And here we are, at the beginning of Act 2. Three years is a long time for two people to have feelings for one another and do absolutely nothing about it, and so I've tried to give both Merrill and Hawke reasons for their hesitancy (other than just their shyness and insecurity when it comes to their feelings about each other). Don't know how successful or believable it is, but keep in mind that people can be stupid, scared and stubbornly blind about stuff like this. But I'm sure we all know that. This chapter leads into Merrill's Act 2 companion quest, which I wanted to post as well, but I haven't even nearly finished it yet, unfortunately. I got a bit stuck on it, but it's coming along a little better now, I think. I wanted to give you something in the meantime, at least; however this will mean that there isn't really a definitive sort of ending to this chapter, if I'm using that word right. Sorry about that. I'll try and finish the next part ASAP. :D

xxx H xxx

"I've no idea why he's asking for you, and by name, no less. But he is determined to put his request before you and no other, Serah Hawke. Therefore, I must leave the satisfaction of the Arishok's demands in your hands," Marlowe Dumar declares, regarding me with a grave countenance. I sigh inwardly at this sudden new headache I've acquired, but I'm careful to keep it out of my face as the Viscount of Kirkwall steps out from behind his cluttered desk, moving to stand in front of me as he solemnly continues; "Speak to the Arishok. Give him what he needs to keep the peace. Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?"

I consider this rather odd request for a moment, noting the deep worry lines etched into his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes. Poor old fellow. I certainly don't envy him his position. And I suppose it wouldn't hurt to graciously offer him my help, since he's been forced to stoop so low as to act as a messenger boy between me, an upstart refugee-turned-noble, and the Arishok, heathen leader of the heretical giants still squatting persistently in the Lowtown docks. Although frankly I would have thought he'd consider it a nice change from trying to deal with the squabbles of the Knight Commander and First Enchanter. I incline my head respectfully, acceding to his request. "I am always willing to assist, your Excellency."

"Well, that is an attitude this city has lacked for a long time," Dumar says, his thin lips turning up slightly in a semblance of a smile. "Appease the Arishok. Take his demand, and let him return to dormancy. As awkward as this has been, it's better than the alternative. I would prefer to keep the city intact." He nods at me in curt dismissal before rubbing tiredly at his forehead as I take the hint and turn to leave. "It's heading for a fall, I know it is," I hear him mutter quietly to himself as he settles back at his desk, apparently believing me to be out of earshot. "Stepping down is looking more and more appealing." Now I know he can't have meant for me to hear that.

Seneschal Bran brushes busily past me as I step out of the Viscount's office, offering me a perfunctory nod as he slips back through the door with a fresh bundle of vitally important documents to harass the already beleaguered old man with. I let the door close behind him and quicken my steps, suddenly anxious to get out of the dark, depressing stuffiness of the Keep. I walk briskly through the petitioners' hall and push through the doors, sighing with profound relief as I leave the oppressively gloomy seat of Kirkwall authority behind and step back into the sunlight and the clean, fresh air of Hightown.

On the surface, the city has hardly changed at all over the years. Hightown is still rich, colourful and elegant, basking in the bright light of the Maker; Lowtown is still a miserable rat-warren reeking of poverty and desperation. And as for Darktown, well, nothing ever changes down there apart from whichever street gang currently rules from the shadows of Kirkwall's nefarious under-city. The only real difference is an increase in the simmering undercurrent of tension in the city, fuelled at least in part by the conflict between the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander. According to Anders, this is causing growing unrest both within the alliance of free mages he is mysteriously involved with, and amongst the Circle mages. But the biggest cause is undeniably the presence of the Qunari. Understandable, since they generally come as conquerors. Even more so because their reasons for remaining here are difficult to understand, if all they're waiting for is a ship home. Surely one would have come by now? I don't know much about sailing, but I don't see why it would take three years to sail from Par Vollen to Kirkwall. Unless they keep getting lost, but are too proud to ask for directions. Either that; or anyone they approach flees screaming hysterically in the opposite direction. Given the reputation of the Qunari as brutal and merciless invaders, that is definitely a possibility. If I were the Viscount, I'd seriously consider just giving them a damn ship already, if that's really all they want.

The sun is very high overhead now; it must be drawing close to midday. I suppose I'd better get moving on the Viscount's task. Considering how important Dumar kept insisting it is, I probably shouldn't waste any time. I'd really rather not face the Arishok without company, though, and I know just who I'm going to ask first.

I start out immediately through the streets of Hightown, my steps automatically tracing the familiar path down the steps into Lowtown, heading for the alienage, and Merrill's tiny ramshackle house. It's been a while since I've seen her, come to think of it. I try to go to her house as often as I can to see her and also to make certain she's taking care of herself, and I know Varric and Isabela do the same, sometimes. She's grown more and more distracted and withdrawn, even from us; working busily on something with an almost single-minded dedication, but she won't tell any of us what she's doing. Whatever it is, it's taken up a lot of her time, of late. Sometimes she even opts to stay at home rather than join us for a night at the Hanged Man, or a day trip to the Wounded Coast. I suppose it must have something to do with her mysterious plan to help her people, but it's getting a little worrying, to be frank.

Unfortunately, I haven't had the time to get down to the alienage nearly as much as I would like; something always seems to come up and get in my way. Maker, I think it's been more than a week now! How could I leave it so long? I would have gone sooner, and far more frequently, only Mother keeps finding little excuses to throw parties for our noble neighbours, or to grace their own grand soirees with her presence, catching up on her old acquaintances and involving me either by 'requesting' my help to plan these elaborately dull affairs at our estate, or dragging me along when she attends theirs. I find it all incredibly tedious, but whenever I try to protest she gives me a stern look and takes me to task as though I were still no more than a recalcitrant child. What can I do? She is firmly in her element back amongst the Kirkwall elite, but I feel I am completely out of place. Still, I owe it to her to make her happy. Most of my time and effort since Carver died has gone into taking care of her; getting back her old childhood home, (or my 'ancestral home', as she refers to it) and making a name for myself among these fancy Hightown fops. All so I can give her the kind of life that, truth be told, she's always been most comfortable with. As a result, and to my shame and regret, I often haven't had much time for the people hold as dear to me as family. Or dearer still, in one special case. Well. I think it's high time I remedy that.

Even after so much time, walking the dirty Lowtown streets makes me feel far more comfortable than I ever am in Hightown. I suppose I'm drawn in by the familiar scents and sounds. The salt spray in the cool sea breeze coming straight from the docks, tinged with the smell of oakum, and tar, and old, dead fish. The occasional well-feigned pants and moans that issue from the darkest corners of back alleyways, the unmistakeable sound of freelance whores plying their trade, even in the middle of the day. Somehow even the foul smell of the garbage and refuse littering the gutters contributes to the character of this dingy, wild, ungovernable place. It seems I actually miss it here, even the revolting smells and horrible noises. I didn't see that coming, that's for damn sure.

A few of the elves stop in the middle of their activities as I step through the gates into the high-walled alienage, some openly staring at the human suddenly in their midst, others offering me a gracious nod as I pass them, and a few even calling out a polite word of greeting. Most of them are used to seeing me here, even if they've never had reason or inclination to speak to me. I return their varying degrees of welcome with a cordial nod or a friendly smile as I pass them, briskly crossing the well-swept centre square to the small house nestled in the opposite corner. I tap gently at the rough wood of Merrill's door and wait, and then knock again a little louder after my first attempt elicits no response from within.

At last the door suddenly opens a crack, and a pair of bright emerald eyes peep out cautiously at me from the shadowy interior. They widen slightly in apparent surprise, and then Merrill flings open the door and steps hurriedly out into the alienage square, pulling the door tightly shut behind her.

"Hawke! Hello!"

I suppress a frown as I take note of her somewhat shifty behaviour. She actually looked surprised to see me just now. Have I done something to upset her? I know it's been a couple of days since I've been to see her, but it isn't the first time I've been kept away, and she's never hesitated to welcome me in before, seating me at her little table and fussing over me with an endearingly flustered air. But now she won't even let me in. I feel a stab of shame; I should have made more of an effort to come here more often.

Merrill's eyes light up as she gazes at me, beaming, and my worries ease a little. She certainly doesn't look angry with me. "Oh, it's so good to see you! I missed you, lethallan, I'm glad you've come!" she says happily, starting forward and hugging me excitedly.

I smile in relief and return her hug fiercely. "I've missed you too, Merrill. I'm sorry, it's been a little while since my last visit here, hasn't it?"

She nods quickly as she lets go, stepping back to look up at me, her face suddenly serious. "Yes, it's been almost exactly nine days and four hours since you last came to see me, and you didn't stay for very long, because a runner came looking for you to tell you your mother needed you for a... a 'fitting session'."

"Nine days? Really?" I rub the back of my neck, feeling even more ashamed. "I'm sorry, Merrill. I shouldn't let Mother boss me around so much. I'd have come back sooner, but..."

She tilts her head, giving me a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Hawke, I know you've been very busy, after all. So have I."

"Yes, I've noticed," I say, regarding her thoughtfully. "We have that in common of late, it seems. Want to tell me what you've been up to?"

She gives a little shrug, and ducks her head, avoiding my eyes. Well, that's not at all suspicious. "Oh, just... just trying to learn more about Dalish history, you know, looking for old books, and scrolls, and, um, artefacts."

