A World Without Shadows

by maximasdecimas

Lowtown is a dangerous place at night. When Merrill is attackeded by thugs, Hawke comes to save her, but Merrill is shaken by her ordeal. Can Hawke make everything better with a smile, and save the day twice in one night? What will come of it? A story of love spanning three acts. Hurt/comfort, and romance. Mage F!Hawke/Merrill #TRIGGER WARNING - Violence, Attempted sexual assault

12. Chapter 12

Here we go, Mirror Image at last. Enjoy!

BTW, for anyone who read this whole story more recently (like in the last weeek of February), I somehow managed to replace chapter 4 with this chapter, which has caused much confusion, since it sort of seems to follow on from chapter 3. Sorry, really sorry. But it's fixed now. So if it seemed weird, or if it triggered for you that Merrill's quest doesn't usually happen in act one, you might want to check it out just in case. Chapter 4. Sorry! No idea what the hell I did. A big thank you and gratefully appreciative grovelling to miletta101 for pointing it out to me! Obviously need to read my own story more often. And be more careful when posting and fiddling around in the story manager. So I'm posting this chapter now, although I'm still not entirely sure it's actually ready, but I think I need to do it to alleviate confusion. More chapters coming up very soon!

And as always, thank you for reading and reviewing. :p

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xxx M xxx

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"I saw her, kitten."

I stop tracing my finger over the whorled, twisted patterns on the old stained wood of the tabletop and look up, startled by the low, amused sort of tone in Isabela's voice. She grins wickedly at me, and I flush a little nervously.

"What do you mean, Isabela? Who did you see?"

She rolls her eyes at me a little, though her amused grin stays on her lips. "Don't be coy, sweet thing. You know who I mean. I saw Hawke from my window, walking past the Hanged Man this morning." She pauses for a moment, gazing at me meaningfully. I do know what she means, of course I do, I just... I didn't expect to talk about it, when I came here. Though, I suppose I should have, really, shouldn't I? This is Isabela, after all.

"Coming from the direction of the alienage. Wearing the same clothes she had on... yesterday," Isabela continues, stretching out the last word teasingly, and then pauses again, longer this time, slowly raising an eyebrow at me as I watch her uneasily. I suppose I do owe her enough to tell her about it, but she's just making it seem so... dirty, somehow. It isn't like that with me and Hawke, though. Not... not yet, anyway. "Shall I assume you followed my invaluable advice?"

I squirm uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench and look away, suddenly really not wanting to meet her gaze. "I..."

"Come on, kitten, you can tell me," Isabela says, nudging my leg under the table with her foot, making me jump in surprise. "She was with you, wasn't she? Admit it. You spent the night together."

"Well... y-yes." We did, after all. Sort of.

Isabela gives a pealing, delighted laugh, making rather a lot of heads turn curiously in our direction. I try to make myself as small as possible, desperate to avoid their notice. I'm sure they are really only interested in her and not me at all, but still, I'd really rather not have all eyes on us just now. Not if she's insisting on asking me about this. Mythal'enaste, does she really have to be so loud?

"I knew it! Oh, kitten, I'm so proud! I think I'm going to cry." She grins at me knowingly, and her amber eyes flash with a strange sort of excitement. "So, go on then, tell me about it."

Tell her about it? Tell her... tell her about what, exactly? I already told her how I feel, didn't I? And she knows how Hawke feels, because she's the one who told me, after all. "What... what do you want to know?" I ask nervously.

Isabela raises her eyebrows, grinning wider. "How is she?"

I frown in confusion. "She seemed alright when she left. Why? She didn't look sick when you saw her, did she?"

"No, kitten. I meant, how is she?" Isabela says, speaking kindly but slowly, as though talking to a very small, rather dull-witted child. She only does that when I'm being excessively dense about something and she's trying not to get annoyed, usually when I'm missing something dirty... oh. Isabela sighs patiently, apparently mistaking my embarrassed silence for incomprehension, and gives me a very pointed look. "I'm asking you how Hawke is... in bed?"

Creators! I shake my head vehemently. "I-I... oh, no, Isabela, we didn't sleep together! I mean, well, alright, yes we did, sort of, but not in the way you mean!" She narrows her eyes at me skeptically, and I hasten to explain. "We... we kissed... and then I asked her to stay, because it was quite late, after all, and I didn't want her walking home through Lowtown at night, it's dangerous. She... she slept in my bed... with me, but... that's all."

"That's it?" Isabela says incredulously, frowning in disappointment, and then she clicks her tongue in irritation. "Looks like I'll have to give you both a few more pointers, then."

I shake my head again, though less forcefully this time. "I don't really think Hawke needs any 'pointers', Isabela," I tell her firmly. "She just... she said she wants to go slowly, because..." I feel my cheeks start to burn again, and pull uncomfortably at my scarf. Is it warm in here?

"Because I haven't ever... you know..."

Isabela smiles gently. "Ah, I see. Well, that's good of her, then. Baby steps, and all that. Kissing will have to do for now, I suppose." She cocks her head at me. "You can at least tell me how it happened, can't you? Did you try flirting with her, like I told you?"

I nod hesitantly. "Well... yes, I did. And it worked, just like you said. She flirted back, and then-"

"And then she kissed you," Isabela finishes for me with a smile of satisfaction.

I bite my lip. "No."

She blinks, and then frowns a little in confusion. "She didn't? I thought you said-"

"I kissed her," I cut her off quietly, blushing harder.

Isabela's mouth drops open, and then widens into a delighted grin. "You did? You kissed her first? Oh, kitten!" She lifts an eyebrow at me archly. "My, you have gotten brave, haven't you! Well done."

"Thanks," I say self-consciously, then rub a hand through my hair and look up at her. "It was sort of an accident, though."

"... I'm sorry; could you run that one by me again?" Isabela says after a long pause. "How exactly do you accidentally kiss someone?"

I shrug, not sure how to explain, exactly. "I don't know, but I managed it." But she ought to know by now; if there's ever anything that is so silly or awkward that most people don't think anyone could ever actually do it, then I'll find a way, somehow. It's my own special talent, it seems. "I suppose... I really only meant to just kiss her on the cheek, but then something sort of took over, and I grabbed her, and kissed her, and then..." I pause for just a moment, still reeling a little from the wonder of it. "She kissed me back. A lot."

Isabela shakes her head half in disbelief, laughing nearly under her breath. "Well, well, if that isn't a delicious twist. I had no idea you had it in you, kitten; I'm impressed! Surprised, but very impressed. I tell you what; it makes for some very pretty pictures in my head." She chuckles again, louder. "Gives me a great idea for a nice piece of 'friend fiction', too; I bet I could even sell it off to Varric for a good bit of coin," she muses. "Oh, yes. I've even got the perfect title; 'From Shy to Shameless: A kitten in the daylight, but a tiger in the dark...'"

She trails off, leaning forward and resting both her forearms against the table, her long fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of her mug as she gazes off into a corner of the room with her eyes half closed, apparently picturing Hawke and me in her head, like she said. I shift in my seat, feeling awfully exposed. Whatever she's imagining, I wish she would stop; it's very awkward, and unnerving. I also really hope she doesn't sell the idea to Varric, either, how would I ever explain it to Hawke, if something so... so intimate about us suddenly turns up in one of his serials? Creators, it's too embarrassing to think about.

After few more very uncomfortable moments Isabela lifts her cup abruptly in one hand and takes a long drink, sighing loudly in satisfaction as she lowers it back down with a heavy clunk, giving her head a small shake. I watch her curiously, fascinated. Drinking already; and it's not even gone noon, how does she do it? Why does she want to? She's managed to convince me to have a few more cups of ale than I know I should, on more than one occasion, and it does seem to make everything more fun for a while. At least, from what I can remember, anyway. But I always wake up the next morning feeling absolutely dreadful, as though a herd of halla are running about inside my head with a pack of wolves on their heels. Or hooves, or whatever. Maybe you don't feel that way if you never stop drinking? Or maybe if you drink enough, it stops working, after a time. But then, why keep drinking it? It's not like it tastes very nice; at least, I don't really think so, anyway. I much prefer a cold drink of water, or maybe blackberry cordial. Ohh... yes. Blackberries. I do miss those, very much. Mahariel always had a knack for finding blackberry bushes, and she could make delicious drinks and cordials with them, even little cakes and tarts sometimes, if we were near enough to a shemlen settlement to trade for flour, and things. Tamlen used to tease her, saying maybe she ought to be a cook, not a warrior, but she didn't mind; she just laughed and said that she didn't see why she couldn't be both. Blackberries don't seem to grow this side of the Waking Sea, I'm afraid. At least, not that I've seen.

Isabela's smooth voice purrs in my ear, bringing me abruptly out of my mental ramblings with a jolt. "So... did you enjoy yourself with our dear Hawke, kitten? How does she kiss, is she good? I admit; I've always wondered."

