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

16. Chapter 16

This took a lot longer than I meant, because I thought I'd try my hand at making up a bit of a quest - which, as it turns out, is a lot harder than one would think. It's nothing great, I'm just having a go. Also I ended up needing more than one chapter, though since I don't like putting up cliff-hangers, I wanted to wait til the second part was done too. Also that helps to make sure they both make sense, and I did keep having to rewrite things so they would; several times. It'll probably take a while to read, then. But hey, you get two for one. As well as trying to follow the main game storyline, my story is going to have a few non-canon elements, and this includes one of them, and maybe sets foundations for others... just some little ideas in my head. Nothing that should really interfere with the story that much, just a few additions and/or minor changes I thought would be either fun or interesting to put in. You'll see. There will be a point to all this, it's all definitely going somewhere, I promise! Eventually. I have no idea how this reads outside my head, but I hope it is at least mildly entertaining. And makes sense. I can't tell if it does, or if it's interesting anymore, I've read over and changed it too many times. :p

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xxx M xxx

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I pull back my mana, breathing out a quiet but very profound sigh of relief as I finish my examination of the eluvian at last. It feels the just way it used to, now; powerful, but calm, passive. Sleeping again, as though nothing had ever happened to it at all. There was certainly something there, though, before. And Hawke felt it too; that odd, angry presence, I know she did, so I know I'm not crazy. Well, not about this, anyway. But, whatever it was, it seems to have gone, thank the Creators. For the moment, anyway.

Hawke straightens at my feet, sitting back on her heels at the foot of the mirror and tossing the wet rag back into the red-tinged water with a sigh. "There you go. Nice and clean at last," she says, looking up at me with a sweet smile as she brushes her hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

I return her smile and reach out my hand to her, helping her up. "I really wish you would have let me do that," I tell her again, just a little reprovingly, glancing down at the newly scrubbed floorboards beneath the eluvian, now free from all evidence of the bloody mess I left there last night. I had almost forgotten all about it after I went to find her, like none of that... awfulness... had happened at all; so it was quite a shock to see it there when we came in. But Hawke just went and fetched a bucket of water from the pump outside, then went straight into my bedroom and knelt before the mirror, scrubbing all my blood away without a word. She didn't even look cross about it. I really do think she is just too good for me, sometimes. Well, most of the time, really. "I could have managed; I do keep my house clean sometimes, I swear."

She shakes her head at me, still smiling. "I wanted to do it. Besides, it gave you plenty of time to examine the eluvian, didn't it? I know how anxious you were about it." She bends down to pick up the bucket at her feet but I beat her to it, grasping the handle firmly and dragging it out of her reach.

"Thank you, ma vhenan, but at least let me empty it for you. You can take your turn to look the mirror over yourself while I'm outside," I tell her firmly, grabbing the bucket with both hands, trying to hoist it into a more comfortable carrying position, although all I really manage to do is spill a little of its murky contents over my feet. She moves to help me, but I shake my head at her. "Don't worry, I've got it."

"I see that," she says, smiling as I heave the heavy bucket clumsily towards the door, leaving a wet trail as more water splashes over the side every step I take. Well, at least it's getting a bit lighter. And there are a few more slightly cleaner patches on my floor, now. "Hurry back," she calls as I reach the door at last and pull it open.

I smile to myself as I step outside. "Oh, I will, ma vhenan."

I manage to get the bucket over to the vhenadahl without too much difficulty, although there isn't much water left in it by the time I reach it. Two dirty-looking elven men sprawled on the steps across the square laugh loudly each time more water spills over the side of the bucket, their voices coarse and slurred with drink. So early, too; they ought to be ashamed. I ignore them, though, and pour out the remaining contents over the strong, smooth roots, then straighten and give the beautiful tree of the People a fond smile. It's nice that most of the elves here treat the vhenadahl so well; it shows that they haven't completely forgotten all respect for their heritage. I beam at it again and then turn back towards my house, swinging the empty bucket absently in my hand as I walk with a quick step; very eager to get back to Hawke, now, and soon.

My neighbour comes out of her house as I draw near my door, heading over to open the little dressmaker's stall on the corner before her mistress arrives. She smiles when she sees me; one of the only people who ever do, here. I give her a little wave. I couldn't say we're friends, not exactly, but at least she doesn't cross the street to avoid me when I walk by, like most people here. "Hello, Nyssa."

"Good morning, Merrill," she says kindly, setting her basket of thimbles, thread, and needles and things down on the stall counter. "It's nice to see you out and about, at last. Are you well?"

I nod, feeling a little uncomfortable at another reminder of my foolish behaviour these past few days, shutting myself in with the mirror, and all. "Oh... yes, thank you, I am. I was just a little... out of sorts, I suppose." I smile at her; it was very nice of her to ask, after all. "I am grateful for your concern, though."

"Arianni has been asking after you too, you know," Nyssa tells me as she pulls a stool out from under the counter. "I'm sure she'd like to know you're alright." I smile again at the mention of Arianni's name; she is always kind to me, too. I suppose it helps that she's Dalish herself, and that I helped Hawke save her boy from those slavers. I haven't seen her that often since then, though; she's kept herself quite secluded since her son left to live with the clan. "She's been worried about poor Feynriel, lately," Nyssa continues. "Maybe it would help her to talk to another Dalish. Perhaps you could pay her a visit?"

"I will, then, soon," I assure her. I wonder why Arianni is worried aboout Feynriel? He's much safer among the People than in the circle... although, come to think of it, I don't remember seeing Feynriel in the camp when we went to Sundermount. But then, I suppose I was distracted while I was there, for one reason or another. I'm sure he's alright, though. "Thank you, Nyssa."

She gives me another smile in return and settles herself comfortably on her stool, ready for her day's work, and I give her a little nod of farewell, turning towards my door.

"Oh, I wanted to ask; have you seen that shemlen friend of yours again?" she enquires unexpectedly. I look back at her in surprise, and she arches her eyebrow a little. "The one who came by the other day?"

I suppose she must have seen Isabela letting herself in to try and make me feel better after... after Sundermount. She said rather a lot of unkind things about Marethari and the clan, I remember. And Aveline too, for some reason. But not about Hawke. I think she knew I wouldn't want her to, even after what happened. Why does Nyssa want to know if I've seen her since then, though? "Isabela, you mean?"

Nyssa shrugs a little. "I'm afraid I don't know her name, I'd never spoken to her before then."

"Long black hair, tawny eyes, blue headscarf?" I prompt. "Boots that go on forever?"

"Oh!" Nyssa laughs. "No, I didn't mean that one." She shakes her head, smiling. "You do have a lot of human friends, don't you? No, I meant the one who came before she did; the small one. Well, you know, small for a human, anyway." She raises an eyebrow meaningfully at me. "She comes here quite often to see you; she must like you very much. Short black hair, piercing blue eyes? She knocked on your door, and called for you, but you didn't answer."

I stare at her blankly for a moment. It sounds like she's talking about Hawke... but it was night when Hawke came to see me after Sundermount, both times. Nyssa would have long since gone home. But if she saw her, Hawke must have come again the next day... Nyssa said she came before Isabela did... I didn't know that. I don't remember not letting her in, or hearing her outside at all... I must have been working on the eluvian, I suppose. I feel a sudden uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was so consumed by it... maybe I should apologise. Although, maybe... I don't think I'd better mention it to her; best to try and forget all of that. It's done with, now. No need to bring it up again unnecessarily.

"I'm afraid I told her you were there," Nyssa says, watching me a little worriedly when I don't reply; too busy in my own whirling thoughts. "I'm sorry if I shouldn't have. She just seemed so upset that you wouldn't open the door."

I shake my head a little, trying to summon an answer for her. "No, it's... I don't mind, but-"

"Oh, don't worry, she let her in alright this morning," a gruff, slurred voice suddenly says directly behind me, and I turn quickly to find the two drunken men who laughed at me earlier staring down at me with the same leering sort of sneer on their dirty faces. I don't know them, I still hardly know anybody here, after all, but... I have seen them, somewhere... I don't like the way they're looking at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, a little nervously.

They grin slowly. "We saw you; you and your fancy little Hightown shem. Gave us quite a show," one of them drawls, and my eyes widen a little; it was them this morning, staring at Hawke and me outside the Hanged Man... The man's eyes rove up and down my body as he leers at me. "Followed you. Opened your door for her just fine this morning, didn't you? Bet you spread your legs and held your door open for her all night too, hey, little Dalish?" he says drunkenly, laughing in my face, so close to me I can smell the liquor on his breath. I take a step away from him quickly, feeling suddenly anxious at the look in his eyes, and bump against the rough wooden counter of the stall. I start slightly as I feel Nyssa place hand comfortingly on my arm.

"Don't listen to him. Go home, the pair of you. You're drunk," she says, glaring at them both, her voice low and angry. "Leave Merrill alone."

"Oh, no, wouldn't want to hold her up, would we?" the other one grins, closing the distance between us with a few wobbly steps as he gestures carelessly in the direction of my house. "Got her human mistress inside, after all. Ready, wet and waiting, I bet."

His friend laughs loudly, both of them still watching me with the same lewd, contemptuous smirk. "Look how far the proud little Dalish has fallen, hey?" he slurs, a vicious twist to his lips. "Selling herself to some noble shemlen bitch, no better than any back alley whore. Now who's the flat ear, hey? How much do you go for, then, little whore? "

They saw me and Hawke together... but they think I'm a... a... I... should have expected this, I suppose. I stare back at them "I am not a whore," I say quietly, my voice low and angry. "It isn't like that."

They laugh. "Don't tell me she's got you believing that," the first man says scornfully. "A human, with an elf? What else could you be to her? Come on, then. I got coin enough for you, I bet." He tries to grab my arm and misses, stumbling, and I flinch and dodge away from them, my breath catching in my throat as an old memory tries to surface... I push it down forcefully, keeping my eyes on the drunken brute as he steps even closer. "Must know some good tricks; for a human to risk taking a savage to her bed, Dalish. Must be good," he laughs nastily, grabbing for me again, and I stumble back further out of reach as he leers at me, his friend sniggering behind him. No, don't touch me, don't touch me..."How 'bout it, hey? Pretty little thing..."

"Stop it!" Nyssa shouts angrily, her eyes blazing fiercely at them both. "It's louts like you who give the rest of us a bad name! Go inside, Merrill, quickly. I'll get the hahren to deal with them." I nod and try to smile at her gratefully, but I can't manage it. She gives me a small, bracing smile in return and gestures gently towards my door behind me. "Go on."

"Go on, go on," the other one jeers as I disappear inside, Nyssa flashing me a sympathetic look as she hurries towards the hahren's home. "Don't want to keep your mistress waiting, do you? Little whore..."

I close the door firmly against their mocking laughter and stand still for a few moments until I hear it die away at last, trembling in anger, now, and... and fear, a little. I can still hear them talking out there, though; their loud, ale-slurred voices harsh in the air. I wish I could blame their boorish behaviour and awful words on the drink, but... I know they would be thinking exactly the same thing, were they sober. They just wouldn't have come out and said it... probably. I shake my head a bit, trying to swallow the hurt. I should have expected people to think that of me, but I thought... I thought it would mostly be the humans who would be the ones to say such things, I thought the elves here would mostly just keep ignoring me... but it doesn't matter anyway. I don't care what they think, or anyone. But... that doesn't make their words any easier to bear.

And when he tried to grab me...

'How 'bout it, hey? Pretty little thing...'

...pretty little knife-ear...

I push abruptly away from the door, dropping the empty bucket beside it and walking slowly into my bedroom. Hawke is standing before the eluvian, her hand hovering over the dull surface of the glass, fingers flaring with the deep blue fire of her magic, just the same colour as her wondrous eyes and I sense her mana flowing through her from across the room, twining sinuously in delicate tendrils about the mirror as she examines it carefully, scuffing her foot absently against the floor.

"I think you're right; whatever was going on with it last night seems to have stopped, now," Hawke says as I come in, releasing her mana and turning to me with a smile, which fades slowly as she looks at me, her eyes suddenly filling with concern. "What's wrong?" she asks softly.

I shake my head, suddenly unable to speak, but my eyes flick towards my front door, where I know those drunken louts are still outside, likely waiting to throw more insults or... or propositions at me if I come out again alone... I hope the hahren can get them to go soon, before Hawke and I leave. I don't want her to have to hear their filth.