Is that all? Why be so secretive about it, then? "That sounds fascinating. Anything I can help with?"

"Thank you, Hawke, but it's nothing important, really," she says, shaking her head a little. "At least, nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure."

I open my mouth to protest, feeling my concern grow at her evasiveness, but she continues before I can speak:

"Let's go and sit under the vhenadahl for a bit, shall we?" She grabs my hand and gestures to the giant tree behind me, talking fast. Well, faster than usual. "I feel like being outside. It's such a lovely day!"

Her face is a little flushed as she looks up at me, and her eyes dart about nervously, not quite meeting my gaze. Why do I get the feeling she's trying to change the subject? Doesn't she trust me? Well... if it's something to do with her people, I suppose I can understand her decision not to share it with a human. In all my dealings with the Dalish so far, I've come to understand that, though some like Marethari are welcoming to humans, the rest range from the barely tolerant to the openly hostile. It's understandable, given our history, but it makes me think; if Merrill does intend to rejoin her clan someday, I doubt her clan will approve of her maintaining a friendship with a human, let alone anything... more. But now I'm sure I'm reading too much into it. She probably just wants to do it on her own, as a matter of honour, or maybe pride. Whatever it is she's doing.

Merrill tugs on my hand, leading me over to the giant old tree in the middle of the square and seating herself on the bare ground beneath its spreading branches, wriggling a little until she finds a comfortable spot. A pair of elves perched on a crate nearby glance at her briefly, and then stand, moving out from under the shade of the tree, walking hastily away from us. I glare at their retreating backs, suddenly full of righteous indignation on Merrill's behalf. The elves here are still as unwelcoming towards her as ever, I see. Merrill watches them go, a faint look of sorrow on her face, but then she blinks, her expression clearing, and looks at me curiously as I sit beside her. "What did that messenger boy mean by 'fitting session', anyway? When your mother sent him to bring you home?"

I sigh heavily, leaning back against a crate at the base of the tree. "Mother engaged the services of that Hightown tailor, Jean Luc, so she could 'supplement my wardrobe with some less practical attire.' I had to spend the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon suffering a dressmaker with very cold hands prodding and poking at me with a measuring cord, and some rather sharp pins."

"Well, that doesn't sound very pleasant," Merrill says sympathetically, frowning up at me.

"It really wasn't," I agree, grimacing slightly at the memory. "At least, I didn't think so. It seems the nobles in Kirkwall have nothing better to do than throw a ball every other night, and a party on the alternating evenings. And Mother simply has to attend every damn one, and bring me with her to, well, present me, I suppose. She's stepped back into her old life a little too eagerly for my liking. I suspect she's trying to marry me off to some noble lordling." I frown in disgust. "The other day she made some comment about Seneschal Bran having a son about my age. It seems she's determined to give me an 'advantageous match'."

"Oh..." She bites her lip, looking down for a moment, twisting her hands together in her lap before lifting her head to look at me with an overly bright smile that sits oddly on her rosy lips. "Is that why you're dressed like that, then? Are you going to a party now?"

I blink in startled confusion and look down at myself, suddenly realising that I'm still in the clothes Mother insisted I wear to my meeting with the Viscount; a fine white silk shirt with golden trim, well-shined black leather boots over dark grey breeches, and a rich crimson cloak thrown about my shoulders, clasped with a heavy golden cloak-pin shaped like the stylised twin eagles of the Amell ancestral crest. Maker only knows where Mother found that. No wonder I attracted so many stares as I made my way here, I must look ridiculously out of place. I'm certainly aware of it now, as I notice Merrill examining me with an odd look in her eyes. I can hardly blame her; I'm sure I look as silly as I feel."No, there aren't any dull gatherings of stuffy self-entitled nobles tonight, thank the Maker! Actually, I had to see the Viscount."

"Oh!" she exclaims, and her smile becomes much more natural, her face resuming its usual cheerful expression. "So, you won't be getting married to any noble lords any time soon, then?"

I shake my head in firm denial, feeling my features twist in horror at the thought. "Not if I can bloody help it! That seems to be one of Mother's slightly delusional dreams for me, unfortunately for her, but..." I trail off, gazing at her sweet face for a few moments, until I realise she is looking back at me with a bewildered expression. Maker, what must I look like, openly staring at her like that? I give myself a mental shake and continue hurriedly, feeling foolish. "It certainly isn't what I want. No, the Viscount has... requested... my help. He's concerned about the growing influence of the Qunari, and the tension they are causing in the city."

"Yes, I've heard a lot of people talking about them lately," she says, frowning seriously. "Everyone seems to be a little scared of them, don't they? It's understandable, I suppose, since they're so big, and bulky, and all. But they're a lot taller than I am, and I don't think they're all that scary, not really, anyway. What did the Viscount want?"

"He said the Arishok demanded to speak to me. Apparently he asked for me by name, which is a little unnerving, since he never asked for it when we spoke three years ago, and I never gave it to him." I shrug, at a loss to explain it to myself, much less to her. I smile wryly. "I guess I must have sparked his interest."

Merrill nods in agreement. "Well, you do tend to do that," she says seriously, though there's a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'll bet that's it, then. Maybe he just likes you more than the Viscount. He probably thinks talking to you might be a bit more fascinating."

"You may have something there; I can be endlessly fascinating, if I so choose," I grin. "Although, perhaps 'like' is a strong word. It's probably more accurate to say that he has slightly less contempt for me than anyone else he's met here." She gives a quiet little chuckle at that, which turns abruptly into a tired yawn that she tries unsuccessfully to stifle. I study her face for a moment, suddenly noticing the dark circles under her eyes. There's a faint pallor to her skin, now that I look more closely. I frown in concern. "Are you alright, Merrill? You look a little pale. Have you been eating enough?"

"Oh, yes, Hawke, don't worry, Varric has been getting a boy to deliver food right to my house, just to make sure I don't fade away, as he puts it. He said you gave him money for it, when I thanked him, so I suppose I should thank you too, shouldn't I?" She scratches at her head a little nervously as she babbles, and my eyes fall on a fresh bandage tied suspiciously around her palm. She seems to notice the direction of my gaze, and drops her hand hastily.

"So do you know what the Arishok wants, exactly?" she says, changing the subject again.

I feel my frown deepen a little, but decide not to press her about it. At least, not right now. "I've no idea. The Viscount couldn't give me anything useful, either. He just urged me to find out."

"So you just have to go talk to him? Well, that doesn't sound too hard to do, unless of course what the Arishok wants is for you to build him a ship, or something," Merrill says, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. "Isabela could probably help with that, although she'd probably have built one for herself by now if she could. But anyway, I suppose being in the Viscount's good books wouldn't hurt, would it?"

I nod. "That was my thought. It could be highly useful if the Templars start to take an interest in me, which is becoming all the more likely since Mother insists on trying to involve me in bloody 'noble' society. Makes it a lot harder to go unnoticed with someone standing behind you, waving their arms and yelling 'Hey everyone, look over here!'" She giggles, and I smile; both at the delightful sound of her voice and at the amusing image my words create in my head. I glance at the sun to judge the time, and then stand, absently brushing a few specks of dirt from my clothing. I'd better get this job over and done with, as much as I'd like to linger here instead. But sadly, duty calls. Back to the reason I came, then. "I should start heading to the docks now. Do you want to come with me?"

Her face breaks into a wide smile, and she nods her head enthusiastically. "Yes, of course I do! Just let me get my staff." She jumps to her feet eagerly, bounding out from under the shade of the tree and slipping back inside her house for a moment, half closing the door behind her. I follow her over to her door, peering curiously through the opening after her as she disappears into her bedroom, but I can't see any signs of whatever has been keeping her so busy. I shouldn't pry, but, well, I'm a little concerned, frankly. I examine what I can see of the small front room carefully, but am none the wiser by the time she returns, staff grasped tightly in her hand.

"I'm ready, Hawke!" Merrill declares brightly, closing her door firmly behind her. "Are we bringing anyone else? What about Isabela? And Varric, too? They'd love to come along, I'm sure!"

"Well, I think Varric will want to, at least, although I'm not sure Isabela will be all that keen. No harm in asking her, though." I pause for a moment, looking down thoughtfully at my ostentatious outfit. "Actually, if you can go and ask them, I might look around in the market and see if I can't find something a little more fitting to wear for a trip to the docks."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that, Hawke," she protests, her eyes wide with sincerity. "You look very nice, you really do! Very... noble."

"Therein lies the source of my discomfort," I say, though my mouth curls in a half smile at her earnest compliment. "But thank you. It's not just that, though. This fancy get-up is appropriate for making a good impression on the ruler of Kirkwall, but I'm not sure it will have quite the same effect on the Arishok. Probably the opposite, in fact. I won't be long. You can find your way to the Hanged Man on your own, right? That way you can have them both ready by the time I get there."

She considers briefly, and then nods with determination. "Yes, I can do that. After three years, I really should be able to at least manage that without getting lost, shouldn't I?"

"You can do it," I reassure her affectionately. "I have complete confidence in you. Now remember, what's your story if a Templar asks what the big staff is for?"

