Carver was a man grown, as much as Mother might still see him as her little boy.

"This is Carver's expedition as much as it is mine. This is for all of us," I say, meeting her eyes steadily. "Carver is of age. He has a right to come if he wants to."

"I'm going," Carver stated resolutely. "It'll be fine."

Mother drops her quill, splattering ink across the page, and rises, her pleading eyes darting back and forth between us. "It's not fine. You can't both go. What if something happened to you?" Her gaze rests on me, beseeching. "You I understand wanting to do this. But leave your brother here, I beg you!"

"I said I'm going. It's my decision, not hers. Besides, if we're so bloody afraid of Templars, I should go and she should hide!" He jerks a thumb at me, and I suppress a flinch at the barely contained, yet ever present resentful scorn in his voice. I know he's had to spend his whole life on the run because of Bethany and me, but it always hurts to hear his bitter contempt. I can't help what I am.

"Carver, I beg you. Don't go! Don't do this!" Mother cries, running over and clutching at his tunic. I feel a sudden sense of remorse at causing her such distress, and beneath it, suddenly, a deeper, ominous feeling of foreboding. It's faint, though, and I dismiss it as a symptom of my guilty conscience at upsetting Mother so. But this venture is for her benefit, to get her out of this hole. We have to go. Carver's eyes soften, and he wraps his arms around Mother, giving her a rare hug, before stepping back and placing his hands on her shoulders in as reassuring a manner as he can manage.

"Don't worry about me so. I can handle the Deep Roads; I fought at Ostagar, remember? I can take care of myself, you'll see. Goodbye, Mother." He hefts his pack on his shoulders and gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek before heading out the door. "Let's go, sister."

Mother covers her face with her hands, clearly suppressing tears, then looks up and gives me an accusing, hurt look before striding into the back room and slamming the door.

"Goodbye, Mother," I say softly to the closed door, and then lift my own pack and follow after Carver.

xxx M xxx

"Enchantment!"

The joyful cry of the strange young dwarf Hawke rescued echoes through the camp, reverberating out into the darkness beyond the shielding glow cast by the light of our campfires, and from all of Hawke's protective spells as well, of course. He claps his hands and laughs loudly as Hawke traces a glowing line on the ground with her staff, casting another glyph of paralysis on the outskirts of our encampment.

"Son of a nug! Do you want to bring the Darkspawn down on us, boy? Bodahn, shut him up, will you?" Varric's grumpy brother yells angrily as Varric tries to calm him. It seems a bit silly to me, really; yelling at the top of your lungs at someone else for being loud, especially if the reason you're yelling so loudly is because you're worried that loud noise might attract Darkspawn. Hmm. I wonder if I should point this out to him? But then, considering the thunderous look on Bartrand's face, maybe I better just let Varric talk to his brother, I'm sure he'll do a much better job than I could, after all. He'd probably just start yelling at me if I tried, anyway, he doesn't seem to like me very much. Or anyone, really, now that I think about it.

"Come along, my boy. Let's sit over here, and you can finish adding your runes to Miss Merrill's staff. Would you like that?" Bodahn says in his kind manner, leading his son over to sit with me at our campfire, as they have done at every rest stop since we found Sandal wandering on his own, lost in the abandoned passageway we were exploring. I haven't met that many dwarves, but he does seem a little odd to me, poor fellow. Not in a bad way, though, I don't think.

Sandal claps his hands again in delight, beaming widely at me. "Pretty elf!" Oh! Well, he's certainly a nice young fellow, even if he is a bit odd. I smile back bashfully, and hand my staff over to him. He takes it gently in his hands, diving immediately into his work with a blissful expression.

"Enchantment! I like enchantments."

I reach for the ladle in the cook pot over the fire, spooning some stew into two bowls for them both. Bodahn accepts them with a friendly smile and a nod, placing one next to Sandal, who ignores it, completely absorbed in the rune he is carefully applying to my staff. Bodahn shrugs at me apologetically.