"It-it's nothing, Hawke-" I begin once I find my voice, but she just shakes her head, stepping towards me and taking me gently by the shoulders.

"It can't have been nothing; you're shaking! What's the matter?" She leads me gently to sit on the bed, sitting close beside me, her expression filled with worry. She lays her hand gently against my cheek. "What happened, Merrill?"

I look up into her beautiful eyes, so full of love and concern, and as much as I... I hate to burden her with this... I don't want to keep anything from her. I tell her haltingly what they said, those men; watching as her face fills with outrage, indignation, and above all else, a terrible sadness. Which only makes me feel worse; I hate to be the one to put such a look in her eyes, even when it's on my behalf. I never want her to feel bad because of me for any reason, ever.

"Oh, Merrill... I'm so sorry. It's alright, now. I'm here," she says, folding me tightly into her arms and holding me close, stroking my back gently, and I rest my head on her shoulder, the warmth and comfort of her closeness soothing my tremors, calming me.

"Did they hurt you?" she asks softly, once my trembling stops at last, her hold on me tightening a little as she speaks.

I hesitate, and then shake my head a little against her shoulder. "No," I tell her, truthfully enough. "They just... oh, Hawke, the things they said..."

"They aren't true," she says gently, though I can feel her quivering now herself, in barely restrained rage, I think. "They don't know what they're talking about. I love you."

"I know," I tell her softly, sitting up to look at her. "It... it shouldn't bother me so much, it's just... it's hard, I mean, knowing people will think that... I'm... that I'm your... "

She gives a growl deep in her throat before I can say it, shaking her head angrily, though not at me, of course. "No one is going to think that, not once I set them straight. Starting with those idiots," she says, her eyes flashing dangerously as she turns her head in the direction of the door, her hand going to the back of her belt where she keeps her little dagger.

I grasp her arm firmly, keeping her beside me; I don't want her to risk starting something. She can't exactly get into a fight with them here, now, not with just her knife. She can't. She mustn't. "I don't really think that will help. And anyway... they've been drinking."

"That's no excuse," she says, still trying to rise. "Drunk or not, I can't just ignore this sort of behaviour, not directed at you."

"No, that's not... What I mean is..." I bite my lip and start again. "Ma vhenan, I know you're very good at intimidating people when you need to, but if they're drunk, they might just attack you, and then what? You'll just have your knife, and you can't use magic, not in front of everyone. You know that. Not that you couldn't handle them without it, of course, but... better safe than sorry."

For a moment, she looks as though she wants to argue, but then she sighs, nodding. "Alright. You're.. you're right."

"My neighbour, Nyssa, said she'll talk to the hahren about them," I reassure her, hearing her hesitation. "The alienage elder, I mean," I add, responding to her questioning look. "It's best to let him handle them."

"Alright," Hawke says again. "Avoid stirring inter-racial tensions, and all that. But if anyone else tries to say such things, or to hurt you... well, I am quite good with this, you know." She pats the place where her little blade is concealed, throwing another dark look in the direction of the door. "Good enough to teach the likes of them a lesson. The permanent sort, if need be."

I smile gently at her. "You're too good to do that, Hawke."

She blinks once, a strange sort of expression crossing her face for a moment. "I... don't know about that," she says softly, seriously. "I'd do anything to protect you, no matter the cost." She smiles, though it's a little flat. "I guess I've shown that already, though, haven't I?"

From the wry, slightly guilty tone of her voice, she's thinking of the arulin'holm again, but... she's still right. She has saved me, protected me, so many times. Keeping me safe, always, just like she promised all those years ago. "Yes," I smile at her. I feel so much better, now. "You have. You always keep me safe. Always there when I call, like... my very own personal hero."

She gives a soft chuckle. "Hero, hmm?" she repeats, smiling lovingly at me, reaching up to sweep a stray strand of hair from my forehead, making me shiver happily as she tucks it behind my ear and cups my cheek in her hand. "If I am anything of the sort, it's only because of you," she says softly, lowering her mouth to mine. "You bring out the best in me, my love."

I smile as she kisses me, feeling wonderful again, although I doubt very much if the best of her has anything to do with me. She would still be the soul of goodness if I had never met her, I know she would, but, well, that was very nice to hear, all the same. And it doesn't matter what anyone thinks about us. The way Nyssa was speaking, though, I think she already thought there was something between us, and she didn't seem to mind, which was nice. I suppose it goes to show not everyone will react like those drunken idiots. And people like them aren't worth bothering with, anyway.

Hawke draws back after a moment, much sooner than I would have liked, cradling my face gently in both hands and stroking her thumbs tenderly over my cheekbones. "Look at me," she laughs, smiling into my eyes. "I've already forgotten my resolve to finish up here before letting myself get carried away with you."

"No, no, that's alright, ma vhenan," I tell her quickly, wrapping my arms about her waist. "You can get carried away with me all you like, I don't mind, really!"

She laughs again. "Well, looks like someone's feeling better." I blush a little, and she lets me go and picks up my pack from the floor beside my bed, handing it to me with another gentle smile. "Best at least make a decent attempt at packing first though, before that happens. Just so we can say we tried."

I nod slowly. She's probably right. If I don't get started now, it might never get done, especially since it is very hard not to let myself get distracted by the way... the way the candlelight makes her eyes shine so... I rise and turn away from her very reluctantly, kneeling before the little clothes chest at the foot of my bed to sort out the most important things to take with me, checking them off in my head as I pack them. My chainmail, of course, and a few tunics, smallclothes...

Hawke makes a very small sound, suddenly, almost like a sigh, and I glance up to find her sitting on my bed, gazing at the eluvian, her full lower lip caught between her teeth as she worries at it thoughtfully.

"Is there something wrong?" I ask her worriedly. "You do think it's alright, don't you?" She did say so, after all, I'm pretty sure.

She blinks and turns to look at me, wide-eyed, before quickly nodding in reassurance. "It seems to be. I couldn't find any trace of... of whatever it was I felt from it, last night."

I nod in relieved agreement as I turn back to stuffing a particularly wilful tunic into my pack, on top of my chainmail. "Neither could I."

"Any idea what was going on with it?" Hawke asks softly.

I pause in my search for my second-best pair of leggings, thinking carefully for a moment. "Well... I did have a few thoughts," I say slowly. I'm not sure whether I'm right, at all, or even close, but... "I've always been able to sense... something in the eluvian, even when it was just a shard. It's not constant, but there's definitely been something there inside it, from time to time. Like there's a sentient presence within the mirror that almost wakes, sometimes, and sort of... watches me. Something ancient. It always felt very calm, and peaceful before, though... except for the last few days. I don't know why, exactly, but maybe it could have been because..." I sigh heavily. I really didn't want to bring this up again, I don't want to remind her and put that sad look back in her eyes, but... "I've never used my blood magic on it when... when I was that angry, before." Hawke flinches a little, but doesn't drop her gaze, and she manages not to look too ashamed of herself. Progress, I suppose. "Maybe... maybe that could have affected it somehow. I don't know for certain; there is so much I don't know about the eluvian itself. It seems almost... aware, sometimes. Perhaps it was sensitive to my anger; maybe it... responded to it."

She turns her gaze to the eluvian again, looking worried. "You can't feel this presence now, though, can you?"

I shake my head. "No. There's the old magic in it, just like normal, but nothing else."

Hawke nods absently, accepting my words without comment, but then after a moment, she begins rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably, as she always does when she's bothered by something.

Uh-oh. "What is it?" I ask her, concern filling my voice.

She looks back at me, a thoughtful expression on her lovely face."You said these mirrors stored knowledge, but were also used all across Thedas as a means of communication between elven cities, right?"

I nod. "Yes. As far as we know, anyway."

Hawke lowers her hand, glancing at the eluvian worriedly. "What if... what if this... presence... can only be felt sometimes, because it isn't always there?" she asks. "What if it's not actually within the mirror itself? It might have nothing to do with the eluvian at all, not the knowledge part. This presence could have been using the mirror from somewhere else, trying to communicate, perhaps."

"There is something to that..." I say slowly, thinking it over. None of the stories ever mentioned anything about the eluvians having minds of their own, after all... something could have been reaching through it, some sort of sentience... I glance at Hawke, feeling a little worried as well, now. "But... what could it have been? Who else would know about it in the first place, let alone know how to try and use it?"

Hawke bites her lip, mulling it over for a moment. "What if it was the demon?" she asks suddenly. "It would qualify as an ancient presence, surely."

It... it is possible, I suppose... Audacity, reaching through the eluvian, fuelling my anger, feeding from my pride... but...

"I don't think so." I shake my head, frowning. It's not just because I don't want to think so, I just really don't believe he could, now that I think about it. "He can barely summon the strength to speak mind-to-mind, trapped as he is, let alone have the power to reach this far without aid, or... or a summons."

Hawke nods a little after a moment, though she doesn't really look very convinced. "You're probably right. Another sort of spirit, perhaps?"

"Maybe..." I let the idea run through my mind for a moment, tilting my head thoughtfully at the dull, unresponsive surface of the eluvian. "I thought once that it might have been one of the spirits of my ancestors inside the mirror. The stories tell us the elves of old lived for centuries, because they did not age and die as we do now. Sometimes they would grow weary of life, though, but instead of dying, they would succumb to a deep, peaceful... sleep, of sorts, to make way for the young. Uthenera, they called it." I glance at her and see a slight look of puzzlement on her face. Oh. I'd better explain that one a little better, I suppose...

"Uthenera," Hawke mutters to herself before I can say anything. Her expression suddenly clears, and she looks up at me. "That means 'the endless dream', right? I remember you telling me about it up in that old graveyard on Sundermount."

I did? But we haven't been back there since... since the day we met. Mythal, she remembers that? I blink at her, impressed. "That's right! How is it you still manage to remember it so exactly?"

"I remember everything about that day," Hawke says quietly. "Well, everything involving you, anyway. That was the best day of my life, you know." She grins cheekily at me. "Well, until last night, that is."

My heart flutters. "Me too," I tell her softly, matching her smile as I remember, then I give my head a little shake. Oh, she is such a distraction! A wonderful one, though. "Um... where was I?"

"Uthenera," she prompts me gently, still smiling.

"Oh. Right. Yes." I look back at the eluvian as I try and order my thoughts. "The hahren would sort of... will themselves into a very deep sleep, and their souls would cross the Veil and wander the dream paths of the Beyond. Sometimes they would wake up in a few hundred years, ready to begin living again, but... sometimes their bodies would fail, and they would die in truth." I sneak a look at Hawke; I hope I'm not boring her too much, but she is still listening quietly, watching me with an expression of rapt, studious interest. Well... that's good, then. I'd best keep going. "Their souls might be lost, then, and wandering, since they were not meant to die. Perhaps Falon'Din never found them."

"You think one of these restless spirits is reaching out to the eluvian?" Hawke asks, catching on quickly, as usual.

I nod. "If so, were they trying to talk to us, do you think?" I muse, not really expecting an answer, just... considering the possibilities. "Perhaps they've been... trying to ask for help, to find a way back into our world?"

Hawke shakes her head worriedly. "Possibly, but... whatever it was in there last night seemed quite... malevolent."

"If it is such a spirit, then it is probably lost, and confused, and afraid," I say, feeling a surge of sympathy for it at the thought. "Maybe that's what we felt from it." That could explain the discrepancies in the emotions I felt from the eluvian, as well. If the spirit was lost - dead, without knowing it, and maybe reaching out instinctively, trying to wake... then finding that its body was gone, leaving it trapped and drifting half in the mortal realm, but unable to reach the Beyond... that could certainly account for the change from peaceful serenity to grief-stricken, wrathful fury. Such a nightmarish experience would be enough to drive anyone mad, surely. Poor lost soul. Assuming that's what it is, of course.

Hawke bites her lip. "Maybe. Either way, I find it more than a little unnerving that something could be trying to reach through this thing, especially if it can exert such... influence."

The effect it had on me, she means, playing on my emotions, my anger... I nod again. I suppose I find it unsettling too, on some level, but... if an elvhen spirit, or any spirit for that matter, was trying to use the mirror the way it was meant to be used and very nearly succeeding, then... perhaps the eluvian is nearer to completion than I thought! And if it was an elvhen spirit, then maybe they could tell me more of how to actually use the mirror, once it's done.