She clutches both hands around her staff and leans heavily on it, adopting a piteous expression as she looks up at me, wide-eyed. "'It's only my walking stick, Messere Templar, ser. I stepped in a leg-hold trap in the forest when I was small, and now I'll never be able to walk properly without it,'" she says in a plaintive tone, demonstrating a couple of hobbling steps, throwing in a few sniffling, pained whimpers for good measure. She's certainly gotten a lot better at deception and artifice under the careful tutelage of Varric, Isabela and myself. Not sure if that's really such a good thing, but unfortunately, sometimes it has proved to be necessary.

"Very good!" I laugh appreciatively at her little performance. "Enough to fool the most experienced mage-hunter."

She straightens and beams up at me at the compliment. "I'm glad you think so. I've been practising."

"It shows," I assure her as we walk across to the stairs up to the street. "Let's get going, then. You go ahead and ask Isabela and Varric if they want to come with us, and I'll meet you at the Hanged Man before you know I've gone anywhere."

xxx M xxx

"I kind of like the Qunari," Varric says, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks at the grumpy-looking guard standing in front of the compound gates, who glowers very crossly at us as we approach him. "You always know what they want: absolutely nothing. Well, except for whatever they want from you, Hawke. Hope the Arishok is in a good mood today."

Hawke makes a small noise of agreement, pulling at the hem of her tunic, adjusting it absently. I could swear she looks a little nervous, but that can't be true, I must be seeing things, surely. Hawke never looks nervous. Although I suppose she has a right to be, since the Arishok wants to talk to her. He's the biggest, grumpiest Qunari of the lot, after all. "Best not to keep him waiting, in any case," she says firmly. "Let's go and find out what he wants from me."

She straightens her shoulders resolutely, flashes us a confident smile, and turns towards the compound, striding quickly. She doesn't look the least bit uneasy any more. That's good; I won't be nervous either, then, although to be honest, I do find the Qunari just a little intimidating, despite what I said to Hawke, before. I am glad Varric and Isabela wanted to come with us, even though I'm not sure Isabela really listened to what I said we were going to do; I think she was too busy being surprised that I didn't get lost on my way to the Hanged Man. Hawke arrived not long after I did, with a simple dark blue tunic, and plain tan breeches she found in a clothes shop just down the street from the alienage. Isabela said she could get changed in her rooms, and offered to go with her, to help her undress, she said, but Hawke just laughed and told her she'd be fine. I really sort of wish she hadn't decided to get changed, though. Hawke looks nice no matter what she's wearing, of course, but I did like the way she looked in her fine noble clothes; striking and valiant, like a hero from one of Varric's stories, only not make-believe. I suppose I am glad that she doesn't really feel comfortable dressed like that, in a way; it means she hasn't changed despite living in Hightown with the fancy noble lords and ladies, and all.

Isabela pauses suddenly in front of me as Hawke reaches the compound steps. "Uh... I think I'll just wait out here."

I step up beside her, looking up at her in concern as Hawke stops and turns back to look at her too, frowning slightly. "You ran off the last time I had to come here as well, as I recall," she says slowly. "What's the problem, Isabela?"

"Nothing, really. You go ahead. I just remembered... something."

Hawke lifts an eyebrow. "Convincing."

Isabela shrugs, looking away from Hawke. "Look, maybe they just make me a little uncomfortable, alright?" she says, fiddling with one of her round earrings. I've never seen her do that before, she's behaving very oddly. "I won't go anywhere. Come find me when you're done talking to the big goat-horns."

Hawke studies her closely for a moment, then nods slowly. "Alright, if that's what you want."

I suppose the Qunari make Isabela a little nervous. I don't blame her, really; they are a bit big and just a little scary-looking, although I suppose I really shouldn't judge them by appearances alone. I understand if she doesn't want to go in there, though. Maybe I should stay with her; it isn't really as though Hawke will need me to help talk to the Arishok, anyway. I'd probably just say something stupid and make him cross. Well, even crosser than normal, at least. And Varric won't let anything happen to Hawke if the talk goes badly, not that I think it will, of course, or I wouldn't stay outside while Hawke went in without me. But I don't like to see Isabela looking so uneasy; it seems wrong, somehow. I reach up to pat her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll stay with you if you like, Isabela."

She smiles, and ruffles my hair. "Thanks, kitten."

Hawke's frown deepens, a little, but she doesn't argue. "Alright, then. See you in a few minutes, assuming all goes well." She sighs, and motions for Varric to follow her. "We'd better hurry up and go inside, Varric."

"Right behind you, Hawke." He falls in step at her back, and they walk together up the steps to speak to the Qunari guard at the compound entrance for a moment before they disappear through the gates and out of sight.

Isabela crosses the street and lounges casually against the wall opposite the compound gates, bracing one booted foot against the wall as she tilts her head up to gaze at the clear blue sky, arms crossed. I go and stand beside her, leaning my back against the warm stone to wait for Hawke to come out of the compound. I watch the stern Qunari soldier guarding the entrance for a moment. A thought occurs to me suddenly, and I turn to look up at Isabela.

"How do you suppose the Qunari scratch their heads with those horns in the way?"

She twists her head to look down at me, a bemused expression on her face. "Why do you think I would know?"

"Because you know lots of things!" I tell her. Isn't it obvious? She knows so much about everything! "I wonder if they rub their heads against tree trunks like halla do."

Her lips twist in a smirk, and she gives a little chuckle, turning to look at the gate guard with a raised eyebrow. "I'd pay a sovereign to see that."

I study the stone-faced Qunari soldier in front of the compound gates closely. "No wonder they seem so cranky all the time," I muse. "You know Isabela, I understand you not wanting to go into the Qunari compound. They are a little intimidating, aren't they? They're so big and grim!" I tilt my head to one side, regarding the big Qunari thoughtfully. "I've never seen a Qunari laugh or smile at all, not even a little bit. Do you think they can? What do you suppose would happen if I tickled one of them?"

"Best not to find out, kitten," Isabela says, a note of dry amusement in her voice. She suddenly lets out a heartfelt sigh. What was that for? Is she alright? I hope it wasn't something I said, although I'm not sure how anything we just talked about could have upset her, really. I pull my gaze away from the grumpy Qunari guard and look up at her worriedly. She is staring down towards the docks, looking at the boats in the harbour with a wistful expression. Oh. Poor Isabela. It must be very hard to be a pirate, and a captain at that, without a ship. It would be like... like being a griffon without feathers, or Varric without Bianca. Or Aveline without any criminals to hit.

"You really miss it, don't you?" I ask her quietly. "Sailing, I mean."

She nods, her eyes still on the harbour, and the expanse of sea beyond. "I think sometimes I'd even give up sex and liquor if only I could get my hands on the helm of a ship again. Well, maybe not sex. Or liquor. Anyway, my point is, yes, I do miss sailing, kitten. Very much. It's what I live for." I can hear a note of longing in her voice, which is more subdued than usual, as well. She sounds very sad, all of a sudden.

"I'm sure you'll have another ship someday, Isabela. Maybe Hawke can help you get one," I suggest, trying to make her feel better.

She smiles, and looks down at me. "Maybe she could, at that. Thanks, kitten," she says, slinging an arm across my shoulders and giving me a little hug. She looks back at the ships for a moment, then gives herself a slight shake. "Of course, it's not always fun and games on the sea, though," she says, sounding a lot louder and brighter, much more like her normal self. "There are storms and hostile pirates. And it's trying being cooped up with men who haven't seen a woman in months."

What does she mean? They'd see her, wouldn't they? If they were all on the same ship together? "You're a woman."

"Exactly," she says, nodding. Exactly what? What does she mean? I listen carefully as she continues, trying to understand. "And I don't usually let them touch me, so they get... frustrated." She looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. "I insist all of them get... alone time. Helps with the crankiness."

I frown in confusion; I can't see how that makes any sense at all. "But they're already lonely! Why would you insist that they be alone some more?"

She sighs deeply. "Merrill."

Oh, what have I said now? "What? Did I miss something?"

"Go think about it, later," she says, looking at me with a very discouraging mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Maybe it'll come to you."

I look at her, narrowing my eyes a little. If she won't tell me, then that must mean... "It was something dirty, wasn't? Couldn't you just explain it to me? Please?"

"Maybe when you're older."

I very nearly stamp my foot in frustration at hearing those irritating words again. "I do wish everyone would stop saying that. I am not a child any longer. I came of age years ago when I earned the privilege of wearing the vallaslin. It is written on my face for all to see!" I run a fingertip along my cheek where the marks of adulthood show clearly on my skin. "The Keeper would not have applied the blood writing if she did not think I was ready for adult responsibilities and knowledge. And besides, how will I learn about such things if no one answers my questions?"

For a moment, Isabela looks quite surprised at my outburst, but then she suddenly cocks her head to one side, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully with a finger. "Hm. You have me there." She meets my gaze with a challenging sort of look in her amber eyes, and nods decisively. "Alright, kitten, from now on, if you have any questions regarding dirty things, I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. But be careful what you wish for."

Well... that's good, then. I think. What should I ask her, then? I can't really think of anything I want to ask about, except... well...

Before, when were sitting together under the vhenadahl; when I was talking to Hawke about the nobles, and her mother wanting her to... to marry... I thought I saw a... a look in her eyes, just for a moment, when she gazed at me. What did it mean? Unless I just imagined it. But if I didn't... if anyone would know what to do about it, it's Isabela, surely... but...

