Next chapter. And the chapter after that, too. Didn't want to leave you hanging, and what with uni started again, I'm not too sure how often I'll get to write my own stuff. I'll make sure I will, of course, it might just be a little slower going. Thanks for sticking with me, peoples! Hope you like them. Oh, and if both Merrill and Hawke's thought processes get quite confused and start to not always make a lot of sense, then that's good. Because they are both confused, and can't make sense of anything. That's what I'm going for. I hope their not making sense makes sense, if you know what I mean. I could probably find a better and more eloquent way to express that thought, but... meh. This chapter is quite heavy going, but please bear with me, because the next chapter is much nicer, and should make everything better again, especially for anyone who doesn't like the rivalmance stuff (at least, I hope so), which is why I'm posting both.

I should be clear - I am using rivalmance stuff in my story for dramatic effect, but ultimately this is not a rivalry romance. I just didn't think a mage Hawke would have no difficulty in accepting the whole demon/blood magic thing; I believe her upbringing and teaching, among other things, would have given her a very one sided view of it, and so I am using some aspects of the rivalry romance path to reflect this, but again, ultimately I do not see this as a rivalry romance. And nothing says that Hawke won't change her mind! If you don't like how this chapter plays out, I'm afraid I will remain thoroughly unrepentant; because this is how the story goes in my head and I like it, but please read the next chapter too before getting angry with me! Chapter 14 should make everything better. Promise! Don't give up. I'll shut up now before I say too much.

xxx M xxx

I can feel the glares of my clan burning like embers into my back as I walk back into the camp, back towards the Keeper, but I'm too drained, too tired and far too heartsick to care. They don't understand what I'm doing, and maybe they never will, but I'll never stop trying to help them, never. This isn't just about them, anyway. It's about all the Elvhen. Someone among the People will appreciate my work, when I'm finished, even if my own clan rejects me... hates me. But I still need to know why they feel as they do. What did Marethari say to them about me?

Hawke walks up to stand before Marethari, and I step up beside her, Isabela and Aveline behind us.

"The varterral is dead," Hawke tells the Keeper calmly, her voice almost as blank as her expression. She's had such an odd look on her face for quite a while, now, ever since we came out of the cave. Maybe she's upset about what happened today, and she's trying to hide it? I can hardly blame her. This whole horrible mess has been so awful. I knew whatever we would have to do for the Keeper to get the arulin'holm would be hard, but... I never expected anything like this. So much death... I suppose I should be glad that it's over now, but it doesn't feel very much like we succeeded. We killed the varterral, but we still lost Pol.

The Keeper's eyes widen in surprise at Hawke's words, but she quickly recovers her composure. "Ma serannas," she says, smiling warmly at Hawke. "I'll breathe easier, knowing we will lose no more people to it."

I study her closely. She sounds genuinely grateful. Happy, even. Well, and I suppose she is, really, why wouldn't she be? We may have thwarted her attempts to stop my work by actually managing to finish her impossible task, so she'll be forced to give me the arulin'holm against her will, now, but at least the varterral won't kill anyone else. Of course she'd be relieved about that; I should not be so spiteful, no matter how much her lack of belief in me hurts. Her concern is always for the clan, and she always does what she believes is right for us all. Even though she is wrong about the eluvian, I should never doubt her dedication to the clan, and to our people. I just wish that she would not doubt mine.

I reach into my belt pouch and draw out the clan amulets we recovered in the cave, holding them tightly in my hand for a moment. Radha, Harshal, Chandan. Falon'Din guide you all, my sister, my brothers. I hand them to the Keeper sadly. "We found these..."

She takes them from me gently, carefully, her eyes filled with sorrow at our shared loss. "I'll return them to their families."

A fresh stab of sorrow rends my heart as I remember the promise I made before we left. I said we'd find Pol, and bring him back, but we failed. I failed. I'm so sorry, Pol. I give her his amulet last, and she looks down at it for a moment, the sadness in her eyes deepening as she realises what it must mean; that I am returning it to her care.

"We lost Pol," I tell her, feeling a lump forming in my throat at the memory. I blink rapidly as tears mist my eyes, determined not to let them spill as I recall the angry, hurtful words he threw at me before he ran. Why did he act that way? Why would he say such terrible things? I lift my gaze to the Keeper, determined to get some answers. "In the cave, he... he fled at the sight of me," I say, watching her carefully for her reaction. She shows no surprise at my words, and I feel a ball of miserable dread form in my chest, around my heart. She did say something to the clan. "He called me a monster, Keeper. He ran away from me. Straight into the varterral. He was..." My voice trembles a little. "He was terrified of me." Marethari remains silent, watching me, and I feel my temper break; wanting her to say something, anything, give me something to explain why; why Pol would call me a monster, why everyone is staring at me as though I am just that.

A monster.

"Why?" I demand angrily, pleadingly, desperately. "What reason could he possibly have to be so afraid of me, Keeper? To run into a varterral's lair rather than come with me to safety?"

Marethari gazes at me levelly. "Many of the clan fear you will bring back the corruption - or worse - from the mirror," she says, her voice calm.

"And where did they get that idea?" I ask angrily, though of course I already know, don't I? But it isn't fair. I know they are frightened of the mirror after what it did to Tamlen and Mahariel, but I was careful. I won't let it hurt anyone. There's no reason for them to be so mired in foolish fear. There's no reason for her to encourage it.

She almost looks surprised at my question. "I am their Keeper, da'len," she says, as though that should explain everything. "It was my duty to warn them. They believe you have become corrupted by your blood magic. They are afraid you will become possessed." She pauses, her face and voice suffused with sadness as she looks at me. "As am I, da'len."

They believe you have become corrupted by your blood magic. I feel my heart tear clean in two at her words. She... she told them. She told them about the blood magic, and combined their fears with her own mistaken beliefs about the eluvian as well, it seems. How could she? The clan never understood my reasons for working on it in the first place; I very much doubt the Keeper gave them my side of it, somehow. No wonder they're looking at me like that; they must only see a blood mage when they look at me now, not their First, nor even a clan sister. Not anymore. Why would she do this? Why would she need to 'warn' the clan about me? Doesn't she know I would never hurt them? I'd never let what I'm doing bring harm to anyone else! Doesn't anybody know that?

The Keeper's voice breaks through into my wretched thoughts. "It's still not too late for you to return to us," she says, her voice almost urgent as she pleads with me. "Reconsider - there's no need for you to live alone."

I stare at her incredulously. Return? How can she tell me that the clan is terrified of me, that she told them of my blood magic, and then in the next breath dare to suggest to me that I can still come back? They'll never accept me back, not now, not after what she's told them! Does she truly not see that? Or can really she believe the clan will take me back on her word alone, if she tells them I've given up my, my wicked ways? Repented my sins and bowed to her greater wisdom, coming to my senses at last? I close my eyes briefly, shaking my head a little in hurt and resignation. Perhaps that is what she thinks, at that. Well, that isn't what I want. And I don't need her or the clan anymore, not if this is what they truly think of me.

I lift my head and look at her, raising my eyes challengingly to meet her gaze. "I am not alone," I tell her firmly. "I have friends." I pause meaningfully. "And I have Hawke."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hawke jump slightly and turn her head to look at me with a startled sort of look on her face. I suppose she didn't expect me to say anything to the Keeper. Maybe I didn't, before; not because I didn't want to, or that I was afraid of how she might react, not really, anyway. I just wanted to get the arulin'holm as quickly as possible without causing a bigger fuss than I already did just by coming here. It's different now, though. I'm sure the Keeper already suspects anyway; I can see the comprehension in her eyes at my words, just like when Isabela made that comment, before. But I'm not afraid to let her know, not anymore. She's already made her condemnation of me quite clear; I don't care what she thinks, now.

"You... have Hawke," Marethari says slowly, deliberately, holding my gaze. Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, which means that she is hiding what she truly feels, whatever that may be. It doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't need her approval. I don't. "I see. You are content to live out your life with this human and her companions, though it means you have abandoned your clan to do so."

My eyes widen, and I breathe in sharply at the unexpected blow. "I have not abandoned the clan! Must we go over this again? You'll never accept what I'm doing! You'll never believe that my work with the eluvian is for the good of all of us! All Elvhen! It is our knowledge, our history, that I am recovering! It is what Keepers are supposed to do!"

The Keeper loses some of her composure at last. "The eluvian is poison, child!" she cries, her voice filling with a sort of desperate anger. "It killed Tamlen! It stole Mahariel! It led you to blood magic!" Her eyes flick from to Hawke, and then harden a little as she resettles her stern gaze upon me once again. "Will you let it twist you further from who you are?"

What is that supposed to mean? I let my anger show in my expression as I glare at her coldly. "And who am I?" I leave her no time to give me an answer; I don't want one, anyway. I've had just about enough of this. It's time to end it, and get what I came for. "We've done as you asked. Honour our bargain," I demand sharply, my voice short and impatient. "Give me the arulin'holm!"

The Keeper stares at me, anger blaring from her eyes, and I feel a sudden thrill of nervous fear; not at her expression, I am long past fearing her disapproval at this point. But I am afraid; afraid that she won't keep her promise. I'm sure she never expected us to succeed, never intended to let me have the arulin'holm, after all; what if she refuses to give it to me? After everything we've done today, everything that's happened, I'm not certain I could take it. But I invoked Vir Sulevanan. We completed her task. She is a Keeper of Dalish lore, and she must honour my claim. She cannot deny me what I asked for, what I earned. She can't.