Now that is a very compelling thought...

I take the arulin'holm from my belt pouch and look down at the little cloth bundle for a moment, resisting the urge to unwrap it. Now that I have the arulin'holm, maybe it wouldn't take that much more and then...

Out of the corner of my eye I see Hawke shift uncomfortably on the bed, watching me with a faintly uneasy look on her face, and all at once I remember my resolve, when she gave me the tool. I will not do this in front of her, not again. I look at her with a reassuring smile. "I'm not going to use it, Hawke, not right now. Don't worry."

"It's... it's alright if you need to, at least until we find another way, without that demon's help," Hawke says, her eyes only narrowing very slightly at her mentioning of Audacity. "If you really think it would be safe, now."

She looks quite anxious, despite her words. I'm sure she means what she says, but I can tell she'd still prefer me not to do it. I don't mind, though, I understand why she doesn't want me to keep using blood magic. And... I really would rather not, if I think about it, not if I don't need to, but... just having the arulin'holm, knowing that Hawke trusts me with it whether I use it or not... it makes me feel much more confident about what I am trying to accomplish.

I shake my head vehemently. "I would never use it in front of you, Hawke, I know how you feel about it."

"But I want to help you," she insists, eyes wide. "I want to be here for you." She smiles crookedly. "And besides, the sooner I can work on your cuts, the fewer scars you'll get, after all."

I bite my lip, touched by her offer. If she really wouldn't mind... "Alright. If you're sure..."

She just nods in a determined sort of way, and I smile at her, feeling full of warmth and happiness. I was right the first time, when I thought she would understand what I was trying to do. She did understand; she always wanted to help me with the mirror. She just didn't want me to use blood magic. Before I came here, I never would have thought a human would ever have wanted to help me restore Dalish history, but she does. I know that now. If only I'd explained myself better, or just told her everything from the start, we could have talked about it properly, could have avoided all that trouble. Well, I'll be sure never to let that happen again, for certain.

I'm still not going to use blood magic again until we've at least tried to find another way, though. Best put this somewhere safe for now, then. I move over to the table next to my bed and lift the loose floorboard beneath it, placing the arulin'holm carefully in my safe place as Hawke watches me with curious interest.

"Don't lose that knife," she warns as I replace the board and turn back to her. She grins at me cheekily. "I have a feeling the Keeper is as good at wielding guilt as my mother."

"Oh, I won't!" I assure her. No need to tell me twice. "It would be worth more than both our lives to lose it." I glance over my shoulder at the impassive face of the mirror behind me, and then look back at Hawke. "What do you think we should do now, though? About the eluvian, I mean."

"I thought I'd offer my suggestion of lyrium again," Hawke says, smiling, and then quickly stands and takes my hands in hers when I open my mouth to protest. "I meant it. I wasn't joking, I promise. I'll get you as much as you need, I have contacts. Lyrium would work as well as blood, surely. It has enough raw power."

She... really did mean it. But I can't let her do that, it's far too risky. She can't be thinking clearly about it, surely, or she would see that for herself. I shake my head. "It's too dangerous, Hawke. The amount I would need... you'd never be able to smuggle that much without attracting notice, and if you bought it from the Chantry, well, who needs lyrium besides Templars and mages? You know as well as I do that the Chantry would send mage-hunters to investigate you in an instant." And I couldn't bear that, especially because of me.

"Ah," Hawke says, letting go of my hands, but only so she can rub at her neck uncomfortably again. She looks embarrassed. "Of course they would. I hadn't even considered that. Foolish of me, really."

"I do appreciate the offer, though," I say to make her feel better. "And I don't think it was foolish. It's really very sweet of you." I look back at the eluvian and sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I tried everything I could find in the Keeper's old scrolls about the old magics, but there was nothing helpful in any of them, almost nothing about eluvians at all, and nothing I tried worked. I don't know where else to look, unless another clan has some other ancient tomes that might mention the mirrors... not that there are any other clans about at the moment to ask, I don't think," I muse aloud, trying not to sound too dispirited as I voice that last thought. If there were other Dalish about, likely the Keeper would waste no time in warning them against me anyway, before I could ask them for help; just as she did our own clan. I wish she could see what I'm trying to do. If she had just helped me in the first place, I wouldn't have needed to ask the demon for help at all, after all. But she believed that Grey Warden, the one who took Mahariel away, when he told her the mirror was too dangerous to try and save. And what did he know about it? He thought it was a Tevinter artifact, of all things!

I shake myself out of my resentful thoughts before I let myself get too worked up and turn to Hawke again, crossing my arms and giving a helpless shrug. "I don't know what else to try, I'm afraid."

Hawke chews her lip thoughtfully for a moment, and then she blinks, her face lighting up. "Old scrolls... ancient tomes... now that gives me an idea, actually."

I look at up her eagerly. "What is it?"

"Well... it might not be very much of one, but... there's that shop beneath Darktown that has a lot of powerful magical items and books for sale," Hawke says. "Some of them are quite old and obscure. It's a long shot, but... there might be something useful to us there. You know; The Black Emporium."

"Oh! Yes, I remember that place." I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier! "That's where I got that frame from, actually," I tell her, waving a hand at the eluvian behind us. "I bought it right after we got back from the Deep Roads, when I went with you and Varric to try and sell some of the relics we found down there."

She glances at me curiously, a puzzled frown creasing her brow a little. "You did? I would have thought I'd remember if I helped you cart a giant mirror frame up from Darktown."

"Oh, no, I paid for it then, and everything, but Xenon had his golem deliver it to me later," I explain. "He said he thought my work was very interesting, when I told him about it." Hawke raises her eyebrows at me, and I clarify hurriedly. "Not about the blood magic, of course! I only said I was trying to fix an ancient elven artifact, that's all, and that it would need a frame that could tolerate magical stress. He said he had just the thing - that it came from a scrying mirror that his assistant broke, and that it would do quite well enough for what I needed." I laugh a little at the memory. "You should have seen the looks on everyone's faces when they saw the golem bringing it into the alienage!" It was fun, I remember, although having everyone see a giant stone man carrying a large empty frame to my house did not exactly encourage anyone to try and talk to me more often, somehow.

"Probably the most interesting thing any of them will ever see," Hawke says, smiling.

"I can't believe it never occurred to me that he might have some old elven scrolls, or tomes; he has so many ancient relics, and things. Oh, I just bet there's something useful amongst it all. Can we go there now, please, Hawke?" I ask, practically bouncing on the balls of my feet.

Hawke smiles at my excitement. "I don't see why not."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I turn to grab our staves leaning side-by-side against the wall and thrust Hawke's staff into her hands, snapping mine in place on the holder on my back in the same movement. I grab her hand and tug her impatiently towards the door as she laughs in surprise.

"Wait, don't you want your bag?" she asks, glancing to my abandoned pack of clothes still lying on the floor by my bed. "We could spare a moment for you to put your chainmail on at least; we are going to Darktown, after all."

"We'll come back and get my things later," I tell her, throwing my door open with one hand and pulling her insistently behind me with the other, noting briefly that the drunken brutes seem to have gone, thank the Creators. Or Nyssa and the hahren, more likely. I will have to thank them both, when we come back. "And I've already packed it, anyway. Besides, I don't think I'll need chainmail just to go shopping, do you? Especially not if you're with me. What could go wrong?"

She raises an eyebrow, smiling as she pulls the door firmly shut behind her. "Oh, did you have to? Saying that sort of thing tempts fate, you know. Not to mention I can't seem to go five minutes these days without getting jumped."

"Don't worry so much, ma vhenan," I tell her as we head across the square towards the alienage steps. "I'll be fine. Let's go, come on!"

---

The lift reaches the bottom at last with a jolt and we move out of the brilliant sunlit shaft into the deep gloom of Darktown, blinking rapidly at the sudden change from brightness to shadow. Oh. I forgot how much I don't like it down here. Everyone always looks so sad, so miserable. Why would people want to live underneath the city? Apart from the dwarves, I mean, but the rest? I know lots of people had nowhere else to go when they weren't allowed into Kirkwall back when the blight was still happening, but, well, it's over now. They could go back to Ferelden, couldn't they, or somewhere else? Although I suppose most people can't really afford that. Maybe they should try sprucing things up down here a bit, then, that might make everyone feel a bit better about it. This place would be so much nicer if they just opened it up to get some sunlight. Of course, I guess Kirkwall would collapse, then.

My eyes adjust to the darkness at last, and I peer across the street at the disused shaft across from us. The secret entrance to the Emporium is over there, somewhere, if I remember correctly. Oh, I can't wait to get down there, there must be something I can use in amongst Xenon's collection, just waiting for me to find it! A sudden flash of white in the shadows to our left catches my eye, and I turn to look more closely... then feel an unpleasant sort of jolt in my stomach as I realise what - who - it is; Fenris, standing at the poisoner's stall with his back to us, speaking in low tones with the black haired elven man behind the counter. Well... that's... I certainly didn't expect to see him down here, of all places; I thought he usually spent most of his time holed up in that Hightown mansion he's squatting in, whenever he isn't helping Hawke with something, anyway. She hasn't noticed him yet; if she had, she would want to be polite and greet him. She does think well of him, after all, in spite of how he feels about mages. I move to point him out to her, but then hesitate; I'm not actually sure I want us to stop and talk to him very much, really. Not today. I think I've had enough insults for one morning already. If Hawke doesn't notice him and he doesn't see us, perhaps we can just keep going...

The man Fenris is speaking to suddenly breaks off in mid-sentence and waves at us. Or at Hawke, more likely, I suppose. It seems like Hawke knows nearly everyone, sometimes; or they know her, at least. Well, so much for not being noticed.

"Hello, Hawke!" the man says, grinning. "Been a while!"

"Tomwise," Hawke says in greeting, then glances apologetically at me and walks over to him and Fenris as I follow close behind her. "Good morning. And to you, Fenris," she adds, although she does sound a little... cautious; probably afraid that he'll say something to upset me, I suppose. Maybe he won't; not in right front of her. Usually he only snaps at me when he thinks she isn't listening. "It's good to see you."

Fenris's usual dark expression noticeably softens when he looks at her and he inclines his head gracefully, something almost like a smile on his lips. He'd better be careful; his face might crack if he ever actually manages a proper smile.

"Hawke," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. His face hardens abruptly in the next moment, though, as his gaze falls on me, a slight sneer of distaste curling his lip before he looks back to Hawke, suddenly expressionless again. Seeing me displeases him even more than usual today, apparently. Wonderful.

"On speaking terms again, I see," he says to her, a thinly veiled note of disapproval in his voice.

"Among other things," Hawke replies, still sounding guarded. She takes my hand, smiling at me warmly before looking back at Fenris with a challenging sort of expression. He blinks, an unreadable look flashing through his eyes for a moment before he nods again, more curtly.

"Then I wish you well of it," he says quietly. He sounds sincere enough, sort of, although I doubt any of the well wishes are for me, somehow.

"You know this fellow then, do you, Hawke?" the poison maker, Tomwise, I suppose, puts in suddenly. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Hawke glancing between her and Fenris. "Thought you weren't running with the Red Iron anymore. Don't tell me you're back working for Meeran?"

"No," Hawke answers, rather shortly. "I will never work for that filth-ridden scumbag again." She doesn't seem to like him very much, whoever this Meeran person is. I wonder why not? Tomwise blinks in surprise at the anger in her tone, and she gives an apologetic shake of her head. "Fenris doesn't work for him either," she continues, a bit more gently. "He's a friend, Tomwise."

Tomwise gives Fenris an appraising sort of look. "I see. My mistake. Although, you look enough like a mercenary, anyway. You a freelance hunter for the Templars, then?"

"No," Fenris replies abruptly, glancing at Hawke, and Tomwise frowns.

"Oh. Apologies. I assumed because of all the magebane you wanted-"

"Magebane?" Hawke asks questioningly, raising her eyebrows. She sounds as uncomfortable as I feel, hearing the name of that awful potion. What does he want that for?