Mythal! Why am I somehow so surprised to hear her asking me these questions? I really should have expected them, shouldn't I? And perhaps even thought about what to say, a bit; then maybe I wouldn't be so embarrassed about answering her now, nor stutter quite so much. "Y-yes, she is; very. Good, I mean. At least, I think so, anyway." I bite my lower lip and drop my eyes a little, feeling my cheeks grow hot as I remember. "It was... amazing."

Isabela chuckles quietly, smirking. "Ooh... look at that blush. That good, huh? Did she curl your toes?"

My eyes snap back to hers. "M-my toes?"

Isabela laughs at my confused look. "Oh, you'll see, my sweet little thing," she says, still chuckling. "When the time finally... comes... you'll see." She lowers her voice, smiling wickedly at me. "She'll make your toes curl, and your fingers clench, your eyes roll... your thighs quiver..."

"Isabela!" I whisper in shock, trying to glare at her fiercely while feeling my cheeks burn hotter than ever.

Isabela only chuckles and grins at me again, looking completely unapologetic and more than a little pleased with herself. I take a deep quiet breath, trying to cool the blood that rose in my face at her comment, and get my blushing under control. I can hardly stay cross at her for saying such things; she was just being Isabela, after all. She's been such a good friend to me and to Hawke, really, despite all of her embarrassing teasing. She only does it in a friendly way. And besides, if it wasn't for her...

Isabela takes a sip from her mug, golden eyes sparkling at me over the rim. "I have to say, kitten, I'm really very proud of you," she says as she lowers her cup to the table with a soft thud, holding it between her palms. I blink at her in surprise; she sounds quite serious, all of a sudden. "And I'm happy for you, too. You've been alone long enough, both of you."

I smile at her gratefully as I think about just how much I owe her. "Thank you, Isabela. If it weren't for you talking to me about Hawke, and then, you know, telling me about flirting and making me jealous and all, I might never have... well, just... thank you."

Isabela reaches over the table and gives my cheek a gentle, affectionate pinch. "Anything for you, sweet thing. I'm glad it all worked out so well." Her face suddenly breaks into a mischievous smile, and she tilts her head, regarding me thoughtfully through half lidded eyes. "However, I do feel it would be remiss of me not to help you take things further. That's what I'm good for, after all." Her smile grows, and her eyes flash wickedly at me, and I nearly start blushing in anticipation before she even voices whatever mortifying thing she's planning to say. Oh, what is she thinking now?

"Obviously the next logical step has to be getting the two of you... naked," she says, putting heavy emphasis on the word, drawing it out with obvious enjoyment. She winks at me. "I could help with that."

She can't mean... I shake my head quickly, giving her a nervous look, and she laughs aloud and gives my forearm a very light slap. "Oh, not in that way, you goose! I meant you should come and take a look at my little library, like I suggested last night. Maybe we can figure out how to get you two to the next stage with a little... visual stimulation."

Oh. Well... no. I think that might just be sort of... awkward, actually. "Um... not right now, I don't think," I tell her firmly, but then pause for a moment, considering. I wouldn't mind knowing a little more of what to expect, after all. It couldn't hurt, could it? "Perhaps later, though? I..."

My voice trails off abruptly, the words on the tip of my tongue flying right out of my head as the tavern door swings open and Hawke comes in, her graceful form framed in the dazzling brightness pouring through the doorway from outside, the sun's radiant rays making her hair shine and her eyes glimmer with blue fire, driving me to complete and utter distraction. She turns her head, casting her gaze about the dimly lit drinking hall, looking for us, for me, and I lift my hand and wave a little shyly as I try to attract her attention. Her eyes fall on me, and her lips curve in a warm, heart-stopping smile. I'm suddenly very grateful that I'm already sitting; I doubt my legs would hold me, otherwise. She works her way across the room towards us, threading gracefully between benches and tables and drunkards, all the while keeping her eyes fixed only on me. She reaches us at last and grins fondly at Isabela as she sits down beside me on the bench, then turns her head a little to look at me again, enveloping me in a tender, caring smile that sends a warm feeling shooting from my heart down to my stomach like a trickle of liquid sunlight. I can feel a wide, foolish sort of smile breaking across my own face in answer to hers as I gaze blissfully up at her. She's so beautiful.

"Aww, would you look at that?" Isabela drawls. "Shy smiles and sidelong glances. You too are so sweet, it's almost sickening. I take it your evening went well, Hawke?"

"Quite well, thank you," Hawke answers, turning to Isabela with a patient expression, a small smile bathing her features in warmth as she looks at her. She raises her hand, signalling to the barmaid, the one who always looks so tired and cross. "A mug of Corff's best ale for my good friend, please, Norah. Put it on my tab." She must have remembered what I said about Isabela trying to help us, in her own way. Hawke smiles at me again, and then looks back at Isabela, who crosses her arms, watching her with a wicked glint in her eye. "Merrill and I... talked," Hawke says, watching Isabela with a half-smile.

Isabela quirks an eyebrow at her, smirking. "You did a bit more than that, if the happy glow on both your faces is anything to go by." She doesn't mention that I told her about what we did as well, for which I am very grateful; I'm not really sure whether Hawke would think it was alright or not. I wasn't going to talk about it, at least, not unless Hawke was there too, but Isabela can be very... persistent. And I did owe her for helping me, after all.

Hawke coughs, and then clears her throat a little, glancing at me briefly with another tiny smile tugging at her full lips. I can't help but smile back. "Yes, well..." Hawke says slowly, now watching Isabela with a guarded sort of look. There's a trace of fond indulgence in her voice, though. "I understand that I have you to thank for that, Isabela, at least in part."

Isabela chuckles a little as Norah sets a frothing mug down heavily in front of her. "Kitten told you about our little conversation yesterday, then, did she? My dear, sweet Hawke; it was my absolute pleasure. You two make an absolutely adorable couple." She pauses, running a thoughtful eye over both of us for a moment. "Although I think you might be pushing it a little, this morning."

"What do you mean?" Hawke asks her warily.

She gestures at our clothing. "Your outfits. They match. Did you plan that?"

"I..." Hawke looks down at her dark green tunic, blushing a little, and I look at her in surprise. Isabela is right; it's just the same colour as mine! Although, most of my clothing is green, come to think of it, so it was probably bound to happen sooner or later. I should probably be a bit more creative with my colour choices, I suppose. Maybe some nice blue things. Or red, even? Although, on second thought, perhaps not; that might just sort of remind everyone about the whole blood magic thing. Maybe blue would be nice, though. And I do still have some coin from the Deep Roads expedition, after all. But, well, I just really quite like green; it reminds me of trees, and grass, and growing things, and there's just not enough of that here in Kirkwall, with all the dirt, and metal, and stone everywhere. Hawke looks very nice in green...

Hawke rubs at her neck a little, the way she always does when she's feeling sort of stressed, or uneasy, and shrugs uncomfortably. "We, ah... didn't plan it, no..." she says.

"But it's a nice sort of accident, isn't it, though?" I put in, trying to help her. I don't like seeing her feeling uncomfortable, or embarrassed. I'm not really sure why she'd be embarrassed about wearing the same colour as me, though. Wearing matching outfits could be fun! "Maybe you should put on something green as well, Isabela, and then we'll all match! It could be like a sort of uniform for when we're following Hawke, like Aveline and her guards wear, only nicer; not so big, and orange, and clinky."

Isabela chuckles again, in amusement this time. "Oh, yes, Serah Hawke and her Merry Band of Misfits! What a sight we'd be. Sorry, kitten, but I'm afraid I don't own anything green. It's not my colour."

"Oh, well, never mind," I say, a little regretfully. It would have been fun, at least I think so. Ah, well. I look up at Hawke. "We can just match each other, then."

She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. "I can live with that."

Isabela gives a delicate snort. "Ugh. You two are far too cute. I may have to be ill."

Hawke gives a light, lyrical laugh, and her eyes dance. "Lovely," she says wryly, looking over at Isabela with a small, amused shake of her head. "I'd really rather you didn't, if you don't mind? Or at least give me ample warning, so I can step well clear."

"I'll do my best," Isabela promises, raising her mug to Hawke in a sort of salute, and taking a long sip.

"Good," Hawke says, smiling. "Then are you available for a nice hike up Sundermount today? Merrill needs-"

Isabela waves her hand at Hawke, cutting her off mid-sentence, and narrowly avoiding spilling her drink all over the table. She manages not to, somehow; I suppose it's because of her reflexes. She's so quick, and clever. She'd make a great griffon-wrangler, if she wasn't a pirate, that is. And if griffons weren't extinct. Poor things. It's such a shame; she'd be perfect! I wish they weren't extinct; I always wanted a baby griffon as a pet. She'd get one for me, I'm sure she would.

"Yes, yes, Hawke," Isabela says impatiently. "Merrill filled me in on the whole 'mirror' thing already. Sounds intriguing. Happy to help. Afraid it'll just be me, though. Varric's out; running around in Hightown today for some reason or another."