"Hawke," Marethari says commandingly as she turns to look at her. Hawke straightens, watching her cautiously. Marethari studies her in silence briefly before she speaks again. "I would speak with you alone for a moment, if you would indulge me."

Hawke blinks in surprise, and then looks at me, an unspoken question in her eyes. I can only stare back at her in bewilderment; I have no idea what Marethari is playing at. Whatever she's trying to do, I don't trust it... but I suppose Hawke can hardly refuse, can she? I don't know what the Keeper wants to talk to her about, but... she's crafty. I suppose she thinks Hawke will listen to her; she probably plans to try and tell her about how dangerous the mirror is, how it poisoned Tamlen and Mahariel, or about my blood magic, even. But I already told Hawke about that, anyway, and she understands, I know she does. Perhaps there's no harm in letting the Keeper talk to her. And maybe Hawke can convince her to give me the arulin'holm, if she goes with her.

I give her a small nod to show her that it is alright, and she turns to Marethari, inclining her head gracefully. "As you wish."

Marethari gestures to the crimson aravel standing proudly a little way off, the one all on its own by the smaller cooking fire. The Keeper's aravel. I know it well enough; I used to live in it once, after all. "If you will follow me to my aravel, child?" she says as she starts toward it, beckoning to Hawke with an air of imperious authority that must surely rival the Elvhen queens of old. "I wish to speak with you privately."

Hawke glances at me again uncertainly, and then follows after Marethari, ignoring the curious looks the rest of the clan give her as she walks slowly past them. I watch her go, feeling a little ball of anxiety start to form within me, growing steadily bigger the further away from me she gets.

"What do you think the Keeper wants with her?" Aveline wonders aloud, suspicion clear in her tone as her eyes track Hawke and Marethari across the camp.

Isabela shrugs indifferently. "Who knows? Maybe she just wants to get Hawke alone for a few minutes," she says, grinning at me. "Who can blame her, right, kitten?"

I smile half-heartedly at her, but I'm really not in the mood for her jokes, not right now. Especially not that sort of joke, about the Keeper wanting to be alone with Hawke... Mythal, no, the world will crumble into the Abyss if I even think about such a thing. I turn back and watch Hawke follow the Keeper inside the aravel, feeling my nerves returning just as fierce and prickly as they were this morning as I wait for Hawke to come back outside. I frown with worry, my anxiety mounting as the minutes crawl slowly by, and she still doesn't come out.

In the name of the Creators, what is Marethari up to?

xxx H xxx

I duck and pass through the small doorway of the creaking wooden landship, my head almost brushing the red canvas ceiling as I straighten cautiously, suddenly feeling like a giant in the small, cramped space. And I'm not exactly tall to begin with. Aravels are certainly not made to accommodate humans, which in itself is something of a comment on the attitude of the Dalish towards us, I suppose.

Marethari steps gracefully towards the opposite side of the aravel, bending to take something from within a tall, intricately carved cabinet built right into the back wall, and I push aside my concern over whatever she wishes to say to me to take a look around in fascination. How many outside the Dalish can claim to have seen the inside of an elven landship, much less that of a Keeper? There are only a few aravels in the camp, certainly not nearly enough for all of the elves to have one; so they must have to share them. I wonder if Merrill lived here, as the Keeper's First.

My eyes range over the walls and the floor as I take it all in. Everything is neat and tidy, and clearly arranged to make the best and most efficient use of the limited space. Twisting garlands of dried, woven flowers adorn the walls, infusing the air with a sweet clean scent; braided wreaths of elfroot, ebrium, Andraste's Grace. Small iron lanterns hang from each corner of the low ceiling, with crimson curtains, oiled and watertight against the threat of storms, covering the wide glassless windows and shielding the interior from the harsh glare of daylight. A narrow wooden shelf that appears to double as a crafting table is built along one wall, its surface cluttered in a orderly sort of fashion with the tools and ingredients for potion-making, and some ancient looking scrolls and books on magic and lore. I notice there are two bundled bedrolls tucked away beneath the table. I suppose they are brought out at night and laid in the open space in the middle of the aravel to sleep, before being tidied away the next morning. One bedroll seems to be covered in a fine layer of dust; suggesting it has neither been used nor touched in quite some time.

I lift my head as Marethari rises with something cradled in her hands, a small bundle carefully swathed in a white woven cloth. I peer at it curiously, but whatever it is, it's well wrapped; I can make out nothing of its form beneath the bindings. But this must be it; the thing Merrill's after, the tool we've come for. The arulin'holm. It's a lot smaller than I thought it would be.

Marethari turns to face me, her expression grim. "Hawke... because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of our clan to you, for safekeeping," she says, calmly enough, but in the next breath her voice becomes urgent as her gaze locks onto mine, the sudden desperate look in her eyes piercing straight through me. "Please, don't let her do this. Don't let her destroy herself."

If she didn't have my complete attention already, she certainly has it now. Destroy herself? I feel my eyes widen in shock at the fervent strength of her words, but she isn't done shocking me yet, not by a long shot.

She walks a few steps towards me with regal grace, holding my gaze with a serious, determined look; almost searing in its intensity. "As uncomfortable as it may be to admit it to myself; in light of what I have seen pass between the two of you today, it seems that you are the only one who may be able to convince Merrill to abandon this foolish path."

I stare at her, my mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean by that?" I manage eventually.

She regards me in silence for a moment before speaking. "Child... I know there is something between you. You care for her. I can see it. And I know my Merrill." Her eyes harden almost imperceptibly as she glances away from me. "I would have thought she would have had more respect for her heritage than to give her heart to a human, but she has clearly done so."

I flinch a little before I can stop myself; I can't help but feel a stab of hurt at her words, though I can hardly claim to be surprised by her attitude. Marethari sighs, breaking out of her meditations, and turns her head slowly back towards me. "I suppose if it must be, then at least that human is you, young one," she continues, returning her gaze to my face. Her eyes widen, and then soften visibly as she looks at me, noting my expression. I suppose I must look rather like a kicked puppy.

"I do not wish to offend, Hawke," she says gently, apparently by way of apology. "I did not intend for my words to sound so harsh. Please understand. There are few enough of us as it is. The Dalish are meant to preserve who we are as a people, and this charge falls more heavily upon the clan Keepers than any other, as we must pass on the magic in our blood... if we are able." She looks away, her eyes growing pained and regretful for a moment, but she soon regains control of her expression, meeting my eyes once more. "In this, Merrill has forsaken her duty to us all. But... you are a remarkable person, and are without question a fine example of your race." She takes another step closer, lifting a hand in supplication, the cloth-wrapped bundle still held carefully in the other. "I speak of this to you now not to chastise, nor even to disapprove; but to warn. I believe that Merrill is in great danger from the eluvian. Did she tell you of the circumstances of its discovery? Why she needs this arulin'holm?"

"She told me two of your hunters found it, and it poisoned them," I say carefully after a moment, trying not to sound hurt and resentful as I attempt to sum up everything Merrill told me both accurately and concisely. "She said she wanted to restore the eluvian to try and help them, and to access the elven knowledge inside it, so she found a way to remove the corruption so that the mirror won't be a danger, using... using blood magic. She just needs the tool to finish it."

Marethari gazes at me levelly, her face composed, but I could almost swear I see a flash of triumph in her eyes. "Is that everything she said to you?" she asks quietly.

"I think those are the main points, yes," I tell her warily.

The Keeper gives a humourless smile of grim satisfaction. "Then she has not told you everything. She did not tell you the precise manner in which she 'found' a way to cleanse the shard." Marethari moves to stand by one of the windows, holding back the canvas curtain to afford us a view of the stark mountainside beyond. She raises her eyes to where the crown of the mountain disappears into the sky, waving a graceful hand in the direction of the peak. "High atop Sundermount there is a cave, within which lies a ruined temple dating back to the fall of Arlathan. Inside the temple there is an ancient idol, and bound within that idol... is a demon. A very powerful pride demon. We discovered the presence of the fiend when we first settled here upon the mountain." She pauses, and looks at me, poorly hidden accusation flaring briefly in her eyes. "When we came here to wait for you to come and complete your task for Asha'bellanar." I feel a twinge of guilt at the look in her eyes, but meet her gaze unapologetically; I did my best, after all. When I agreed to the witch's request, she told me that the clan was already waiting here on Sundermount, which meant that by the time I finally managed to come here, they had been waiting for over a year. I would have come sooner, had circumstances permitted me to leave Kirkwall, but serving with the Red Iron left us no time for such a trip. I came here almost as soon as I was free. At least I remembered. Where is she going with this?

"The demon called to Merrill, and myself, in our dreams, begging for release," Marethari continues after a moment. "I took her with me when I went to confront it at last, to forbid it from our minds. She was my First, after all. I wished to use it as an opportunity to teach her to guard herself from the touch of such beings." She closes her eyes, her voice becoming harsh with anger and regret. "By the Creators, I wish I had left her behind. I did not know then that Merrill had defied me and kept a piece of that cursed mirror, but the demon must have seen it in her mind. I believe that he offered to help her restore it in exchange for his freedom. She did not reveal this to me, of course, but there can be no doubt. I know that it was this pride demon, Audacity, who taught Merrill blood magic. She could not have learned it anywhere else, certainly not from me."