"A mana-draining poison made from lyrium dust," Tomwise answers, apparently thinking she was asking him. "Templars coat their armour and weapons with the stuff. As do any mercs who think they'll be going up against mages. Get near enough to a spellcaster while wearing magebane, and they're completely at your mercy." He frowns at Hawke. "I would have thought you'd have seen it before in your old line of work. Meeran certainly ordered enough of it, that whole year you were with him-"

"I know what it does," Hawke cuts him off, her voice strained. I look up at her in concern, but her eyes are on Fenris, I can't see her face properly. She sounds upset, is she alright? "Magebane, Fenris?" she asks again quietly.

"I... simply wish to be prepared, should Danarius ever return. I don't plan to use it on anyone else," Fenris says carefully. Hawke nods after a moment, accepting his explanation. She can't really have thought he'd buy magebane to use on one of us, no matter what he thinks of Anders and me. He respects her too much for that, and he certainly wouldn't use it on her, she knows that. I wonder why the mention of it bothered her so much, then?

I don't get any time to think about it, however, as a warm voice suddenly calls out to us from the street below. "Hawke! I didn't expect to see you down here!" Oh, she is popular, isn't she?

I turn to see Anders climbing the steps toward us, a small but agreeable smile on his face, though his eyes are strained with worry, as usual. I suppress a small sigh. Mythal, he's here too, then? Lovely. Not that I'm... displeased to see him exactly, I suppose, it's just... I'm really not in the mood to be frowned at - or sneered at - from both sides, today. And I really do want to get to the Emporium, now.

"Merrill," he says, nodding a greeting to me as he reaches us, his voice slightly less warm, but without the customary tone of weary disapproval this time. Well, that's a pleasant change, anyway. And at least he actually thought to greet me, that was nice of him. His eyes flick to Fenris, and his jaw clenches, just a little. It almost feels as though the air between them grows colder. "Fenris."

"Mage," Fenris sneers frostily back.

"I'll assume that was directed at me," Anders says, raising a wry eyebrow. "You do realise you are currently in the minority, here." Fenris suddenly seems to realise the same thing, glancing around at all of us rather uncomfortably before looking away, shifting on the spot a little. Hawke shakes her head a little at their behaviour, sharing a weary, mildly-irritated glance with me as Anders watches him with a smug sort of half smile.

"Were you coming to buy some poisons too, then?" Hawke asks Anders, sounding like she wants very much to distract him before Fenris notices his look. "It seems somewhat out of character for a healer."

Anders' grin fades as he glances at her. He looks a bit sort of... shifty, now, actually. "No. No poison. I have... other business," he says evasively, and steps over to the poison-maker's stall behind us. He glances about to see if anyone else is within earshot and lowers his voice, though we are still near enough to hear him quite well. "Tomwise... I don't suppose you'd mind doing the Underground another favour?" he says, giving Tomwise a very intent sort of look.

"As long as this favour pays the same as the others," the poison-maker grins.

Anders chuckles and reaches into his belt pouch for a few coins, glancing around again before he leans in closer, lowering his voice even more. "I heard rumours the Templars are looking for our newest rescue. Go to the Lowtown haven, and escort her to our Hightown safehouse. She'll be safer there." Tomwise nods, slipping the coins into his pocket as he slips out from behind his stall counter and heads off towards the lift with a brisk step.

"Shall I assume that was somehow involved with the mysterious 'Underground Resistance' of free mages you still stubbornly refuse to tell me anything about?" Hawke asks wryly as Anders turns back to us.

His brows draw together slightly at the faint note of wry accusation in her tone. "I've told you; that's for your own protection," he protests. "And theirs. You have too much involvement with the nobility and the guard. And I don't want to give the Templars reason to investigate you, either. You attract enough notice as it is."

She sighs a little. "But I want to help, if I can. There must be something I can do."

Anders looks at her for a moment, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Well... there is something I might need your assistance with soon..." he says slowly, his voice tailing away frustratingly.

"Yes?" Hawke prompts him patiently after a moment, but he shakes his head.

"On second thought, not out here," he says quietly. "This isn't something I want to be overheard. It's too... sensitive."

Hawke raises an eyebrow at him. "Dangerous, you mean?"

He nods. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, then it sounds quite intriguing," she says with a little grin. "What would you have of me, Anders?"

"Nothing yet, but... perhaps later," Anders promises her. "I will let you know if I need you, and fill you in more thoroughly. In private," he adds, his eyes flicking pointedly at Fenris, who glares coldly at him.

"I have little interest in thwarting your attempts to unleash others of your kind upon the city, mage, considering your efforts thus far have been futile at best," he says, and his voice gains a rising tone of heat as he continues. "Though, perhaps you might consider attempting to solve your own problems and leaving Hawke out of it, if you truly wish to protect her as you claim."

"It's none of your business, Fenris," Anders says with a forced sort of calm. "Keep your nose out of it."

"Why should you make it Hawke's concern?" Fenris growls, his eyes growing harder as his gravelly voice fills with smouldering ire, and Hawke tilts her head at him with a look of confusion on her face. I am no less surprised; why is he getting himself so worked up about this? "It's all very well to declare you wish to keep her free of Templar scrutiny - until you are faced with something too... 'sensitive'. Then it appears you are all too happy to thrust Hawke into the line of fire to shield your worthless hide."

I sigh beneath my breath, and feel more than hear Hawke do the same beside me. Well, here we go, then...

Anders draws himself up, glaring daggers at Fenris, and I imagine I can almost see the crow feathers on his coat ruffling in lively, sympathetic anger. "Are you implying that I am a coward?" he says loudly.

"I was," Fenris sneers, "but I am also prepared to express my implication more directly, if the subtlety confuses you."

"Alright-" Hawke tries to say, but neither man listens; both seem completely absorbed in exchanging hateful stares, now. They look oddly alike, like this; feet planted angrily, arms crossed, glaring furiously into each other's faces. It makes me think of just how much else they have in common, I'm sure they'd get along much better, if only they could see it too. Both fugitives from a life of captivity and abuse, both on the run, both trying to stay free however they can. Both of them start glowing bright blue whenever they get too angry... which is starting to look like it might be any moment, now.

"I don't want to involve her but I'm running out of options," Anders says, more angry and indignant than ever. "And you heard her yourself; she wants to help. Hawke is a mage herself, if you recall. Although you seem content to ignore that fact, while you continue to use her influence with Aveline to keep the guard off your back; I assume so you can keep brooding away in Hightown without interference, doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity."

Fenris's eyes flash angrily, his lyrium scars flaring brightly, and he starts forward, looking like he is about to hit Anders, or rip his heart out, perhaps-

"Enough!" Hawke says, quickly stepping in between them; putting her hand gently on Fenris' upper arm in a calming sort of way. Her fingers graze the bare skin above his gauntlet, and he gives a short, quiet intake of breath, snapping his gaze to hers sharply at the contact, the lines on his skin flaring once and then fading quickly. Her eyes widen and she drops her hand immediately.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she says apologetically. "I didn't mean to touch your markings. I know you find that uncomfortable."

"It... it is of no concern," Fenris says, though I notice him press his gauntleted fingers to the spot on his arm where she touched him, just for a moment. Did it really bother him that much? Poor Fenris. Despite everything, I can't help but feel so sorry for him, sometimes. It's terrible what those magisters did to him. I can understand why he distrusts mages so, but I would have thought he might have seen something good in at least one of us by now. Not Anders or me, obviously. He'll never trust an abomination or a blood mage... although I suppose not many other people would either, really. But I would have thought he would at least have changed his mind after knowing Hawke, even just a little bit. It certainly doesn't seem as though he hates her too, the way he speaks to her so gently, without any trace of spite or venom in his voice like when he talks to me or Anders; I'm sure I've never heard him speak to Hawke that way. Well, apart from the very first time he realised what she was, of course. He was quite rude to her then. But he's never spoken to her like that again since, I don't think; at least, not within my hearing. I wonder why not, if he still hates mages so much?

"I'm grateful for your concern, Fenris," Hawke says, giving him a soothing smile. "But this is a matter close to my heart. Of course I want to help, however I can." I smile in proud agreement at her honest, noble words, though I keep silent, not really wanting to attract attention to myself. Anders and Fenris seem to have forgotten my presence for the moment, which I don't mind, right now. It's sort of nice to have a break from being lectured or scorned by either of them. Or both at once. "I'm sure you can understand that."

Fenris presses his lips together, looking very much like he wants to argue with her some more, but after a moment he nods resignedly, relenting. I blink and watch his face closely as Hawke looks away from him and back to Anders. He has such a strange expression in his eyes all of a sudden, now that he thinks no one is watching him looking at her. Sort of sad, and wistful, and... longing, almost? But... lost... and bewildered as well. A bit like one of those miserable little puppies that are always running about in the Lowtown market; begging people for scraps of food and affection, all the while expecting a kick in the ribs at any second, poor little things. Why is he looking at her that way, I wonder? Perhaps it's the concept of having a mage for a friend; having her being so nice and kind and helpful to him all the time is completely at odds with his general concept of us, after all. I'm sure it must be very confusing for him.

"Right," Anders says abruptly. "Glad we've sorted all that out, then. I'll tell you more later, Hawke; if I do end up needing your help, that is." He gives her a very warm smile. "I promise. And thank you. Though for your sake, I hope your help won't be necessary." He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows contracting a little. "What were you doing down here, anyway, buying poisons? Or were you looking for me? Does one of you need healing? I'm sorry, I should have asked first," he finishes in a hurried rush, looking concerned.

"Oh, no, Anders, don't worry, we're alright," I reassure him. I almost add that Hawke could heal either of us just as well as he could if we were hurt, but then I think better of it; I don't want to hurt his pride, after all. Hawke says men don't tend to cope very well with that. "We were on our way to visit a shop, actually."

He frowns, glancing from Hawke to look at me. "A... shop? Down here? But there's only Tomwise's stall-"

"The Black Emporium," Hawke explains, interrupting him, and Anders blinks in surprise.

"You don't mean... the legendary hidden magic shop run by Xenon the Antiquarian?" he asks. "The man who made a deal with the Antivan Witch of the Weyrs, asking for eternal life? I read about him in the circle, but... I thought he was just a legend!"

"A legend? Really?" Hawke asks with a bemused smile. "I'd never heard of him before I received his invitation."

"Supposedly he was a Kirkwall noble born almost three hundred years ago in the Steel Age," Anders answers, his eyes shining with excitement. "The book I read said he sought the witch because he was afraid of death. She granted his wish, but he forgot to ask for eternal youth as well, leaving him trapped helplessly in a decaying body kept alive only by magic."

"Well, that sounds about right," I agree, shuddering again as I remember my first sight of the great mass of paralysed flesh slumped in the middle of the shop. Poor man. What an awful fate.

"Eternal life," Fenris says scornfully, and I jump; I didn't realise he was still listening. "He had the foolish pride and ambitions of a magister. It sounds as though he is paying the price for his arrogance."

Anders ignores him, his eyes fixed on me and Hawke. "You've seen him? It's true, then?"

"Well, he truly exists, if that's what you mean," Hawke says, sounding amused by his boyish excitement. "He invites anyone with enough coin to come and peruse his wares. So he can fund his search for a cure, I suppose, assuming that story is true. The shop is actually hidden right below us, more or less. We were just on our way there."

Anders' face lights up hopefully. "Mind if I tag along?"

Fenris glances quickly at Anders, his eyes narrowed, and then looks at Hawke. "I would also like to come with you, if you will allow it," he puts in hurriedly, and I blink at him in surprise. Fenris wants to come with three mages to a magic shop? Did the world go mad when I wasn't watching?

Hawke raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "Are you sure? It's an emporium of magic, you know. Full of... magical things. Doesn't really seem like something you would... enjoy."

He shifts his weight uncomfortably. "This Xenon... sounds like an abomination. Certainly something unnatural. I would feel better if I could accompany you. I do not wish you to come to harm."

Well, that's just silly. Didn't we just say we'd been there before? Xenon is no abomination, anyway, and even if he was, it isn't like Hawke couldn't deal with him herself. Though I probably shouldn't tell him that, either, it would hurt his pride, too. "Oh, don't worry, Fenris. We've been to see him before, he's harmless enough." I tell him. "He certainly doesn't look dangerous, at all."

Fenris gives me an icy stare; so cold I very nearly check my toes for frostbite. "Appearances can be deceiving," he says scathingly. "Even the most innocent face can conceal a monster."

I flinch as sudden tears of hurt prick beneath my eyelashes, and a stab of pain as Pol's last words to me echo in my mind...