"Don't mind my boy, Miss Merrill. He'll dig right in as soon as he's done. Takes great pride in his work, he does!"

I pass a skin of water to the good-natured dwarf, smiling. "It's all right, Bodahn, I know. I'm very grateful for Sandal's help. And thank you for fixing those loose links in my chainmail earlier."

"Well, it's the least we can do after you and Serah Hawke brought Sandal back safe and sound. Oh, and young Master Tethras and Master Carver, of course," he says gratefully, and takes a bite of my stew. "Oh, this is very good indeed, Miss Merrill! Sandal, my boy, try Miss Merrill's stew before it gets cold. You'll need your strength to keep making your enchantments, you know!"

Sandal looks at Bodahn for a moment, considering, then nods decisively and grabs his bowl. He gulps the stew down, apparently not wanting to waste any time with the spoon. Once he finishes he lifts his head to look at me, smacking his lips in evident appreciation.

"Mmm. Enchantment."

"Thank you, Sandal. I'm glad you liked it."

He nods his head happily as he turns his attention back to my staff. Bodahn smiles fondly at him before collecting their empty bowls and taking them away to be washed, circling carefully around Carver, who is already stretched out in his bedroll, snoring lightly. I don't blame him; he's had a very hard day of swording, after all. We ran into quite a lot of Darkspawn during our journey today. Assuming it was daytime, of course. It's rather hard to tell down here, surrounded by rock on all sides. And it's so dark! I used to think the human way of life was strange, all of them living crammed together within a stone city, but at least they have the wind, and the sky. To live completely underground, no grass, no trees, no natural light. Except for the light from the lava flows, of course, though I'm not sure if that's really an improvement, considering the source. And to live down here by choice! I heard Anders say that the dwarves must be crazy to live in the Deep Roads. I think he and I may actually be in agreement on something. It's nice, when that happens; it's so unexpected! I am fond of surprises. Well, good surprises, anyway. Not a lot of those down here so far, I'm afraid. Rather a lot more of the other kind, unfortunately.

Hawke suddenly steps into the firelight and crosses over to me, winking cheerfully at Sandal as he glances up from his work briefly, beaming at his new favourite human. I watch her as she moves to sit next to me, crossing her legs and dropping lithely to the ground in one fluid motion. She's so graceful! I notice she has a bowl in her hands. Oh, well of course, she's been setting protection wards all around the camp perimeter; she must be very hungry! And here I am, sitting here staring at her like an idiot. I reach out for the stew ladle at the same time she does, bumping my fingers clumsily against hers and knocking both our hands away from the cook pot. Creators! I flush and turn to her quickly, opening my mouth to apologise, but she speaks first.

"Oh, sorry, Merrill! I didn't mean to do that. I didn't hurt your hand, did I?"

I blink, momentarily thrown at hearing the words on the tip of my tongue coming from Hawke's mouth, instead. "I... no, Hawke, my hand is fine. Are you all right?"

She smiles, and reaches for the ladle again, filling her bowl. "You know, I think I've had worse." She raises her spoon to her lips and tastes my stew. "Mmm. This is very good. Surprising, considering the questionable quality of our rations. Did you make this?"

I nod hesitantly. "Yes. I, um, put some herbs in it. Dried herbs, from Sundermount. I brought them with me in case we needed to make some healing potions, but they're also quite good for cooking with, as well. As long as you use the right ones, which I'm pretty sure I did. At least, nobody's eyes have started glowing yet, so I think it's alright."

Hawke gives a soft laugh, taking another bite. "Well, I wouldn't mind if my eyes started glowing bright pink, as long as you keep making food that tastes like this," she says delicately around her mouthful.

"Well, I'd mind! I'd hate to be responsible for making your eyes turn pink, I love your eyes; they're such a beautiful blue colour," I say unthinkingly, and then duck my head in embarrassment when she glances at me in surprise.

"Thank you," she says after a moment, a small smile on her lips. "Your eyes are lovely too, you know. Green with hints of gold. They put me in mind of a forest glade in springtime."