A demon taught her.

I feel pressure on my chest, as though a giant hand is squeezing the air from my lungs, and I'm suddenly finding it hard to breathe. A demon. Maker preserve us. Oh, Merrill. I knew she used blood magic, but somehow... I just thought she discovered the power of it on her own, perhaps by accident, or from a tome or scroll. To hear that she actually dealt with a demon... This has to be why the clan is so afraid, why Pol said what he did to her, why he ran...

It must have influenced her, like the Keeper said. I felt the pull of the hunger demon's mind in the Deep Roads, when it tried to coerce us, to bind us to its will. It was so strong, so compelling. And that was only a hunger demon, weak and near powerless; Varric proved that easily enough when he killed the thing with a single shot. But this demon, this Audacity... whoever bound it here must have done it only because it was too powerful to be destroyed; and too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. Who knows the strength of such a being?

But... it can't possess her, not if it is bound as Marethari claims, or it would have done so already, long ago. Merrill is strong, I know that. She is as powerful a mage as I've ever met, with an iron will to match. Maybe she can use the demon to restore the eluvian without succumbing to the creature. But... should she? How much of what Merrill believes about the eluvian comes from its compelling touch on her mind?

I look doubtfully at the Keeper, feeling my anxiety mounting. "Merrill told me the eluvian contains the memories and knowledge of the ancient elves, knowledge that it is a Keeper's place to recover, to remember. Are you saying she's wrong about what it does?"

Marethari's eyes flash dangerously, her mouth twisting in rage. "He has filled her head with lies! The eluvian will not restore our people's greatness, and it will not bring Tamlen or Mahariel back to us. The demon will use Merrill to repair it, and then use it, and her, for his own foul purposes; whatever they may be." She breathes deeply, turning back to face me once she regains her calm demeanour.

"I do not know exactly what he intends to do, but I know that it can only end badly. You are a mage yourself, are you not? I need hardly explain the peril of bargaining with demons to you. I fear for Merrill. For her life... and for her soul. Please, child." She passes the bundled relic carefully into my waiting hands, looking up at me gravely as she does so, her eyes shining wetly. With tears. I stare at her in shock. "I will honour my promise, and give the arulin'holm to you for your efforts, but only because I trust that you will do the right thing."

You will do the right thing.

The words echo through my mind, the voices of Aveline and Marethari blending together in my head, Guard-Captain and Keeper, voices of authority, responsibility, wisdom.

You will make the right choice.

That is what I try to do, what I've always tried to do, but now... I'm not sure I know what the right choice is anymore. Is there even a right choice to be made?

"I understand that she may never return to the clan, given your... attachment, but if this is what must be, then I at least wish to know that she is safe," the Keeper says, stepping back. "If you truly care for her, you will not let her do this. Do not let her come to harm. Please."

She pushes back the canvas flap that serves as a door and steps outside, the wagon creaking faintly as she descends the steps to the ground. I remain for a few moments, perfectly still, gazing down at the bundle in my hands, and then I reach for the corner of the cloth, unwinding it slowly, reluctantly, almost unwillingly. But I have to see it, this thing Merrill needs, that the Keeper wants so desperately to keep from her. I can feel the magic of it; it resonates with power, but its abilities seem to be passive. It feels... like it's waiting, like it needs an active spell to be cast before it can do whatever it's meant to do. It must be an amplifier of some sort, designed to drastically intensify the power of any spell cast with it...

I unwrap the last layer and the arulin'holm finally reveals itself to my eyes. It is a simple little thing, really, wood and steel. A worn wooden handle, sized to fit the small, narrow hand of an elven crafter or enchanter, the gleaming surfaced decorated with intricate faded carvings and runes, worn smooth by use and the passage of time. Beautiful, in its own way.

The short, slightly curved blade of the arulin'holm glints wickedly as the sunlight catches on the silvery metal, gleaming along the honed edge, still razor sharp. I can imagine how easily the tool would serve its purpose, effortlessly carving deep grooves into soft, yielding wood.

Or flesh.

An amplifier will make her blood magic stronger, but the more powerful the blood magic, the greater the chance of attracting a demon, any demon, not just the one bound in the statue. Likely a lot more than one, and just as strong. The danger Merrill will be in if she uses this...

Andraste help me, what should I do?

I stare at it blankly for a few moments more, before wrapping it up again carefully, and tucking the small bundle in the large leather pouch at my belt. Then I turn and leave, following the Keeper back out into the light.

Merrill's eyes light up when she sees me walking slowly back to her, and she smiles, her whole face brightening as she gazes at me. Which really isn't helping me in the least, right at this moment. Maker.

"What happened, Hawke?" she says as I reach her. She grasps at my arm. "Did she give you the arulin'holm?"

"I have it," I tell her, placing a hand on my belt pouch.

Merrill breathes a sigh of profound relief. "Thank the Creators!" she says, beaming up at me. "I thought... maybe she'd go back on her word."

I glance around at the elves still standing about the camp, watching us, and then look back at out little group, motioning for us to move with a jerk of my head. It's high time for us to leave before we really overstay our welcome. Besides, I can't stand the feel their stares on us any longer; raising the hairs on the back of my neck, boring into my skull. It's becoming somewhat irritating, to say the least.

"What did Marethari want, Hawke?" Merrill asks as she hurries up beside me, trying to match my long, quick strides. "Did she talk to you?"

Yes. She told me everything. Everything you didn't. "She did," I say, trying to keep my jaw from clenching at my resentful thoughts. A pride demon. I knew something was amiss, but I never would have guessed... No wonder she didn't tell me the whole truth. Was she ever going to? "She gave me the blade..." Merrill's eyes widen a little as she registers my slight but pointed emphasis of the word, "... to honour our deal. Then she begged me not to give it to you. Not to let you finish the mirror."

Merrill's eyes narrow slightly. "Of course she did. I thought she would try something like that. But... she did give it to you, though? The arulin'holm, I mean?"

I nod reluctantly, and she frowns a little, looking at me questioningly, clearly wondering why I haven't given it to her already. But I can't, not yet. After what the Keeper told me... I have some questions for her, and I need them answered before I can decide anything.

I stride in silence through the camp, Isabela and Aveline following behind me, and Merrill walking quickly by my side, watching me nervously. Only when we're well beyond the borders of the Dalish camp do I stop and turn to her. She gazes up at me with worried eyes.

"Merrill... what did the Keeper mean before, when she said that the mirror led you to blood magic?" I ask, giving her one last chance to tell me herself, in her own words, everything she held back from me before. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Merrill looks away from me, twisting her hands together. "I..." She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and consciously lowering her hands to her sides as she prepares her explanation. I almost feel I don't want to hear it. "The shard I picked up was corrupted," she says eventually. Her eyes open slowly and she looks at me, pleading with me to understand. "I couldn't cleanse it without help. The Keeper refused. She said that it belonged to another time, and should be left there." She turns away from me again, rubbing a hand through her hair and looking anywhere but at me, deliberately avoiding my eyes as she continues. "So I found a... spirit. It gave me the power to purify the mirror through blood magic."

A spirit. Audacity is hardly a virtue that a benign spirit would embody. I remember I once thought that perhaps Dalish mages saw demons and spirits differently, but Marethari has set me firmly straight on that account. Merrill can't truly believe this being is a benevolent spirit, can she? Such spirits do not teach blood magic. She still won't trust me with the truth. I shake my head doubtfully. "I've never heard of blood magic "purifying" anything."

She finally looks at me, crossing her arms beneath her chest. "There's nothing inherently evil about blood magic," she replies defensively. "It's magic, like any other."

It isn't that simple, it can't be. Not from what I've seen. It's more... subtle, sinister, even for those who use it with the best of intentions. It's one of the many reasons why Father always warned me so strongly against it. "I don't believe blood magic is evil in itself. And I certainly don't believe you have to be evil to perform it. But my father told me that the use of it is like... like a drug. It becomes an addiction. There's something insidious about it, something that changes, corrupts, without ever being felt until it's too late. The more you use it, the more you want to use it, and the more you convince yourself you need to."

She fixes me with a determined stare. "Hawke, you said your father was trained in the Circle of Magi. Of course that's what they would have taught him about blood magic, but it's not true," she insists.

"He also taught me that it's demons who teach mages to use blood magic. Not simple spirits," I counter, gazing back at her challengingly. "Was the Circle wrong about that? Did a spirit teach you blood magic, or was it a demon?"

She stares at me for a long moment, eyes wide and unblinking. She doesn't respond to my question, which is answer enough. "The power that contaminated the mirror was too strong to be driven out by normal means," she says eventually, evasively, watching me with an apprehensive look. "If I had piles of lyrium lying about, I could have used that, but I didn't. I used what I had."

"And what you had was the offer of a demon. Did it tell you this was the only way?" She looks away from me, and I draw a deep, shaky breath. Maker save me, how can I help you if you won't let me in? "Merrill, do you really want this? Is it worth restoring this mirror if it turns your clan against you? If you lose yourself in the process?"

Merrill lowers her head, closing her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is heavy with feeling. "You know what it's like to lose everything, Hawke. The People have lost so much. Not just our land and freedom, but history, stories, language, magic, rituals." She looks up at me sadly. "Even our gods are gone! It is a sacrifice, but if the mirror restores even one fragment of the past... it's worth it."

I fear for Merrill. For her life... and for her soul.