"He is? What is he up to?" I ask curiously. She didn't tell me that, before. Although I suppose I didn't ask, either, though she didn't really give me time to, come to think of it; she started asking me about Hawke almost as soon as I finished telling her a bit about my mirror, and what we were going to do today.

"No idea," Isabela says, lifting one bare shoulder in a half shrug. "He was being very vague about it. Not to mention somewhat twitchy. Perhaps it has something to do with that backstabbing bastard of a brother of his, what was his name, Baldwin, Bertram?"

"Bartrand." Hawke's voice is short and hard, and I look over at her worriedly. Her expression is grim and dark, her eyes suddenly sad and angry, like they always get whenever anything reminds her of everything that happened, back then. I hate that it still hurts her so badly. I reach out and take her hand beneath the table, and she starts, glancing down as I lace my fingers through hers, and then she lifts her head, smiling at me gratefully, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand.

Isabela clears her throat loudly, and we both jump. Her eyes flick between us, amusement blazing clearly from their golden depths, and Hawke raises an eyebrow at her in a slightly challenging sort of way. Isabela just grins back at her without saying anything, and Hawke shakes her head after a moment, rolling her eyes a little and smiling. I stare between them in bewilderment, baffled by their silent exchange. Perhaps it's a human thing?

"Alright, no matter. I'm sure we can do without him," Hawke says. "A girls-only day out on the mountain, then."

"Sounds like a plan." Isabela drains her whole mug in one long swallow and stands, grinning at us. "Shall we, girls?"

Hawke rises too, and I get up slowly, sliding reluctantly out from under the bench and following them both back over to the tavern door. I have a queasy sort of feeling in my stomach all of a sudden; I suppose it's because I'm still so nervous about talking to the Keeper again, even though Hawke will be with me, and Isabela, too. Although it could just be the smell of... of whatever that is, on the floor, there. No, be honest, Merrill, it's much more than that. Hawke was right; I'm absolutely terrified to face the Keeper again. She'll know exactly what I want the arulin'holm for, when I ask her, and she'll scold me and look at me with that terrible saddened frown... It's so hard to stand up in the face of her disapproval; quite literally, in fact. The cold, disappointed anger in her eyes always sets me to shaking...

I feel a strong arm slip about my waist as we step out into Lowtown, and look up to see Hawke smiling down at me. She doesn't say anything, just nods her head once, squeezing me a little, and I feel my nervousness fade, not completely, but it's not nearly as bad as it was, now. I nod back at her determinedly and take a deep breath as we start walking, Isabela strutting just ahead of us, leading the way, and Hawke beside me, calming me, supporting me. Protecting me, like always.

Everything's going to be alright.

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xxx H xxx

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The brightly coloured paints and richly embroidered standards adorning the tents and aravels of the Dalish camp provide a pleasant relief against the dismal greys and browns of the gloomy mountainside as we approach, passing through an old, crumbling stone archway and turning into the small valley sheltering the camp from unwelcome intrusion. The warriors standing guard at the camp perimeter grudgingly allow us by, though they seem rather more inhospitable than on previous occasions, if possible. But after several stern cautions and thinly veiled threats, they eventually let us through; Isabela tipping them a wink and a suggestive smirk as we pass. I shoot her a warning glare; there's no way to tell how they'll respond to her antics, and I'd really rather not risk an incident this morning. Merrill has enough to worry about as it is; she could do without having to deal with further ire from her clan mates if they find the behaviour of one of her human companions in any way offensive. She widens her eyes at me innocently, and I suppress a sigh. I hope I won't regret bringing her with us today. For a rogue, Isabela is remarkably incapable of subtlety.

Merrill is walking to my left, very close beside me, and I glance at her in concern as we walk slowly into the camp. She is worrying at her bottom lip again, and her eyes are downcast, staring fixedly at the ground beneath her feet as she walks, her arms crossed tightly beneath her chest in a protective sort of way. I feel a sudden urge to wrap her up in my arms and hold her until she feels better, but I suppress it swiftly; not here, in the middle of the Dalish camp. I have no doubt that would not go down well, and there's no sense in making things worse for her while we're here. She hasn't expressed her exact feelings on the matter, but I can't help but worry that she might be a little fearful of what her clan would think of her and me together, perhaps even a little... ashamed. It's a terrifying thought, and one I'd much rather not dwell on. Even if she doesn't feel that way, it still won't make our task here any easier if I draw attention to us like that. All I can do is stay as close to her as I can, support her, and just hope she knows that I'm here for her. Whatever she needs.

A group of two young men and a woman standing idly outside an aravel pause in their conversation as our little group approaches their position, before bending their heads in close together, talking softly. A snatch of their conversation drifts over to me on the breeze and I strain my ears curiously, trying to catch their words. Admittedly this is eavesdropping, but since they appear to be discussing us, somehow I just don't feel all that bad about it.

"I know Merrill was fond of Mahariel, but it's been years," I hear one of them say softly, a young man with wavy, chestnut coloured hair, a faint look of disdain marring his otherwise pleasant face."It's not healthy."

"Brooding over the loss of Mahariel is the least disturbing thing she's done, Junar, and well you know it," says the woman, flicking a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes as she shoots a hateful glance over her shoulder at us. Or more accurately, at Merrill. I resist the urge to glare back at her on Merrill's behalf, since she still has her eyes on the ground and doesn't see. Calm down, just don't react. It isn't worth it. I take a slow, deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. I shouldn't antagonise anyone anyway, not while we're here asking for favours.

One among the group speaks up as we draw near; a young elf with sleek blond hair in green hunter's garb. "If you're wise, human, you'll stay as far away from Merrill as you can. No sane person would touch what she's taken up," he says coldly in my direction, shooting a hard, withering look at Merrill, but she doesn't appear to notice his glare or his comment; apparently deep in fearful contemplation and completely oblivious to her immediate surroundings. I glance at him for a brief moment, wondering what he meant exactly. Merrill told me the clan didn't approve of her efforts to fix the eluvian, but I didn't quite realise just how strongly they all felt about it.

I decide to ignore the blond hunter's remark; instead merely preparing to pass him by without a word or any other form of acknowledgement. Merrill hasn't noticed him or the stares of the other two, so I will leave it alone for the moment. Much as I may feel like leaping to her defence, all I would likely accomplish by doing so would be to draw her attention to their scorn, and that's the last thing she needs right now. Isabela, on the other hand, mutters something darkly under her breath as we walk by him, shooting daggers with the ferocity of her golden glare, and his green eyes widen as he stumbles a few paces back with a look of frightened astonishment. I'd find it almost comical were it not for the fact that my heart seethes at the contemptuous looks the other two give Merrill as we pass them. Yet... there was something else in their eyes as well that troubled me, something that I also thought I saw in the faces of the sentries as they saw us coming. When they saw Merrill with us... I almost would have said it was fear, but...

I shake my head firmly as we walk past the large bonfire in the centre of the camp. No, that can't be right. They couldn't possibly be afraid of Merrill; no one could, surely. They might not approve of what she's trying to do, but this is her clan, her adoptive family. They must know her better than anyone, and no one who really knows Merrill could ever actually be afraid of her, blood magic or no. It's just... inconceivable. I must have been mistaken; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. Still... their faces, their attitudes, their words... something about that whole encounter, not to mention our trouble with the sentries, has left me with a deep feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach, like a warning instinct. I take note of it in concern. It might be nothing, but... well, better safe than sorry, and if there's something wrong here... I couldn't take it if anything happened to Merrill because I ignored my... intuition - or whatever it is - the way I did before, with... with Carver.

I take a look around the centre of the camp, trying to ignore the prickling on the back of my neck as all the Dalish seem to turn their suspicious, wary gazes on us at once. I finally spot the Keeper in the distance, right at the far edge of the camp, standing with her back to us as she talks to someone directly before her, though I can't make out their features. They seem rather too tall for an elf, whoever it is. I look around at Isabela and Merrill. "There's Marethari, over there. Looks like she's talking to someone."

Merrill looks up at my words, giving a little shiver as her eyes fall on the silent, austere figure of the Dalish clan leader. "Oh, I'm really not looking forward to seeing the Keeper again," she says softly, almost under her breath. She looks around and finally notices the silent, icy glares of her clan. "Everyone is staring at me," she says quietly, her voice nervous, and sad. She looks up at me. "Let's get this over with."

I give her a reassuring smile, wishing I could wrap my arm around her comfortingly. "Just ignore them. We'll be out of here soon enough, I'm sure." She tries to smile back at me, but doesn't quite manage it, and she turns her fretful, worried gaze back to the Keeper. If Marethari doesn't give us the tool, then I at least hope we can manage whatever task she gives us relatively quickly and get away from here. I don't like seeing her look so distressed, especially when there doesn't seem to be anything I can do for her.

We approach the Keeper slowly, trying to give her and her companion time to finish their conversation before we interrupt. The unidentified person slowly manifests itself into a human sized figure in shining plate armour, though we're still too far away for me to make out a face, or any distinguishing features. Whoever they are, the Dalish obviously feel secure enough with them to allow them to retain their arms and speak to their Keeper without a guard. Someone already familiar to them, then?

