Author Note:

Okay. Since apparently I am now in danger of my life if I don't post another chapter, here you go. Put your knives away. And to my most recent guest 'reviewer' (at least at the time I am posting this), unless you're making a sex joke (which I'm kind of hoping is the case but I don't think you are, somehow), yes of course I know that reference about the sweet spot. "Left of the spine, fourth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta... what a gusher." I do secretly enjoy the Riddick movies myself (especially the Chronicles of Riddick because Alexa Davalos is extremely attractive. Lithe and feisty. Like a sexy cat. No, wait, that was bad. I shouldn't use cats in similies as an example of things that are sexy. To clarify; I do not find cats in any way sexy or attractive. But Alexa Davalos, yes. She's sexy to the max). However, I'm not particularly eager to act out a Riddick movie in real life, especially not getting stabbed in the sweet spot, so I'm going to politely request that you refrain from sticking sharp pointy objects anywhere near my abdominal aorta. Incidentally, the same goes for my inferior vena cava. Or... well, any part of my anatomy, actually. It's not nice to stab people. Or shank people. Or shiv people. No shanking with shivs, or shivving with shanks, or stabbing of any kind, please. Yes yes yes, I know this is still another late post, but I've had relatively little free time of late up until very recently, combined with personal circumstances preventing me from feeling up to writing for a while (although there's no cause to go into that. Personal!). It may not be particularly great as chapters go, and admittedly its a little rushed in places (due to sabresmittenophobia), but it is a little bigger than the last one, so that at least should impart a sense of value if nothing else. I probably could have split it, but I didn't really want to for various reasons, so meh. Consider it two chapters in one and don't complain about the length, you can read it at your own leisure after all. Also, my wordcount in Word puts this at a good 2000 words less than what Fanfiction says it is, which I find strange. Still I hope you enjoy it, and that no one stabs me. For those who haven't yet threatened to kill me via reviews or private messages, thanks for sticking with me. And for those who are guilty, it's okay, I'm sure most of you were joking (fingers crossed) and I didn't really post this chapter just because of the thinly veiled stabbing threats (at least not totally), but because I wanted to do something nice for a friend going through a bad time and finishing this was pretty much all I could think of to do. There's no need to address or refer to this in reviews or anything, and of course for the sake of respect and privacy I will not in any way identify them (you know who you are, honey, hopefully it might provide a diversion for a while if nothing else, if you feel like reading it sometime of course. Under different circumstances I'd have asked you to beta this for me, but it would have been insensitive and inappropriate to ask now. Just wanted to offer my care and support in some small way. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family). But let's just move on. Ignore that. Really I'm only mentioning it now because for one thing; I don't think very many people actually read what I write here in my author notes because of their rambling and oftentimes fairly incoherent and frankly irrelevant content, which is fair enough; and for another (and far more importantly), I don't want to encourage anyone to think that threatening bodily harm will motivate me into writing quicker. It won't work, not really! I'll just get fearful and edgy and probably twitchy as well, and who needs that? Not me.

Side note, I was looking at the traffic stats and I figured out that if I got a dollar for every time someone viewed one of my stories, I'd be making an average of $5000 a month! Pretty nice pocket money. Not that I'm about to start charging for viewing chapters or anything, no, of... course not... I'm pretty sure I could get sued for that. Although if I get any more death threats, I might just retaliate by deciding it would be worth the risk... hmm...

Just kidding, I won't, I promise. Wouldn't know how, anyways. My point is; this is free entertainment which I write from a place of love, so you know. Don't stab me, okay? But if you really feel you must, then all I ask is this. Before you drive the blade home, please quote the following somewhat obscure Dragon Age Origins reference;

"Mwahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab kill kill!"

I would appreciate it. It would really take the edge off being brutally murdered. Thank you.

Oh, and by the way, you'd best be prepared for a fight, because I don't go down easy.

That was not intended as a sex joke either for the record :p

Anyway. Merry Christmas, and all the best for the new year. Hopefully it will be a good one, although I myself am not going to get my hopes up too far just yet; I'm not particularly superstitious, and even though for the most part I tend to agree with the lovely and seriously smexy forensic anthropologist known affectionately as Bones (Emily Deschanel is beautiful! Dear god, those eyes! They penetrate my soul...) that believing in the existence of luck of any kind, good or bad, is nothing more than a solipsistic perceptual response to the random nature of the universe; nonetheless I am afraid that I just do not trust the number 13. Never have, never will. Still, I shall endeavour to think positive thoughts.

So on that note, happy 2013 everyone! May it be filled with good fortune and free of misinterpreted predictions of cataclysms and apocalypses from mesoamerican civilisations that were unable to forsee their own demise.

xxx M xxx

Joyous trills and chirping melodies of little songbirds greeting the new day call to me from the waking world as I walk the Beyond with Hawke, the sweet sounds drawing me out of our shared dream just as the sun rises. Shafts of gentle sunlight glint through the curtains, falling across the bed and I yawn softly, stretching a little. Carefully, though. I am very mindful of Hawke still sleeping against my side, her arm draped across my bare stomach, warm against my skin. I stroke her arm gently with my fingertips as I slowly blink awake. Mythal, is it really morning already? It doesn't seem as though we slept for very long... although really, I don't know that it should have, now that I think about it. It is quite difficult to know how much time has truly passed in the Fade, after all. And I was quite distracted as it was, wandering through the dream Ferelden countryside with Hawke, passing towns and lakes, mountains and waterfalls, the Beyond shaping itself from our memories. It's so wonderful when that happens; it lets me see the places Hawke has visited, the towns and villages she lived in, the woods and fields where she played as a child... it just makes me feel so much closer to her, seeing a part of her life that I never would have known otherwise. And the look of wonder on her face whenever the Fade shows her the sunlit glades of endless trees and lush green vales of the Brecilian forest never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes the echoes of the mortal realm in the Beyond are so real it is as though we are really there, wandering through the settlements filled with dreaming souls and walking together down dappled forest paths... Really, it's no wonder we didn't get quite enough rest as we ought to have, I suppose. We kept ourselves very busy last night, after all. And not just in our dreams... Mmm...Creators... it was a very good night...

I blink the sleepiness out of my eyes and turn my head to gaze at my beautiful Hawke, still fast asleep with her head pillowed on my shoulder. A blissful smile curves my lips and I press them softly to her forehead, still caressing her arm softly as I wait for her to wake. It won't be long now, I'm sure; we always seem to fall asleep and wake within a few heartbeats of one another.

Sure enough, only a few moments pass before she starts to stir, blue eyes fluttering slowly open. She smiles at me gently. "Mmm..." she murmurs, her voice sounding wonderfully drowsy. "Good morning..."

"Just like every morning, ma vhenan," I reply happily. "Waking up with you beside me."

"Mmm..." Hawke chuckles quietly, turning her head to kiss the hollow of my shoulder. "You precious thing." She glances up and out of the window, eyes lidded a little against the soft light of the dawn as she gives a quiet groan of complaint. "Oh... it's early..."