No. I do know what it's like to lose everything. I can't do it again, I'll never survive it. I can't lose her. I won't. "No, it isn't," I say quietly. "Not if the sacrifice is you. Nothing is worth that. Merrill, please... I just think... maybe you need to stop this. Everyone else seems to be terrified of this mirror of yours. Maybe you should be, too."

Her eyes grow unbelievably wide as she stares at me, and a look of deep, incredulous hurt flashes across her face. "You're... you're siding with the Keeper?"

"I'm listening to the advice of an older and far more experienced mage," I tell her quickly. Maker, please just hear me out. "Please, Merrill, please listen to me. The eluvian is ruining your life! And trusting to the aid of a demon? It's too dangerous." I reach out to her, but she steps back, pulling away from me with a look of wounded betrayal, and I drop my hand in defeat. "Merrill, please!" I plead desperately."Let me help you. We can find another way. You don't want to do this."

Her beautiful face contorts in anger. "Yes," she says fiercely, her voice low and furious. "I do. I need to do it. There is no other way. Don't you think I've looked? I know what I'm doing, Hawke." She folds her arms across her chest, glaring at me with an expression I've never seen from her before; at least, never directed at me. She's livid with rage, because of me. "Give me the arulin'holm," she demands.

I hesitate, torn. Maybe Aveline was right; I can't just give her the thing blindly, just because of how I feel about her. But how can I keep it from her? Maker, I don't know what to do. There are so many conflicting thoughts whirling and clamouring in my head...

She said the mirror wasn't dangerous. She promised. She wouldn't lie.

It isn't lying if she believes it. She could be wrong. Is the mirror truly safe, or does she believe it is simply because she wants it to be true? The Keeper herself begged me not to help her finish the mirror. She begged me, with tears in her eyes. A proud, wise Dalish clan leader, begging a human to stop the reconstruction of a piece of elven heritage. What would drive her to that?

Merrill says she knows what she's doing. She wants to help her people.

She only knows what the demon told her. Demons lie. It can only want one thing from her.

She is strong; she can resist.

She opens herself further to the risk of possession with every drop of her blood that she spills. No one is strong enough to resist forever. No one.

She doesn't need to resist forever. She won't need blood magic once the mirror is complete. She says the arulin'holm will help her fix it faster.

Because she will use it to perform more powerful blood magic. She will put herself in unbelievable danger of being possessed, of becoming an abomination, and there won't be a thing I can do to stop it. To save her. Unless I stop her now.

I promised to help her get this. I'd do anything for her.

Even if it means she'll get hurt? Possessed? Who will have to strike her down if that happens? Could I do it? Don't give it to her.

If I keep it from her, it will hurt her badly.

If I let her have it, she'll be hurt far worse in the end. Broken. Possessed. Destroyed.

She will hate me for it.

But she will be alive. She'll be safe. Isn't that more important than anything? Don't let her do this. Don't let her destroy herself.

I make my decision.

I cross my arms in a mirror image of her own forbidding stance and match her stare for stare. "No. I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm keeping it. I can't let you do this."

Her body visibly jerks as though my words struck her like a blow. The look of hurt disbelief that crosses her features is quickly replaced by one of fury, and her chest rises and falls rapidly as she stares at me. "You're keeping a priceless heirloom of my clan? You have no right! You're not Dalish! You're not even an elf!" The anger in her tone turns to desolation, and she looks up at me through watery eyes. "I thought you... I thought we... Creators, I'm a fool. I can't believe you, why did I trust you? You're just a shemlen like all the others! I..." My heart twists in agony as she bursts into furious tears. "How could you?" she sobs brokenly, lifting her hand to dash the tears from her face as they spill wetly down her cheeks, and my heart shatters into a million jagged pieces. Maker, what have I done to her?

Merrill turns abruptly and breaks into a run, so fast that she's almost out of sight before I can even react. I try and run after her but Isabela catches my arm in a crushing grip, her sharp nails digging into my skin through my sleeve. I look at her and she glares back at me, her eyes angry.

"Hawke. Let her go. Give her a bloody minute alone."

I pull against her grip, prying desperately at the strong fingers clenched around my upper arm as Merrill disappears around a bend in the trail to the city. "Let me go!"

She tightens her grasp mercilessly. "No."

"Let me go, Isabela!"

"No! What the bloody Void was that, Hawke?" She gives my arm a furious shake, bringing her face in close to mine, her eyes burning into me like molten gold. "What are you playing at, keeping that thing? Isn't that why we came here in the first place, to get it for her? After everything that's happened to her today, you go and upset her like this? Why?"

I stare at her, fumbling for words. "I-I couldn't let her... it's too dangerous, what she's doing-"

Her face hardens and she pins me with an incredulous glare. "Then why agree to get it for her at all?" she demands angrily.

She doesn't understand. She didn't hear what Marethari told me. "I didn't know..." I flounder suddenly as all my reasoning dissipates under her condemning stare. But didn't she hear what Merrill said just now? "She didn't tell me there was a demon involved!" I argue, the pleading tone in my voice sounding childish even to me. I take a breath, trying to calm myself, trying to be rational while my heart weeps inside me. How could you? "I had to hear it from Marethari instead. She dealt with a pride demon, Isabela. Don't you know what that means? What could happen to her if I let her go through with this?"

"The right thing isn't necessarily the easiest. I believe Hawke made the correct decision, as difficult as it was," Aveline says from behind us, her tone firm.

Isabela scoffs, shooting her a look of deep disgust. "Of course you'd bloody think so, you're just afraid of anything you can't oppress with the threat of a night in the brig or a day in the stocks, and that goes double for magic."

"Blood magic and demons - as disturbing as that revelation is - aside; that mirror of hers is dangerous," Aveline replies evenly, refusing to be baited. "Her entire clan thinks so, even Marethari. She must have more wisdom on the subject than anyone."

"She's just a stodgy old bat," Isabela says dismissively, ignoring my renewed attempts to pull free from her. "Merrill isn't hurting anyone, and she never would!"

"Not intentionally, true," Aveline allows stoically. "But that doesn't mean someone won't come to harm regardless."

Isabela releases my arm, stalking angrily towards the Guard-Captain. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You heard the Keeper as well as I did, I'm sure," Aveline says unflinchingly as Isabela halts mere inches from her, staring heatedly into her face. "She said the mirror killed one of the clan, and poisoned someone else. And now Merrill is trying to rebuild something that dangerous in the middle of the city. I have no doubt she doesn't believe she'll hurt anyone, but the fact remains; she's putting herself and the people of Kirkwall in danger..."

Her voice fades into the distance as I take the chance offered by their distraction and start running. I don't wait around for Isabela's reply; I don't care to hear it, or anything more of their argument; I just run, flying down the trail to back to Kirkwall at breakneck speed, sprinting after Merrill as fast as I can, to explain, to argue, to beg forgiveness, I don't know, Maker only knows, but I have to find her. I have to. Andraste, she's fast. I can't see her ahead of me on the path, but I can see her face in my mind; her anger, her hurt; hear her voice in my head, shaking with her tears.

How could you?

I try to run faster, but I can't get away from it; her broken anguish sounding over and over again, assailing my thoughts relentlessly, tormenting me.

How could you?

xxx M xxx

How could she?

Another tear runs down my cheek and falls, splashing into the basin beneath me as I sit by the hearth, washing Pol's blood from my feet, from my hands, the tiny droplet of misery sending ripples across the reddened water. The light from the fire that I lit with a furious, careless fireball when I came in makes the liquid in the bucket seem thicker, somehow; thick and deeply crimson. My reflection stares mournfully back at me from the dark surface of the water. It looks as though my face is bathed in blood. That's what everyone sees, when they look at me, it seems. Everyone.

Even her.

I thought she understood. I thought... Mythal, I'm such an idiot.

Maybe... maybe I should have told her about the spirit before, but... I didn't think I would have to. I never thought she'd figure it out. She doesn't understand. I know it's dangerous to trust Fade spirits, of course I do, but I'm not an infant. I can use it, I can! Some things are worth any risk. And she has dealt with such a spirit herself, before! How can she lecture me for doing the same?

The door bursts open suddenly and Hawke stumbles out of the darkness beyond it, panting, out of breath, her clothing dishevelled, hair mussed and hopelessly tangled, face sheening with sweat. And yet she somehow manages to look more beautiful than ever. Creators, the world is so unkind.

The door swings shut behind her as she stands there, staring wordlessly at me, gasping as she tries to catch her breath. Why has she come here? What does she think I'll do; let her harangue me some more about the blood magic, like Anders, like the Keeper, and then what? I'll repent tearfully, and promise to stop, and never do it again? I know what I'm doing! How dare she keep the arulin'holm from me, as though I were nothing more than a foolish, misbehaving child? I rise, the embers of my anger kindling into a fearsome blaze; I feed it my rage, my despair, my deep, wrenching hurt and it fills me, sears me, consumes me as I turn on her, fury scorching from my eyes and my voice. I've never felt so angry, so wounded. So betrayed. This is worse than hearing Pol call me a monster, worse than the Keeper admitting to telling the clan of my blood magic; far, far worse.

"How could you do that to me?" I throw the words at her furiously. "How could you steal a priceless relic of my people?" She says nothing, still trying to slow her breathing, and I force my bitter, angry words past the rising lump in my throat as I stare at her. "I trusted you!" Why did you do it? How could you?