"Well, look who it is," Isabela says with a grin, her sharp eyes apparently able to see farther and more clearly than I can, honed by her years at sea searching out land and other ships on the horizon, I suppose. "None other than our illustrious Guard-Captain in all her supremely authoritative, tight-arsed glory. Wonder what brings her here?"

I start in astonishment, and then strain my eyes at the figure as we walk closer, though I don't doubt that Isabela is right. I'm just a little surprised to find Aveline here, on her own. I feel sudden a twinge of alarm; has someone been making trouble for the Dalish?

I quicken my pace, trying to listen; I can faintly make out their conversation as we draw near.

"...wanted to ask about your clan members, the ones who were set upon in Lowtown recently," I hear Aveline say, her voice measured and composed, but with a clear tone of concern. "How are they?"

Set upon? I frown anxiously; it seems I might be right about trouble, unfortunately.

"They recover swiftly, and will be well again soon," the Keeper replies somewhat reservedly, the lilting cadence of her voice so like, and yet so unlike Merrill's. "I thank you for your assistance and your concern, Guard-Captain."

I am near enough now to clearly make out the genuine relief on Aveline's face as she inclines her head respectfully to the Keeper. "You're quite welcome. I am glad to hear they will be alright."

This seems as appropriate a moment as any to interrupt, and I walk up to them, Merrill and Isabela a step behind me. "Aveline?"

Aveline favours me with a warm smile, and a nod. "Hello, Hawke," she says mildly, surveying me calmly with her cool green eyes, for all the world as though we were speaking in her office rather than in the middle of a camp full of bristling, barely tolerant Dalish elves.

I raise a questioning eyebrow at my red-haired friend. "I didn't expect to see you here, of all places. What's going on?"

She gives a weary sigh. "A rather unpleasant business, I'm afraid. I'm here as a representative of the City Guard."

"What for?" I ask, frowning in concern. "What's the trouble, Aveline?"

"Two of our clan, Terath and Variel, went into the city to purchase supplies to supplement what little the clan can hunt or gather here on Sundermount," Marethari answers my question before Aveline can speak, turning her body slightly so that we form a circle with her and the Guard-Captain. "But when they ventured into the market, they attracted the attention of a group of humans, who became angered by their presence and attacked. Without provocation, beyond the mere fact of their being Dalish in a human city." Her eyes grow angry, and her voice becomes harder as she continues. "Variel and Terath were able to escape them after the guard stepped in, but they were both badly injured before the brutes could be dissuaded."

Bloody Void. I hate being right sometimes. Though this may go a little way to explaining the resentment and caution we experienced in the camp; if the clan has had recent trouble with humans. It still doesn't account for the increase in hostility towards Merrill, however. Unless it's because she left them to live in a human city? But then, they really have themselves to blame for not supporting her. I suppose I owe them for that, in a way. A weird, twisted sort of way.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I tell Marethari truthfully, then look at Aveline. "I hope you're here to inform the Keeper that something appropriately nasty and painful has been done to teach the idiots responsible a lesson, then."

"That isn't quite how I was going to put it, Hawke. But yes," Aveline says with a faint trace of amusement, before turning her gaze back to the Keeper. "I've come to assure you that the perpetrators have been arrested, and they will not go unpunished. Their crime was completely unprovoked, and utterly unacceptable. I have sentenced each of them to a public flogging, and a six month stint in the brig; the maximum sentence for unprovoked assault and battery." I smile a little and open my mouth to speak, intending to give my wholehearted support for her judgement, but she raises a gauntleted hand to show she isn't done, keeping all attention firmly focused on her words. Her eyes remain steadfastly fixed on the Keeper. "But I feel I must warn you; there may be repercussions. Some of the more ignorant and intolerant in the city will resent my actions. I can uphold the law within Kirkwall, but out here there isn't much I can do. My patrols are spread too thin to be able to be of much assistance to you, I'm afraid."

Marethari sighs a little wearily, nodding. "I understand. We are quite capable of defending ourselves, however."

Aveline smiles grimly. "I don't doubt it. I saw some of the criminals myself when they were brought in; they were certainly looking quite sorry for themselves. Your clan members gave as good as they got, or better; they were simply too outnumbered to get away. I only meant what I said as a warning." She frowns a little, her concern showing in her eyes as she gazes levelly at Marethari. "I urge you to be cautious, and in the event of any misdirected attempt at retaliation, please send for me."

"I will," the Keeper assures her with a slight, graceful bow of her head. "Thank you." Her eyes fall on Merrill then, who tenses a little but gazes back at her without flinching. But she doesn't say anything, leaving the two elves staring at each other in an uncomfortable, almost heated silence.

Aveline nods at me and moves to leave, but I reach out to grab her arm lightly. "Surely you don't have to go right away, do you?" I ask her quietly. I'd appreciate her help with this, especially since she seems to be on good terms with Marethari. Her presence couldn't hurt, at any rate. "I don't suppose you'd mind tagging along after us for a bit, since you're here?"

She considers briefly, then nods once in agreement and places herself next to Isabela, who smirks at her a little but miraculously manages to hold off any attempts to bait her. Perhaps she plans to wait until we're out of the Dalish camp. Thank the Maker for small mercies. She turns suddenly to murmur something in Aveline's ear and I strain to hear, concerned my relief may have been premature, then relax as I hear her say 'Merrill', then 'mirror' and then 'some sort of magic tool... thing', and I realise she is simply filling the Captain in on the nature of our task. I smile my thanks, which she acknowledges with a wink before continuing her whispered conversation with Aveline.

"Keeper," Merrill says suddenly, speaking up at last.

"You return to us, da'len," Marethari responds, still looking hard at Merrill. "Have you reconsidered this path at last?" The hope in her voice is plain, and more than a little painful to hear. Not to mention rather awkward, since this is hardly a prodigal homecoming. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I..." Merrill falters, glancing between me and the expectant figure of the Keeper and then falls silent, her courage failing. She looks up at me helplessly, her eyes pleading, and I decide to distract Marethari's attention away from her for a moment to give her time to collect herself.

"We didn't really say a proper greeting before, did we?" I say, letting a small grin play over my lips. "Let's start over. Hello again, Keeper. Don't you look lovely!"

"My apologies, Hawke," Marethari says with a note of quiet amusement, turning her sharp gaze away from her rebellious First to regard me indulgently. "Be welcome among the Dalish."

I hear the whispers behind me cease abruptly; Isabela must have finished explaining our venture to Aveline, I suppose, but the sudden lack of any sound at all is rather unnerving, especially under the weight of the cold stares from the elves all around us. We all stand in awkward silence for a while, until at last I look over to Merrill. She is still staring at the Keeper, looking nothing so much like a frightened baby deer caught under the hungry gaze of an ill-tempered dragon. Does she really fear Marethari's disapproval so much?

I reach out to her surreptitiously and give her hand a brief, reassuring touch. Nothing more; not here, right in front of the Keeper with her whole clan giving us the evil eye from all sides. "You can do this, Merrill. Go on, I'm with you."

She tears her stare away from the Keeper and looks at me, gratitude clear in her wide green eyes. "Thank you, Hawke," she says with feeling, and then takes a deep breath and returns her gaze to Marethari, squaring her slender shoulders resolutely. "Keeper, I need the arulin'holm, the ancient carving blade that Master Ilen keeps."

Marethari's face becomes impassive as she processes Merrill's request, but her eyes flash dangerously. "I see. You still wish to rebuild the eluvian."

Merrill steels herself against the frosty look in the Keeper's eyes. "You don't have to approve of it," she says shortly, though her voice quivers a little as she speaks. "I'm invoking Vir Sulevanan. I'll do whatever task you wish."

Marethari narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting in displeasure. "Well, I'm glad to know I can still disapprove." She crosses her arms, surveying Merrill with a coldly appraising eye, her expression becoming grim and forbidding. This must be the disapproving frown Merrill was worried about. Fearsome, indeed; I don't blame her in the least for being nervous. "It is your right," Marethari says sadly after a moment, sounding resigned. "I will give you a service to perform, if you insist."

I smile gratefully, hearing Merrill let out a tiny sigh of relief at my side. "Thank you, Keeper; we appreciate your help. This means a lot to Merrill."

The Keeper turns to me and inclines her head gracefully to acknowledge my thanks. Her eyes are sad when she raises them to mine, but a small smile hovers on her lips as she looks at me. "I'm glad that Merrill has a friend in you, child," she says, her voice warm. "I hope you will look after her." I nod once in silent affirmation.