"It is," I agree, feeling a rush of strong affection at her adorable morning sleepiness. "We could get up if you like, though; I'm sure our fearsome hound and griffon chick wouldn't mind an early breakfast."

Her eyes catch mine as she rests her head against my shoulder again, a cheeky sparkle in their azure depths. "I'm sure they wouldn't, at that." Her arm tightens about my middle. "But I don't think I feel like getting up just yet..."

I sweep my hand through her lovely hair, combing my fingers through the silky strands and bringing a low purr of contentment from deep in her throat as she closes her eyes. "Then go back to sleep for a bit, ma vhenan."

She blinks at me. "Back to sleep?" she asks, frowning a little.

"It's alright if you need more rest," I reassure her, a fond smile crossing my face as I remember. "You earned it after last night, after all."

Hawke shakes her head, a small smile crossing her face. "Be that as it may..." she murmurs, raising an eyebrow at me wickedly, "I don't feel like getting up, certainly, but I never said I wanted sleep..."

But then, what does she- Oh! Of course. I smile at her cheekily, very much liking where our conversation is going. At least I realised what she meant this time before I asked her and made myself sound like an unworldly child again. As usual. I am getting better about that, though, it isn't happening quite so often. Although it is fun to tease her a little, sometimes. Gently, of course, but still... "What is it that you want, then?" I ask quietly, letting a small note of suggestiveness creep into my voice so she knows I'm not just being an oblivious fool.

"You're playing with me, aren't you?" Hawke accuses, gentle laughter in her tone. "You know precisely what I want. I know you do." I nod slowly, saying silent. I know what she means, of course, by now at least I ought to, but I want to hear her say it. From the way she is smiling at me, she is reading my thoughts as always. She raises herself up on one arm and presses into me, making every inch of my skin tingle where her body touches mine. "I want you," she says at last, giving in to me, feathering kisses slowly over my shoulder, along my throat and across my cheek. She pauses just before our lips meet, smiling as she gazes into my eyes. "You wonderful, teasing, tempting little minx..." I giggle like a fool and wrap my arms about her as she kisses me deeply...

All of a sudden a loud trilling note fills the air and the bolt on the bedroom door slides back with a soft click. Mythal, what-?! Hawke's head whips towards the doorway and she springs instantly out of bed, and I sit up in alarm, grabbing for the sheets as the heavy wooden door is slowly pushed open a few inches with a long, low creak... and in prances Feathers, looking very pleased with himself. He sees me on the bed and cheeps happily, bounding to the bedside and leaping up beside me, little wings fluttering instinctively behind him.

Hawke, already halfway across the room and reaching for her staff, gives a relieved but very exasperated sigh at the sight of him. "Oh, Andraste's blood, Feathers..." she groans quietly, a touch of fondness in her voice."Well, I suppose I'm up now, then, aren't I?"

Feathers chirps in cheerful agreement.

"Feathers..." I admonish him softly as he plants his little paws on my shoulders, giving my nose a gentle peck in greeting. "It isn't breakfast time yet." I glance back over to the slightly open door. "And how in the name of the Creators did you do that?"

Feathers blinks, takes a deep breath, sneezes, and then curls up in my lap. I can't help but smile in a resigned sort of amusement.

"He's taught himself another little trick, apparently," Hawke mutters wryly as she walks back over, ivory skin gleaming in the rays of the newborn sun. I try very hard to keep my attention focused on her words instead of... anything else. Her eyebrow arches delicately as she puts out a hand to ruffle my griffon chick's fuzzy ears. "Magical lockpicking. Well, that's just wonderful." She bites back a doting smile as Feathers rubs his head against her fingers, purring loudly. "Oh, stop it, you incorrigible little creature," she says in mild exasperation. "You know this is completely unacceptable, don't you?" Feathers makes a questioning noise, looking up at Hawke with wide eyes. She gazes back at him levelly. "We need to sleep - among other things - and you can't just come barging in whenever you please. After we put you to bed, you stay put with the dog until one of us comes to get you, alright?" He gives her a sorrowful look. Hawke shakes her head. "I mean it," she says firmly.

Feathers looks at me next, chirping softly, and I smile as I shake my head at him affectionately. "Oh, no, little fellow. I'm with Hawke about this, I'm afraid. You listen to her." He purrs in satisfaction as I scratch him under the chin. I'm not sure he was paying attention at all, really.

The door creaks again, widening further as Hawke's somewhat frantic-looking mabari pokes his head through the gap. He peers about the room, nose snuffling wetly, and a low chuckle sounds in Hawke's throat.

"Lost something, have you?"

Her poor old dog looks her way and whines, ears lowered. She plucks Feathers from my lap and holds him up, ignoring his squall of protest. "Looking for this, by any chance?"

The mabari barks sharply and shoulders his way into the room, fixing Feathers in a fierce reproving glare. Hawke puts the little griffon gently on the floor and he trots over to his canine companion, twining sinuously between the mabari's front legs as he purrs in what sounds like a hopeful manner. His efforts are met with a low, cross growl and he sits forlornly at his guardian's feet, giving a soft, sad little cry. The mabari gives a canine sigh and nuzzles his little charge for a moment to cheer him up, then glances up at Hawke and gives a quiet woof of apology.

"It's alright," she says, smiling at him fondly. "I know he's difficult to look after, what with the magic and all." He huffs in agreement, and she laughs. "Yes, just like me, I know. Next time he gets restless or hungry, perhaps you two can make yourself useful and hunt rats in the basement until we get up to feed you. They're getting all nice and fat from eating into the grain stores down there. I don't want them getting bold enough to join us for breakfast at the table."

Her mabari gives her a reassuring sort of bark, and picks Feathers up gently by the scruff of the neck before turning to leave, padding purposefully towards the door. Hawke follows and closes it firmly behind him, then freezes the bolt in place with an ice spell; small and precise, but so powerful I can feel it from all the way across the room. I gaze at her admiringly as she effortlessly works her magic, her unintentional display of power and control sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

"There, now. If that troublesome little beast of legend finds his way up here again, that should take him a while to figure out," Hawke says, coming back over to the bed and sliding in beside me. She slips her arms about my waist, drawing me in close. "Now, where were we?"

"Are you sure it isn't, um, a bit too early?" I ask, though I can't keep the anticipation from my voice. I'm also quite certain I'm smiling like an utter fool. "We... we do get a little bit loud, sometimes. What if we wake the neighbours?"

Hawke smiles wickedly, raking her fingers through my hair as she presses me back gently, pinning me to the bed. "It's never too early," she murmurs breathily as lowers her mouth to my throat, smile widening at my gasp of pleasure as she presses her body to mine. "And loud is fine by me. I like knowing that you're enjoying yourself. Besides," she continues, her voice purring silkily as she whispers in my ear. "I don't give a damn about the blasted neighbours..."