I shouldn't ask about that. I shouldn't even think about it anymore. I tried, for a long time, I tried not to think of Hawke so much, especially after she moved her mother to Hightown, and became so involved with all the lords and nobles. I tried to think instead of how when I fix the eluvian, I would take it back to the clan, and they would see that I was right. They would see how much of our past we can reclaim because of it, and they would accept me back. But then I would have responsibilities to fulfil, to my clan, and to all the Elvhen. I'd resume my position as First to Marethari, and then one day become the Keeper of the Sabrae clan. And there could be no place for a human in this future I envision; the clan, indeed, all of the People would not allow it. When I thought of that, I could console myself with the reasoning that it could never have been, in any case.

But then... the way Hawke looked at me before, when she said everything she'd been doing was just for her mother, and that she didn't really want any of it herself, especially marrying some noble lord, something in her eyes made me think that maybe... if there was just a chance that she might... that she could ever consider... could I give up the possibility of ever returning to my clan on so frail and slight a hope?

Could I?

Yes. If there's even the smallest chance... Hawke is so wonderful, and I'm probably just fooling myself, but if there's a chance, then maybe Isabela can help. She's so worldly, and she knows a lot about... about this sort of thing, doesn't she? I bite my lip nervously, then summon my courage and look up at her. "Isabela, when you want to... to be with someone... what do you do?"

She glances at me with a look of bemusement. "'Be with someone'? You may have to be a little more specific, kitten."

I scratch at my head uncertainly. Am I not saying it right? Or is she just teasing me? Oh, I wish she wouldn't, not just now. This is hard enough for me as it is."You know, to be together. With someone. Um... romantically?"

She chuckles as she looks at me, an odd glint in her golden eyes."Well, now, this is intriguing! Are we talking love or lust, here? Because I'm afraid I can only help you out with the latter. Why?" She leans down towards me, raising one of her eyebrows and grinning in quite a fiendish manner, the way she does when she's about to say something to make me blush. Oh, dear. "Do you have an itch that needs scratching, kitten? Shall I treat you to a night at the Blooming Rose?"

"No!" I blush fiercely, just as I knew I would. Just as she knew I would, too, I suppose; that's why she said it after all, isn't it? I try to keep going, to ask her again, a different way. Maybe that will help."W-well, I... what I mean is..." I can't think of how to ask, now. This isn't going at all how I thought. Her grin grows wider as she watches me stuttering hopelessly. Does she have to make it so difficult? "Oh, Isabela, haven't you ever been in love?"

Her smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a somewhat stunned expression. "In...! What?" She looks very taken aback all of a sudden, staring at me, apparently at a loss for words. "Maker's balls, what made you ask that, Merrill?" A look of sudden realisation flashes across her face, and she peers at me intently, her wicked grin swiftly reappearing. "Hold on, are you... Oh, my little kitten, have you been holding out on me? Are you in love with someone? A lovely young elf from the alienage, perhaps?"

I shake my head, suddenly feeling a little sad. "No. No one from the alienage talks to me, usually. I don't know if it's because they're sort of afraid of me, maybe, although I don't think any of them know about my..." I remember where we are, suddenly, and glance around before lowering my voice to a whisper. "My blood magic. Perhaps they're uncomfortable with having a Dalish around, or... maybe they just don't like me. Whatever the reason, most of them avoid me as much as they can."

"They don't know what they're missing, sweetness," Isabela says kindly. "But then, who is it? Surely it's not Anders, or Varric, is it? How about that handsome Chantry fellow who says he's a prince, what's his name, Sebastian? I can certainly understand that, kitten, even if he does seem a bit preachy and self-righteous for my liking. No? Hmm..."

Her frown grows deeper as I shake my head more persistently with each name she tries. Now she's gone through nearly every name but the right one. As embarrassed as I am by her questioning, it's more than a little disheartening that it truly hasn't occurred to her yet; unless it seems too foolish for her to even consider. My head droops a little, and Isabela glances at me, her brow furrowed in perplexity and concern.

"Don't tell me it's our broody, smouldering, snow-haired friend?"

Who... Elgar'nan! I raise my head, gazing at her reproachfully. "You can't mean... Fenris? Oh, no, Isabela, it isn't him, of course not." She thought of him before Hawke? Is it really such a hopeless idea?

"Well, that's good to hear. I suppose I didn't really think it would be, the way he treats you. But then, who could it be? Come on, don't keep me in suspense! Who is it? Is it someone I know?"

I blush again, deeper, and don't say anything; I can't find my voice, suddenly. But my eyes flick to the Qunari compound of their own accord, searching out the place where I last saw Hawke as she slipped lithely through the compound gates after Varric.

Isabela follows my gaze with a puzzled expression, and then her eyes widen and she looks at me sharply, a slow, delighted smile creeping across her face. "Oh. Ohh! Our fearless leader, hmm?" I feel my face grow hotter, and her grin grows even wider, eyes glinting wickedly. "Oh, kitten, that's adorable! Since when?"

"I-I don't know." I stutter, faltering nervously under her penetrating gaze. "Since... always, it feels like."

"Really?" She shakes her head wryly. "Oh, I should be ashamed of myself; how did I not see this before? You've become too adept at hiding things, kitten!" She crosses her arms and stares down at me; I think she's trying to look stern, for some reason. "So let's hear it, then: what exactly is your excuse for not making a move on her before now?"

I blink at her stupidly. Me? Make a... a 'move' on Hawke? I'm not even sure I fully understand what that even means, let alone how to try. And anyway, if it means what I sort of think it does, then that's what I'm trying to ask her about! "I... well... I didn't think... we've both been so busy, and..." I raise my shoulders in a helpless shrug, gazing up at her plaintively."Oh, Isabela, I wouldn't even know what to do, anyway. And..." I lower my head. "Even if I did, Hawke wouldn't want me to... would she? I mean, I am an elf, after all."

A gentle arm curling around my shoulders makes me look up again. Isabela holds my eyes, looking as serious as I've ever seen her."Oh, kitten, you know Hawke. Do you really think that would matter to her?" She gives my shoulder a firm squeeze, one corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. "Besides, Merrill, I may have failed to notice your infatuation, to my everlasting shame and disgrace, but on this I'm completely certain: Hawke absolutely worships you. She isn't exactly obvious about it, true, but she can't fool me; I've seen the way she looks at you. She's just, well, too scared to do anything about it."

I frown, bristling on Hawke's behalf at the suggestion that she could be scared by something like this. She wouldn't be scared, surely! She's not like me. "But Hawke isn't afraid of anything, Isabela!" Then it suddenly hits me, the rest of what she said. Did she really just say...? No, I can't have heard that right, can I? There's a strange feeling in my chest, almost like a dull ache, only it doesn't hurt; just the opposite, in fact. "Wait... did you say she... worships me? Really? Why didn't you tell me so?"

She sighs, and rubs at her forehead uncomfortably with her free hand."I suppose if I were better at being a friend, I should have said something to you before, although it's probably none of my business. But to be honest I just never expected you to feel the same way about her. And really, I'm not exactly the best matchmaker in Thedas."

I feel... I don't know what to think. I'm a little in shock; I feel like I could fly. Or maybe fall over. I look up at her apprehensively. She is telling the truth, isn't she? It would be too cruel if she is only joking. "She really... You aren't... you aren't just teasing me, are you?"

She shakes her head, smiling. "Of course not, kitten. Not about something like this. She absolutely adores you. I'm delighted, to be honest. I was beginning to think Hawke would pine away forever and never get over her all-consuming obsession with you. Now she won't have to, if you two can both just stop being so bloody timid and shy with each other."

She adores me. The odd sensation in my chest is growing stronger; it feels like my heart is going to jump right out and soar off into the sky, singing just like a little songbird. Except... she said she didn't think I could think of Hawke this way. In Mythal's name, why not? I search her face anxiously. "But why wouldn't you think I would like her that way?" I press insistently. "Who would not?"

She laughs lightly. "You make a fine point. It's just, well, you never gave any indication you felt this way about her, although honestly I wasn't really looking for such a thing from you. And I suppose I didn't tell you what I saw in Hawke because I didn't actually think you'd welcome it, much less that you would want to act on it, since... well, I know how dedicated you are to your people. And correct me if I'm wrong, but from what little I know of the Dalish and their general opinions on humans - present company excluded, of course - I get the feeling your clan wouldn't exactly... approve. I think on some level Hawke is probably afraid that you'll feel that way, too."

My spirits plummet at her words, and my shoulders drop as I let my fall head miserably. "No. You're right. They wouldn't approve at all. But... but I don't care!" I say fiercely, although I'm not sure if I really sound very convincing. I do mean it, though. It's just still hard to think of how they feel about me now, and how much more contemptuous they would be towards me if they knew. It did hold me back before, of course it did, but... No, if they can change their minds about the eluvian, then they can change their minds about humans, too. And if they can't, well... it doesn't matter if I can't go back to the clan, as long as they just accept the knowledge from the mirror. I don't care what they would have to say about me and Hawke. I straighten my shoulders, and meet Isabela's eyes. "I don't care what they think of me. Not anymore, anyway."