"Oh, Hawke will take very good care of her, no doubt about that," Isabela says behind me, amusement clear in her suggestive tone. By the flaming Maker, Isabela, not now... I turn to give her a fierce warning glare, and she gazes back innocently, or at least, she assumes as innocent an expression as she can manage. Aveline glances questioningly at Isabela, who grins at her a little, giving her a meaningful wink. The Guard-Captain's fine eyebrows lift in surprise and she shoots a look of comprehension at me before hurriedly schooling her face back to impassivity. She meets my gaze momentarily and I think I catch a glint of approval in her eye, though her expression gives nothing else away, to my great relief. Maker, she's perceptive. Thankfully she's also tactful enough to be discreet in front of the Keeper, unlike bloody Isabela, whose full lips are still curved in an amused and deeply satisfied smirk.

"Isabela..." Merrill whispers reproachfully, her voice hardly above a whisper as she keeps her fretful gaze on her former mentor. Isabela's grin fades at the sound of Merrill's voice, and her face becomes apologetic, remorseful even, suddenly seeming to realise the potential damage done by her excessive lack of tact. Far too late to be helpful, obviously, but it's something, I suppose.

Marethari frowns, looking between us for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I am relieved to hear it," she says after a heavily weighted pause, watching my face closely for a few awkward seconds, and then she turns her eyes abruptly back to Merrill's anxious gaze. "A varterral has taken the lives of three of our hunters," she declares abruptly, and then waves a hand in the direction of the camp border, gesturing towards the narrow, tree studded trail to her left that runs past a small crumbling set of ruins before curving sharply out of sight around the base of Sundermount. "It lairs in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out. Slay it. No one else must fall to its anger." She folds her arms back over her chest, regarding Merrill with a sombre, challenging gaze. "Do this for us, and I will give you the arulin'holm."

Merrill merely stares at her wordlessly for a moment. "Three hunters..." she says at last, her voice shocked, and a look of distress comes into her face as she stares wide-eyed at Marethari. "Who, Keeper? Is it certain that... that they're dead?"

"Chandan, Harshal, and Radha," Marethari says heavily. "And yes; at this point, I fear there can be no doubt."

Merrill draws in a shuddering breath, blinking back tears, and I immediately move closer to her, reaching out and taking her hand tightly in mine to comfort her, completely forgetting my resolve to be discreet. She holds on tightly, keeping her eyes on Marethari, who glances down at our intertwined fingers for a moment before looking back up at us without comment, though a hint of suspicion remains in her eyes as she looks between us. I feel a surge of unease; does she really guess? Is she that perceptive? Well of course she is, everyone else seems to be, of late, why not her as well? Damn it, Isabela! I curse her, and then myself silently, hoping I haven't just made things more difficult for Merrill. I should have been more careful! I shake my head minutely and concentrate, listening respectfully as Marethari starts to recount the fate of the hunters, trying to ignore the heat of her discerning gaze. Merrill doesn't let go of my hand.

"I sent Chandan into the caves to recover any elven artifacts the varterral may have been guarding, but he did not return," the Keeper begins her tale steadily, her eyes now fixed on Merrill, who gazes back at her with a fearful, anxious look. "When we realised he was missing, Harshal went to look for him. But he came upon the varterral before he found any sign of him, only barely managing to escape with his own life." The Keeper frowns, her expression grim. "I do not understand why it would attack. The varterral was created by the gods to protect our people; it should have recognised his blood, and let him be."

"Do you... do you suppose something provoked it?" Merrill ventures quietly, sounding a little unsteady.

"Perhaps," the Keeper replies, before continuing bluntly; "But it helps us little to dwell on it now. The beast cannot be calmed. Harshal returned to tell the clan of what had transpired, and he and Radha went back to investigate, intending to kill the creature if they encountered it again." Marethari's voice becomes heavy with sorrow, and her eyes grow tight with sadness. "Neither they, nor Chandan, have returned; and it has been far too long now to continue to cling to hope. They would surely have returned days ago, if they lived. I have forbidden anyone else to venture into the caves, even to search for their bodies."

"Poor Chandan," Merrill whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. I squeeze her hand again in wordless sympathy, and feel her fingers press mine in answer. "And Harshal, Radha. Creators, Ineria and Pol must be devastated!"

Marethari nods sorrowfully. "It is a terrible blow to the clan, indeed." She glances down the trail behind us, her expression growing sadder still. "Pol was... very fond of Radha, as you know, da'len. He refused to believe that she could be dead. He went by himself into the caves to look for her, but he has not come out. I fear the worst for him, as well." She shakes her head a little as she looks back at us. "But I cannot risk anyone else to the varterral's wrath, though many of our other hunters are angered by my decision. Junar, Fenarel, and Ineria in particular are very displeased with me."

"Yes, I think we may have passed those three as we came in," Isabela puts in suddenly in as respectful a tone as she can manage, waving a careless hand vaguely in the direction of the three young hunters by the aravel. "They certainly seemed somewhat less than cheerful."

"The loss of any of our clan hurts us all deeply, child," the Keeper says, surveying her calmly. "Ineria and Harshal were bondmates, and Junar and Fenarel are close friends with Pol. They do not wish to abandon him to his fate, but I consider the risk to be unacceptable. We cannot afford to lose any more of the clan."

"It is hard to make such decisions, but it seems to me to be the only option, considering the circumstances," Aveline offers gravely, and the Keeper acknowledges her words with a slight, gracious nod.

"Your wisdom is appreciated, Guard-Captain. I am certain you have an understanding of the necessity of making such difficult judgements. I thank you for your words."

Merrill draws herself up, meeting the Keeper's gaze with determination. "We'll go now, Keeper. And we'll find Pol, and bring him back to the clan. We will, I promise."

"May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent," Marethari says in benediction, and then turns to walk slowly towards a nearby aravel.

Merrill watches her go, and then looks around at us. "The cave must be near camp. The Keeper would just warn the hunters away, otherwise. There's a cave at the end of this path; that must be the one she means." She gestures down the trail with the hand not still clutching mine, and I nod and start walking, setting a brisk pace down the path.

"So this Pol fellow, kitten... he's a friend of yours, I take it?" Isabela asks behind us.

Merrill glances over her shoulder and nods. "Yes, I suppose he is; although I've only known him for a short while, compared to the others of my clan."

"What do you mean?" Isabela asks; an audible frown in her voice. "Didn't you grow up together?"

Merrill shakes her head as she turns again to look back at the pirate, promptly tripping on a half-exposed tree root and pitching forwards with a shocked gasp. I pull hard on her hand to halt her fall, wrapping my free arm about her waist before she hits the ground and pulling her back upright. She clutches my arms for support and gives me a tiny bashful smile. I give her a small wry grin in return as I set her safely back on her feet, and she turns to Isabela again, who smirks at her; clearly having found the whole incident very entertaining.

"Pol is new to the clan," Merrill says in answer Isabela's question, a faint blush now staining the pale skin of her cheeks. "He was city born. Worldly. He ran away from the Denerim alienage and found us just before we came here to escape the Blight. I only knew him for about a year, before I... left." Merrill turns abruptly, walking swiftly down the trail again, and we follow suit as she continues."He was lonely, sometimes, after leaving his family behind. I was appointed to teach him about our history, and he would tell me a little about living in the alienage, when he needed someone to talk to." She looks up at me. "It was his stories that gave me the idea to go to the alienage in Kirkwall to complete my work." She falls silent again, her eyes on the path ahead; clearly worrying over the tasks before us.

After a few moments, Aveline clears her throat gently. "Merrill, I would like to ask you a few questions about your work, if I may," she says, stepping up to walk on Merrill's other side, her voice somewhat stern and wary. I glance at her quizzically, raising an eyebrow; she sounds guarded and suspicious, as though assessing a potential threat.

Aveline disregards my look; keeping her gaze locked on Merrill. "This mirror of yours — what does it do?

"Mostly it stands in my house, looking a bit spooky," Merrill answers absently, her eyes now fixed firmly back on the path ahead. I can see the anxiety in her face, and her impatience to find her lost clan mate, and I give Aveline a harder stare, silently compelling her to drop her interrogation for now. Surely it can wait.

"But it's magic, right?" Aveline presses her, continuing to ignore me. "So it can do... magic things? Is it dangerous?"

Merrill draws her brows together, considering Aveline's words carefully. "It could fall on someone, but you'd have to push it really hard," she says after a moment. "It's quite heavy."

Isabela chuckles in amusement behind me, and I raise a hand to my mouth to cover a smile as Aveline gives a patiently exasperated sigh. "Merrill, is it a danger to the people of Kirkwall or not?"

Merrill looks up at her in surprise, finally realising the nature of Aveline's concern. "Oh! Only to anyone sitting right under it," she says seriously. Aveline frowns skeptically, and Merrill sighs, shaking her head as she gives Aveline a reproachful, slightly hurt look. "It's safe, Aveline, I promise. I would never have brought it to Kirkwall if I thought it might hurt anyone. You don't really think I would, do you?" Aveline opens her mouth to speak, looking somewhat doubtful, but Merrill forestalls her. "That's really not what we should be concerned about right now, anyway," she says, a slight note of reprimand in her lilting tone. "We should be thinking about finding Pol, and the varterral."