A very decent amount of time later, I carry the big bowl of scraps left over from breakfast out of the kitchen and put it down before the two furry faces waiting eagerly just outside the door. They set to almost before I have time to snatch my fingers out of the way, Feathers pushing at the big mabari like a halla fawn trying to jostle a stag. "There's plenty for both of you," I tell him reprovingly. "Hawke always makes enough so that everyone gets a share, you know." He ignores me, stealing a rind of ham out from under the poor old dog's nose with a swift grab of his greedy little beak. How can something so sweet and adorable one minute become such a bullying little ball of obnoxiousness in the next? Creators, I'll never know.

Hawke glances up from her writing desk as I find my way back into the parlour, flashing me a quick but nonetheless heart-stopping smile. "Mother has arrived safely in Ostwick," she tells me, showing me the page of fine script in her hand. "They're having a wonderful time, apparently. And Sandal is a subject of great interest to Mother's friend, not to mention her husband…" She returns her gaze to the letter and reads Leandra's words aloud in a perfect imitation of her mother's cultured inflections, "… 'who incidentally, is a second cousin of Empress Celene herself, imagine, darling! He simply cannot wait to tell the whole court all about the fascinating dwarven prodigy and his enthralling enchanting abilities. Bodahn is beside himself with pride. Just think of it; our very own Sandal; the talk of the Orlesian Court! How very exciting!'" She chuckles, shaking her head fondly. "Oh, Mother..."

"Well, it does sound as though they're all enjoying themselves," I say, smiling as I move to stand behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders and rubbing gently. "Did she have anything else to say?"

Hawke leans back into my touch as she finishes reading the letter, making a soft sound of satisfaction. "Just that she hopes we're all well, and that she sends her love," she answers. "And that she's not certain precisely when they will return, but she will be certain to let us know."

She folds the letter carefully, putting it safely away, and reaches for the other missive lying on the desk. It is a small scroll, neatly tied with a worn piece of string instead of a wax seal. Not that it's very much unlike many other letters Hawke gets from people who need her help, it's just... it looks very familiar, and I think I know why. That sort of cheap parchment is the best most people from the alienage can afford.

"Who is that from?" I ask curiously as she unfurls the scroll and scans its contents, though I don't try to read it myself. It's private, after all, whoever it was that sent it.

Hawke is silent for a little, a small frown on her face as she reads. "It's from Arianni," she replies after a moment, a note of surprise in her voice. "It isn't good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Feynriel's nightmares have gotten worse, and the Keeper doesn't know how to help him." She glances up at me, blue eyes wide with worry. "Arianni wants me to come and see her. I'm not certain what help she thinks I'll be, though, if Marethari's wealth of experience isn't enough."

"Oh, no..." I take a deep breath, feeling a deep surge of concern. "Oh, dear, Nyssa told me that Arianni was worried about Feynriel. I should have gone to see her as soon as I heard!"

Hawke tilts her head. "When was this?"

"Before the Emporium," I answer simply. "I said I would see her, I just thought the Keeper would be able to help Feynriel herself if something was wrong. Of course she would still have been worried, though; I should have gone ages ago!" Why didn't I go earlier? How could I have been so thoughtless? "It slipped my mind, I suppose. How could I let it?"

"Being attacked by a wyvern and kept in a magically induced healing sleep for more than a week is a reasonable excuse, Merrill," Hawke reminds me gently. "We can go and see her right now, if it will set your mind at ease."

I glance up at the window, considering, and then shake my head. "No, it's too late in the morning now." I smile a little at Hawke's look of confusion. "Arianni minds some of the younger children in the alienage while their parents are out working," I explain. "We should go towards twilight when they all go home and we can see her alone."

"Alright," Hawke agrees, reaching up to pat my hand reassuringly. "Twilight it is, then. We'll leave as soon as the sun begins to set. It'll be alright, you'll see."

I smile lovingly at her. "Thank you, ma vhenan." Oh, I hope Arianni is alright, and Feynriel too. If Marethari doesn't know how to help him, then no one else stands much of a chance. Except Hawke, of course. She may not see why Arianni asked for her, but I do. Hawke has... well, she has a way about her. She helps people without even trying; just by being there sometimes. It's like magic, of a sort; but unintentional, effortless. Perhaps the Creators truly do guide her steps, even if she is human. I feel a little less anxious now, knowing that Hawke will help Arianni. It is still a long time until sundown, though... I should try not to think about it too much until then, or I'll make myself sick with worry. I need to find some sort of distraction...

I look away from Arianni's letter in Hawke's hand, and notice the long thin cloth-wrapped parcel still propped against the side of the desk where I left it yesterday.

"Are you going to open this, Hawke?" I ask, stepping around her chair to pick it up. It's a little heavier than I expected, and very hard, like a thin piece of stone, perhaps, or metal. I can't imagine what it could be. Or who it could be from, for that matter.

"Ah yes, the mysterious package," Hawke says, glancing at it. She shrugs a little. "It's addressed to both of us, you said, isn't it? Why don't you open it?"

I blink in surprise; I'm not certain why it matters who opens it. "Really? Why?"

"Why not?" Hawke counters playfully, and smiles. "Consider it unwrapping practice for your next present."

Well, when she puts it that way... I flash her a smile in return and lay the package down across the desktop, fumbling awkwardly with the string tied tightly about the soft cloth wrapping. Suddenly Hawke's arm slips about my waist and she pulls me into her lap, pressing herself against me, breath warm against my neck as she looks over my shoulder.

"See?" she whispers. "Fun, isn't it?" I giggle, feeling Hawke's fingers tracing idly over my lower back as I tug at the unyielding knots without much success. After a few moments I hear the soft hiss of sharpened metal whispering from its sheath, and Hawke presses her belt knife into my hand. "Shortcuts are acceptable," she says, smiling.

I laugh as I cut the string and unfold the first layer of cloth. A yellowed piece of parchment falls from the folds, and I pick it up curiously, holding it up so Hawke can read it over my shoulder. The lettering is oddly clumsy, as though written by the unpracticed hand of a child, but the sophisticated wording tells a different story;

Greetings, my friends.

Forgive me the presumption, but I can no longer suppress the compulsion to once again apologise profusely for the events that occurred within my establishment. I have missed the patronage of my two favourite customers, though I fully comprehend your hesitancy to come again. I assure you that there will be no such unpleasantness should you choose to return once more to peruse my vast assortment of rare, exquisite and enchanted merchandise. Recent disagreements notwithstanding, I am intensely intrigued by the both of you. I wish, if you are agreeable, to remain if not friends, then in business at the very least.