Keep away from me, monster!

I'm not... That isn't fair... I should have expected it, I suppose, but...

Hawke gives him a coldly measured look, grasping my fingers soothingly in her own. "Keep speaking to Merrill in this way, and I may reconsider letting you accompany me again at all. Ever. I believe I have already expressed my feelings on this matter." She looks hard at him for another long moment until he drops his eyes a little, then she looks at me, shrugging. "It's up to you, whether they come with us or not," she murmurs, so soft that not even Fenris will be able to hear. "Considering what we're going down there for, it might be better to go alone."

I think it over for a moment, frowning. Well... Anders and Fenris would certainly not have been my first choice for company, not for this... but... Anders just seems so excited about it, and it's so rare to see him without that sad, worried look in his eyes... and as for Fenris, well... I suppose... there's no harm in letting him come, if it makes him feel useful. And he does seem... slightly happier, sometimes, when he's following Hawke. It would probably be good for him. I am tempted to say no - very tempted, actually - but... well, I don't want to be petty... Besides, if he says anything else like that to me then Hawke will make him leave, anyway, so he'll have to keep quiet, won't he?

I nod. "They can come." I glance up at Hawke, who looks back at me with a mildly surprised sort of expression on her face. "We can look for what we need without having to explain it to them, after all," I explain quietly. "And besides, maybe it might help Fenris not to be so..." I lower my voice even further, so he definitely won't hear me, "... so afraid of magic, if he sees that there's nothing dangerous about the Emporium."

Hawke gazes at me for a moment, and then her face lights up in a lovely smile. "Thinking of others before yourself, as always," she says quietly, a warm, loving note in her voice. "And you think I'm too good?" She turns back to Anders and Fenris before I can respond and fixes them both with a very stern look. "You're both welcome to join us, but I will not tolerate any antagonism from either of you." She pauses thoughtfully. "On second thought, since that seems optimistic to the point of foolishness, I will settle for a lack of overtly open hostility." They both glance at each other with identical dubious expressions and Hawke raises a warning finger at them. "I mean it. No name calling, no hair pulling, no trying to kill each other, and no biting. You will both have to behave yourselves and at least try to be civil to one other." She locks gazes first with Anders, then with Fenris, and her voice grows even more serious. "And you will both endeavour to be especially civil to Merrill. Clear?"

"Of course," Anders says quickly.

Fenris is looking at her again with his sad puppy eyes, which abruptly resume their cold, hard stare as he sees me watching him, along with a special bit of extra venom, just for me. I shake my head a little. I don't think he's doing himself any favours with that look, not after what Hawke just said, but he manages to smooth his expression after a moment and looks at her solemnly, nodding once.

"Agreed."

She watches him carefully, and eventually nods back, accepting his promise. "Alright, then. Let's go, shall we?" she says, and beckons us to follow her back over to the lift. "The entrance is hidden over here," she tells the others over her shoulder. "The shop is in the tunnels right above the ancient sewerage system, I think."

"Oh," says Anders, suddenly sounding a lot less enthusiastic. "Wonderful. I wasn't aware the lift went that far down."

Hawke grins back at him. "It doesn't." She tilts her head at the now empty shaft housing the lift currently raising Tomwise to the surface. "Not that one, anyway. But the other shaft goes much further than this."

Fenris looks dubiously at the opposite shaft, looking at the rubble piles carelessly in the entrance, running his eyes over the broken platform dangling precariously from its rusty, broken chains. "The... other?" he asks, his voice doubtful. "Are you certain about this?"

Hawke just smiles. "Trust me."

She ducks beneath the wooden beams leaning haphazardly against the filthy wall of the shaft, and I follow her. Fenris and Anders step through after us, both wearing twin confused expressions as they look down at the heavy iron grate covering the shaft below us. Hawke shares a small grin with me, and then she reaches out and presses her palm against the cleverly concealed switch built into the wall of the shaft. Both men give a start of surprise as the grate begins to slide smoothly back into the wall, revealing another lift platform a few dozen paces below us, suspended from a thick chain connected to a sturdy iron beam spanning the shaft.

"Huh," Anders says in an impressed sort of voice. "Er... how exactly do we get down there, though?"

"With that," I tell him, pointing to the small, very delicate looking ladder clinging to the wall.

"Right. Of course. Wonderful," Anders says, looking uncertainly at it. It does look a bit shaky, I suppose. It held up just fine for me and Hawke, but then... Anders is a lot bigger than either of us. He's probably worried he'll rip it of out of the wall the second he steps onto it. I'm sure it will be fine, though. It's only a short climb, after all. And it managed to hold the weight of that golem, plus the heavy frame he was carrying for me. I can't really tell him about that without explaining about my eluvian though. I don't know how much he knows about it, by now, if anything, but I bet it would't help to mention it. I guess he'll just have to trust us. Well, trust Hawke, anyway.

"Ladies first," he grins at us, bowing with an exaggerated sweep of his arm towards the ladder.

"Such a gentleman," Hawke mutters wryly as she steps out onto the ladder with nimble grace and slides down, her boots thumping against the rough wood of the platform as she lands. "Just for that, you get to work the bloody thing," she calls to Anders as I clamber down after her. "And it's quite a long way down." She chuckles a little as she wraps her hands around my waist to lift me off the ladder, which isn't strictly necessary, of course; I am perfectly capable of managing that much at least without falling over, but... well, I'm pretty sure she knows that. She takes a long moment to drop her hands once I'm safely on the platform, grinning cheekily into my eyes, and I give her a happy smile in return. Well... I'm certainly not going to complain, am I?

"A poor reward for my good manners," Anders says mournfully as he climbs down after us, rather more slowly. Hawke chuckles again.

Fenris ignores the ladder completely, simply leaping lightly down onto the platform, his bare feet barely making a sound as he lands softly beside Hawke. "By all means, take your time, mage," he calls, the ghost of a smug sneer on his lips. "Should you tread on your skirts and fall to your death, it would be such a tragedy for us all."

Anders reaches the bottom and gives him a dignified glare before taking his place at the lift lever. "Show-off," he mutters. "This is clearly a coat, not a robe. And anyway, at least if I fell on you, I'd be making the world a better place by taking you into the Void with me."

"Boys," Hawke says warningly, in the sort of voice the Keeper uses to speak to unruly children. "What did I just say about keeping your mouths off each other?" I have to press my lips together hard to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles at the image her words put in my mind, I doubt if either of them would appreciate it very much if I did.

"Did you really have to put it like that?" Anders mutters shooting Hawke a dark glance as he grasps the winch handle.

She grins wickedly at him. "I really did."

Fenris curls his lip in disgust, and moves to stand in the corner of the lift, as pointedly far away from Anders as possible, bracing himself on the support chain at the platform edge. The lift starts with a sickening lurch as Anders begins working the lever. I manage to keep my balance, but Hawke wraps her arm about my waist anyway, flashing me another cheeky smile as she pulls me against her, blue eyes sparkling wickedly. She tightens her hold a little, and I lean into her warmth.

No. Definitely not complaining this time, either. Not even a tiny bit.

---

xxx H xxx

---

The last of the meagre light from Darktown disappears as the lift descends further, leaving us surrounded by inky blackness. I raise my free hand, keeping the other wrapped firmly about Merrill's slender waist, and summon a little ball of flickering blue fire, causing eerie, wavering shadows to dance and crawl across the rough stone walls of the shaft. Slightly creepy shadows, admittedly, but that can't be helped; I need light to watch for the signs that the Emporium is near. I scrutinise the dark stone walls of the shaft closely, searching for... aha! A small rune the size of a handprint crawls up the wall as the lift shudders past it: the same as the sign carved into the tiny charm of entry in my belt pouch. This is it. We're here. A few more turns of the lever, and I signal Anders to stop.

"What?" he asks breathlessly, mopping his sweaty face on his sleeve. "Is this it?" He looks around, frowning in confusion. "This can't be it, there's nothing here." Fenris refrains from commenting, but I see his eyes glint as he glances around the narrow shaft, a doubtful twist to his mouth.

I shake my head a little, grinning wryly, remembering how similar my reaction to the Emporium's hidden entrance was, at first. "Such faith and trust you have in me, the both of you. It's very comforting." Merrill giggles softly beside me, and I grin at her as I let her go and step towards the wall. "Merrill? Would you mind taking over for a moment?" I ask, holding up my fireball meaningfully.

She nods and fills her small palm with a shining orb of pale green flame, lighting the wall before me as I move in closer, running my eyes slowly over the chisel-marked stone. After a moment I find the place I'm looking for - a small raised runic carving jutting out slightly from the wall, precisely the same size and design as the entry charm. I pull the little token out of my pouch and press it against the carving, making certain to line up the runes exactly. The charm flares brightly, and a web of glowing white lines spread out from around it, twisting and wriggling across the surface of the wall, forming a large, glowing rectangle of light, and then the illusion of rough stone within the shining portal shimmers and fades, revealing a plain and somewhat unimpressive wooden door built almost seamlessly into the side of the shaft.

Anders gives a low whistle. "That was some impressive magic," he comments, locking the lift mechanism in place and stepping forwards to examine the door closely. He runs his hands first over the wall carving, and then the edges of the door. I can feel him reaching out with his mana, prodding gently at the boundaries of the spell. "I could use something like this at the clinic. It would be perfect for a safe room, particularly when the Templars come sniffing about. I wonder I can purchase the incantation here-"

"If you stand here all day on the threshold staring at the entrance, you will never know, will you?" Fenris mutters impatiently, and Anders straightens, stepping back.

"Fair enough," he says shortly. I can't really tell them off for that exchange, since it didn't really break any of my rules. It was borderline snippy, though. I suppose I can't reasonably expect them to hold off for long, can I?

I push against the door and the latch gives a soft click as it swings easily open, revealing a large, apparently bottomless room, with wooden platforms sticking haphazardly out from the stone walls, piled high with dusty crates, barrels and creepy-looking statues. A rickety wooden bridge stretches from the doorway across a deep, dark drop, leading to a platform built in the centre of the gloomy underground chamber, crowded with tables and chests and shelves all crammed with scrolls, potions, relics and other miscellaneous items. The imposing Emporium golem moves aside as we reach the end of the walkway, his heavy steps shaking the entire platform, causing the whole construction to creak alarmingly until he reaches the corner and falls still, though his glowing eyes still appear to follow us as we step towards his master; the twisted hulk of dry, grey flesh seated dead centre on a high backed wooden chair in the middle of the shop.

"Aaaaahhhh... customerrrsss..." Xenon's deep, wheezy voice echoes all about us as we approach. "Greetings, Haaawke... And... little... Merrill... Such... a pleasuuuurrre..." He breaks off into a bit of raspy coughing; which seems unnecessary, since his body doesn't actually appear to breathe. Perhaps he finds it entertaining?

I grin and give Xenon's gnarled physical form an amiable nod, although since his consciousness seems to inhabit the shop as a whole, nodding at anything in general would probably do well enough. This seems rather more respectful, though, somehow. "Greetings, Xenon."

"Hello, messere Xenon," Merrill says, giving him a sweet smile. "Are you... well?" she asks, after a short pause, probably trying to decide whether or not he might take offence to such a question in his... condition.

"Well enough... my dear... well enough..." Xenon croaks, chuckling a little, the little glass bauble clutched tightly in his desiccated fingers flashing in time to each sound; a magical orb that allows the mind trapped within the decaying, immobile body to see, hear and speak as well as granting a sort of localised omnipresence within the confines of his shop. Not for the first time, I wonder where he managed to procure such a thing; it's quite a work of magical ingenuity, wherever it came from.

"Ahhh!" Xenon rumbles as Anders and Fenris step out from behind us. "You have brought friends, I see. Neeewwww... customerrrrssss! Urchin! Thaddeus! Stand straight!" he commands. The little red-haired mute boy standing beside Xenon's 'throne' opens his eyes wide at the order and stands ramrod straight, legs trembling slightly with the effort. The golem in the corner doesn't move. "Welllllcommmme... to the Black... Empooorrrriummm... I am the Great and Magnifffficennnt... Xenon the Antiquarian. And I am very pleased... to have so very many visitorrrrs at once. It's... so rare to have... company," Xenon chuckles wheezily. "Well... mmmm... living company... at any rate."