Aveline's eyes soften at the worried look on Merrill's face. "You're right, Merrill, of course. I apologise," she says, her tone gentle and soothing. Merrill accepts her apology with a faint but reassuring smile before her face once more resumes its former anxious expression, and her pace quickens again as we move further down the path.

I watch Aveline for a moment as we walk, but she deliberately avoids my gaze. She seemed rather unconvinced when Merrill told her the mirror wasn't dangerous, at least, to anyone other than herself. She can't believe Merrill was lying, surely? Perhaps her unease simply stems from the fact that it is a magical artifact, and therefore an unknown; something Aveline cannot limit or control with the threat of law or force of arms. That would certainly account for her reaction. I suppose it's understandable, but even if she still believes it's dangerous, I hope she at least believes that Merrill would never hurt anyone, either with the mirror or with her blood magic. At least, no one who didn't deserve it. I glance at Aveline again, more closely this time; noting the deep worry lines etched across her forehead and around her eyes, dragging at the corners of her mouth, and I feel an answering gnawing feeling settle deep in my gut. She has an unerring instinct for knowing when something isn't quite right, which has served us well on several occasions. I've never known it to fail us before, which is what is currently making me feel so uneasy. But then... if she was really convinced that the mirror was a danger, she would have no part in helping us restore it. Perhaps I'm reading too much into her expression; perhaps she's simply concerned about fighting this varterral monster, which certainly classifies as another unknown, after all. I should probably start being a little more worried about that too.

We reach the cave at last and step cautiously into its dark, cavernous maw, treading carefully over the uneven rubble-strewn ground. Merrill and I grasp our staffs simultaneously and light the tips, the bright glow illuminating the glistening walls and the dripping stalactites above us, glinting off of the rusted remains of chains and hooks hanging from old wooden beams across the ceiling; likely the remnants of an old mining operation. I tense suddenly, hearing the scuttling, rustling sounds of movement in the darkness as the sudden glare from our magical light disturbs whatever nasty sort of creatures dwell in the shadows. Giant bloody spiders, probably. Merrill steps forward, her eyes searching desperately about the chamber despite the fact that we are unlikely to find any of her clan mates in the very mouth of the cave, whether dead or alive. And this Pol we're also supposed to be looking for has likely gone much deeper than this. I gaze at her drawn, anxious expression in concern, wishing I could help her find her friend faster, but aside from setting a swift pace through the cave, there's not a lot more I can do. We can't move too quickly, after all, since we'll need to remain on the lookout for this varterral monster we're also supposed to kill, whatever it is.

I frown suddenly, realising again that I have no idea what exactly to expect. This creature is a complete unknown; it could look like anything. I catch Merrill's eye as we head deeper into the cave. Hopefully she knows something about it. "So, what exactly is a varterral? What are we looking for?"

Merrill bites her lip as she looks up at me. "I've never seen one," she admits quietly. "But they are described in the old legends as immense and agile spider-like beasts of rock and tree that move with lightning speed and spit venom. They are said to be wrath incarnate."

Well. Of course they are.

Great.

"Oh. Brilliant," Isabela says wryly. "I guess we'll know it when we see it, then. Can't be too many of those running about, can there? Let's hope not, anyway." She sighs heavily. "I don't suppose there's any point in hoping that those legends were heavily embellished?"

"Sure. Because we're just that lucky," I say, unable to suppress a small wry grin.

"I am starting to deeply regret waiving my policy to always ask for details before agreeing to help you, Hawke," Aveline mutters darkly, adjusting her grip on her sword as she scans the cave.

Merrill tugs impatiently on my hand, looking up at me; her eyes dark with worry. "Please, let's hurry. We need to get to Pol before something happens to him."

I nod reassuringly. "Of course. We'll find him, Merrill, don't worry."

I signal our little group forward and move deeper into the cave, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of this giant spider-monster... thing. This has turned into a much bigger task than I predicted, even with Merrill's forewarning; the Keeper is certainly going to extreme lengths to keep Merrill from getting her hands on this tool, whatever it is. It seems Merrill was right to worry that Marethari would try to give her an impossible task; I daresay she believes we'll give up and come creeping back into camp at the first sight of the creature, tails between our legs. I tighten my grip on my staff, feeling my resolve strengthen. We've faced down ogres, demons, and even a couple of dragons together, after all. Surely this varterral beast can't be any more fearsome; I have no doubt we can handle it, despite what Marethari may think. So then... why do I still feel so uneasy? I just can't shake the growing feeling that something isn't quite right about this, but I can't figure out what.

I give my head a little shake to clear it; no sense worrying about it now. I have to keep my wits about me and watch for the varterral, and Merrill's missing clan mate. I hope we find him alive; for his sake and for Merrill's. Perhaps I'm just being too much of an optimist, but I believe there's a good chance he's alright; considering the sheer size of the cave, it seems likely that he may not have run into the monster yet. And maybe, if the elven gods are kind, we might just find some of the other Dalish alive as well.

Until we see bodies, well... we can always hope.

---

We find the last corpse lying facedown at the base of a rickety flight of wooden stairs; almost unnoticeable against the back wall of the cave.

"Chandan!" Merrill cries softly, brokenly, the discovery of yet another dead clan mate clearly almost too much for her to bear. "The Keeper was right. They're all dead. Oh, Chandan..."

She kneels beside the body of the dead hunter, closing the lids of his sightless eyes before placing her hand gently against his forehead. "Tread carefully, lethallin. May the Trickster never find you in the Beyond," she says quietly. She puts a hand to his throat, drawing a thin braided cord with a small polished stone hanging from it out from beneath the neck of his armour and slipping it gently over his head, clutching it tightly in her hand as she rises and turns to look at me with dull, sad eyes. "We should give their clan amulets to the Keeper," she says, her voice hollow. "Their families should know that they died bravely."

Maker, she looks so sad. I move towards her, to comfort her, but a flurry of scuffling footsteps in the shadows behind us catches my attention and I push her behind me instead, spinning on my heel, eyes searching the darkness. It didn't really sound like another spider, but who knows what else this flaming cave has to throw at us? Or... what if it's the varterral? I adjust my hold on my staff, gripping it determinedly, eyes flashing at the darkness before me. Let the bloody thing come and show itself; I've had just about enough of crawling through this damn cave after it, following the gory trail of bodies to its lair. Let it come out, and fight.

A rock clatters slightly to my right and I turn, straining my eyes, just able to make out a rotting wooden doorway in the glowing light from my staff. I hear another small movement and lower my weapon a little, approaching the direction of the noise cautiously. It didn't sound big enough to be a giant monster of legend, at any rate.

"Is someone there? It's alright; it's safe." I call into the gloom. Nothing stirs, but somehow I know someone is there, listening. I can feel it. It could be Pol. "Show yourself," I encourage, a little harder than I meant as I take another step forward, trying to curb my impatience. Maker's breath, do we sound like we're going to eat him?

"Whoever's hiding had better come out!" I call at last in irritation, then pause for a moment, considering. "Unless you're a dragon. Then feel free to keep hiding."

"Hello?" A nervous, tentative call sounds from the shadows, and a young elf with short blond hair and an extremely twitchy expression steps out from behind the splintered frame of the door. His green eyes fall on me, luminous in the darkness, and his face breaks into a relieved smile as he walks towards me, his hand raised in greeting. "Oh, praise Andras- I mean, the Creators. Thank you, stranger. I got lost; I thought I'd never get out of-"

"Oh, Pol! Thank the Creators you're safe!" Merrill cries happily, stepping up beside me. So this is her lost clan member, then. I could almost send a silent prayer of thanks to the elven gods, these Creators. If I thought they'd care for the gratitude of a human on behalf of one of their designs, that is. I am glad we got to him in time though; Merrill has suffered enough loss for one day.

Pol suddenly pulls up short, freezing mid-step and staring at his clan mate with wide eyes. "Merrill?"

"Aneth ara, Pol. I'm so glad to see you're alright! I was worried we were too late," Merrill says, smiling sweetly at him in relief. She pauses, her face falling a little as she gestures behind her, back in the direction we came."We saw the bodies. I'm... so sorry, Pol. About Radha, I mean."

Pol stares at her, not responding. There is a strange look on his face, almost one of... terror.

Merrill finally seems to notice his odd behaviour, and she frowns in concern as she looks at him closely. "What's the matter, Pol? Are you hurt?"

"Stay back!" Pol warns, his eyes growing hard as he stares at her. "What do you want from me?"

Merrill blinks in confusion and a look of uncertainty crosses her features. "Pol, what's wrong?" she asks, half stretching her hand out toward him. "I'm here to help."

Pol stumbles back a few paces, his wide frightened eyes not leaving her. "Stay back! Don't touch me!" he cries, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria.

Merrill's face crumples a little in bewilderment at his reaction, and her eyes fill with hurt. I feel my heart stir with anger; what in Andraste's name could be making him act this way towards her? "Merrill couldn't hurt you if she tried!" I tell him incredulously. "At worst, she might make frowny faces."