It would be remiss of me not to mention that I have had the urchin retrieve certain items belonging to you that were left behind in my catacombs. They have been thoroughly cleaned, and only await their owners to come and claim them. I would of course have sent them with this parcel for your convenience, but alas, I fear that mage staffs are rather too conspicuous to be delivered by courier in the present climate of oppressiveness in which we currently stifle. I am also afraid Miss Merrill's belt knife could not be repaired; however as a sign of good faith, I have instead sent you two of the most prized pieces of my own personal collection. The belt knife I give to you, Miss Merrill, as a replacement for the one you lost. It is of elven make, I believe you will appreciate it greatly. The sword is a weapon forged from highly arcane materials and bound with powerful enchantments. I believe, Serah Hawke, that you would find such a weapon very suitable. I cannot tell you how difficult it was for Thaddeus to procure them, but it may interest you to know that both blades once belonged to the Hero of Ferelden herself.

Adieu,

Xenon.

Stunned silence reigns for several moments as we read the letter. I can't quite believe what I just read. Xenon said... he said the things he sent belonged to the Hero of Ferelden, to Mahariel!

Mahariel...

Unable to contain myself I grab for the package and unwrap the cloth, revealing a fine, ornate longsword with a gold filigreed handle, the sharp bright blade set with intricately crafted runes and beside it... a small humble dagger of Dalish make, worn but well cared for, gleaming bright as sunlight on water. I reach for it slowly, feeling a strange feeling of familiarity as my fingers close about the handle. I... I remember seeing the blade in Mahariel's hand a lot. It... it belonged to her father. She used it for everything; to sharpen a spit for a cook fire, or skin game, or carve a little wooden animal for a da'len, or cut herbs or flowers for me to use in salves and potions... assuming this is the same blade, of course. Oh, I hope it was truly hers. I would so love to have something of hers to remember her by... I look the little blade over, examining it closely, and smile in delight as I find a tiny mark carefully carved into the hilt. I glance at Hawke, who is sitting with the longsword balanced carefully in both hands, studying it with a raptly curious look on her face.

"Do you really think that these belonged to the Hero, Merrill?" she asks, glancing up from her examination of the longsword.

I offer her the blade, showing her the mark on the hilt. "Oh, yes," I say quietly. "Look, Hawke, look here. Mahariel's initials, written in Elven script. I showed Mahariel how to scribe a little of the elven tongue. This blade was hers, it really was! How in the name of Elgar'nan did Xenon get this away from her?"

Hawke touches the small carved letters softly with a fingertip, tracing them with an expression of fascination on her face. "Doubtless they were stolen from her somehow. I'm certain any item belonging to the Hero of Ferelden would fetch a handsome sum." She looks up at me and smiles. "Perhaps ask Isabela. She might have heard something about it, or even be the thief herself. I daresay it would take someone of her expertise to steal from someone as well known and important as the Hero of Ferelden. In any event; however Xenon got his hands on it - so to speak - it's yours now. And who knows; perhaps you will get the chance to return it to her someday."

I cradle my friend's hunting blade in my hands a moment longer, before slipping it into my belt. "I hope so, ma vhenan," I tell her, unable to stop my voice from shaking a little. I really do miss Mahariel very much, especially in this moment. I am very happy to have something of hers to remember her by, even if it did come from Xenon and was probably stolen. But as Hawke said, perhaps I can give it back to her. One day. "Thank you for that."

Hawke nods, understanding in her eyes. "Of course." She holds up the longsword for my inspection. "What about this? Ever seen it before?"

I gaze at the fancy weapon and touch a hand to it gently, looking it over. "No," I answer absently, probing lightly with my mana, feeling the weight of the ensorcellments upon the blade. "She never had anything like this when she lived with the clan; none of us did, it's far too grand. It isn't an elven relic, either, I don't think. At least, it doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before, and it doesn't look very old. I don't see anything that could tell me if it belonged to Mahariel."

Hawke turns the sword over, showing me a small inscription on the hilt. "What about these?" she asks. "I thought they were runes at first, but they look more like those elven letters, now that I've seen them."

I peer closely at the lettering. "'Lath sulevin, lath aravel ena'," I read aloud, and glance at her in wonder. "You're right, Hawke, it is elven!"

"What does it mean?" she asks interestedly.

"It doesn't translate very well, but roughly it means 'Be certain in need, and the path will emerge'," I tell her. "It is from a very old song of the Elvhenan. Suledin. The song of endurance."

Hawke smiles. "A song, hmm? I would love to hear it sometime," she says playfully. "So perhaps this could have been Mahariel's after all?"

"It could have," I agree hopefully. "It seems to be a very new blade; she could have had it made, I suppose. Looks like she remembered my lessons better than I thought." It's quite surprising, really; she never seemed to pay that much attention, even when she made sure we could go somewhere alone so I could teach her, without distractions, she said. I always thought it was strange that she would specifically ask for me to help her learn to write in elven, but then seem so uninterested in the lesson itself, always talking about pretty cloud patterns in the sky, or exclaiming over a flower and picking it for me, or asking me to tell her stories. I didn't think I taught her much in the end, but clearly I was wrong. I look at the sword again, noticing another elven word, this one carved into the blade itself just above the hilt, and below the faintly shining runes. I translate it quietly to myself. "Vigilance?"

Hawke blinks at me curiously. "Hmm?"

I point out the word on the blade. "Another elven inscription. It just says the elven word for 'vigilance'. I don't know why."

"Perhaps it's the sword's name," Hawke muses.

I tilt my head at her in surprise. "Swords have names? Really?"

Hawke grins. "Fancy ones do. Sometimes, anyway, if they're special enough." She stands, holding the blade to catch the light, apparently quite enthralled by it. "Vigilance. It seems to suit it well. I'm not certain why Xenon would think it would suit me, though. Still, it is nice. Very nice..."

She walks a few paces into the centre of the room and rests the flat of the blade near the hilt across her index finger, checking the balance of the longsword the way I've seen Aveline and her guards doing at the Keep. I watch her with interest; she really looks oddly at home with a blade in her hands. I wonder why that is...

In a movement so fast it takes me completely by surprise, Hawke flips the sword from her finger and catches it neatly by the hilt, the blade whistling through the air as she gives it a few obviously well-practised passes, just like a guard or clan hunter practising sword drills. My eyes open wide in surprise, and I feel a flush start in my cheeks. Mythal, I had no idea she knew how to do that! I don't know why, exactly, but it makes me feel very sort of... hot, and flustered. In a good way, though. The sight of her wielding that blade is somehow so compelling, so... enthralling...

"It has a nice feel," Hawke says once she finishes, examining the blade carefully again. "Light, but strong, and the balance is excellent. And I can feel the power of the enchantments on it. Can you feel it too?" She glances up at me and finally notices me staring at her like an idiot, wide eyed and probably open mouthed as well. Her eyebrow quirks, and a small grin lights her features. "What is it? You're blushing right to the tips of your ears, my adorable elf."

My blush burns deeper, and I can't help but let a bashful smile curve my lips. "You know how to use a sword, ma vhenan?"