She looks at me intently for a moment, and then sighs. "Merrill, I'm the last person you should be talking to about love, but for what it's worth, I don't think you should let what anyone else thinks of you hold you back from anything you feel is right. And frankly, I think you and Hawke would be just darling together. That's about all I can say regarding love, I'm afraid."

That can't be true, can it? She must know more than that! Who else can I ask for advice on something like this? The only other person I'd trust enough to ask is... is Hawke, and well, that would just be... well, embarrassing is not strong enough a word. Completely and utterly awkward and humiliating, perhaps? Oh, Isabela has to be able to help me, she just has to! "So... what do you think I should do? You can tell me, can't you?"

"Love isn't really my thing, kitten." She smiles wickedly all of a sudden. "I can try and give you a few pointers on the lust side of things though, if you like."

"Like those... those things in your dirty books?" I ask tentatively, and then blush furiously when she laughs at me.

"Learn to swim before plunging headfirst into the ocean, my sweet. Let's start small. Why don't you try flirting with her? Say something suggestive, make your voice low, and husky," she says, her voice suddenly sounding like the deep purring of a contented cat. "Like this. I would have thought Hawke wouldn't have been able to resist flirting with you at some point before now, at least a little."

I frown in concentration, trying to remember if I've ever heard Hawke's voice sound like that. I don't think so. Although if she ever did talk to me like that, I probably would have just assumed that she was just teasing me, the way she does everybody. Or that she had a sore throat. Elgar'nan, I probably would have asked her if she wanted to borrow a scarf to keep her neck warm, or something just as foolish. "If she did, I suppose I probably wouldn't have recognised it."

"Well, now you know what to listen for," Isabela says, her voice taking on a lecturing sort of tone, making her sound just like the Keeper did whenever she was teaching me an important spell or history lesson. I can't imagine the Keeper ever trying to teach me something like this, though. I suppress a sudden fit of giggling at that silly image as Isabela continues. "If she does, then you just do exactly the same thing back. Or you could do it first. Give her a compliment, and use the voice I showed you. She'll respond, I promise. Let her know that you want her, and then I bet you anything she'll start showing you how she feels. You just have to show her you're open to her. I'm quite certain she's open to you."

Let her know that I... I... Creators! I look away shyly. "I... I don't know if I could do that."

"You'll never know until you try. And if you do things right with her, kitten... mmm... it will be so worth the effort, I promise you that."

That purring sound is back in her voice. Husky, I think she called it. I look at her suspiciously. "Have you... have you and Hawke ever... you know..."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Not for lack of trying! But no, sweetness, Hawke has proven quite stubbornly resistant to any offer of mine to have a bit of... girly fun. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her show more than a passing interest in anyone except you." I bite my lips to hide a thrilled smile at hearing that, but I don't think I quite manage to conceal it completely.

Isabela raises an amused eyebrow at me. "You really ought to be talking to her about this, not me."

I feel a sudden chill of nervous fear at the thought of approaching Hawke with this. "I-I can't, I just can't. I wouldn't know what to say; I'd probably just say something painfully stupid and ruin everything."

Isabela sighs, sounding just a bit exasperated with me. "Well, then, until you get brave enough, I'll continue to consider her free game. She's really very attractive, you know. Those ice blue eyes of hers are to die for, aren't they? And those full, rosy red lips, just screaming to be kissed. That slender waist, and those swaying hips, and that firm, round-"

"Isabela!"

"Just trying to help, kitten! Perhaps I'll just have to make you jealous enough to take a little initiative, hmm?"

I look away from her in embarrassment just as Hawke and Varric come out of the Qunari compound at last. Hawke spots us, beckoning us over as she and Varric head down the steps and start walking down the street. Isabela ruffles my hair and winks at me when I give her a slightly irritated glance, then she takes a few brisk steps to walk beside Hawke, slipping an arm around Hawke's waist and looking over her shoulder to arch an eyebrow at me with a teasing smile. I flush at both her actions, and the dawning realisation that, even though I know exactly what she's doing, and she just told me she was going to, I actually am feeling a little jealous as I watch her.

Isabela leans into Hawke, who looks up at the taller woman in surprise as she lets her hand wander a bit lower, brushing lightly down Hawke's side before finally settling on the curve of her hip, fingers stroking across the fabric of Hawke's tunic, a little. Alright, now I'm very jealous. I hurry after them and catch up with Varric, pacing along just behind Hawke and Isabela as Hawke leads us towards the pulley lift to Darktown at the base of the wharf, Isabela clinging persistently against her side as we walk.

"So, what did the oxman want, then?" Isabela asks Hawke, turning her head a little to look at her, making it so her lips are almost brushing Hawke's cheek. My body feels oddly stiff and tense, all of a sudden.

"He said someone stole something called saar... saar... something or other," Varric says, rather unhelpfully, observing Isabela's antics with a look of amusement.

"Someone stole the formula for some sort of lethal poison gas from the Qunari, apparently thinking it was their mysterious blackpowder," Hawke clarifies calmly, though I can see her watching Isabela cautiously out of the corner of her eye with a baffled sort of expression. She doesn't exactly look pleased about Isabela's attentions. Well, I suppose that's kind of encouraging, at least. "The Arishok thinks it was that dwarf merchant Javaris who wanted it years ago. The one who had us running around killing Tal-Vashoth for him."

"I don't believe it. He's not exactly a prince, but he's no burglar," Varric says, shaking his head.

"If he's not a professional thief, then there's no way this Javaris stole from the Qunari. That's hard... I've heard," Isabela says quickly, dropping her arm from Hawke's waist to fiddle with her earring again.

I feel the tension in my shoulders ease, a bit, and take the opportunity to step in between Hawke and Isabela, ignoring her smothered chuckle as I look up at Hawke, trying to match her pace. "Did the Arishok want us to get it back for him, then?"

She smiles down at me warmly, then shakes her head a little. "Not exactly. He said his informing us was simply a 'courtesy' so that we could stop this poison being made, since in the wrong hands it will kill a lot of people, probably including whoever stole it as well as anyone near them." Her smile fades, and she looks troubled. "That, or drive them crazy with murderous rage, apparently."

"Well, that's just great," Isabela sighs. "So where to now, then?"

"Varric suggested we try asking the Coterie in Darktown about Javaris's whereabouts." Hawke answers as we reach the lift, gesturing for us to go in ahead of her.

"I haven't kept up on the squirt, I'm afraid," Varric explains apologetically as we step inside. "All I have to go on is a sell-off I heard about. Merchant territories and such. They don't do that unless someone left in a hurry. I'd have figured he'd rooked some noble, though. I just don't think he'd have the balls to steal from the Arishok himself."

"It does take a unique mix of skill and insane courage to do something that daring and impressive... one would think," Isabela says, turning to busy herself with the lift lever.

"If it turns out he wasn't the thief, he may still know someone else who might have wanted the blackpowder enough to try and steal this decoy," Hawke reasons as we begin our descent, putting a hand out to stop me falling over as the lift starts moving with a jerk. "Birds of a feather, and all that. Maybe he can lead us to whoever did steal this formula. Either way, I just hope we can get there before whoever has it tries to make it."

xxx H xxx

I lower my staff cautiously, watching a little sadly as the last of the gas-crazed mercenaries convulses; my lightning bolt frying her body from the inside out. She shudders one final time, and dies, her limp and lifeless body sprawled amongst the dozens of mercenaries, hired guards, and even a few civilians, all of whom attacked us on sight in a mad frenzy the moment we stepped into the dank Lowtown side alley. Javaris pointed us to the right place after we found him, but we arrived here far too late; The Qunari saar-qamek gas had already been made and released, poisoning the entire district, killing some, and driving the rest completely insane. If only we'd gotten here sooner.

Merrill and Varric pick their way tiredly back over to where I stand, and Isabela searches carefully through the fresh corpses. Looking for evidence of Javaris's elven thief, hopefully. I turn to Merrill and Varric as they reach me, trying unsuccessfully to wipe some of the blood from my face. "The Arishok was right about one thing. The poison got the thieves."

"Yes," Varric says, coughing slightly as he sweeps his gaze sadly over the carnage. "This is much better."

"Creators. This burns," Merrill whispers, trying to fan the poisonous vapours away from her face with her hand. She starts to say something else, but suddenly starts coughing too, and tugs quickly at the faded scarf around her neck, pulling it up to cover her mouth. Her eyes are watering a little, but I think it has more to do with what happened here rather than from the coughing or the gas that still contaminates the air. So much death; and innocent civilians too...

I feel an unpleasant tickle at the back of my throat, which is starting to feel tight and dry now, despite us having stopped most of the gas leaks during the brief lulls in between all the fighting. Not long now before it starts to affect us as well. We need to close off the remaining barrel, and soon. I cast my gaze about, searching for something to shut off the last of the saar-qamek leaks completely, carefully examining the faces of the dead mercenaries, as well. "Any sign of this elf Javaris mentioned, yet?" I say, directing my question to Isabela. "He said she'd be here. If she's the one who stole the gas, then I would have expected to find her body here amongst the first victims."

Isabela turns over another body, then shakes her head grimly as she stands, wiping her hands on the scarf at her waist. "All I see is dead humans, so far."

I spot a discarded wrench lying a few feet away from the last open barrel and pick it up, using it to clamp down on the barrel lid, stopping any more foul green gas from seeping insidiously out to poison the night air. I hear the clink of mail and plate as I finish, and look up towards the top of the stairs above me. A petite blonde elven woman in chainmail armour stands on the landing above us, a group of heavily armed human men on her flank. This must be who the dwarf meant.