"Good day, Ser Xenon," Anders says politely, stepping forwards. "It's quite a privilege to meet the legendary Antiquarian."

"Another mage, hmmmmm?" Xenon wheezes, his tone intrigued. "I sense the magic in your blood... ah, but there is also... taint... unforrrtunate. You are... a Grey Waarrrden, yes?"

Anders glances at me questioningly, but all I can offer him is a shrug and a shake of my head. Somehow, Xenon knew Merrill and I were mages too, the moment we first walked in. I've never been able to figure out how, let alone speculate how he sensed the taint in Anders. I suspect he has some sort of mystically invasive item on hand; one that can apparently sense things in blood. Quite creepy, actually. I think I'd rather not ask.

"I was a Warden, once," Anders replies, his demeanour suddenly much more guarded. "How could you tell, about the taint, I mean?"

"Ohhh... I have... many secrets..." Xenon replies mysteriously. "Welcome to you, and your... passenger... of course. So strange, to see a Fade spirit in the morrrrtal realm..." Anders' eyes open very wide in surprise in response to Xenon's knowing words, as do mine. He detected Justice? Now that is impressive. "Let me know... what you'd like... to purrrrchase," he continues. "Looking this... dapper... cossssts a lot of gold..."

"I'll... just... browse a bit, I think," Anders says, suddenly sounding more than a little uncomfortable.

"By aaaalllll means! Look around! Sooooo many things to admiiiire!"

Anders bows slightly, keeping his eyes on Xenon a little suspiciously as he backs away, and then turns towards an open chest overflowing with relics and trinkets. Merrill wanders over to crouch by a pile of ancient and very dusty scrolls and tomes as I move to lean against the thankfully sturdy railing of the platform beside her, smiling down fondly at my little elf as she carefully sorts through the jumble of tattered old writings at my feet, then glancing at Anders as he paws through the relic chest in fascination, his discomfort over Xenon's extremely perceptive scrutiny apparently forgotten. My gaze eventually settles on Fenris as he runs his eyes curiously over the stone walls and ceilings, in between suspicious glances at the unmoving, decrepit body of the undead Antiquarian, pacing slowly about the shop with the loping grace of a stalking cat. He narrows his eyes as he squints up the shafts of light pouring through the pillared archways above our heads, and then peers over the edge of the platform into the darkness of the yawning cavern below us, and an even deeper frown than usual appears on his sombre face.

"Something wrong, Fenris?" I ask him, smiling. He looks at me sharply, his eyes widening slightly as he notices my regard. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me for a few moments. I shift a little uncomfortably as the silence draws out. What's gotten into him? Is he having second thoughts about coming with us? Bit late now, really.

"Cat got your tongue?" I ask him eventually, my smile widening a little, although admittedly I am slightly confused by much of his behaviour so far today. I'm beginning to wonder if I ought to be concerned. "Are you alright?"

He blinks and gives a minute shake of his head as though trying to clear it. "No. Ah, yes. My apologies, Hawke. I was merely... studying the construction of this place," he replies softly, and gestures at the pillars forming part of the arched, open windows in the black stone walls high above us, the air whistling through them bringing in the salty tang of the sea. "It appears to be part of an ancient ruin built directly into the cliff face. I... have seen architecture such as this before... in Minrathous."

Ah. Perhaps that is what was bothering him, then. I suppose he must have connected it with some sort of awful memory of his enslavement. No wonder he looks so tense.

"Such... a clever fellow... this one..." Xenon chuckles delightedly, and we turn to look at him. "Indeed, my boy. There are many ruins such as this littering the cliffs of Kirkwaaaallll. They were built... centuries ago, by the magisters... when the Imperriummm ruled here, back when the city was new. The palaces crrrumbled into the sea long ago, when the slaves revolted and the Tevinters fell... Only hidden places such as this... remain..." His feeble tone suddenly rings with authoritative command. "Do not... tell... annnnyone... of the locaaation... of my shop! The consequences... will be... unpleasannnnt..." He finishes with a low, sinister chuckle that breaks into another fit of unnecessary coughing, before he manages to continue, his tone light and amiable once more. "Such strraange marrrkings you wearrr! Step closer, dear boy. Let me... have a better look at you..."

Fenris gives him a suspicious stare, and glances at me. I give him a small shrug but nod reassuringly, and he takes a small step forward. I'm sure it won't hurt to let Xenon look him over.

"Hmmm..." Xenon grunts. "Lyrrriummmm, are they? Do they grant you any... abilities?"

"They... have proven useful," Fenris grudgingly - and evasively - replies, glancing down at the curling, twisting white lines dancing across the skin of his arms.

"Interesting... the patterns remind me of... something... yes... the Tevinter 'Lyrium Warrior' exxperrimentsss... You obtained these marrrkings in Minrathous... did you not? From... a magisterrr..."

"I did," Fenris says darkly, then looks up at Xenon with a sudden glint of hope in his green eyes, though his expression remains suspiciously cautious. "Have you... seen anything like this before?" he asks, something almost like eager excitement in his tone, though outwardly he remains as restrained as ever.

"Alaaassss, no..." Xenon says regretfully, but in the next moment his voice abruptly grows thoughtful. "But I have read... something... of old Tevinter rituals... there may be something of interessst to you... Urchin! Find the scroll... for the gennntleman..." he barks suddenly. "You know the one... the Tevinter Imperium's 'Fortikum Kadab'... I was reading it... last week... or was it last month? So harrrd... to rememmmberrrr..." Urchin pales, his blue eyes darting frantically about the myriad of identical dust-covered scrolls littered about the platform. "Hurrrrry, boy! The cussstomer is... waaaiting!" The child jumps, and springs towards the nearest pile, clearly desperate to please his master. "Good boy..."

Fenris glances at Urchin, a look of discomfited concern flitting over his face. "There is no need for-" he begins, and is suddenly - rudely - interreupted as a loud roar rends the air around us, echoing up from the darkness beneath our feet and shaking the walls and the ceiling, the reverberations causing flurries of ancient dust and earth to rain down on our heads. Fenris draws his sword in a movement almost too swift to be seen, eyes straining into the black chasm, looking for the source of the noise as his markings flare with blue glowing light, clearly visible even through his armour. Merrill and Anders straighten quickly, pulling their staves free from their holders a fraction of a second behind me.

"Now, now," Xenon chuckles, sounding quite amused. "No need to be concerrrnned. My, what at interrrresting effect..." he adds, half to himself, apparently fascinated by Fenris's lyrium glow.

I listen closely for a few moments but the roaring seems to have died away, at least for the moment. Cautiously, I return my staff to my back, Anders and Merrill following suit. Fenris sheathes his sword a moment later, though he doesn't look particularly convinced by Xenon's reassurances.

"What in the name of the Creators was that?" Merrill asks, reaching up to brush a streak of dirt from my cheek as I dust a few stray grains from her hair and shoulders.

"Nothing to worry about... I assurrre you," Xenon answers cheerfully. "The creaturrres are always ressstless... just before feeding time."

Did... did I hear that right? "Creatures?" I ask, puzzled, noting similar looks of consternation as I glance around at everyone.

"Indeed! I have... quite a wonnnnderful collection... of exotic... animals... in the ruins below," Xenon drawls. "They are... very useful, parrrticularly those that produce ingredients for the creation of potions... and poisonnnns. And some of my cussstomerrrs... have a fascination for rare and... shall we say... innnnterrresting creaturrrres..."

"So, you keep a bunch of dangerous beasts right underneath your shop?" Anders asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's... an unusual feature. Just how far below us did you say these ruins are? Are they just sort of... roaming about down there?"

"Some may be considerrrred... dangerrrrrous, I suppose... but they are all well securrrred... I assure you. I apologise... if the noise... has disturrrbed your browsing. Please... continue," Xenon wheezes anxiously.

I don't know... this seems a bit crazy, even for Xenon... but then, what should we expect in a place like this? Probably no need to dwell on it, although I do feel we should speed our 'browsing' up a little. I smile at my companions, shrugging one shoulder in a reassuring sort of gesture, and after another moment of uncertain deliberation, Anders bends back down to the chest of magical trinkets. Fenris moves to crouch by Urchin as he continues searching frantically through the pile of scrolls, and begins to speak to him in low tones as the boy glances at him nervously, occasionally nodding or shaking his head silently in response to Fenris' gentle questioning. Making sure his employer is treating him well, I suppose. It's nice to see this side of Fenris. It comes out rarely enough.

"Can I be of any... assistance... Haaawke, Merrill?" The Antiquarian enquires raspily. "Are you searching for anything in particularrr?"

Merrill and I share a glance. "No, not really, messere," Merrill says quickly. "Although, if you have any elven tomes or scrolls, I wouldn't mind having a look through those?"

"Hmmmm... Perhaps in the foreign language shelf... behind the craaafting table..." Xenon says. "An old elven tome came into my possession some years ago... although I cannot... tell you anything of its contents, of course... I cannot read elvish."

"Thank you, messere," Merrill says, her eyes lighting hopefully, and she grasps my hand, pulling me excitedly over to the suggested shelf - which, naturally, just happens to be on a wooden ledge jutting out from the wall above the crafting table, at least a pace away from the edge of the platform, and a good three feet above our heads. Wonderful. I look around, but there doesn't seem to be any way of getting up there that I can see, no ramp or stairs, or anything... a fact that apparently does not concern Merrill in the least, as I turn back to find her already halfway up the wall, clambering nimbly up a thick system of exposed roots poking out from the dark earth of the hollow cliff wall, using it as an improvised ladder, of sorts. She pulls herself easily onto the wooden walkway as I watch her, frozen, with my heart in my mouth and my blood roaring in my ears, and then she rises gracefully and turns to look down at me, dusting herself off in a very unconcerned manner.

"Come on, Hawke!" she calls brightly. "What are you waiting for?" She turns away to study the bookshelf before her as I force my mouth to close and peer doubtfully over the side of the platform at the sheer drop below, so dark that it is impossible to tell whether it's a drop of a few dozen feet or a few hundred. Given my luck, I'd wager it's the latter. Bloody flames. I grit my teeth, climb determinedly over the railing, and start making my way up after her, trying to follow the path of roots she used and hoping desperately that they will hold my weight, aware every moment of the dizzying blackness below ready to swallow me whole the instant I lose my grip. After a few agonising moments I hoist myself up onto the ledge where Merrill is already absorbed in her examination of the contents of the shelf and stand carefully, gripping a wooden support strut extending out from the wall for balance as I look at her, trying to slow my racing heart. She turns to flash me a quick, sweet smile and then returns her eager gaze to the dusty scrolls and tomes, many cracked and worn with age, inspecting each in turn as I watch her carefully, making certain she doesn't step too far back and fall into the yawning chasm mere inches behind us. There isn't really a whole lot else I can do, right now; I wouldn't recognise any of these scripts, let alone identify elvish. I do hope she finds something useful, particularly considering the effort it took to get up here. I shift edgily, suddenly struck again with the compelling feeling that we shouldn't stay much longer, though I can't think what could have provoked it, precisely. Perhaps the insanely arranged merchandise is a conrtibuting factor. Why in the bloody Void would Xenon have his shop set up so that his customers have to risk death just to access half his inventory? It just doesn't seem like a sensible or lucrative business arrangement, although I suppose it's no less crazy than keeping an assortment of dangerous creatures locked up together beneath his customers' feet, or... anything else in this mad shop, come to think of it.

Merrill suddenly gives an excited little gasp and crouches down, reaching for a very old, very battered book bound in black leather and stamped with twining elegant writing in silver gilt. "Oh, Hawke, look at this!" She stands, holding the ancient manuscript carefully in both hands. "This is... very, very old," she says breathlessly, opening the thick tome carefully and squinting at the faded writing on the yellowing vellum pages within. "The dialect is ancient, and the writing is a bit strange... but it's elven, for certain. This..." she trails off, staring at the book in her hands in wonder. "This could be a relic from the time of Arlathan!"

Well. That was quick... and lucky. I suppose we're due a bit of improbable good fortune every now and then. "What's the book about? Can it help with the mirror?" I ask her.