Her eyes flash dangerously, and she matches my heated tone."Not completely, it seems. You said nothing about a demon teaching you to fix the mirror." I freeze at the look of hurt that appears in her eyes. Is that really why she's so upset? Or is it more to do with me not telling her about it? I won't feel guilty for that, I won't; I knew no one would understand, if I tried, and I was right, wasn't I? Demon, spirit, by either word they are the same. Neither are good or bad, and they are all dangerous, I know that, but the risk is worth it, it is. She doesn't understand. I try to look away, but she moves with my gaze, forcing me to look at her. "Demons never give anything freely," she presses relentlessly, angrily, her blue eyes blazing fiercely as they burn into mine. "What does it want from you? What deal did you make?"

I hold her eyes, refusing to flinch; I will not be cowed. I won't. I know what I'm doing. "He wants freedom, that's all. He'll help me repair the eluvian, and then I will help him get free. I'm being careful, Hawke!" I shake my head angrily as she gives me a disbelieving look. Why does everyone doubt me? "Why are you so against this?" I demand furiously. "You have dealt with a spirit before, in the Deep Roads!"

Hawke takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Yes, because we had no other way out. And only because I knew we would have all died for certain, if I had not agreed to its... offer," she replies, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice calm. "And because when you told me it was nothing to fear, I trusted your advice; I thought perhaps that Dalish mages knew something about spirits and demons that I did not." She gives a humourless laugh. "But Marethari set me well straight on that point. The hunger demon betrayed us in the end, if you remember, yet you still have faith in this Audacity, a pride demon, of all things?" My eyes widen as she speaks the name. I thought she guessed about how I learned blood magic, about the spirit. How could she know its name?

Hawke notices my look, and her eyes harden a little. She looks hurt again. "The Keeper told me all about it, Merrill. She told me everything you didn't." The injured expression in her eyes intensifies as she gazes at me. "If you really thought I would be comfortable with your deal, why wouldn't you just have told me about it from the start? You must have thought what you were doing was wrong, deep down, if it made you want to hide it from me. Or did you just not trust me enough to tell me the truth?"

Elgar'nan... The Keeper told her. She knows. The Keeper knows about Audacity, and she told Hawke. I remember her fury when she first caught me with the shard, caught me using blood magic on it, but I never told her how I learned to cleanse it, though... I suppose I should have known the Keeper would realise who... what... it was that taught me. Creators, I... I can see what it must look like to Hawke, but it's not what she thinks. I can handle myself. The spirit wants to be free from the stature, and I believe him, but I'm a complete idiot; if he wants anything more... well, I will be prepared to defend myself. I would never willingly let a spirit possess me. I am not as foolish as Anders.

"I thought..." I begin, and I can't stop myself from shooting an angry glare in her direction. "I thought, with the arulin'holm, I could fix the mirror myself, and then free the spirit without anyone knowing and so... I didn't see the need to worry you." I laugh harshly, bitterly. "That was a mistake, obviously. Now Marethari's fear has poisoned you against me."

"Marethari is not just afraid of the demon, she's afraid of the mirror itself, and the harm it could cause, to others and to you," Hawke argues, stepping forwards. I cross my arms and stand my ground as she approaches me. "Surely her judgement is worth something to you?"

And what of my judgement? Isn't that worth anything to you? "She fears the old ways, because she is afraid of anything she doesn't understand," I tell her, staring up furiously into her face, frustrated indignation filling me. "She should know better; as Keeper, it is her duty to try to recover old knowledge. This eluvian is a gift to our people, I cannot simply throw it away. I will not."

"You said yourself that the mirror poisoned your clan mates before it was broken. What if you fix it, and that power is awakened again? Or what if the demon possesses you the instant you release it? Merrill, please. Listen to me. The Keeper herself gave this priceless relic into my care rather than let you use it. Me, a human. A shemlen." Her mouth twists as she voices the word, the curse that I threw at her on the mountain. "She begged me not to let you do this." Her voice becomes desperate. "She begged, Merrill. Can't you understand how frightening that is? I'm trying to help you! Your obsession with this mirror got you exiled from your people and turned you to blood magic." A pained look comes over her face, and she reaches out to touch my arm. "It's ruining your life! Please, let it go."

I brush her hand aside angrily. I can't think when she touches me, I don't want her to touch me, or hug me, or... or anything. If she does, I might not be able to stand it; I might just forgive her, and I don't want to forgive her. I'm too angry. And she's wrong! "Blood magic and exile were my choice," I say fiercely, forcefully. "The eluvian had nothing to do with it!"

She blinks in hurt at the rejection, and then narrows her eyes in apparent confusion as she registers what I said. She shakes her head at me. "That doesn't make sense! It has everything to do with it! You said you needed help to fix the eluvian, so you turned to a demon-"

"A spirit!" I interrupt her angrily. It's pointless to argue over using two terms for Fade creatures, but the way she uses the word 'demon' is so weighted, so slanted. When she says it she thinks of something evil, corrupt, and malicious, but that is not how it is, not really. Spirits are not to be trusted, I know that, but I am not dealing with 'evil'. Those who dwell in the Fade are beyond our understanding, but that does not make them bad. But that is what most people believe, and after all, if everyone believes it, why then, of course, it must be true, mustn't it! I shouldn't argue, it's pointless, but I just... I can't leave it be.

Hawke exhales crossly at my exclamation. "Call it what it is! A pride demon; the most powerful and treacherous type of bloody 'spirit' in existence." I open my mouth to argue again but she cuts me off quickly, a look of anger in her eyes; anger, and maybe... fear? Not fear of me, though, like the clan, but... fear on my behalf. She is afraid... for me.

She shouldn't be. I can take care of myself!

"A demon who taught you blood magic," Hawke continues, fixing me with her blazing eyes. "If it weren't for the eluvian, you wouldn't have ever needed blood magic at all!"

I pause as my mind processes her words. She... she is not wrong. But... but it changes nothing. The eluvian is here, and I will restore it. However I can. I meet her gaze. "You and the Keeper may not like it, but I chose this path with my eyes open."

Her eyes screw shut at my words, and she bites down hard on her lip. When she finally looks at me again, her face is filled with sadness. "Merrill... the path you've chosen doesn't just affect you. It affects everyone around you, everyone who... who cares for you." My eyes widen as a tear falls from her eye, glinting in the firelight, leaving a wet silver trail down her cheek until she reaches up to wipe it angrily away.

I'm not moved. I'm not. I won't let myself be. "Care? Like you care for me? How could you do this, if you really care so much?" I feel tears well in my own eyes, and I banish them fiercely; I won't cry in front of her again. "Why would you hurt me like this?"

Hawke gives a quiet, agonised cry almost under her breath. "Because I don't want to see you hurt worse! Can't you see? It's because I care for you so much that I can't let you do this to yourself. Using blood magic is too dangerous! The mirror is too dangerous! Let it go, please!"

I draw in a hissing breath through my teeth. I am so sick of hearing that, over and over again, it is driving me mad. "It's not dangerous!" I manage to grind out angrily, glaring up into her face. Why won't you listen to me? "I cleansed the corruption!"

She gazes back at me levelly. "You said you tried to cleanse it."

"I made it safe!" Must she pick apart my every sentence? How is it she remembers everything I've said to her so exactly? I stare with fierce, angry longing at the leather pouch on her belt. She has it, it's right there, I know it is! It's so close... "I could have made absolutely sure of it with the arulin'holm!"

"And blood magic," Hawke says quietly, calmly, but the disapproval in her tone is clear. It's infuriating.

My eyes snap to hers, and I bristle wrathfully. "It's just magic! It's only a tool. It's no more good or evil than a hammer or a sword!" She told me herself she didn't believe it was evil. How can she still be so close-minded? How can she think I'd ever let it corrupt me? She thinks I'm weak, just like the Keeper. She must. She thinks I'm just a foolish child, trying to play with fire because it's pretty, without thought or understanding of the danger, and so she's reacting accordingly; with a restraining hand on the scruff of my neck, holding me back out of reach of the flames. A wilful, foolish child. My shoulders slump, and I stare at her bleakly. "I thought you would understand." I shake my head, defeated once again by my own foolishness. "I can't believe I've been such an idiot, believing you'd help me." I can't take this. I can't look at her anymore. "Go, Hawke! Just go. Leave me. I'd rather be alone."

I try to ignore the look of hurt I see in her eyes as I turn away from her, and squash the stab of remorse that pierces me at her desolate, miserable expression. What right has she to make me feel guilty, when she wounded me so badly? I won't feel guilty, and I will not apologise. I'm tired. Tired of hearing the Keeper's diatribe coming from Hawke's mouth; tired of defending myself to the one person, the only person I thought for certain understood; tired of feeling this way; so angry, so hurt. So heartbroken. I'm just... tired.

I walk away from her, stalking into my bedroom, staring at the eluvian in the corner. After a few moments of silence, I hear her quiet footsteps as she walks across the floor, hear the door creak open and then close softly behind her as she leaves, and I'm alone. All alone, now, just as I wanted. I stand in front of the useless broken mirror for a long time, fuming, and then step towards it slowly. If she won't give me the arulin'holm, then I'll just have to do my best without it. It's all I have, now.