She stares down at us, eyes wide and staring. "He said we'd be alright. He said we'd kill a few, not everyone. Not everyone!" she exclaims loudly to no one in particular.

I straighten, and examine her closely. Her face is dry and cracked, and her eyes are bloodshot and wide, rolling wildly about in their sockets without really focusing on anything, one of them twitching rapidly as she gazes about, muttering incoherently under her breath. The men behind her don't appear to be in much better condition; scratching furiously at their eyes and faces, or babbling quiet nonsense to themselves. One of them is singing an old nursery rhyme softly to his helmet as he cradles it lovingly in his arms. I think it's safe to assume they've all been exposed to the insanity-gas.

I clear my throat, attempting to attract the blonde elf's attention. "This would roughly be your fault, I presume?"

Her gaze snaps to me, suddenly, and she peers down at me through the gloom and the lingering green haze. "Is that... Serah Hawke?" She narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer as mad rage fills her face. "You have enemies! I'm glad it's you, really." Her expression abruptly changes to one of sadness and distress as she gazes over my head at the dead bodies littering the street."These poor people!" Well, at least she seems a little regretful about all this. She quickly twists her head back to me as her face resumes its former look of fanatical fury, and her voice grows hard again. "You are a much better target!"

"Whoa," Varric mutters quietly behind me. That really just about sums it up. I frown, studying her face carefully. I don't think we've ever met, yet she somehow knows my name, and my face. Apparently more than one person has taken an interest in me of late. I wonder briefly how she knows who I am, then decide it doesn't matter, not at this moment.

"So..." I begin slowly, crossing my arms and staring up challengingly at the saar'qamek thief. "Care to explain your particular brand of crazy?"

Her face darkens abruptly, and she growls deep in her throat. "Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture, so they go to the Qun for purpose," she hisses angrily. "We're losing them twice!" I hear a small, sad sigh that must have come from Merrill as the crazed elf continues, working herself into a frenzy of demented rage. "So I get some help from your people. We'll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents and make them hated! Make the powder, blame the oxmen. But this... this is all wrong."

My mind works furiously as I try to piece her crazed words and mad logic together. So she would have killed people anyway, if she had succeeded in stealing the blackpowder, and framed the Qunari for it. And she had help from someone, presumably a human, perhaps someone who knows of me, and warned their people about me accordingly. Under other circumstances, I might find that oddly flattering. As it is, I just want to find out who is the real mastermind behind this atrocity. "You... wanted people to die? Which of 'my people' put you up to this?"

She ignores my questions, staring at me without blinking, apparently thinking furiously. "It can still work!" she declares suddenly. "They are hidden in your city. They'll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed. Me, I'm finished. I just need a few more bodies." A slow, wide grin creeps across her face, and her eyes roll with madness as she draws her sword, signalling her men forward. "A few more."

I sigh inwardly before we dash to the base of the stairs to meet them. Even though they're all trained mercenaries, armed and armoured to the teeth and filled with murderous rage, it just doesn't seem sporting to kill them, somehow. After all, in this state, they hardly present much of a threat to anyone with an ounce of fighting ability. But a bunch of well-armed lunatics with lethal combat skills are still an unacceptable risk to the city's civilians, and we dispatch the crazed sell-swords without hesitation, quickly, cleanly, and mercifully.

"Andraste's tits, I'm glad that's over," Isabela says once the last of them falls still, somewhat irreverently wiping her blades on the trouser leg of the nearest dead mercenary. "Did anyone else happen to catch what all this was about? All I heard was nonsense."

"She was furious that the Qunari were taking elven converts, so she was trying to cause an accident that could be blamed on the Qunari, to break the peace and provoke Kirkwall officials to push them out," I say, looking down at the still body of the blonde elf. "From what I gathered, she was angry that the elves in question were abandoning their culture to convert to the Qun."

"A lot of elves have left the alienage recently," Merrill puts in softly. "I suppose they might think they'll have a better life amongst the Qunari, if that's where they all went. It makes me sad that they would prefer to trade their heritage for it, if so."

She does look a bit shaken by this whole incident. I put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. "You alright?"

She nods reassuringly, smiling up at me. "Oh, yes, I'll be fine, Hawke. Thank you for asking."

"Are you sure, kitten?" Isabela says, raising an eyebrow at Merrill. "You are looking a little pale. Perhaps there's something Hawke could do to put a little colour back in your cheeks?"

"I... no, I'm alright, really, I am..." Isabela raises an eyebrow at her. Merrill blushes and falls silent, looking down, and Isabela shakes her head a little, wearing a bemused expression. I stare between them, somewhat confused by their exchange. Am I missing something? I'm not precisely sure what just happened, but it doesn't really matter right at this moment. This isn't over yet.

Varric recalls us abruptly to this fact when he suddenly sighs loudly, resettling Bianca carefully on his back as he glances around the alley a final time. "So Javaris wasn't the thief, but the poison gas still killed a whole street's worth of people. Time to tell the Arishok how he was right... and wrong." He looks up at me solemnly. "Let's leave this mess for the guard to clean up, and get back over to the docks."

I nod, somewhat reluctantly, and lead the way out of the alley. I can't say I'm looking forward to telling the Arishok about this, or reporting back to the Viscount. Even though we were given a late start, and a false lead to follow, this all somehow feels like a failure. We were too late to stop the release of the saar-qamek and the resulting carnage; all we could do was perform what essentially amounted to a few mercy killings. Hardly one of our more successful missions. Still, in uncovering the truth, at least we have hopefully managed to prevent an uprising against the Qunari. That's the last thing Kirkwall needs right now; though I can't help but feel that this won't be the last of it, unfortunately.

Isabela swaggers up suddenly beside me as we make our way through Lowtown, nudging me deliberately with her hip and quirking a suggestive eyebrow at me when I turn to look at her questioningly. I am somewhat perplexed by her actions; particularly so soon after her earlier behaviour. Maker, what is the matter with her today? She smiles secretively at my reaction, and then glances over her shoulder with a mischievous look in her eye. I try to follow her gaze, looking for some explanation as to what she's playing at, but all I see behind us is Varric, covering his mouth in a vain effort to hide a smile, and Merrill, who is frowning fiercely at Isabela, apparently not noticing my regard. She probably thinks Isabela is being inappropriate; starting her flirtatious games so soon after leaving behind a street full of corpses, civilians among them. Isabela gives a low chuckle and turns back around, brushing against my hip again as she does so, before walking on as though nothing happened. At least she's keeping her hands to herself at the moment, thankfully. Not that I'm not flattered, I suppose, but I believe I've made it clear to her that I'm not interested in meaningless casual sex. I left that carefree part of me back with the charred remains of my life in Lothering. I'm not certain exactly what is behind this sudden burst of licentious behaviour, but she seems to have stopped for the time being, so I decide to put it out of my mind. There's rather more troubling things to worry about at the moment, namely the reactions of the Arishok and Viscount respectively, when I inform them of the latest Lowtown massacre, and the intolerant and hostile intent behind it. The sooner this is over with, the better.

I just hope the Arishok is still in a relatively good mood.

xxx M xxx

"You go ahead. I just have to... pamper a kitty."

Hawke shakes her head at Isabela's latest and silliest excuse for not going into the Qunari compound, stopping at the base of the steps to look at her, smiling in amusement."'Pamper a kitty?' That's your lamest justification yet, Isabela," Hawke laughs. It's nice to hear her clear, musical laughter; it makes everything seem brighter again, after what just happened.

Isabela smirks, glancing over at me briefly. Oh, dear; that can't be good. Isabela puts a hand on her hip, looking at Hawke, tilting her head to one side. "Perhaps you should try it sometime." She still hasn't given up on - how did she put it - getting me to take a little initiative, it seems. "Go on, then. You go in with Hawke this time... kitten," she says, giving me a little push in the small of my back, propelling me towards Hawke with a laugh and a wink. I stumble towards her and trip over my own feet, of course, and Hawke reaches out automatically, catching me under the arms and setting me back on my feet, then placing her hands on my shoulders to steady me. Our faces are very close all of a sudden; I'm staring straight into her eyes. Mythal, not even the sky could ever be so blue! She looks back at me, eyes wide, and suddenly there it is again, that flash of... of something. I'm almost certain it was there this time. I don't want to move, I want to see it again, if it was really there. I think it was. Hawke is still too, seemingly frozen in place. She also seems to be breathing very fast, all of a sudden. Her eyes are as bright as ever, but somehow they also seem to darken with something, some emotion I can't name, stirring deep in their burning depths as she gazes into my eyes...

Varric clears his throat, breaking the spell. We both blink dazedly and turn to look at him.

"Uh, Hawke, Daisy? Could we hurry up and go in? There's a big disgruntled oxman waiting for us to tell him where his poison barrels went, and I'd prefer not to keep him in suspense."

"Right. Oxman. Yes." Hawke says, letting go of me gently as she straightens, turning slightly to look at him.

Isabela makes a quiet noise of exasperation and punches Varric in the shoulder. He looks up at her, frowning as he rubs ruefully at his new bruise. "Ow. What? Hawke caught her; she's fine, now, so we can go. Right, Daisy?"