Hawke laughs a little. "Not really. Father knew the sword. I have no idea where he learned, there was so much he never told us about himself, but he taught Carver. I watched them at weapons training, even helped out a little sometimes if Father needed Carver to practise drills with someone else, so he could watch Carver and correct him. This was back when we lived mostly on the move, so there weren't a lot of options for drill partners." She gives a fond chuckle. "I'm certain Carver enjoyed it far more than I did; the only thing he could consistently show me up at. Once we moved to Lothering, there were enough other young men and women training for the Templars or the Bann's guard that Carver could spar with. I only ever learned a few drills, and it's been years since I handled so much as a practice blade. Certainly I've never used a real one in a true fight; I'm no swordswoman." She looks thoughtfully at the blade, and shrugs."I don't know why Xenon thought this would be of any use to me. He knows I'm a mage, not a warrior."

"Well, seeing you just now, I don't doubt that you could easily be a warrior if you wanted, ma vhenan," I tell her teasingly as I move over to her, examining the sword in her hands myself. "It seems to come very naturally to you. Carver was a very good sworder after all; I suppose it runs in the family. But maybe Xenon gave it to you because of the enchantments on it?" They certainly are strong, after all, the blade fairly sings with power. "Perhaps he thought you'd be interested in studying them a little." Although I can't say I think it would hurt for her to do some more of those blade drills, myself... I glance up at her cheekily. "Though now since you have a sword of your own, maybe you could learn swording yourself! I bet Aveline would be happy to teach you all about it. And I know I'd be very happy to watch you..."

Hawke's delighted laugh fills the entire room. "Would you, now?" she chuckles fondly. "Intriguing. I shall have to keep that in mind." She glances at the sword again, clearly very fascinated by it, and touches her finger lightly to the edge of the blade... then hisses sharply as blood wells on the tip. "It's sharp," she says unnecessarily, sounding surprised.

"It's a sword, Hawke," I smile. "Maybe that's why."

She gives me a look of mock annoyance, eyes smiling wryly. "I just wasn't expecting it, since I assume it hasn't been cared for by a proper... sworder for a while. I'd have thought it wouldn't have been sharpened recently, and it doesn't look or feel as though it's been oiled, so I'm not sure why it's kept such an incredibly fine edge," she says knowledgeably. Elgar'nan, I had no idea she knew so much about swords! I suppose she must have picked up a lot from her brother though, and Aveline too. Hawke shrugs. "Perhaps it's been enchanted so that it keeps sharp on its own indefinitely, or something." She puts the sword down on the writing table and turns back to me, cradling her finger with a plaintive look on her face. "Ow..." she whines softly, mouth turned down in a sad pout. "My finger hurts..."

"Oh, ma vhenan," I sigh gently. "Let me see."

I take her hand in mine and turning it palm up to examine the sorry digit. Hawke smiles happily at my touch. "Ah, see? I feel better already."

"You are silly," I giggle. "Hold still." I draw an elfroot leaf out of my belt pouch and crush it between my fingers, squeezing a few drops of the juice inside over the cut to clean it.

"It's only very minor, really," Hawke reassures me lightly, though she doesn't resist at all. "Easily taken care of with a little creation magic."

I nod, reaching into my pouch for another leaf and wrapping it around her wound to halt the bleeding. "Well, I'll take your word on that. I've always been very jealous of how easily you can heal, you know. I was never any good at it. Marethari gave up trying to teach it to me after a few years of trying." I smile up at her from beneath my lashes. "But perhaps I could kiss it better instead?"

"Mmm, well, I certainly wouldn't object," Hawke laughs. "But there's no reason why you couldn't still learn to use creation magic, even a little. Perhaps my approach would work better, and I promise not to give up on you. Would you like me to try and teach you?"

I think about it for only a moment before nodding eagerly. I'm sure Marethari's teaching methods must have been different to Malcolm Hawke's style. Perhaps it could work for me. There's no way to know unless I try, anyway. "Yes please, ma vhenan. I'd like to be able to heal minor wounds at the very least." It certainly would have been useful if I could have learned earlier, maybe then I wouldn't have so many scars. Not that I'd mention that, of course. Not out loud, at least.

"Well, then, no time like the present, hmm?" I nod again, and Hawke tugs away the blood covered elfroot leaf, revealing the open cut on her finger which still bleeds sluggishly. "The laceration is small, but fairly deep," she begins authoritatively and without preamble. I start listening attentively, a reflex born of days with Marethari when even a simple walk could suddenly turn into a three hour lesson at the simple sight of a rare herb or flower, or an old statue missing a head or something. "It's a clean cut because the blade was so sharp, so that's good. It will make the flesh easier to knit together. As you know the elfroot will have helped already to cleanse the wound, so now what you need to do first is persuade it to stop bleeding. Reach for your mana."

I close my eyes and do as she commands, casting within myself to the well of power shimmering like a pool of light. "And then?"

"Draw out a thread, and hold it firmly but gently," Hawke says, her voice soft and gentle. Soothing. "A small one will do, but make certain it is a thread of magic, not a drop or a ball, and that it remains connected to the rest of your mana. It isn't like casting fire or ice; you aren't throwing the magic away from you. Healing needs to come from within, and the mana you use needs to remain linked to your physical form so that you can draw on it steadily until the job is done."

That... that makes sense. "Like maintaining a shield?"

I feel rather than see Hawke nod. "Yes, only instead of a defensive spell, healing must be active, and there is a lot going on that needs your attention. That is why it requires such focus. You need to concentrate on drawing a constant stream of mana as well as applying your mind to fixing the ailment. In this case, you need to convince the wound to stop bleeding so much without cutting off the flow of blood from my arm entirely, or stopping my heart."

I very nearly let my thread of mana slip from my grasp at that. "I... I could stop your heart?"

She nods again. "Yes, if you aren't careful, or if you try too hard. You can increase my heart rate, slow my pulse, even stop it altogether if your will is strong enough. That's why you must be careful to concentrate very hard on precisely the area and degree you need to slow the bleeding to." I feel myself tense up at this upsetting information, and Hawke rests her other hand soothingly on my shoulder. "You won't hurt me, Merrill. It's alright. I am only telling you this because it's important to know, but it won't be an issue with such a minor wound. You only need a little mana, and it isn't hard to control the blood flow to such a small area. Take a deep breath, and I'll guide you through it."

I breathe deeply, letting it out slowly. "I'm ready."

"Alright. Now, you need to connect yourself to me with your thread," Hawke instructs. "Since I'm a mage, the link will be easier because we both possess mana, but it can be done with anyone. When treating non-magical people or animals, you can connect with their spiritual or life force. Your mana will bond with whichever is the strongest on its own."

I do as she tells me, listening closely to her soft reassurances and gentle guidance as I form a magical link between us. I remember the Keeper trying to show me how to do this, but somehow she never quite explained what I needed to do, exactly, not so that I ever understood. Or maybe it was just that I could never truly grasp the concept of connecting with anyone on a level like this. Perhaps that is why it is easier with Hawke because I trust her so deeply. I trust her with everything that I am.

A sudden warmth blossoms within me as my mana bonds with hers, and I gasp quietly at the sensation of my magical essence touching hers, entwining with her spirit... I... I can feel her... Oh... "Hawke?"