I draw my belt knife and slash it fiercely across my palm, directing the warm red flow into the dull, cracked surface of the mirror with an odd sense of vengeful satisfaction. The eluvian throbs as it drinks in my gift, the surface rippling ever so slightly, and a soft, almost musical tone rings softly in the air. I make another cut alongside the first, deeper this time, ignoring the sting of pain, and the note sounds louder, clearer, as the mirror absorbs my power, my blood. My life.

It feels like... it's calling to me, singing to me. Comforting me, almost. It still feels like it's sleeping, unaware... but still, there's something about it, this time, as though I've done something differently, as though this time, my blood was somehow more effective. The blood I spilled in anger, in fury, in rage. In revenge.

The eluvian throbs again, and now I'm certain; it definitely feels different. It feels more powerful, like a trapped tempest, a bottled storm. The wrath of the Elvhen, raging beneath the glass.

It feels different.

It feels... alive.

xxx H xxx

"It's been three bloody days, Hawke."

Isabela's muttered comment, soft as it is, echoes through the cave loudly. I stop my careful scan of the small cavern's dusty floor and eye her warily, while behind her Varric and Fenris turn to look at us; Fenris with patient, although slightly brooding tolerance, and Varric with an inquisitive and eager interest, likely hoping for fuel for his stories. Or expecting to overhear something more about me and Merrill, perhaps. By the morning after our misadventure on the mountain, the tale of what had transpired between us both before and after going to Sundermount had spread like wildfire among the rest of my friends, no doubt thanks to our resident storyteller. I'm certain it made for a dramatically entertaining piece of gossip; the temptation must have been irresistible. Isabela can't withhold anything from Varric, apparently. Sometimes I half suspect there's coin involved. Privacy is a luxury I will never be able to indulge in, or so it seems.

Isabela fixes me with a reproving gaze, still unhappy with me over the incident with the arulin'holm. At least she's still willing to speak to me. "You still haven't been to see her again, have you?"

"I tried. I did try," I tell her, rubbing my forehead tiredly. "I came back the next morning after she made me leave, but she wouldn't open the door. She wouldn't even speak to me. I know she was there; the woman who tends the stall outside her house told me she hadn't come out since... since we returned from the Dalish camp."

"But you haven't tried again?"

I look away. "I can't."

She makes a quiet noise of disgust. "Coward."

"I know," I whisper, then turn hesitantly to look at her. "Have you... have you been to see her? Is she... alright?"

"She's crushed, Hawke." I flinch at the words, at the accusation in her tone."Angry, confused, betrayed and hurt. Does that sound alright to you?"

I throw my hands up helplessly. "What do you suggest I do, Isabela? I just don't want her to hurt herself, but when I tried to explain that night, she wouldn't listen. She told me to leave. What am I supposed to do?"

"Why do people keep insisting on making their love lives my responsibility?" Isabela asks wearily of no one in particular. "This is why I don't do emotions. Far too messy." She looks at me, and her voice softens just a little. "Just go talk to her again, Hawke. Try, at least."

"She doesn't want to talk to me," I remind her despondently.

Isabela crosses her arms. "Oh, so now you're going to base your actions on what she wants?" I stare at her, unable to form a reply, and she rolls her eyes at me. "So you had a fight. So what? You'll never get past it if you don't talk to each other. You two need to bloody sort this out, already; you're both completely miserable and no fun at all, at the moment. And frankly, I'm getting bored of all this angsty lover's quarrel nonsense. Give her the stupid knife, if that's what she wants."

I shake my head. "I can't. It's too dangerous."

Isabela makes a small sound of frustration. "So? She's no child, Hawke," she says, and then smiles wryly. "She's certainly made that clear to me, if not you. Although honestly, I would have thought you would have been aware of that already, considering how you feel about her. Unless there's something I'd really prefer not to know about you, of course."

I ignore her feeble and rather revolting jest, though I can't refrain from shooting her an irritated glare."I know she's not a child, but using blood magic to fix the mirror is dangerous enough as it is. If I let her use the arulin'holm to make it stronger... it's just too great a risk." She cares about Merrill too, like a little sister. Shouldn't she want to keep her safe as much as I do? "Surely you don't really think what she's doing is actually a good idea?"

She sighs patiently. "That's not the point. It doesn't matter what I think about it, or what anyone else thinks, either. I certainly don't pretend to know much about magic of any sort, but if you just make the decision for her, how is that fair?" She lifts an eyebrow at me pointedly. "You might as well have her locked up in the Gallows. Everyone should be free to make their own choices. Don't you think?"

I open my mouth to protest and then close it slowly, realising I have no argument to counter her. I... hadn't thought of it that way. Damn it, is she right? Am I being as bad as all that? "Since when are you so bloody full of wisdom?"

"I have my moments. And I've been around, you know."

"However, er... well travelled you may be, perhaps you should nevertheless refrain from prying into Hawke's personal business," Fenris says dryly. "If she no longer wishes to keep the company of the witch, then that is her affair. It may be better for us all, were you not to interfere."

I glance at him warningly, aggravated by his words, his derogatory tone. Isabela, usually content to meet such scornful comments from him with dry humour, also bristles in annoyance at his slight of Merrill.

"Could we do without your magic-hatred, just this once?" she says, throwing him an exasperated glare. "Hawke is a mage too, in case it's slipped your mind."

"Hawke is... not like others of her kind. And we are discussing a blood mage," Fenris replies levelly, regarding her with his customary cool, controlled demeanour. "You encourage Hawke to nurse a viper to her chest. Sooner or later, it will strike."

I feel the last vestiges of my thin veneer of calm dissipate abruptly. That's it. "Enough, Fenris. Merrill is not a viper, or a witch, and she doesn't deserve your contempt. She's saved your life more times than I'm sure you care to remember," I tell him angrily, although with more force than I intended. "The least you can do in return is to keep your spiteful, unprovoked remarks to yourself. I'm in no mood to tolerate them today."

"This would be the part where you start backing away slowly, elf," Varric advises quietly from the sidelines. "I'd also suggest nodding and smiling, but I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"I am deeply touched by your concern," Fenris replies gravely, his deep, gravelly voice calm, though slightly tinged with wry amusement. He turns to me, inclining his head with unconscious grace. "Forgive me, Hawke," he says with sincerity, his voice unusually gentle. "I apologise for my thoughtless words. It is not my place to comment on your decisions, or with whom you choose to... ah, interact. I did not intend to cause you undue distress."

I sigh. "I know, Fenris." From all he has confided to me about Tevinter magisters and his own master in particular I can understand his aversion towards mages and magic, but I simply have neither the heart nor the patience to deal with it today.

I turn away from all of them and resume searching the ground for this tome mentioned in Idunna's letter. Admittedly, seeking out scattered books on blood magic written by a crazed blood mage, at the behest of another blood mage prostitute who tried to force me to kill myself is probably not the best way to take my mind off things, but I needed to get out and do something other than simply continue to wallow in misery at home. I needed to get away from the look of concerned understanding on Mother's face every time she sees me. Perhaps it's childish to feel this way, but I'm not certain talking with her about it would be of much help to me. Not that she wouldn't be supportive, or perhaps even offer an alternate perspective on my situation. I know she wants me to talk to her. Mother could clearly see that something was wrong when I returned from Sundermount alone, but thankfully she didn't press me about it. I was pathetically grateful for her tact. I didn't want to have to explain to her why I didn't... why I didn't bring Merrill home for dinner, as I told her I would. That, I would not have handled well. But I know that sooner or later, she is going to give in and ask me about it, and, well... I intend to put it off for as long as possible. After all, how can I explain what happened without divulging everything about Merrill's blood magic, about her tainted mirror, and the Maker-cursed demon? I can just imagine how well that conversation would go. I'd much rather keep her in the dark.

Speaking of which...

I spot a small, mouldy black book on the floor of the cave, almost hidden in the deepest shadows. "There. Looks like we found what we came for."

"About damn time," Varric mutters. "I've had enough of crawling about underground in the Bone Pit; it reminds me too much of the sodding Deep Roads. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

"Agreed," Fenris concurs. "I cannot help but feel... ill at ease, in this place." He casts his sombre gaze slowly about the cavern. "Many slaves died here. Their cries linger in the stone."

I pick Tarohne's blood magic tome up off the ground and instantly regret it when the bloody thing starts poking into my mind, just like the others, offering power in return for allowing its wretched existence to continue. I hiss in irritation. I'm in no mood for it. It's going to get the same as its brethren. The same as its lunatic author.

I toss the thing back down to the ground and cast a fireball at it, burning the book of blood magic secrets, scorching it, reducing it to cinders, staring at the fire without feeling the heat at all.

I continue to gaze morosely into the flames as the vellum pages blacken and curl, repeating my conversation with Isabela over and over in my mind. Was she right? Is it wrong for me to take away Merrill's freedom of choice in this matter? I'm certain there's a flaw in her reasoning somewhere. Letting Merrill make her own choices is all very well, but if I saw her about to leap off a cliff because she was convinced that she could fly, would Isabela still tell me I should let her fall, because it was her choice to make? It seems much the same thing, to me.

But is it? I'm... not certain, anymore.

An elbow suddenly collides sharply with my stomach, and I gasp, winded.

"Hey, hero! Wake up! What's wrong with you?"