Pol narrows his eyes at me, flattening his back against the rough wood of the doorway behind him. "She'll do worse than hurt me!" he snarls, glaring at Merrill. "Don't you know what she is?"

What does he mean by that? Does he mean... her blood magic? I wasn't sure whether the clan knew about that for certain, but Merrill would never use it against them, they must know that. Merrill would never hurt any of her clan; she only wants to help them. Even if they don't agree with her methods, surely they can't question her motives.

I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, determined not to let the situation escalate any further if I can help it. Getting him safely out of here is more important than defending Merrill to him right now, however much I may wish to. "Be calm, Pol. Let us help you get back to the camp."

"No!" Pol yells, his eyes wide with fear as he shakes his head. He glares at Merrill as he inches along the wall towards the doorway beside him. "I'm not going anywhere with you! Not if you're with her. You don't know what she is. What she's done!"

"Quiet down, son. You'll attract the beast's attention." Aveline says; her voice calm and measured, though her face betrays her worry and disquiet.

"Since we've seen neither hide nor hair of the thing - assuming it has either - I'm betting it's probably down there," Isabela comments from behind us. "I really don't think that's a good way to go."

"Pol, listen to us," Merrill pleads, taking a step towards him. "Don't go that way-"

Pol's face twists in fear and anger at her approach. "No! Keep away from me, monster!" he spits venomously at her. Merrill's face goes blank with shock at his words, and he turns, bolting into the darkness beyond the doorway, his voice echoing against the narrow walls of the stairwell beyond. "Creators, help me! Someone, please!"

"Pol, no!" Merrill cries, and dashes after him. "We have to catch him, hurry!" she calls over her shoulder.

We sprint after her, running down the creaking stairs and down a short stone passageway. I hear an eerie, bloodcurdling shriek that can't possibly have come from anything human or elven, and feel an icy stab of dread in my chest as Pol's terrified scream sounds in our ears, reverberating towards us down the tunnel.

Oh, Maker. Isabela was right; this must be the creature's lair!

We push ourselves faster as Pol cries out again, and burst into a huge cavern lit by streams of sunlight pouring through great jagged holes in the ceiling, just in time to see him collapsing in a petrified heap, gazing up in abject terror at the horrible many-legged monster towering over him; a monstrous being constructed of rock and dead tree limbs. It screams again, a harsh, piercing sound, and the elf at its feet whimpers loudly in fear as it twists its head down to look at him.

The creature lifts one of its heavy grey legs in the air above the prone elf, leaving it dangling almost teasingly above him, then slams its rocky appendage forcefully down on Pol's chest with an awful tearing sound and a terrible snap of bone. Pol lets out a wet, gargling scream of agony, his limbs jerking uncontrollably, then he gasps and sighs as his last remaining breath escapes his lungs, his body falling deathly still.

"No!" Merrill screams, hefting her staff as she sprints towards the thing with the rest of us hot on her heels; mana summoned, daggers drawn, sword and shield in hand.

"Hold on, Pol!" Merrill cries as the creature turns to face us, screaming its rage as a well-aimed fireball from Merrill's staff splatters along its stony hide.

"We're coming!"

---

xxx M xxx

---

We fight the wretched beast for what seems like hours before it finally starts tire.

I redouble my efforts, attacking it with everything I have, but it's still taking too long, far too long! Pol's hurt, we have to help him! We have to finish this, now! The varterral screeches in rage and what I pray to the Creators is a great deal of pain as Hawke shoots a ball of ice straight into its horrible, craggy face, encasing its snakelike head completely and sending a thick layer of frost spreading over its whole body, freezing it in its tracks. Isabela scrambles agilely onto its back and plunges both her daggers into its skull once, twice, as Aveline lops two of its legs straight out from under it, shattering the ice-encrusted limbs with the force of her blow. The thing stumbles jerkily and pitches forward, and I scream in primal fury as I summon a tempest above the creature, the beast that hurt Pol, that killed Radha and Harshal and Chandan, my clan mates, my family, calling down snaking tendrils of lightning into the varterral's body, frying it, burning it, charring it again and again until it lets out one last hoarse, strangely gratifying shriek and drops its head heavily to the ground; thick, foul-smelling smoke pouring from its gaping maw and unseeing eyes.

I run around the vile beast as it twitches in its death throes, searching for him. He was hurt, very badly. We didn't get to him in time to stop the monster, I didn't get to him, didn't save him, but maybe it's not too late. Hawke can heal him, I know she can. He'll be alright, he will. He has to be. I see him on the ground and run to him, feeling something damp and sticky against my bare soles as I draw near. I look down.

Oh, Mythal...

My feet are bathed in crimson. There's blood everywhere; all around him, all over him, and a gaping wound in his chest. I drop to my hands and knees beside him, feeling the wetness under my fingers. So much blood...

"Pol?"

He doesn't move.

No. Creators, please...

I pluck at his shoulder, willing him to move, to breathe, to open his eyes, but he doesn't. He is still, so still. A trickle of blood runs from his mouth.

No, no, no, no, please, Pol, no! Wake up, lethallin! Please...

No, he can't be dead, he can't be! I turn my head and look behind me, look for Hawke, my eyes searching her out frantically before I see her come around the dead monster, running towards me. If anyone can help him...

"Maybe... maybe it's not too late." I gaze up at her in desperate hope as she reaches my side. "Hawke, you can save him, can't you?"

Hawke kneels quickly next to me, stretching her hands over Pol's prone form, her hands glowing as she moves them above his body. I watch her anxiously, biting my lip so hard I can taste blood. He'll be alright, he has to be alright. She can save him...

Hawke's shoulders sag suddenly, and she drops her hands as she turns slowly to look at me, her face sorrowful. "He's gone," she says quietly, her voice gentle, her eyes deep with sadness and concern. "I'm so sorry, Merrill."

No. No! Oh, Pol, why didn't you listen? I let my head fall, tears pouring down my face as I bend over him. He's gone. He'll never practise archery with Junar again, never follow after Fenarel, his mentor, his hero, as he hunts deer in the forest. Never craft arrows for Master Ilen, or listen to Hahren Paivel's stories by the campfire, beneath the stars. Never steal kisses with Radha behind the Keeper's aravel in the moonlight. Never again.

He's gone.

He's dead. Dead, because he ran from me! Because he was afraid... of me! I sob my pain, my heartache, my cries lashing against the rocky walls of the cavern and echoing back, ringing in my ears, taunting me. "Why did you run? You shouldn't have run!"

But he can't answer me. He never will.

He's dead.

I feel Hawke place a hand on my shoulder from behind me. "Merrill." Her voice is a lifeline, as is her touch and I grab her hand tightly, half turning to look at her, tears blurring my vision.

She reaches her other hand to my cheek, trying to wipe my tears away. "It wasn't your fault," she says, softly but firmly as she gazes into my eyes. "There was nothing you could have done."

Her words sound true, but... but it shouldn't have happened. And it feels, like it was my fault, somehow. He shouldn't have died. He wouldn't have, would he, if he hadn't gone that way...

If he hadn't run from me.

Why did he run? Why was he so terrified? I let go of her hand and push myself to my feet, shaking my head in denial. Hawke rises too, worry clear in her eyes as she watches me. I stare back at her wildly. "He was more afraid of me than the varterral! He... he acted as though I was a Darkspawn. I thought..."

I wrap my arms around myself and look down, suppressing a sob as my eyes fall again on Pol's bloody, broken body. Pol... "He tried so hard to learn our ways, to recover his heritage, when he came to us. I thought if anyone in the clan would understand what I was trying to do, it would have been him. But he... he..." The tears come again, harder, and this time a miserable whimper escapes me before I can stop myself. Hawke moves towards me, reaching for me, and I fall into her waiting arms, my words almost unintelligible as I sob into her chest. "H-he c-called me a... a m-monster! He r-ran right into the v-varterral's den to get away from me! Why?" Hawke rubs my back gently, murmuring soothing words into my ear, but I can't hear them, can't make them out. All I can hear is the anger, the hate, the abhorrence in Pol's voice as he snarled those awful words at me.

Keep away from me, monster!

I sniff, and try to breathe deeply, try to calm myself, tightening my hold on Hawke. "What was he thinking?" I whisper, my voice sounding small and pitiful even to my own ears. I can't seem to help it.

"Don't blame yourself, kitten," Isabela says kindly behind me, and I feel her squeeze my shoulder comfortingly. "Sometimes men do senseless things."

I know she's trying to help, but that isn't enough for me. There has to be a reason. And it wasn't just Pol acting strangely towards me, was it? I saw them all, when we were walking past everybody on our way to talk to the Keeper. Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing to look at us... at me. They were all staring at me the way Pol did.

Why?

I turn my head and look back at Isabela, and then at Hawke, as though they had any more idea than I do. "The way everyone looked at me in the camp, when we arrived. What have they been saying about me? They must think I'm worse than the Blight!" Hawke and Isabela exchange a worried look over my head.