"You're doing fine," she says softly. "Can you feel me? It might feel strange at first, but-"

"It feels wonderful," I breathe in wonder. "You feel wonderful, ma vhenan, so warm and safe and loving..."

Hawke gives a fond chuckle in her throat. "Well, it's different with each person, depending on who they are... and if you have any sort of relationship with them too, I suppose. You feel just as amazing to me when I heal you. But focus, now. Don't lose this connection. Now you need to go deep, just like when you reach for your magic. But instead of looking inside yourself, you have to look inside of me. You need to find the wound and see it from the inside. Do you see?"

"Yes. I think so." I really think I do. Things seem to make so much more sense when she explains them to me.

"Good. Then try." I let my mind flow through the connection, my consciousness seeking out the wound; a small sensation of wrongness in her life force right at the end of her finger. "Good," Hawke says gently. "Keep the connection, don't let it break or you will have to start all over. This is the hardest part. You need to apply your mana to the wound and let it flow out of you and into me, and you will have to concentrate on a few things at once, but you can't let go. This will be the same for any wound. First try and hold back the blood. Just in the fingertip. You need to will it to turn back so I don't lose any more, but still keep it flowing. Understand?"

"Yes." To my surprise, the blood does exactly what I want it to; the steady trickle from Hawke's wound slowing and then stopping, staying within her body. I suppose I have an affinity for commanding blood, now. In a way, it's sort of nice that I can use it for this; for something as unquestionably good and noble as healing.

"That's it, good," Hawke encourages gently. "Now. It shouldn't be an issue here, but you will need to check for and then burn out any infection first. Then will the wound to heal. Your will has to be strong in order to do this. You have to want this to work more than anything, and keep wanting it, keep willing it, no matter how hard it is or how tired you get." I listen closely, not interrupting. "Healing requires patience and perseverance," Hawke continues. "You must keep your concentration and focus on nothing else. I know you can do that. Depending on the injury, you might need to make sure that the muscles, veins, nerves and bones knit together, starting with the deepest part of the injury first and working your way outwards. For this wound, since it isn't serious, all you need to do is knit the flesh first, and then the layers of skin one by one. Start at the deepest level, and work from there." I feel her mind joining with mine, gently guiding me. "I'll show you were to start, and I'll be with you, alright?"

I nod slowly, not letting my focus slip, shaping my mana about Hawke's fingertip from within and bringing my will to bear on the small wound, not letting myself think of anything else but compelling it to heal. Nothing happens at first, but I don't give up, I refuse to. I will learn this. I want to learn creation magic. I don't want battle and blood magic to be all that I am. I want to be able to heal, not just destroy.

At last, I see movement. Hawke's flesh begins to knit together, slowly at first but then quicker, cleaner, layer by layer until the wound is closed, whole and healthy.

"Good," Hawke whispers. "Now withdraw your mind. Once you're back within yourself, you can let go."

I draw back slowly, hard as it is to pull away from such a connection with Hawke, and open my eyes slowly. I look at Hawke's fingertip and a great big smile breaks over my face. I... I did it. I did it! I healed her! I healed! There isn't even so much as a scar! I look up at Hawke happily, and find her smiling back at me proudly.

"Good. That was very good, Merrill!" she praises me. "It will become easier and quicker with time and practice, until you can heal greater injuries near instantly and with much less effort. But that really was very good for someone who supposedly has no skill with creation magic. I'll make a healer of you yet."

"Thank you, Hawke, thank you! The Keeper could never make me see how to do that!" I bounce on the balls of my feet in excitement. I healed her! I healed... "I feel just wonderful. Does your finger feel better now?"

"It does. You did an excellent job, dear heart." She smiles cheekily, and holds her finger out to me. "Although, just between us, it might just need a little something extra..."

Oh! I smile, and kiss her fingertip softly. "There, ma vhenan. All better?"

Hawke nods, smiling happily. "Mmhmm. Much." She glances at the sword on the table. "Now that I've bled on it, Vigilance is mine; at least for the moment. That's what I remember from all Carver's talk of sword lore, at any rate."

"Do you suppose you might try to learn to use it?" I ask her.

Hawke is silent for a little while, chewing her lip a little as she thinks about it. "Maybe..." she says after a few moments. "Considering what nearly happened with Alrik yesterday. If I hadn't been able to throw off the Silence..." She looks up at me. "Concealed blades are useful in such situations of course, and I know a staff is a good for defence with proper training, even without magic. Father taught me well enough to use it effectively when I'm drained, just as you were taught amongst your clan. But perhaps it might be useful to train a little with offensive weaponry. And I suppose carrying a sword sometimes might help alleviate suspicion; after all, what kind of mage knows how to use a sword? But... it might also make me a target regardless. And it would be a very big commitment to begin learning to wield a sword..." She glances at the sword again, and then shakes her head. "I will have to think about it."

I nod a little. "Of course. We can still examine the enchantments on it and see what we can learn. That is probably what Xenon thought you might find interesting about it, after all."

Hawke makes a non-committal noise in her throat. "I can't question his choice in peace offerings. It is an impressive gift." Her eyes narrow a little. "Though I still think he has some nerve, asking us to come back after he took our blood, not to mention nearly getting you killed."

She has a right to still be so angry about that, I suppose. It was very strange, after all, what he did to us, and even if he needed the power of mage blood as part of... whatever he does to keep his body intact, it still wasn't right. I would never take someone's blood for a spell, especially without their knowledge or permission. That sort of thing is why blood magic has such a terrible reputation. Hawke said he called it 'old magic', but it just sounds like... like blood magic to me. Admittedly, I don't really know that much of the blood school apart from what I need to know for the mirror, but... perhaps what he is doing is along the same principles as what I am doing with the eluvian; using the essence of life to heal something broken. I can see why he wouldn't want to tell us about what he was doing with our blood but still, he ought to have asked, even if he thought we wouldn't want to help. We might have considered it. Besides... if you want something from someone, I've learned it's probably a good idea to explain everything to them properly. So they don't get scared by what they don't understand, and react... badly.

I take Hawke's hand gently, stroking soothing circles over her palm with my thumb. "Let's just leave it be, Hawke. It wasn't right, what he did, but he didn't mean for all of this to happen; with the wyvern and everything," I tell her quietly, then pat Mahariel's knife in my belt and gesture to the longsword, Vigilance, lying on the table beside us. "And we did get something for our trouble, after all."

"True," Hawke agrees. "Alright, I'll let it go. Never really been one to hold a grudge. Not that I'll be going to see that damned Antiquarian any time soon. I've several other perfectly serviceable staffs to spare, after all, and you can use any of them you like of course." She settles her hands gently on my hips and draws me close. "But I think I need something to take my mind off things for a while. And there's still quite a few hours to go before it's time to go to see Arianni." She smiles at me warmly. "What would you like to do to while away the time? Practice healing? Tell each other stories? Or..."