I brush a hand through my hair, studying her face uncertainly. "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

She blinks, and then gives a small dramatic gasp, putting a hand to her heart in mock affront. At least, I think she's not really affronted. I hope not.

"Me, tease? Never! Perish the thought." She lowers her hand and picks up her spoon again, stirring the remainder of her meal. "Really, though, Merrill, I know I can be a bit flippant, but rest assured that when I give you a compliment, I truly do mean it."

"Oh," I say, somewhat at a loss for words at her suddenly serious tone. "Then... thank you."

"You're very welcome." Hawke finishes the rest of the stew in silence, then puts the bowl aside and gives a small, contented sigh. She stretches her arms out behind her and leans back on them, tilting her head to gaze up at the sky. Or, rather, the ceiling, I suppose. It's so dark outside the light of the campfires, it's easy to forget sometimes that we're miles underground, not out in the open. For a moment, at least. But there are too many persistent reminders to make believe for long; the unyielding rock underfoot instead of the soft touch of grass, the continuous drip of water instead of the chirping song of crickets; the dry, stale air instead of the gentle night breeze...

Alright, that's enough of that. Calm down. There must be something to appreciate down here, surely. Think positive, Merrill. The Deep Roads have a prodigious collection of...

...rocks.

Well, that didn't work at all. It's no use. As much as I'm grateful to be a part of Hawke's venture, I do miss the surface terribly. And this whole place is starting to feel very much like one giant, underground tomb. The darkness surrounding us seems very oppressive all of a sudden, and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm myself before I panic. I must have made some small sound, or perhaps Hawke hears my thoughts, because she suddenly turns her head to look at me, frowning slightly in concern.

"Are you alright, Merrill? I know it can't be very pleasant for you, being down here."

I give her a reassuring smile, or I try to, at least. "Yes, thank you, Hawke, I'll be fine. I am glad you asked me to come on your expedition with you, it's just...This place is so dismal. I don't understand the dwarves at all. How could anyone live down here, in the dark? No moon, no sun, no stars..."

She sighs in agreement, nodding a little, and her short dark hair falls across her eyes.

"I do miss the sky," she admits, gazing into the crushing darkness above us.

A quick grin flashes across my face, though she doesn't see it, and I decide to try my hand at saying something clever.

"I imagine you would, being a Hawke."

Hawke looks at me, a smile growing on her face, and she laughs again, louder, delightedly. Her voice is like silver when she laughs, joyful and bright and wonderful. I return her smile in earnest, pleased at her reaction to my comment. Her laughter dies down to a soft giggle and she sits back up, brushing that impish raven lock out of her eyes. I want to reach over and move it back.

"Oh, dear, a droll witticism!" Hawke grins at me. "I must be having a bad influence on you."

"Well, that's all right; I wouldn't mind it if I were more like you, Hawke," I tell her shyly. She shakes her head gently at me, leaning back again.

"I like you just as you are," she says, using that serious tone again, and returns her gaze to the shadows above.

I feel a blush coming on and look away quickly, trying to find something to distract myself. Hmm. The fire is beginning to burn down. Wood is scarce down here, obviously, as what little we have was carried in with us, so we have to ration it carefully, like everything else. I murmur a little spell under my breath, something the Keeper taught me, suppressing the hunger of the flames so they consume the wood more slowly. I gaze into the fire when I'm done, rubbing absently at a tender place on the sole of my foot where I trod on a particularly pointy rock earlier. Hawke looks over at me and immediately notices my discomfort.

"Sore feet?"

"Yes, a bit," I admit. "All this cold, hard stone. I'm used to walking on any surface, but it's all the same down here; there's no getting away from it, not even a patch of earth, or anything. Just rock. It's beginning to wear on me."

Hawke sits up suddenly and reaches out, pulling her pack over to her and rummaging in one of the pockets. "I knew it was a good idea to bring these," she says to herself, and draws out a pair of open leather shoes, turning to present them to me. I lift my eyebrows in surprise, and look at her questioningly.