She shakes her head a little, though her excitement doesn't seem at all diminished. "I don't know yet... this dialect is very old, and the script... it's so different from what I'm used to, I can't really read it properly." She looks at the writing on the cover carefully. "Um... Vallas... Vallas'en Enansal... Writings of the Gift... that could mean magic, I suppose. It might have something helpful, I don't know, I will have to study this. It could take a while. But even if it has nothing we can use, it could still contain other valuable knowledge, or stories, or rituals... oh, Hawke, this is still an amazing find!"

She hugs the book to her chest delightedly, looking so adorably thrilled that I can't refrain from wrapping my arm about her waist and drawing her carefully against me, keeping my other hand clenched firmly around the support beam as I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"That's wonderful, love," I tell her, smiling. She beams up at me, eyes shining, and I grin back even wider, sharing in her happiness.

"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Xenon's booming, raspy voice suddenly echoes around us, bouncing exuberantly from the walls and ceiling. "What do we haaaave here? Younnnng love? How... mmmmm... maarrrrvellous..."

"Wait, what?" comes Anders' startled voice from behind us, and we turn to look down at him, finding him rising quickly as he stares at us, the chest he was investigating lying open and abandoned at his feet. "You mean... are you two..." His eyebrows almost disappear into his fine blond hair as his gaze drops to where my arm is curled around Merrill, and then he looks back up, his eyes flicking between us. "When did this happen?" he demands, his face blank with shock, his tone filled with baffled surprise.

He turns abruptly to Fenris, still crouching by Urchin, now about halfway through the pile of unsorted scrolls. "Did you know about this?"

Fenris glances at him over his shoulder and nods after a moment, very grudgingly, a muscle leaping in his throat. Annoyed that Anders is addressing him, I suppose. "Everyone knows, mage," he drawls.

Anders shakes his head, still looking disconcerted. "I'm always the last to know everything," he growls. "You'd think someone might have mentioned it to me. Isabela, for instance. I spend half my time curing her of one vile disease or another."

"Perhaps she simply didn't wish to speak to you. I can sympathise," Fenris mutters, shooting a filthy look at Anders, who returns it with interest before proceeding to ignore him.

"Considering what she came to me with last time, she was likely a bit preoccupied, I suppose. That was quite nasty," Anders says wryly, half to himself. He stares at us for a moment more, and then his face finally breaks into a small, forced grin that doesn't reach his eyes. He shakes his head in a bemused sort of way as he turns from us. "Well. I certainly can't say I would have ever expected this. I... wish you both joy, then."

I glance at Merrill as she looks up at me in the same moment, her puzzled expression showing she is at as much of a loss to explain his odd reaction to our relationship as I am. He really didn't know? I thought for sure Isabela would have wasted no time in spreading such a juicy piece of gossip about to everyone of her acquaintance. Not that she would have had much time since this morning, of course, but she knew about our feelings before that. Perhaps I ought to give her more credit for her discretion. Or since it does appear she only missed out Anders, perhaps it did simply slip her mind in lieu of the more... pressing matters for which she generally comes to see him. Although... I study Anders from the corner of my eye for a moment, now apparently deeply absorbed in examining a statue of an unusually scantily clad Andraste. His reaction just now was something less than pleased, just like Fenris. I suppose I wouldn't expect either of them to be thrilled, considering their respective opinions of Merrill, but I would have thought Anders might have been slightly less obvious about it. Well... it doesn't matter. I turn back to Merrill, meeting her worried gaze with a shrug and a loving smile. Don't worry about them, love. I follow my silent reassurance with a gentle, tender kiss - just a small one - which she returns eagerly, both of us thoroughly unconcerned that we are very much on display, given our current vantage point. Well, they're both going to have to get used to it, whatever they may think of Merrill, or whatever they think of her with me.

"Ahh! Founnnnd something... of interest, have you, my deaarrr?" Xenon wheezes suddenly. Merrill turns to look at him and nods, her fingers stroking absently against the battered leather cover of the old tome, and the Antiquarian's voice takes on an eager edge. "Excellent, excellent..." I get the distinct impression that he would be rubbing his hands together gleefully if he could. "Urchin! Stop dithering about dowwwwn there... and wrap up Miss Merrill's selection. Caaaarefully!" he growls as the boy hurries over to us, reaching up with trembling fingers to take the book from Merrill, who very reluctantly consents to hand the precious item to him over the terrible gap between them. All three of us let out relieved breaths as Urchin places the book safely on the crafting table, and then Merrill and I climb carefully back onto the platform as the boy tenderly wraps the book in a soft white cloth and ties it into a secure little bundle. He presents it to Merrill with a little bow, and she takes it from him carefully, giving him a gentle smile of thanks, which he returns shyly. I'm so glad this trip seems to have been profitable, at least a little. I think it might be a good idea to leave now, though; before it's time for Urchin to give his master his hourly 'bath' to keep his dry, cracking flesh from becoming completely desiccated. I shudder involuntarily at the thought. Maker, I really don't want to be here for that.

Not again.

"Well done, Urchin... goooood lad..." Xenon chuckles. "Now... hurrrrry up and find that scroll... I am certain... you will find it useful, my boy..." Xenon says, apparently addressing Fenris now. "It contaaains... quite detailed descriptions of the old magistersss... experriments. You can read Arcanum... I assume?"

"I... that... that isn't really... why I came here," Fenris says evasively, glancing at the pile of scrolls.

"Ohhhhh?" Xenon inquires. "Then please... tell me what you... desire..."

Fenris looks uncomfortable, apparently casting about for something he could reasonably claim to want. "I would... be interested in finding a way to mask myself from detection," he says after a moment, his tone hesitantly cautious. He raises his arms again for emphasis. "The lyrium in my scars remains visible even when covered; I cannot hide them. Such distinctive markings allow me to be easily tracked by... certain people. I wish to thwart their efforts, if possible. If you had something that might help me to do so..."

Well... it didn't take him too long to come up with that, did it? Perhaps he did have an alterior motive for coming here, after all. Other than to protect us from the perils of magically undead, paralysed shopkeepers, I mean. I wonder why he didn't simply say so earlier, or ask for my assistance before this? Probably so he could avoid admitting he might desire a mage's help, I suppose.

"Hmm..." Xenon muses, sounding somewhat dispirited. "That is... quite difffffferent... I don't know that I can... although... aaaah!" His voice brightens excitedly. "I believe I have something that maaaay help... Urchin! The... exxxperimental dammmpening potionnn!" Urchin leaps up from the scrolls and dashes around Xenon's chair to rifle through a crate beneath the crafting table.

"Dampening potion?" Fenris asks, watching the child from the corner of his eye.

"Like maaagebane, but much... more... potent." I shift uncomfortably, listening. Maker's breath, magebane. The second mention of that foul substance today. "I believe if you breathe in the vapours, the lyrrrium in your skin will lose its power for a time... I do not know how long, precisely..." Xenon informs Fenris. "Perhaps the marrrrkings will appear less... prominent, with their power dulled."

Fenris glances thoughtfully at his markings. "I am willing to try it."

"Verrrry well," the Antiquarian chuckles. "Be warned, however. Even if it does not hide... your marrrkings... you will not be able to use your magic... while the potion is active, you know."

"I am no mage!" Fenris growls. "Do not refer to this magic as mine, I did not want these filthy markings."

"Yet... you rely on the... abilities they give you... do you not? They are surely... useful... to you..."

Fenris appears momentarily at a loss for words, but he is spared from replying as Urchin suddenly turns from the crate and dashes back over to him, clutching a large glass flask containing a swirling blood red liquid in his hands. More potent than magebane? I glance at it dubiously; I've never heard of such a potion. If Xenon is suggesting it, then it probably isn't too dangerous, although I'm not sure that simply dulling the power of the lyrium in Fenris's markings will make them any less noticeable, even without the whole blue glowing thing. But the decision is his. There's probably no harm in trying, anyway.

"Do you still wish... to attempt it?" Xenon asks.

"I..." Fenris hesitates just for a moment, and then nods decisively. "Yes."

"Open the flask for the cusssstomerrr, then, boy. Let him breathe the fumes. We shall see if the marrrrkings fade... as a result... just a sniff, miiiind!" he says loudly as Urchin begins to work the stopper out of the flask. "The potion will be very strong, after so long... Careful, boy! Don't drop it!" Xenon barks suddenly, making Urchin jump in fright, the flask promptly slipping from his fingers and smashing into pieces at Fenris' feet. "Oh... deaarrr..."

The spilled potion starts to bubble the instant it makes contact with the damp, stale air, hissing ominously as a dark rust-coloured mist billows swiftly up around us, enveloping us all in a thick, heavy cloud, and suddenly I can't see a thing. I can feel Merrill's warmth beside me and I reach for her, pulling her tight against me to make sure she won't lose her footing and fall into the abyss below. I open my mouth to ask if everyone else is alright - and find I can't draw breath as the thick cloud forces its way down my throat, choking me. Maker, what is this? I gasp desperately for air, hearing Anders choke out a vicious curse somewhere in front of us as Fenris coughs too, and Merrill lets out a distressed whimper. I clap my hand ineffectively over my mouth as Merrill drags her scarf up over hers.

"X-Xenon!" I choke at last, my voice hardly above a strained rasp. "What-"

"Oh, deaaarrrr, this is... unexpected..." the Antiquarian murmurs half to himself, half in response to my words, apparently at a loss for how to respond to such an unanticipated turn of events. It's getting more difficult to breathe, there's nowhere to go to escape the suffocating crimson cloud. I can't see anything... Bloody flames, do something, you useless old bag of desiccated flesh! "Do not... panic," Xenon calls loudly over the sounds of our coughing and choking. "The potionnnn... should dissipate... momentarrrrily..."

The mist begins to thin even as he speaks, and for a few moments the only sounds are our deep, heavy breaths as we gratefully gasp in air. At last the final vestiges of the potion vanish, and I glance down at Merrill worriedly, finding her already gazing up at me with a matching look of concern. We exchange relieved, reassuring smiles, and then I cast my gaze briefly around the shop and see Anders bracing himself against the platform railing, while Fenris shakes his head as though to clear it. A shamefaced Urchin is already crouched by the shattered flask, grasping the bottom of his shirt in one hand and holding it out as he carefully places the broken pieces one by one into his improvised dustpan. Everyone seems to be alright, then, more or less.

"Well, that was unpleasant," Anders croaks, rubbing ruefully at his throat.

"Myyyy apologies..." Xenon says, his slow tone remorseful. "I do hope you can forgive... Urrrchin's... clumsiness..." The boy hangs his head even lower, his cheeks burning.

"It was not his fault," Fenris mutters quietly, rubbing absently at his arm; the pale, twining lines of his markings still standing starkly out from his skin. Looks like the potion was ineffective, then. A shame.

My throat still is burning painfully from breathing that bloody cloud. I reach for my mana, just a little creation magic to ease the discomfort... and feel nothing. I gasp in shock, reaching again, but again find nothing, touch nothing, as though feeling blindly in the dark for a shadow. There's... there's nothing there! My magic is gone... not just drained, or blocked, even, just gone!

As though it was never there...

Like magebane... but more potent... anyone who breathes it... oh, bloody Maker...

"Ma vhenan, what's wrong?" Merrill asks worriedly, looking up at me.

I stare back at her, trying not to panic. "My magic... it's... gone. I can't feel it at all." I glance between her and Anders. "Can you?"

They both frown simultaneously in concentration for a moment. "Elgar'nan..." Merrill whispers. "No... there's just a sort of... emptiness... oh, Mythal, I don't feel right at all..."

"Maker... this is just how it feels to be drained by a Templar," Anders says weakly. "Worse, even. What was that?"

"Ohhh... deaarrr..." the old man mutters again, more quietly, and I turn to him quickly.

"Xenon? What is going on? What in the Void was that potion? You said it dampens magical abilities..."

"It was created in the Storrrrm Age... during an attempt to find an alternative to the Tranquillity Ritual, I believe... It was unsuccessful, as the exxxperrriments produced no permanent effects... which displeased the Templars, who orrrdered the attempt abannndoned..." Xenon explains apologetically. "That potionnn... was a near... perfect... batch of the exxperriment. According to the scrrrrolls found with it, any livinnnng beinnnng... in possession of magical abilities who comes into connnntact with this connnncoction... is rendered powerless, for a time. It represses mana regeneration, and cancels the magical powerrrrr of lyrrriummm... for as long as it remains... active."