"Oh, y-yes, Varric. I'm fine. You're right, we should talk to the Arishok now."

Isabela rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she walks over to lean against the wall. "Just go. Get it over with, then. I'll be here, minding my own business."

"You're going to miss all the fun, you know," Hawke jokes as we start to head up the compound steps.

Isabela scoffs in wry amusement behind us. "Somehow, I think I'll survive."

"So, I was wrong about our thief," the big grey-skinned giant rumbles once Hawke finishes explaining everything to him, gazing down at us from his makeshift throne, such as it is. "A strange feeling; to be incorrect about such a character."

"You'll get used to it," Hawke says cheekily, craning her neck to look up at the Arishok and somehow managing to make it seem as though she is on the same level as him, meeting his fierce gaze eye-to-eye.

The Arishok shakes his head slowly with a look of disgust. "They will say we were careless with our trap, that this is our fault. But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet."

What an odd thing to say! Why would she do that, exactly? Who would blame a foot for something? I frown, looking between him and Hawke, and speak without thinking. "But your feet didn't do anything wrong! Did they?"

The Arishok settles his chilling gaze on me, and I nearly take a step back at the look in his eyes. Uh-oh. I really shouldn't have said anything. Just don't panic, maybe he won't be that angry. His brows lower dangerously. Oh, dear. "I admire conviction with a focus, but your kind is truly committed to weakness," he growls. "This elven thief is evidence enough of that."

Hawke crosses her arms across her chest, glaring up at him challengingly. "That 'weak elf' almost beat you," she says. She sounds a bit angry too, now. "She made a damn good effort at using your own weapon against you."

The Arishok waves a dismissive hand at her words. "We have but one weapon - the certainty of the Qun. It cannot be used against us," he says gravely.

I suddenly have to suppress a giggle. I suppose he meant for that to sound wise, or profound, or philosophical or something, but it just sort of sounded a bit silly, to me. But laughing at him would probably not be such a great idea, really. Perhaps a witty comment? The Arishok seems not to get that cross when Hawke makes one. I could give it a try, anyway. I tilt my head, looking up at him, emboldened after speaking to him once already by accident, and not getting killed. "Well, of course not. Certainty's not pointy enough to make a good weapon."

Hawke chuckles in her throat, and I look at her in surprise as she bites her lips to stop the sound of her laughter from reaching the big Qunari's earring-covered ears. Maybe it was a good joke after all, if she thinks so! I think I hear Varric trying to smother a laugh behind me, too. I guess Hawke must be rubbing off on me.

The Arishok ignores me this time, however, continuing as though I hadn't spoken at all. "And it doesn't matter. I am not here to fight; I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand."

"It's taking long enough," Hawke says, eyes narrowed.

"It will take as long as needed," he says slowly, an impatient edge tainting his gravelly voice."No ship is coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun." He leans forward, fixing Hawke in his fierce grey glare. "I am stuck here."

Hawke looks confused. "But staying was your choice. You could have built a ship by now, you know."

The Arishok shakes his head in annoyance, his gaze growing even fiercer. I didn't think that was possible! "It is not about a ship!" he says angrily.

I don't understand. Isn't that why they're still here? Hawke cocks her head slightly, looking at him suspiciously. "That is not the understanding of city officials," she says evenly, but the unspoken question in her voice is clear, even to me.

The Arishok growls almost under his breath, his face twisting viciously in a silent snarl. "Filth stole from us. Not now, not the saar-qamek. Years ago! A simple act of greed has bound me. We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was stolen under my command." His voice grows louder, angrier."That is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city." He stands abruptly, pacing back and forth along the top of his dais as his voice builds in volume and ferocity. "Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun..." He turns swiftly, stalking to the edge of the steps and pointing a giant finger violently in our direction with a furious roar: "And you should all be grateful!"

His voice reverberates throughout the compound. Even the echoes are still loud, and angry; I can almost feel the ground shaking under my feet! Hawke matches the Arishok's fierce stare for a few uncomfortable moments. Well, uncomfortable for me, anyway. I would very much like to leave, now. I'm sure Varric feels the same; I can hear him behind me, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. But Hawke doesn't move at all. She holds the Arishok's eyes without backing down. Oh, she is so brave! I could never manage that.

Finally the Arishok drops his gaze, turning back towards his seat. Does that mean she won? Was it that sort of staring contest? "Thank you, human, for your service." The Arishok says as he sits back down, glaring at a point over Hawke's head. "Leave."

He looks more cranky than ever, now! Maybe his head is itchy. Hawke inclines her head gracefully in his direction, and turns, gesturing for us to follow his suggestion.

I look up at her as we walk back through the compound gates. "He's a bit touchy, isn't he? Perhaps we should go and see the Viscount, now."

She nods, catching Isabela's eye where she is lounging against the opposite wall, and waves her over. "We'll go now, and finish this."

"You're all in one piece, I see," Isabela grins as she saunters over. "I was a little concerned when he started bellowing." She laughs. "Everyone in the street froze right in middle of whatever they were doing. It would have been hilarious if I hadn't been worried the Qunari were about to toss your lifeless bodies out the gates at any moment. What did you do?"

"Hawke just told him what happened," Varric tells her. "I'm not really sure which part got him so worked up."

"I don't think he was mad at us, exactly," I say thoughtfully. "He didn't start yelling until he said something about a thief. Not the elf, though; someone who stole something from him years ago."

"A thief?" Isabela repeats, looking around at each of us in turn. I frown; she looks a bit pale. I suppose maybe she was more scared for us than she let on, when the Arishok yelled like that. It must have been worrying, hearing it but not being able to see what was happening.

"That's the real reason they're still here, not the ship they're supposed to be waiting for," Hawke explains. "The Arishok says he can't leave until he recovers it, whatever 'it' is."

"Ah," Isabela says, toying with one of her golden earrings. "And did he ask you to find this thief for him, then?"

"No, thank the Maker," Varric sighs in relief. "We're done with his demands, at least for now."

"Well, that's good," Isabela smiles. She looks a lot better now. "Anything else we have to do?" she asks, looking at Hawke.

Hawke waves a hand in the general direction of Hightown. "Just check in with the Viscount, and let him know what happened here."

"Well, then, come on, let's go and hear what his Baldiness has to say," Isabela says, beckoning to us as she starts walking eagerly up the stairs away from the docks. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get back to the Hanged Man. I'm starting to fancy a stiff one... and a drink."

"He could have at least said thank you," Hawke grumbles as we step back outside, and start walking away from the Keep.

"He did say he'd call on you again if any more problems with the Qunari arise," Varric says, giving Hawke a playful nudge. "Doesn't that just make you all warm, and fuzzy inside?"

Hawke scoffs wryly. "Sure. Like I swallowed a rat," she quips. I can't help wrinkling my nose at the unpleasant image. I know she's only joking, but still... ew. "I simply can't wait til the next time I have to butt heads with the Arishok. Keeps me on my toes. Glad his horns point backwards, though, instead of forwards."

"So kind of Seneschal Bran to allow us to wash off all of that unseemly blood and gore before we inconvenienced his beloved Viscount with our presence," Isabela says, rolling her eyes. I think this must be one of those times when she says something, but means the opposite. Varric called it 'irony', I think. He was quite amused to have to explain it to me. Another of those things everyone is supposed to just know already, I suppose.

Varric snorts. "He'd have dragged all four of us into the guard's bathing room by the scruffs of our necks if we'd refused."

"Probably with the help of the mighty Guard-Captain. Did you see her in her office, as Bran led us all back out, all freshly scrubbed and rosy cheeked?" Isabela growls. "She was laughing her arse off. I owe her one, for that. Just let her wait. "

"It's nice to be clean, though," I point out. It wasn't so bad, after all. The Seneschal even had our clothes laundered to get the blood out, while we bathed. "And the water was quite pleasant, I thought, even if it was a little embarrassing, being scolded and washed like a da'len who got caught playing in the mud."

Hawke smoothes a hand down the front of her tunic. "I admit, I do appreciate the way the maidservants managed to get out all the bloodstains. These are new clothes, after all."

We make our way back down to Lowtown, heading for the Hanged Man, at Isabela's insistence. Hawke walks with us, all the way down the long stairway, even though her estate is right at the bottom of the steps to the Keep. She could be home by now, if she wanted. I'm glad she's not, though.

Hawke is walking just ahead of me, next to Varric, who wanted to ask her about something. From what I can hear of their conversation, it's got something to do with what her plans are, now that she's living in Hightown. I dropped back a little to walk with Isabela. I didn't want to eavesdrop, and besides, I'm a little distracted right now. I can't even concentrate on Isabela's story about the time she met the Hero of Ferelden in Denerim. That really ought to interest me more, since it is my old clan mate Mahariel she's speaking of, though that isn't why Isabela is telling me about it. I doubt she's even aware there's any sort of connection between us; I don't tend to talk about that time of my life, after all. It's not a happy memory. I prefer to concentrate on what I'm doing now. Even so, I should probably be acting more impressed, for Isabela's sake; that's probably what she's expecting, after all. But I really can't concentrate properly, though I should ask her to tell me again later; I'd like very much to hear more of what happened to Mahariel after she left the clan. But right now, my mind just wants to drift back to thoughts of Hawke.