I can't bear to stand still, suddenly; I need to move, to think. I step out of Hawke's embrace and start pacing, both hands combing frantically through my hair as I try desperately to make sense of this, to explain it to myself. "I've never hurt the clan! They had no reason to be afraid of me; none of this makes any sense. This... something is very wrong." They knew, when I left, that it was because of the eluvian, and because I had disagreements with the Keeper about it. And I know many of them were angry that I was trying to fix the mirror after what it did to Tamlen and Mahariel. I knew they didn't understand what I was trying to do, but that doesn't explain the way they looked at me, the way Pol looked at me, like... like he hated me.

Feared me.

He called me a monster, said he didn't want to leave with us because of... what I am.

You don't know what she is. What she's done!

Did he... did he know, about the blood magic? Is that why he was afraid? Does the whole clan know? They knew I was trying to fix the eluvian, but I didn't think they knew how. Only the Keeper knew exactly what I was doing, but... she wouldn't have told them. Surely. I knew she didn't approve, but at least she understood what I was trying to do, even if she didn't agree with me. If she told them about my blood magic, then that explains why they are acting so towards me, but... surely she wouldn't have told them. Would she?

Wouldn't she?

Even... even if she did, surely she would have told them why, at least; that I'm trying to help them. Everyone thinks blood magic is evil, but they're wrong. They don't understand that it's just another form of magic. Just a tool. It's the intention of the wielder that makes the use of it bad or good; the tool isn't good or evil by itself. They might not understand that, but surely... surely they know I would never hurt them...

Don't they?

I need to talk to Marethari. I have to know what she said to them about me, to make them so angry, so fearful, to make Pol despise me so. We need to get back to camp, now. I need to talk to her. I need to ask her why.

I stop pacing, and look up at Hawke, who watches me with concern as I meet her eyes pleadingly.

"I want to go back to the camp. I want to see the Keeper."

---

xxx H xxx

---

"Alright, Merrill," I say softly as she gazes at me, the look of bewildered hurt in her eyes twisting my heart into a painful knot. "Let's head back."

She nods and turns slowly towards Pol's body, reaching down and gently lifting an amulet identical to the others from around his neck. She rises, and glances back one more time at the fallen body of her clan mate, then turns to walk quickly out of the cavern. Isabela falls in step beside her, curling a supportive arm around her shoulders in a show of that sisterly protectiveness she reserves only for Merrill, and starts speaking to her softly in a low, soothing tone, though I can't make out the words. I hope she can help her. I move to follow them, wanting to walk on Merrill's other side, to be with her, but a firm hand on my arm draws me up short.

"Hawke. A word."

I turn to glance at Aveline questioningly, but she isn't looking at me; her eyes are on Merrill and Isabela as they step into the tunnel leading back up into the rest of the cave. She lets them draw a few dozen paces ahead of us, still holding me back, and then meets my eyes at last, motioning me to start following after Merrill and Isabela, though the pace she sets is deliberately slow. I frown suspiciously at her as we walk; it seems she has something to say to me that she doesn't want to be overheard. "What is it, Aveline?"

She glances over her shoulder at Pol's body behind us. "Does none of this feel... wrong to you?"

I gesture pointedly at the lifeless form of the varterral as we skirt gingerly around it. "Finding three dead elves and losing a fourth to a giant spidery rock-monster that then tried to kill us, too? Is there anything right about that?"

"You know exactly what I'm referring to," Aveline says shortly, narrowing her eyes at me. "This matter with Merrill and her mirror... Isabela told me that Merrill said it was an ancient elven artifact that she is trying to fix with magic, somehow, which to be honest I found worrying enough to begin with. But after this, after what that boy said to Merrill..."

I let my breath out sharply in annoyance. "Don't beat around the bush, Aveline. You know I hate it when you do that."

"Alright then," she says, her voice taking on a noticeable edge. "Hawke, does this mirror have something to do with Merrill's blood magic?"

I blink in surprise and stop short. Maker, she's perceptive. I consider what to tell her briefly, and then decide to go for honesty. I doubt I could fool her if I tried to deny it, anyway. "Yes. It does."

Aveline shakes her head a little, eyes narrowed, and I hasten to explain as I resume walking down the narrow tunnel, keeping my voice hushed and low, mindful of the echoing rocky walls around us. I don't want Merrill to overhear us; it would just upset her to know that Aveline still has doubts about her. Evidently whatever Isabela offered by way of explanation wasn't enough. I look Aveline in the eye, determined that she understand what Merrill is trying to do. "She has been using blood magic to fix the mirror. It's the only reason she took it up in the first place. It can help her people regain their heritage." We reach the base of the rickety stairs, and start to climb, hearing the faint ringing footsteps of Merrill and Isabela above us. "She says it was the only way she could mend it, and now she needs this arulin'holm tool thing to finish it off."

"She intends to use this tool for more blood magic, then?" Aveline asks sternly, frowning.

I feel a frown cross my features. "I... suppose so." I actually hadn't thought about it too much, didn't want to, I guess. I suppose when she said it was a special elven tool, I assumed it would be an ancient magical artifact of some sort. I wouldn't have thought the Dalish would hang on to something for so long if they thought it could be used in blood magic. But then, most magical items can be applied to a variety of purposes and schools. And... she did call it a blade when she asked the Keeper for it... "I guess I didn't really want to think too deeply about it."

"You just agreed to help her get it." Aveline states.

"I suppose... yes."

She sighs, and rubs at her forehead before turning her head to catch my gaze. "Hawke..." she begins, almost hesitantly. "Are you really sure you want to help her to acquire this tool?"

I feel my eyes narrow a little in confusion at her query. "Yes, of course," I answer cautiously after a moment. "She wants to help her people. Why shouldn't I help her fix the mirror, if it will help her to do that?"

"But will it? How much do you actually know about it for certain?" Aveline presses as we reach the top of the stairs and pass into the next chamber of the cave. "Can you really be sure that it's safe?"

My eyes automatically search for Merrill as we mount the short run of steps up to the rocky ledge above us. She's there, some paces ahead of us, Isabela still with an arm slung comfortingly around her. Merrill glances over her shoulder, looking for me, and I give her a warm, reassuring smile, wishing I was the one beside her, instead of being trapped here in what is rapidly becoming a very unsettling conversation. Merrill gives me a tiny smile in return before turning around again, and I look back at Aveline, who naturally hasn't missed the direction of my gaze. "Merrill says it's safe," I say, meeting her eyes firmly. "I trust her."

Aveline gives me a measured look. "But you're... involved with her, aren't you? There's something between you, certainly."

I nod slowly. She did notice; I was right. She really is observant. But why is it relevant to this? I frown at the troubled, slightly reproving look in her eyes; that look never bodes well for me.

She holds my gaze intently. "Then isn't it possible that you are letting your feelings cloud your judgement?"

I cock my head at her suspiciously, eyeing her sidelong. "What do you mean by that?" I ask warily, letting some of my frustration at this whole damn mess colour my voice a little.

"Think about it, Hawke," she says, calmly ignoring my dangerous tone. "If anyone else asked you to facilitate their use of forbidden magic, blood magic, to restore an ancient magical relic that you know next to nothing about, would you do it?"

I rub my neck uncomfortably at her words. When she puts it like that...

Aveline doesn't fail to notice my agitation. "And I don't think I'm the only one uncomfortable about this," she continues determinedly, keeping her eyes fixed on my face. "You saw how the boy reacted when he saw Merrill. For lack of a less irreverent phrase, he was scared to death of her." Her eyes flick ahead towards Merrill and Isabela as we move through the cave after them, settling broodingly on the smaller form of the two. "From some of the talk I overheard, and the way the other elves behaved while we were talking to Marethari, Merrill's whole clan seem to be no less uncomfortable with her endeavour, even the Keeper. None of them seem to share her belief that this mirror will be of any help to them; quite the opposite, in fact. Doesn't that worry you?"

I stare at her in silence, at a complete loss for words. She saw it too; the glares, the angry muttering, the tense body language. And she's right; it did worry me, probably far more than I care to admit. But what exactly is she trying to suggest I do? I told Merrill I'd help her. I promised. I can't go back on that now, can I? She'd never forgive me if I did.

Aveline sighs softly after a moment, shaking her head. "You'll do what you feel is right, of course. But something about this is making me very uneasy. I have no doubt that Merrill doesn't believe the mirror is dangerous, but that doesn't mean she isn't wrong. Someone could get hurt, and it's most likely to be her. Is what she's trying to do truly worth such a risk?" She meets my stricken gaze pointedly. "Perhaps you shouldn't encourage her. That's all I have to say. Just think about it. I know I can trust that you will make the right choice, Hawke."

She moves on, and after a moment, I follow, my steps slow as my mind grapples frantically with our conversation, and everything she said to me.

Someone could get hurt, and it's most likely to be her.

I can trust that you will make the right choice, Hawke.

The right choice. It always seems to come down to that for me. Make the right choice. Do the right bloody thing.

I just wish to the Maker I knew what the right thing is.