"So it would seem," Fenris drawls dryly, gazing at his plainly visible markings. "I can no longer feel the lyrium... although the markings still remain."

He can't feel them either? He doesn't seem too concerned, though... but then, he is a weapon in himself, a living blade. His lyrium-granted abilities are only secondary; losing them hardly leaves him defenceless, does it? The rest of us, though... I breathe deeply, trying to quell my mounting fear. It's not permanent, Xenon said it would wear off... it's going to be alright. It is.

Just... just stay calm...

"Aaahhh..." Xenon says, sounding disappointed. "Well, that is unfortunate... I am sorry I could not help you, my boy. Ah, well... nothing venturrred, nothing gained... no harm done..."

"No harm?" Anders splutters, gesturing pointedly at Merrill and I, then himself. "What about us? How long is this blighted 'dampening potion' going to remain 'active'?"

"Nooo neeed... to be concerrrned, Warden..." Xenon wheezes, the fretful tone in his raspy voice making his assurances somewhat unconvincing. "It will wear off... eventually..."

"When?" I demand, perhaps a little more forcefully than I meant, but, well... I just... I can't stand feeling drained like this. I haven't felt this powerless, this... vulnerable... in a long time, not since... since before I stopped working for Meeran... I shake my head quickly before I finish the thought. Calm. It will be alright. "How soon?"

"Alaaassss... I don't know... I have never seen so much potionnnn used at once... it may take several houurrrrsss..."

I hear Anders groan as Merrill makes a small, anxious sound, and I feel my anxiety mounting. I can't wait that long. I can't stand this emptiness, this... helplessness. Merrill takes my hand, squeezing tight, partly in reassurance and partly seeking comfort from me. I squeeze back, trying to smile for her, and take a breath; attempting once more to calm myself before I turn back to stare up at Xenon.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" I ask trying not to sound too desperately panicked. "You must have some lyrium potions." If only I'd brought some with me, though I hardly thought I'd need them just to come here; it's too suspicious a substance for anyone but Templars to carry about unless absolutely necessary. And if Anders or Merrill had any they'd have said so, surely.

Keep calm...

"They would not... worrrrk..." Xenon wheezes remorsefully. "The potionnn... would nullify the magic... the instant you drank it. I fear you must wait... until it wears off completely..."

Right. Of course. I exhale in frustration, unwilling to give up quite so easily as that on just his say-so. I am not at all satisfied to simply 'wait and see' if the potion wears off as he promises. He doesn't really seem to be certain of anything he knows about it; what if it doesn't? I shake my head again to stop the thought in its tracks; no point thinking like that, it won't help. There must be something else we can do. "Well, we have to try something. I can't stand feeling like this."

"Perhaps there's something at my clinic we could try," Anders suggests. "If nothing else, I have a good stock of restoration potions."

I nod, rubbing at the back of my neck. I hadn't considered that. A restoration potion might be strong enough to work, if we drink enough. And it doesn't use lyrium, just herbs and roots; certainly worth a try, in any case. "That seems our best option. And if we're very lucky, we might only run into a couple of street gangs on our way there."

"Traversing Darktown hardly seems the safest course of action, if you are unable to defend yourselves," Fenris comments dryly, looking at Anders.

I glance at him. "True, but surely a few dozen thugs would hardly cause you to break a sweat, even without your abilities." He turns to look at me, staring for a moment, and I raise my eyebrows a little. "You.. wouldn't mind helping us, would you? I just thought-"

"Of course I will defend you, Hawke," he says hurriedly, his eyes sincere as he gazes at me. "My blade is always yours."

I give him a small smile; the best I can summon at the moment. "Thank you, Fenris. Right, well what in the Void are we still hanging about down here for, then?" I turn and glare up at Xenon in intense irritation for a moment, then begin walking with Merrill towards the walkway, still grasping her hand in mine as she cradles her tome carefully in her other arm. I motion to Anders and Fenris to follow us. If there's nothing this madman can do, then I think I've had my fill of this place for the moment, exciting as our little venture has been so far. What a disaster. Whose brilliant idea was it to come down here, anyway? At least Merrill found something that might be useful, at least, once our magic returns. Maker's breath, it had better, and soon. Very, very soon.

"I think we'll be going now, then, Xenon." I slap a few sovereigns down on the bench beside the impassive stone golem as we pass him. That ought to be enough to cover Merrill's book, and if it's not, well, I rather think we're entitled to a discount after this. "See you next time, should I take a severe blow to the head and decide it's a good idea to chance coming again-"

"Wait!" Xenon rasps anxiously. "I cannot let you leave... knowing you will be in dangerrrr. Please, I believe I can assist you. I may have jussst... the thing..." he wheezes, an odd, wheedling note of cunning in his voice. "A very strong potion..."

I pause, glancing back at him. "Another potion? What is it? A restoration potion?" Why didn't he offer it before, as soon as Anders suggested it?

"Mmmm... I am certain it will help you feel restored... far more quickly," Xenon says, a trifle evasively. "I do not wish you... to leave my store defenceless... I would feel terrible if I were to lose my favourrrite... customerrrrs..."

I narrow my eyes distrustfully at his crafty tone. Oh, I bet he would; feel terrible about the loss of coin, that is. And he'd better not try to make us pay for this potion, if that's what he's thinking... but then, if he has something that works, I'd much rather get this all fixed up now than risk going back up to Darktown and leaving Fenris to defend all four of us himself. Not that we can't fight with staves - and belt knives - at close quarters, but even so...

I nod, turning back to Xenon. "Alright, then," I say cautiously. "I suppose it's worth a try."

"Urchin!" The boy pauses and looks up at his master. "A dose of my special potion for each of our cussstomerrrsss, to help restorrrre them... Free of charge, of course..." Urchin lets go of his shirt hem and springs to his feet, hurrying once again to the crafting table and scattering razor sharp shards of broken glass across the floor as he goes. "No, no... the green potion..." Xenon mutters as Urchin reaches for a flask of crimson liquid. Urchin twists his head to look towards his master with an air of confusion, a questioning look on his face. "Of course I am surrrre!" Xenon barks gruffly, as though answering a spoken query. "Don't question me! The green potion! Fetch it!"

Urchin obeys instantly, although his look of confusion deepens as he pours the potion into four small beakers. I watch him, feeling slightly unsettled by the exchange. I've never seen a green restoration potion; the ones I order from Elegant are always dark crimson. I glance at Merrill and then at Anders, noting similar suspicious looks on their faces. Ander raises an eyebrow, and I shrug in return. Well... I have found several unusual potions amongst his wares before, and besides, I suppose it's rather arrogant to assume I know everything about potion crafting. I'm sure this is simply some sort of stronger recipe I haven't come across yet.

"It is a very special mixture... very... effective..." Xenon says reassuringly, apparently in response to our silent exchange, as Urchin picks his way back through the broken glass to hand each of us a beaker of bright green liquid. "It will make... the time until your powers returrrrrn... pass much more quickly... I assure you..."

"I believe I shall pass," Fenris says. "I would not mind waiting longer for the lyrium in my skin to awaken again; I shall enjoy the peace in the meantime."

"Oh, but please, I would... feeeel... much better... knowing that I did what I could to correct... Urchin's mistake..." Xenon wheedles insistently. "It would make the boy much happier toooo... isn't that right, Urchin?"

Urchin looks up at Fenris worriedly at Xenon's words, and Fenris glances at him, a look of mild concern on his face. "Very well," he says gently, taking the glass offered by the small boy, who gives him a gap-toothed smile.

I raise the beaker to my nose, sniffing carefully, still wary of the highly suspicious green colour of the potion. Elfroot, spindleweed... as one would expect, but also... something else... I can't put my finger on it...

Anders drains his beaker in apparent unconcern, however, which alleviates my suspicions slightly. If there were anything off about it, surely he would have picked it up, right? I hesitate for just a moment longer and then down the potion, Merrill and Fenris following suit.

"Ugh! This tastes terrible!" Merrill exclaims, her face screwing up in distaste. "What's in this, nightshade?"

"Oh, just... a touch..." Xenon says, as though poison was a common ingredient in a remedy.

For a moment I can only stare at him in shocked silence, hardly believing my own ears."What?" I whisper. Nightshade... Maker, how did I not notice... How did Anders not notice?

"Don't... fret... my deaarrr..." Xenon chuckles wheezily. "Only enough... for a dreeeaaaamless sleeeeep..."

Maker's breath, why?

"You're... putting us... to... to sleep?" Anders says thickly, blinking his eyes rapidly as though trying to keep them open. I feel my own lids growing heavy... "Nightshade..." Anders mutters sleepily "How did I miss..." He drops to his knees and then crumples, breathing deeply.

How could I bloody miss it... how could he...? There's a bitter taste at the back of my throat... Maker... Nightshade, not enough for poison, but... for a powerful sleeping potion, yes... but why?

"What game is this? What are you...?" Fenris tries to snarl, even as his mouth twists into a yawn... I'd find it funny, if I wasn't so... so tired, suddenly... Fenris folds slowly, lowering himself to the floor... his movements controlled and graceful, even now...

"Now, now... Just relax... drift into peaceful... slumber..." Xenon's slow voice rumbles through my mind... his ponderous drone almost soporific... hypnotic... "I am oooonnnly helping you, as I promised. I cannot let my cusstomerrrs come to harrrm... The hours will seeem to paaass in moments... much better than the anxiety... of waitinnng... don't you agree? I am sure that the daaammpening potion... will have worn off completely by the time you awaken... just rest, now, my dearrrs... sleep... I take gooooood care of all my cussstomerrrsss..."

This... this is what he meant? This is... helping? Bloody... mad... decrepit old... old...

So... tired...

"Thaddeus! Take our deaarrr customerrrs somewhere safe, to rest... until their powers are recovered... I believe there arrrre some free cells in the ruins... they should be comfortable there... although do try not to house them too neaaarrrr... the carrrnivores... I don't want the smell of fresssh, living blood to excite them... before feeeeeding time..." He chuckles, almost fondly. "The big ones are so eaaasily... excited..."

What? What is he... talking... It's so hard... so hard to think... I feel so... dizzy, and dull... sleepy...

Merrill moans softly... I turn to look at her slowly... "Keeper Marethari, is... is that you?" she murmurs, blinking dazedly at the naked Andraste statue... her is voice quiet, slurred... "I don't feel so good..." She sways alarmingly where she stands... concern stirs lazily in the back of my mind, somewhere... the elven tome tumbles from her hands, dropping to the floor with a soft thud... she sways again... just a bit too far forwards... I reach out and catch her as she falls into my arms... following her down, slumping against the bench by the golem... she cuddles into my chest, breathing deeply... curled in a ball like the kitten Isabela named her... so warm and soft... so sweet...

I let my head loll back against the cool... cool smooth stone of the bench I'm leaning against. Merrill sighs... her head resting on my shoulder, her face pressed into the hollow of my throat... This... this isn't... so bad, really... Why was I worried? Can't... remember...

Xenon's low chuckle pierces my clouded mind... just... just for a moment... "No, no, my boy, they will be quite safe. Yes, of couuuurrrrse I promise. They are loooyyalll... cussstomerrrsss..." He's...talking to... to Urchin? About... us... I blink slowly, trying... trying to concentrate... might be... important...

"I am not angrrrry at you, don't fret. Your little accident was... most fortuitous. Their blood is fresh, potent... powerful... They are the ones I need. Let us not waste this opportunity... Take what I need, ooonly from the females, there's a good lad... Not too much, now. We don't wissssh to harrrm them. Gently... don't wake them... let them sleep... Most fortuitous indeed..." He breaks off with an odd... odd chuckle... gleeful and... strangely... sinister. What he needs... from us... what... what does he...mean? What does he... he need...

There are... light footsteps... coming toward me, now... a small figure appearing in my blurring vision... sharp pain lancing through my hand... Merrill gasps softly in her sleep... the floorboards shake beneath me as slower, heavier footsteps boom... coming closer... my arms close tighter about Merrill as a huge, black shadow emerges... looming over us... glowing eyes piercing... it reaches for us as my vision wavers... Merrill's limp form is pulled from my weak grasp... no!... but I can't hold onto her... I can't move... can't... see... just blackness... shadows... darkness... sinking down... rough stone fingers take hold of me too... lifting me as I fall further... into the dark...

... but it's not so bad...

... it's quite... peaceful... quite...