I look down at Varric, who shakes his head at me half in irritation, half in amusement. I notice he's gripping Bianca tightly in his hands. And Fenris is covered in blood splatters. What the-

"You missed the party," Varric says as he holsters his crossbow, waving a hand behind him. I follow his gesture and then stare in shock as I register the blood and gore coating the walls of the cave and the countless carcasses of demons, shades and abominations that litter the floor. I stand, frozen in surprise and not a little embarrassment, gazing around at the carnage. They must have appeared right after I burned the book. How did I manage to be completely oblivious to a fight like this?

"Get over to Merrill's, Hawke," Isabela says, glancing up at me in wry amusement as she wrenches her dagger from the eye of an abomination right behind me, wiping the blade distastefully against the thing's cloth wrap before sheathing it and rising in a graceful, fluid movement. "As soon as we get back to Kirkwall, you're going to go and talk to her. Tonight. You're absolutely useless like this."

I can't argue with that.

I turn and lead the way towards the mouth of the cave, back into the miners' encampment, lost again in thought and nervous fear. What if she still won't see me? Perhaps I shouldn't give her the option of refusing to let me in. She has never once locked her door, even after three years. I suppose there was never much need for locks among the Dalish, and somehow she has never lost that innocent trust. Unless of course I've managed to break her of it, now. I cringe at the thought, and find my steps quickening the closer we draw to Kirkwall, narrowing my eyes against the red glare of the setting sun, the towering stone walls of the city come into view as we walk around a bend in the road.

I have no idea what I'm going to say to her. Maybe... maybe I can offer to help her find some other way to fix the eluvian? She didn't listen the last time I tried, but then, she wasn't really in a state to hear me, I suppose. I hope she will let me talk to her this time.

Maker, please, just let her listen.

Just go in. Open the flaming door and go inside.

I stand on her doorstep, frozen in place but shaking with nerves. I tried to think of what to say to her on the way back to Kirkwall, but I came up with nothing. Not a damn thing. And now I'm here. Andraste, what am I going to say to her? Will she even listen to me?

You won't find out if you stand out here all night. Get in there, already.

I push gently at the door, and just as I thought, it isn't barred. I open it slowly, trying not to let it creak. She can't stop me from coming in if I'm already inside.

She isn't in the main room, though the fire is lit in the hearth. She is here, then. Suddenly I hear her voice, low and furious, coming from her bedroom.

"Oh, may the Dread Wolf take you, you worthless hunk of glass!" I cringe at the bare fury in her voice. This is likely not the ideal time for me to show up uninvited. I don't think this is going to go well, somehow. Well, I can't back out now. I won't.

I move quietly up to the open doorway and look inside, feeling my heart flip in my chest as I see her there; standing in front of the eluvian with her back to me, her arms folded irately across her chest. I start nervously as she suddenly speaks again, hurling a string of elven curses at the indifferent, fractured face of the mirror before her.

"All the years I've wasted on you and you're still nothing but a flaming mirror with no reflection," she growls at the thing. Her tone becomes plaintive, miserable. "I've given you so much. How much more do you want from me?"

The tired frustration and despair in her voice stabs me with a sharp shard of guilt, and I let out a quiet, anguished breath before I can stop myself. She turns her head just slightly at the sound, aware of my presence at last; her body stiffening visibly as she opens her mouth to speak. She's still infuriated with me. I can't see her face; she doesn't turn completely, doesn't face me, she just throws her words angrily over her shoulder in my direction. "Why have you come here? Did the Keeper put you up to this?"

She thinks the Keeper sent me? Does she truly think I wouldn't have come otherwise? Maker, what am I going to say to her? "I'm... I'm just making sure you're alright," I offer hesitantly. I take a small, tentative step towards her. "I care about you, Merrill. I wanted to check on you."

She turns her face back towards the mirror. "Don't, Hawke." Her voice is quiet, but her words are laced with pain and anger. I can't bear it. "Why would you do this to me if you really cared?"

I feel winded, as though the breath has been knocked out of me. She can't mean that. She can't really believe that I don't care for her. She's... just speaking from hurt, surely. I take a slow breath and take another small step closer. She still won't turn around.

"Caring for you doesn't mean I automatically agree with your every action," I say quietly, trying to be calm. Rational. This is the best thing for her. It is, isn't it? "It means I am honest with you about what I think, and I think that what you're doing is too dangerous. You'll get hurt."

"Just don't," she says, her tone harsh and defeated. Crushed. Maker. "Please don't say you're doing this for my sake."

But I am. "I... I know you're angry with me, and I know it might not seem like it to you, but I really am doing this for your sake!" She doesn't respond, doesn't turn, and I feel myself growing desperate with worry and distress. My voice dies to little more than a plaintive whisper. "Will you please just look at me?"

"No," she says shortly. "I will not. I'm too furious to look at you right now. You may disagree with what I'm doing, but you have no right to prevent me from doing it! Stop treating me like a child! I am a grown woman, Hawke."

"I know," I exclaim in protest. "Of course I know that, I'm just... Merrill, I'm just trying to protect you."

"Well, don't!" Merrill cries heatedly, her voice cracking. "I don't need you, or Marethari, or anyone else to look after me. I can save my people with this mirror!" She leans forward suddenly to press both her palms firmly against the surface of the eluvian. I stare when the glass almost seems to ripple as her hands make contact. Thick, glowing veins of deep shimmering red creep sinuously up from beneath her fingers to surround the wide crack in the centre of the glass pane, and she sways a little as the eluvian takes it in. Drains her. I've... I've never seen her doing this before... Both her palms must be covered in slashes to produce this much blood...

Maker.

"Oh, Merrill..." I whisper, unable to stay silent, and she drops her hands abruptly, as though recalled to my presence, tightly folding her arms again. The imprints of her hands remain on the cracked dull glass, outlined in crimson blood, and I watch in horror as they slowly disappear; the mirror drinking her lifeblood greedily into itself. I suddenly feel... something... tugging insidiously at me, at my magic and my blood, calling, searching, looking for more power, more sustenance; almost like a living, ravenous... parasite.

I make myself take another step forwards; drawing closer to her and the mirror, though my every instinct screams at me to get away from it and pull her with me, force her away from this... this thing. "Merrill, what's happening?" I ask quietly, trying not to let my mounting panic invade my voice. Why does it feel like this? Could it be the taint reasserting itself? "The eluvian feels... different. What did you do?"

She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot without turning. "I did what I have to do. I have to finish it somehow, since you refuse to help me."

I frown in frustration; that isn't nearly enough of an answer. She used blood magic, clearly, but why is it different? "But... it feels... wrong. It didn't feel like this before."

She stays silent for several moments before she speaks at last. "Just... stay out of it, Hawke!" she mutters angrily. "You obviously don't believe in me, but I know what I'm doing. Leave me alone."

I gasp at the unfairness of her words. "I do believe in you! I just don't agree with your methods. I can't believe that this is the only way to recover your heritage. You don't have to do this by yourself. I'm here for you. Please, let me help you!"

She gives a small, bitter laugh. "Help me?" She still refuses to turn, to look at me. "You don't want to help me, you've made that perfectly clear." She shakes her head. "I was stupid to think a human would understand, let alone care about restoring elven knowledge. You're not trying to help me; you're trying to sabotage my work!"

Bloody flames! "That's not true! I'm not against you recovering your people's heritage. Why would I be? I just..." I sigh heavily, running a hand though my hair as I wonder frantically how I can possibly convince her to believe me. But what can I say? I've broken her trust, and hurt her deeply; what could I ever say that could convince her to trust me again? "If you won't give up the mirror, then I at least want to help you find another way to repair it. You don't need blood magic," I say, willing her to believe it, and then blink as I remember something she said back on Sundermount before all of this happened. An idea suddenly occurs to me; another way for her to fix the mirror. A safer way. It could work; why not, if all it takes is enough raw power? Still dangerous, but much less so than risking demonic possession. "Why don't I just get you a few piles of lyrium instead?" I offer. "I can afford it."

She turns her head slightly, lowering her arms, hands balling into tight fists at her sides. "That is not funny," she hisses, angrily enunciating every word.

But I meant it! I raise a hand in a gesture of helplessness; I wasn't being flippant, I wouldn't dare, not now! She's the one who suggested it in the first place. "Merrill, I'm not jok-"

"Why don't you just leave, Hawke?" she interrupts furiously, casting a furious glare over her shoulder at me, her face flushed with rage; hot angry blood scorching beneath her skin, across her cheekbones, right up to the very tips of her ears. "If you disapprove of what I'm doing so much, why are you still here?"

"Because you need me. And because I want to help you. Let me." I take another step towards her, stepping up behind her. I'm so close to her; close enough to feel the tension in her small body, waves of raw emotion emanating from her and striking at my heart; anger, confusion, pain, deep pain. She's so hurt. Because of me. Oh, please, just let me help you. Let me in.

A sound, a whisper, tugs at the edge of my thoughts, and I suddenly feel a surge of pure, unrestrained rage tainting the air. Neither came from Merrill. I turn my eyes slowly towards to eluvian just in time to catch the flash of light across its dull surface, passing so quickly I almost miss it; and a low, resounding note emanates from the mirror, almost beneath hearing. Merrill's head tilts slightly, as though she's listening to the bloody thing and the note grows louder; the wave of anger growing stronger. Maker, what's wrong with it? It's like it's... feeding her anger, somehow. I feel a sudden stab of deep anxiety.

"Merrill, come away," I plead quietly. "Please, just... come away from the mirror, and let's talk. I just want to help you." I reach out to her slowly and place my hand gently on her shoulder, but she tenses instantly, her body going rigid at my touch.