I smile back, slipping my arms around her neck and raising myself up on my toes to kiss her. "I'm sure I'll think of something..."

"And the Grey Wardens of old used to fight many great battles with their griffon companions, who would carry them into the fray on their backs," I explain softly to Feathers, who flicks his ears as he listens to the story, purring softly in my lap. "They were friends and allies and comrades-in-arms. The griffon riders used to call their mounts 'aerials'. They had special armour too, and were fiercely loyal. And each griffon would choose their companion."

"Just like Feathers did, with you," Hawke says fondly, a smile in her voice. She reaches her arm about me where I sit in her lap to stroke his furry ears, and Feathers chirps with happy agreement, his eyes blinking sleepily. Looks like listening to my tales all afternoon has finally lulled him to sleep. Because they're soothing, I hope, not because they're dull and boring. I don't think they're boring, anyway.

"I think somebody needs a nap." I smile down at him and then take him into my arms, getting up and placing him gently in his little basket on the hearthrug next to the lightly snoring mabari.

Hawke reaches out a hand to me as I make my way back over to her armchair, snaking her arm about my waist once I reach her. "How do you know so much about griffons?" she asks as I settle myself back into her lap.

I curl into her comfortably, smiling into her eyes. "Oh, my mother told me tales about them all the time. Her stories are one of the things I remember best about her."

Hawke tenses a little, shifting uncomfortably beneath me. "Oh..." she says quietly, her face falling a little. "I didn't mean to remind you of that."

Oh, ma vhenan. She really needn't be so concerned about the past coming back to hurt me all the time. Nothing can hurt me as long as she is in my life. "It's alright, Hawke. I don't mind talking about my parents. Not with you," I tell her reassuringly. "I feel like I can talk to you about anything." I tuck my head into the crook of her throat, revelling in her closeness, her scent. "You can always tell me anything too, you know."

She gives a sweet little chuckle, and I feel the vibrations thrumming in her chest. "I know," she whispers, resting her cheek on top of my head. "And there are a lot of things I want to tell you about. Just not all at once. But I'm still glad to hear you say it."

I frown a little at that, but not so she can see. I wonder what things she could mean? I won't press her, though. Whatever she has to tell me, she will when she's ready, I know that. I stay quiet instead, just enjoying her warmth, listening to the rhythm of her heart. I love her heartbeat...

Hawke is silent for a moment too, fingertips gently stroking my back. "How about another story?" she asks suddenly. "It will be twilight soon, but there's still a little more time before we should head to the alienage."

I glance up at her. "Shall I tell another griffon story?"

"Well, actually," she answers. "I was thinking it would be nice of me to tell you a story for a change."

"Does it have griffons in it?" I ask, a bit cheekily if I'm honest. I want to make her laugh if I can.

She does. "No," she says, still giggling lightly. "I'm afraid I don't know that many griffon stories. This is an old Ferelden legend from the time of the Alamarri tribesmen. It was an Avvarian myth, I believe. Would you like me to tell it?"

"I love stories," I say softly. "I'd love to hear it, Hawke. Tell me please."

"Very well," Hawke replies smilingly. "I'm not nearly as well practised at storytelling as you are, but I'll do my best." She takes a deep breath and begins.

"In a time long ago when the world was young, humankind was different. We were not so isolated, nor so fearful, nor so weak. We were not so timid of heart and mind. We were neither too trusting, nor too suspicious in nature. We were neither too kind, nor too cruel, neither too happy nor too sad. We were not so alone in the world, because once, long ago, we were complete in mind, body and soul. Once, long ago, we were whole."

What could that mean? I blink in confusion, twisting my head up to look at her. "Whole?"

Hawke nods, smiling. "Yes," she answers. "Because each person was twice what we are now." Well, that wasn't really any more illuminating, but I hold my tongue and listen this time, and let the story explain itself. Storytellers shouldn't be interrupted unless they give an opening on purpose. "They had four hands, four legs, two heads and two sets of all parts which divide genders. Now we are two, man and woman, but once, long ago, we were three. There was man, and there was woman, and there was the union of man and woman. All people could move as fast as the wind, and were as strong as bears, combined as they were. Females were descended from the earth, males from the sun, and the man-woman, those who were unions of both, were born of the moon. Each person had two hearts... but they shared one soul."

Oh... One soul... that sounds beautiful. I smile as I rest my head back against her chest, letting her wonderful heartbeat sooth me again, enthralled by her voice as much as her words.

"These people were all strong, and vigorous, and whole," Hawke continues, lifting her hand from my back to stroke my hair gently, toying softly with my braids. "But at length the gods of old began to fear their growing power. The gods feared that the mortal people would rise to make war upon them, lay siege to their heavenly realm, cast them down and rule themselves in the immortals' stead. But the fearful deities still did not wish to destroy their creations outright..." Hawke lets the sentence trail away, and I nod knowingly against her chest, recognising this as a moment when I can add to the story and guess at the gods' motivations.

"Because who would provide them with worship and sacrifice if they did so?" I say quietly, and Hawke rewards me with a kiss to the crown of my head.

"Precisely," she says warmly. "You see the gods' dilemma. They feared mortals, but needed their worship and offerings. What were they to do?" She takes a breath. "At last, Korth the Mountain-Father, the king of all the gods, reached a decision. He chose to raise his hand and strike at the mortals with all his might and power, and in doing so, cut each person in two."

"He killed them after all?" I ask worriedly, completely forgetting to simply let the story unfold.

"No," Hawke assured me softly. "But some say he might as well have." Confusion floods me at that, but I stay silent this time, and let Hawke speak.

"He divided their bodies perfectly in two, so that each person now had only two arms, two legs, one set of intimate parts, one head, and one heart," Hawke says, "And in doing so, the Mountain-Father diminished their strength and their power. He healed their bodies and made the females into two women instead of one, the males into two men instead of one, and the joined male and female into one man and one woman alone. Their bodies, though divided, were complete within themselves. But Korth had also divided the soul of each person so that they were no longer whole; one half bound to each new body. And then he took the broken halves and scattered them across the world, so that their thoughts would not turn to seeking revenge upon the gods, but would be consumed only with the desire to find their other half."

Mythal, that seems... so sad, so cruel... Not to mention rather excessive, really. Why must the gods always be so forbidding and heartless? Something tells me that this is the part of the story that really requires quiet listening without questions, though, so I let Hawke finish without interrupting her again. I just want to hear her tell me the rest, now.