"Are... are these for me?" I ask, a warm feeling budding in my chest at the thoughtfulness of the unexpected gesture.

She nods, and lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to, of course. I just thought it might be hard on your feet down here, so I brought these sandals for you, just in case."

Sandal looks up at her words. "Enchantment?"

"Different kind of sandal, my boy." Bodahn says, chuckling as he comes back over to the fire and unpacks their bedrolls, laying them out next to Carver, still fast asleep. "Don't you worry about it, you just finish up with Miss Merrill's staff and then it's off to bed."

"Enchantment!" Sandal agrees happily, and turns back to his work. Hawke and I both smile warmly at him, before I turn to give her a grateful look.

"Thank you, Hawke. I do appreciate it. It would certainly be nice to have a bit of relief from all this stone."

She smiles, and holds out the sandals for me to inspect them. "They're open on top, so you'll still be as close to feeling barefoot as possible, but your soles will be protected." She pats the top of Bodahn's equipment chest. "Come and sit up here, and I'll try them on you."

I move at her suggestion, though I feel a little foolish, perching on top of the chest while she positions herself in front of me, kneeling in the dust at my feet. She takes my ankle gently in her fingers, lifting my foot up and slipping a sandal onto it, then resting my newly shod foot against the front of her thigh before doing the same to the other. I try and take note of what she's doing. I've worn soft leather shoes before for warmth; in winter it's simple foolishness to be barefoot outside. But those just slipped on; these look rather more complex, for all they're so small; so many little straps and buckles. It appears that shoes can be much more complicated than I thought! She works nimbly, making several little adjustments to the buckles, shortening the straps. Her fingers brush lightly against my skin, and I shiver a little at the contact. It feels nice, though...

She looks up at me when she finishes. "How does that feel?"

I look down at my feet where they still rest against her legs, and wiggle my toes experimentally. "A bit funny, but I'll adjust."

"It might feel a little strange at first, but you'll soon get used to it, and then it'll feel a lot better," she assures me. I place my feet on the ground on either side of her and flex them, liking the smooth feel of the leather against my soles.

"Oh, that does feel good."

Varric chuckles as he comes over to us, staring at Hawke still kneeling in front of me, apparently having heard our exchange.

"What exactly are you doing to my Daisy, Hawke? There's a time and a place, you know," he says, still laughing as he turns away to arrange his bedding near the fire. Hawke looks around at him and blushes, though I'm not sure exactly why. It is making her cheeks look very pretty. Even the curves of her ears are turning an intriguing shade of red, although maybe it's just the heat from the fire. Humans have such strange ears. Well, and dwarves too, I suppose, though I've never wanted to touch a dwarf's ears. Hers, on the other hand... Would it be alright? Hawke has touched my ears before, when she sometimes brushes the hair out of my face, which I think is a human way of showing affection. Isabela does it too, sometimes, or she grabs my ear gently in her thumb and forefinger, usually when she calls me 'kitten'. It must be a friendly thing humans do.

I reach out my hand and stroke her ear once, running the tip of my finger along the curve. The skin is so soft, and slightly velvety. Fascinating.

Hawke starts slightly and twists her head back to look at me, eyes wide. She looks surprised. Did I do it wrong? Uh-oh. Maybe I should say something. "Your ears are turning red, Hawke. Are you getting hot?" She turns even redder, if that's possible. "Perhaps you're too close to the fire," I continue, trying to be helpful.

She clears her throat, speaking at last. "Perhaps you're right."

She unbuckles the sandals rather more quickly than when she put them on and stands, handing them to me. "There you are. See, not too difficult." I'm not sure I agree, but I nod anyway.

"Thank you, lethallan. I'm very grateful."

"You're welcome, Merrill." We smile at each other.