I keep thinking of the look I saw in her eyes. Was it worship, like Isabela says? I can't really believe it. I can understand worshipping Hawke, because, well, I do, after all. How could anyone not? She's so amazing and brave and beautiful. It's like she's Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt and Sister of the Moon, reborn in human form. But me? What is there to worship about me? I'm just timid, and awkward, and scrawny. Nothing but a foolish, clumsy, rambling little elf. I don't know if I can really believe Isabela. Not that I think she is lying, of course not. She said she wasn't, so she's not. But she could be wrong. That seems more likely. I just... I don't see what anyone could possibly see in me, especially someone like Hawke.

Isabela nudges me, breaking me from my dismal thoughts. "Wake up, kitten." I look up, startled, and realise we've reached the Hanged Man already. Isabela takes my elbow gently and strolls over to where Hawke and Varric stand in front of the tavern door, grinning cheekily at Hawke.

"Well, thanks so much for the lovely outing, Hawke. I don't suppose you care to reward my good behaviour with a pint or two?"

"Good behaviour, eh?" Hawke laughs, raising an eyebrow at her. "At what point exactly were you behaving yourself? I must have been distracted by something shiny and missed it."

"I'll shout you a whiskey, Rivaini," Varric chuckles.

She throws an arm affectionately around his shoulders, careful to avoid touching Bianca so as not to risk scratching her. We've all learned that lesson well, by now; Varric has made very sure of that. "At least someone appreciates me. Coming in for a drink, you two?"

I smile and shake my head no, just as Hawke does the same.

"Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood. Besides," she says, looking around at me, "if I walk you home now, we should both be safely home before dark."

Isabela shrugs. "Alright. Stay safe on the way home, then. Avoid dark corners and one-armed men. Oh, and kitten," she bends down to me, speaking in a loud whisper, "as per our discussion earlier, remember to feel free to come to me with any 'dirty questions' you want answered. And you can look through my book collection anytime you want to borrow something, you know, for... inspiration. And remember what I said about taking a little initiative." She winks at me, and disappears inside the Hanged Man, pulling Varric along behind her.

Hawke watches her go with a puzzled expression. "What was that about?"

I glance up at her in dismay, though thankfully she is still looking at the tavern door and doesn't see my expression. By the Dread Wolf, she heard that? Creators have mercy on you, Isabela, I'm not sure I will be so kind. I try my best to look confused as well, before she looks at me. It shouldn't be a difficult expression for me to assume, surely. "I-I have no idea. She has been acting a little oddly, hasn't she?"

"I'll say. And not just with the Qunari aversion thing, either." Hawke frowns, turning to me. "She was particularly... 'handsy', today. More so than usual." I suddenly feel a stab of guilt at the agitated expression on her face. Isabela's behaviour was my fault, after all; she would never have started acting that way if it weren't for me asking her about Hawke, and being too afraid to agree to her suggestion. Well, probably not, anyway. Still, I can't help but feel glad that Hawke looks so uncomfortable about it, although that's not really very nice of me, is it? Being happy about her discomfort? I am, though; a little. It's probably the jealousy thing again. I guess Isabela's plan is working.

Hawke rubs at the back of her neck, further betraying her disquiet. "Did she say anything to you? Anything out of the ordinary, I mean"

My eyes widen guiltily before I can stop them, and I rapidly try to look as innocent as possible to make up for it, though I'm certain that I am dreadfully unconvincing. "Um... no. No, I don't think so. We talked, when you went to see the Arishok the first time, of course, but not about anything unusual, I wouldn't say." It's not a lie, not really. Isabela talks about that sort of thing all the time.

"Well, I'm at a loss to explain it. Maybe she hasn't been to the Rose enough lately, or something. Shall I walk you home before the sun sets?"

I nod happily. "Yes, I would like that. Very much." She smiles at me, in that wonderful way she does that somehow just makes everything seem to glow with warmth and light. Perhaps it's only wishful thinking, but... I don't think I've ever seen her smile that way at anyone else. Maybe... maybe Isabela could be right, after all.

As we turn to walk down the street, she slips her arm about my shoulders, drawing me close. I can't help but lean into her a little as we walk; the air is getting a little chilly, now, and her body is so warm where I'm pressed against her side. And after what Isabela told me, I think it might be alright. Hawke doesn't seem to mind, so far. At least, she certainly doesn't try to pull away. And... she hugged me first, after all, didn't she? Oh, I hope Isabela isn't mistaken. It feels so nice, being so close to Hawke like this. It feels... right.

I look up at the dirty house on the corner at the end of the street as we pass by; the house where Hawke's grouchy uncle lives. Where she used to live. We were neighbours, then. Except for the different neighbourhoods thing. Still, almost neighbours, though. It must take her so long now to come all the way down those stairs to the very bottom of Lowtown, to the alienage. It's too much to expect that we would still see as much of each other as we used to, before she moved to Hightown, but she does keep coming to see me, even if not nearly as often as before. Although that's really my fault, too; I have been very busy with the eluvian, and sometimes I just don't have the time to spare. It's just so important.

I frown as I consider that last thought. The mirror does take up so much of my time. Even if... if Isabela is right about Hawke, maybe... maybe I shouldn't try and do anything about it now. Not until I finish the mirror. It wouldn't be fair, otherwise; I'd be too preoccupied trying to repair the eluvian, and if we were... were together... then I wouldn't want any distractions at all. I sneak a look up at Hawke as we turn the corner, drinking in the inky blackness of her hair, the fierce blue of her eyes, the deep red of her lips, which curve in a sweet smile as she glances down at me suddenly, almost as though she sensed me watching her. And I was trying so hard not to be obvious about it. Her eyes catch the light of the setting sun, sparkling like sapphires as they gaze at me. I smile back shyly. I want to be able to give her all of my time. All of my attention. I want... I want to give her all of me.

But then... waiting until the eluvian is complete might take longer than I could stand. Using my blood is becoming less and less effective, and if I don't find a better way, it could take years to mend the eluvian completely. I certainly don't want to wait that long. I think... maybe if I use a tool of the ancient Elvhen, then perhaps the magic will be more potent, and I can join the last remaining cracks, and wake the slumbering power within the eluvian a lot sooner than I will ever manage otherwise. I know Master Ilen has such a thing. An arulin'holm; an ancient tool used by the old carving artisans. Perhaps it was even used by our ancestors to create the mirrors in the first place. Such a blade, steeped in the old memories of the ancient magic it must have been used to perform may be just the thing I need. But... but I don't want to go back to the clan alone. Not without help, at least. Marethari will never willingly help me fix the eluvian, but... maybe if Hawke talks to her, asks her to let me have it? Hawke can be very persuasive. Sometimes I think she could convince a dragon not to eat her even if she was already in its mouth. And if even Hawke can't persuade Marethari, I can always invoke Vir Sulevanan. I'm sure Hawke will help with whatever impossible task the Keeper will set me, if it comes to that.

And surely if anyone will understand what I'm trying to do, Hawke will. I should have told her about it before now, and I would have, only... I don't like to bring up my use of blood magic to my friends; it just makes them uncomfortable, or makes them outright hate me, like Fenris. I should have told Hawke though, I should have been able to trust her with it, of all people. I don't know that she approves of my blood magic, exactly, but she's never lectured me about it, not like the Keeper. And considering her father taught her about magic, and he came from the Circle of Magi, I would have thought she'd at least try and tell me how dangerous and evil blood magic is, and that sort of thing, just like Anders always does. But she never does. She simply accepts it. If I tell her why I need to use it, she'll understand, won't she? Maybe... maybe, if I ask her, she'll help me. And maybe once we're alone, I can try that... that flirting thing Isabela suggested, just to see if Hawke reacts like Isabela told me she should, to see if she really feels the way Isabela thinks. If I don't lose my nerve. And if she doesn't... if she doesn't... well, I can still ask her for help. If she does... then the sooner I can finish the mirror, the better.

I should ask her now, while I've got her attention. "Hawke?"

She tilts her head inquisitively, still looking at me, smiling. "Yes, Merrill?"

I bite my lip a little, wondering how to begin, exactly. "I've... I've been thinking about what you said, before, you know, when you offered to help me with my work? And, well, there is something I could use your assistance with, actually."

She nods her head immediately, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Certainly. Just tell me what you need."

I knew I could ask her for help, and she'd give it. Well, of course, she told me that I could, after all. "Thank you, Hawke," I say gratefully. "I will tell you about it, once we reach my house. I've got something to show you there, first, if that's alright?"

"Of course," she says, without hesitation. She raises an eyebrow curiously, her mouth curling into another beautiful, captivating smile that steals the breath right out of my lungs. "This sounds very intriguing indeed. What is it you want to show me?"

I beam excitedly up at her. Suddenly I can't wait to show her what I've been doing, what I've been working so hard on. She'll appreciate it, I'm certain. I grasp her hand tightly where it rests on my shoulder and slip out from under her arm, pulling her eagerly along behind me as we step into the alienage, heading towards my house across the square. I'm impatient to get inside now, and show her my mirror. She'll think it is as lovely as I do, I'm sure of it. She'll understand how important it is, when I tell her what I'm doing, what the eluvian does, and she'll help me, I know she will.

I smile widely at her, pushing open the creaky door to my house, and pulling her inside after me. "Come and see."