"Stop. Stop trying to 'save' me." She spins to face me, eyes blazing with dangerous ferocity as she stares at me, but I hardly notice. My entire attention is caught up in the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, and the unhealthy pallor of her pale, almost translucent skin. Her bare forearms are covered in fresh cuts and half-healed scars. Splatters of dried and drying blood cover the floor beneath her feet. Maker, Merrill, what have you done to yourself? What have I done to you?

Another low thread of unintelligible sound brushes against my mind, and Merrill's eyes flash with wrath, as though in response to the insidious whisper.

"I don't need you!" she declares forcefully, her voice growing in anger and volume as she fixes me with a livid glare, her breaths coming rapidly, her eyes almost burning with the strength of her rising fury. "I've given up everything to rebuild my people's past, and you just threw my sacrifice in the garbage!"

I don't see her hand coming; all I hear it the sharp crack of the blow as her palm connects; feel the sharp sting of her full-armed slap across my cheek. I stagger backwards in shock, my hand flying instinctively to my face, feeling a sticky patch of wetness on my skin, left there by the bleeding slashes on her palm. Merrill's eyes widen, as though surprised by her own action, but in the next instant her face hardens once more, fury and pain and utter desolation warring across her frail, pallid features. She lifts her hand again, this time to point forcefully at the door behind me.

"Get out of my house," she says angrily, miserably, her voice low and fierce and shaking with emotion. "I never want to see you again!"

I never want to see you again.

My heart freezes, then shatters, each jagged piece tearing into my soul, and for a few agonising moments, I can't move; all I can do is stare at her in shock and pain and guilt. I can't believe this is happening. It's all gone so wrong.

At last I force myself to turn and walk blindly towards her door, stumbling out into the darkness as the first tear falls, carving a hot wet trail through the smear of her blood across my cheek.

xxx M xxx

I sit before the eluvian for a long time once Hawke is gone, feeling the waves of rage coursing through me, filling me with vengeful fire, and I let it burn and rage deep inside me, inside the hole she left in my heart.

She deserved it. She did. She knew how much I need the arulin'holm, and she kept it from me anyway. And then she has the nerve to ask me what I've been doing with the eluvian. What does she think I've been doing? What option is left to me now? And what did she mean, asking me what's wrong with the eluvian? There's nothing wrong with it!

Is there?

No. Hawke is wrong. She has to be wrong.

I close my eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness that makes my head spin. I feel so tired, all of a sudden. And cold. I get up slowly, using the wall for support, and walk slowly away from the mirror, moving carefully towards the fire in the next room. I've never felt the fatigue this badly. The eluvian must have taken a lot of blood out of me, before. I hadn't even realised I was giving it any until Hawke spoke. She sounded so horrified... it must have looked ghastly. I suddenly feel a deep surge of remorse. I didn't mean to ever let her see that.

I move closer to the fire, further away from my mirror, still moving carefully. I am starting to feel a little better now, though. My head seems to be clearing too, suddenly, which is odd, since I didn't realise it was clouded. And I don't even feel that angry anymore. Why is that, I wonder? I was so furious before, staring at the eluvian. Maybe looking at it reminded me of everything that happened. I reach the bench by the fire and sit down slowly, feeling the enveloping warmth of the flames gently brush my skin, like a comforting, loving caress. Like Hawke's touch.

I wish she was still here. I'm not angry anymore. I wish I hadn't sent her away.

I was so furious with her before, I know, and I couldn't bear it when she put her hand on my shoulder, when I felt the tenderness in her touch. I didn't want to listen to the care and concern in her voice, or to anything she was saying. It hurt too much to hear it. But... she's never been wrong before, about anything. Everything she does is right. And... she's never done anything to hurt me. Before this, anyway. All she has ever done is keep me safe, again and again. Protected me. Saved me. So many times...

I gaze into the fire, somehow very aware of the sightless face of the eluvian boring into my back. But I don't want to look at it. It makes me angry when I do, and I don't want to be angry anymore; I don't like myself at all, when I am. And I feel... calm, now. I feel like I can think properly, clearly, for the first time since all of this happened. Did... did Hawke mean it, when she said she thought there could be another way to mend it? Surely if there was any other way, I would have found it by now, though, wouldn't I? She can't have been serious about buying lyrium. Even I know by now that the Chantry controls the lyrium trade; anyone outside of the order who tried to get their hands on the amount I'd need would bring a load of suspicion down on top of their heads; not to mention a legion of Templars to their door, looking for apostates. She can't seriously be considering putting herself at such a risk for my sake, can she? I'd never let her, anyway. I couldn't stand to put her into that sort of danger.

But... aren't I doing that already? With the blood magic? I keep saying I know what I'm doing, and I do, I really think I do, but... that hardly means that I won't fail, that I won't... fall. And if I do fall to the demon, then I will become an abomination, and then... I will be a danger to everyone. I will be a danger to her. I can't give up on the mirror, I can't, I have to try, but even if I fix it, and Hawke is right about the demon turning on me... She was right, before, wasn't she? The demon in the Deep Roads did betray us. Hawke is always right. But she can always make everything alright. She always gets us through. She always finds a way. If anyone can discover a better way to mend the eluvian, it's her.

I shift a little on the bench as my mind reels with a lot of very uncomfortable, muddled thoughts. Hawke always does the right thing. Always. So... oh, Creators, maybe she's right about this, too. Only... only she doesn't actually disapprove of the mirror, does she? Just the blood magic, and the... the demon. She still wants to help me fix the mirror, she said so. Maybe she can help me find another way to fix it. Maybe she is right about using blood magic. Maybe I was only trying to convince myself that blood magic isn't any more dangerous than other kinds because... I had to believe it, to make myself use it.

The more you use it, the more you want to use it, and the more you convince yourself you need to.

Is she right? If it weren't for the eluvian, I never would have taken it up at all, would I? Just as Hawke said. And... maybe she's even right that the eluvian feels different, somehow. It has been responding oddly to my blood magic these past few days. The only thing I can think of that's different to my usual rituals is how angry I've been when I performed them. Perhaps... perhaps the fury transferred into the mirror with my blood? What if it's affecting the eluvian, somehow; altering the magic of it, and the presence inside it? What if it's encouraging the corruption to flourish, instead of cleansing it?

Hawke is right. I need to stop this. For now, anyway. I need to stop using blood magic on the mirror; at least when I'm feeling angry. She's right about the eluvian, too. I don't think it's supposed to feel this way. The anger in it... that can't be right. I've made a mess of it, again, like I always do. I need to leave it alone; for the moment, at least, until I can be sure I can use my blood on it again without doing it more damage. I need to be calm.

And... I need to talk to Hawke. If she'll even see me. She shouldn't want to, anymore, not after what I said to her, everything I yelled at her. Elgar'nan, I said such awful, terrible things, and then...

I... I told her to get out. I told her... Creators, I said I never wanted to see her again. How could I say that to her? It isn't true, I can't live with not seeing her, not being with her; I can't. What could have made me say such a thing?

I look down at my hand, still covered in the drying blood from the slashes on my palm, little beads of red forming along the half healed gashes. They must have reopened from the impact, when I... I struck her.

I struck her. I struck Hawke.

I bite my lip deeply as I remember. I... I can't believe I hit her. How could I do that? The look on her face... Creators, she looked so hurt... And all she ever tried to do was protect me. How will she ever forgive me?

My eyes screw shut at the thought and I moan a little, hugging myself miserably, rocking back and forth on the bench. Maybe she shouldn't. I can't give up my work, but it is dangerous. I am dangerous. She shouldn't care for me, I don't deserve it. I'll only end up hurting her even worse. If the Templars discover my blood magic, it will cast suspicion on anyone close to me, and they'll go after her. They'll find out she's a mage, and she'll be locked up in the Gallows. Or... they might even assume she's a blood mage as well, just for associating with me, and they'll kill her, too, or, or make her tranquil...

A wretched sob escapes me at the thought of Hawke, my Hawke, lying dead at the feet of a Templar; at the thought of her as a mindless, emotionless shell, the smooth skin of her forehead marred by the raised red brand of the Templar sunburst... by the gods, I don't know which is worse. Maybe... maybe it's better this way. I told her to stay away, after all, didn't I? All I have to do now is not seek her out again, and she'll be safe from me.

But I can't do that. I can't, I'm too weak, too selfish for that. I need to see her. I have to tell her I'm sorry. I have to tell her... tell her...

I love her. Creators, I love her so much. I don't deserve her, and she would be safer to keep far away from me, but...

I jump to my feet and head for the door, almost running; I don't waste any time in donning chainmail or grabbing my staff, even, which I know is foolish, but I don't care one bit, right now. I don't even bother to douse the flames in the hearth. It'll be fine, I'm sure, I often forget to smother the fire and my house has never once burnt down, not yet, anyway. Well, I haven't got time to care about it right now. I have to find her. She must be back at home by now, if that's where she went. I'll never find her if she didn't. I hope she went home. I just have to get there without getting lost.

I break into a full sprint as soon as I'm outside, not caring even a little bit whether or not my door closes properly behind me.

I shouldn't be doing this. I should let her go, I am too dangerous. I shouldn't go to her...

But I have to. I will. I am going.

Mythal, let me find my way and not get lost, not tonight. Let me find her there. Let her... let her want to see me.

Please, let her forgive me.