Carver chooses this moment to give an exceptionally loud snore, and Hawke covers her mouth to smother a laugh, gazing at him fondly. I wonder at the bond between them, sometimes. It's obvious that Hawke loves her brother very much. His feelings are much less clear, though I do believe he loves her as well. He isn't always very nice to her, though. He seems to be so... angry and bitter about the fact that she is a mage, which makes me very uncomfortable, too. Hawke told me once that Carver does understand that magic itself isn't evil, and he doesn't hate mages, exactly. She says it wasn't easy for him; always having to move around from place to place to keep his father and sisters out of the Circle. I suppose I understand. Though protecting our mages from the Templars is one of the reasons the Dalish clans move around so often and yet no one resents us for that; everyone knows that mages aren't to blame for being born with magic. I look out for my clan just as they look out for me, because we're a family. Or were, I suppose. Oh, stop it, Merrill, you'll only make yourself miserable if you keep thinking about it.

Sandal has finished with my staff and is already fast asleep in his bedroll, Bodahn settling himself down in his blankets close by his side. The rest of the camp appears to be bedding down too, apart from the sentries, of course.

Varric finishes arranging his blankets and lies down, resting Bianca carefully beside him. He grunts, shifting uncomfortably. "Nothing like sleeping on the cold, hard ground in a pit of Darkspawn to make you appreciate what you used to have," he grumbles. "Maker's breath, but I miss my nice soft bed in the Hanged Man. Miss the... company, too."

"But Varric, I'm here, and Hawke, and Sandal, and Bodahn, and Carver. And your brother, too, I suppose. There's plenty of company here," I remind him, a little puzzled.

"I think Varric was delicately referring to 'hired companionship', Merrill," Hawke says in that wry manner of hers, wrapping herself in her blanket and curling up before the fire.

"Were you, Varric? But there are lots of men down here with us. You and Bartrand hired them, for the expedition. Don't they count as hired companions?" I ask curiously, spreading out my bedroll between her and Varric, who glances at me, chuckling.

"They're, uh, not really the kind of companionship I'm looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Daisy." I sigh at those familiar words. I've missed something again.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm actually starting to miss sharing bunk beds with Mother and Carver," Hawke sighs, rolling onto her back and closing her eyes.

"Bartrand thinks we should find the old ruins we're looking for soon, perhaps tomorrow, or the day after. I hope he's right; the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave," Varric mutters drowsily. Hawke makes a noise of sleepy agreement.

I sit up a little longer, my arms around my knees, watching both of them as they drift off. My friends. We may be as deep underground as you can get, stumbling about in the darkness with shades and hurlocks and all manner of nasty creatures trying to kill and eat us, but at least we're together. It'd be nice if Isabela was here too, though I'm sure she'd be even more uncomfortable underground than I am. She'd be talking about how much she was missing the sea around the city, the salt spray, the wind, the screaming gulls, the rolling sway of the ships in the harbour, up and down, up and down... ugh, now I'm making myself feel sick, just like when we came in the ship to Kirkwall. Isabela said I wouldn't get seasick if I was up on deck instead of in the hold, and I'm sure she knows what she's talking about, being a pirate and all, but I think I can live without finding out for certain. Not unless I absolutely have to. My eyelids are starting to feel heavy, now. I suppose I'd better get some sleep; it will likely be another long, tiring, Darkspawn filled day tomorrow.

"Merrill..."

Her whisper is so quiet I almost miss it. I glance down at her, but her eyes are still closed, she's not awake. Hawke stirs in her sleep, and murmurs again, even softer. I strain my ears, trying to hear her.

"...always keep you safe... I promise," she breathes.

My eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat. I smile down at her sleeping face, so peaceful and lovely in the firelight. "I know you will," I say softly. I glance around. There doesn't seem to be anyone nearby. Nobody awake, anyway. I lean down quickly and brush my lips against her forehead, just for a moment. She sighs quietly and smiles in her sleep, and I lie down on my bedroll, pulling the rough blanket up under my chin, beaming up into the space where the sky should be before my eyes slowly flutter closed. She is dreaming of me. I don't know why I felt so surrounded by darkness, before. There's not a shadow in sight, not with her here.

"Goodnight, Hawke," I whisper.

She dreams of me, too...