"And so they searched. The women born of the earth sought their other half among their own kind, as did the males born of the sun. The men and women of the moon search for others who too were born of the pale, glowing jewel of the night. And when the divided people found their other half, they came together in joy, becoming lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one would not be out of the other's sight even for a moment, lest they die of loneliness, hunger and self-neglect. For once they had found one another, they could not bear to be apart." Hawke keeps smoothing my hair gently as I listen, spellbound by her voice and words. "And so it is now. These who are fortunate enough to find their other half are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be merely that of the lover, of bodily lust and fulfillment alone, but of something else, something deep and ancient and secret, which their shared soul desires and yet cannot tell. They know only that they cannot be parted again, and without knowing why, long to grow into one. So ancient is this desire born in us; to reunite our original nature, seeking to make one of two and to heal the state of human kind, that we are always and eternally looking for our other half without ever even knowing what we seek until we find it. Men born of the moon, who were once paired with women, are lovers of women, as women born of the moon love men. Though a man born of the moon may find a kindred soul in another such man, as may a woman in another female child of the moon, for they are cut from the same cloth. The men who are halves of the man do not care for women, but have affection for males and seek their male counterparts. And the women who are halves of the female have affection for women and embrace them, entwine in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one. It is in our very nature to love and be loved in return, always embracing that which is akin to us, kindred in spirit, alike in heart, that which once completed us. Because when two were one, we were whole. And thus now, the desire, the hunger, the hunt for the whole is called love."

I breathe in quietly, completely touched and enchanted by her story. Creators above... it's lovely...

"Now, everyone has a deep desire within their heart to seek endlessly for the one person who can make us whole again. The one who can complete us," Hawke finishes, her voice soft but utterly enchanting, as compelling as her wonderful tale. "We give our lives to search the world... for the other half of our soul."

She falls silent.

I sit quietly for a moment, utterly unable to summon words to express how that story makes me feel. "Oh, ma vhenan..." I breathe softly at last. "That was... it... it was just beautiful." I had no idea humans had such wonderful legends. That truly was lovely. If only there was an elven legend like that... I hardly know what to say.

Hawke gives a bashful sort of chuckle. "Well, I'm glad you liked it," she says quietly.

"Oh, I more than liked it. I loved it, Hawke. It was wonderful..." The other half of our soul... I glance up at her. "I know that was a human story, but... do you think maybe that could be true for other races too? Not just humans, but elves as well?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't be," Hawke answers. "Maybe all of our gods are the same really, but we just have different names for them. Maybe all of us once came from the same race, at least to begin with. All I know is, that story reminds me of how I feel about you." I breathe in, feeling a wonderful jolt in my chest, and her arm tightens about me. "Merrill, with you I can let my guard completely down and talk about the hard things without being afraid in the slightest. It's like... well... it really is like talking to the other half of my soul." She laughs a little, sounding sort of faintly annoyed with herself, all of a sudden. "I suppose that sounds a bit silly, but... well... it's the truth."

I smile as my heart gives another little shiver of joy. "That doesn't sound silly at all. I feel just the same." What a wonderful thing to say. "I... I feel like you are the other half of my soul, too. And Hawke?"

"Mmm?"

"About what you said before..." I begin quietly, wondering if I should even bring it up, but pushing ahead with it anyway. Sometimes she needs reminding that I want her to confide in me, even if she thinks it will upset me. I am strong enough to hear it, and I want to be there for her. She needs to know that. Sometimes she is the one who needs comfort and protection, and I want to give it to her. "If there's ever anything worrying you or weighing on you, anything at all, don't be afraid to tell me."

Hawke breathes in deeply once, and then nods. "Of course, my love," she promises softly. "And you know you can always do the same."

"I know," I reply without hesitation. "And I will. You are my best friend, Hawke. The truest friend I've ever had, and I... I love you so much. I trust you completely with my heart. It's so easy to talk to you, as easy as breathing, like we're... connected, heart and mind and spirit. Like you are my... my..." I pause, thinking. I can't think of what to call it, exactly, though I feel there must be a word for it.

"Soulmate?" Hawke ventures softly, gazing into my eyes.

"Soulmate," I repeat. That's it. That's perfect. "Yes. I like that very much."

"So do I," Hawke smiles, leaning in to give me a tender kiss, drawing back with reluctance after only a few moments. "As much as I wish we could stay here forever," she says softly, a secretive, loving smile on her lovely mouth, "I think perhaps it might be time to head to Lowtown now."

I glance at the window and nod in agreement at the sight of the setting sun. "You're right, ma vhenan, " I sigh, clambering carefully out of her lap. "Always the sensible one."

Hawke laughs. "Well, now you know that just isn't true." She rises and moves to the hearth, crouching down to speak to her dog. "Do you think you'll be able to keep him out of trouble for a while?" she asks, nodding pointedly at Feathers, still snoozing in his little basket. Her sweet mabari gives a gruff rumble of assent, and she ruffles his ears. "Thank you. And good luck with that."

She stands, reaching out to me, and I slip my hand into hers, beaming at her. "Come on then, ma sa'lath," she smiles. "Let's be on our way."

"I don't think she can hear us knocking, somehow, Hawke."

I can hear the childish, playful screams even through Arianni's heavy plank door as Hawke and I stand on the threshold. Obviously the parents haven't yet come to take their children home. I don't know how many children Arianni usually minds, I don't tend to bother her when she is watching them, but it sounds like a lot.

"Small wonder," Hawk murmurs, smiling a little as a loud shriek of wildly happy laughter fills the air around us. "I can only imagine how loud it is inside." She looks behind us, and I follow her gaze, seeing the eyes of several elves loitering beneath the vhenahdahl upon us, though whether they are staring out of curiosity or disapproval, I can't tell. "Perhaps we ought to just go in," Hawke suggests quietly.

I nod, agreeing. "I suppose. I'm sure the parents won't be long; not a lot of work can be done after nightfall."

Hawke gives me a small, affectionate squeeze in response. "Fair point. Alright, then. It's a good thing that with a pair of younger siblings, I have had a little experience coping with young children, I suppose. But it sounds like there's an awful lot of them in there." She breathes deeply. "Here we go..."

She pushes open the door, and we walk inside into a world gone mad. The small front room of Arianni's home, so sparse and empty looking whenever I have come before, is now full of about a dozen small children, laughing as they run about dizzily, scrambling over the furniture and each other like a litter of tumbling puppies. Hawke shares a wide-eyed glance with me, and then I close the door behind us and peer about the room, trying to see Arianni. The children have yet to notice us, caught up as they are in whatever game they are playing. I can't help but smile a little as I watch them, boisterous as they are. They remind me very much of the da'len back in my clan; certainly they are just as energetic and unruly. Children are just the same everywhere, it seems.

Arianni comes into the room from a door opposite us, carrying a large bowl of fruit in her hands. She spots us and stops, and Hawke raises a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Arianni. Sorry to barge in like this," she begins apologetically. "We did knock, but..." She gestures pointedly at the mob of children, now swarming happily about Arianni, tugging eagerly at her skirts. Attracted by the food she carries, most likely.

"No, Hawke, please, it's quite alright," Arianni says in a rush, putting down the bowl of fruit on the table. The children notice us at last and fall silent, staring with wide, bright eyes. "Everyone sit down at the table and take a piece of fruit for supper," Arianni instructs them. "Just one each, mind. There is enough for everyone. No pushing! Your parents should be here to take you home soon." They obey her, a little subdued by the strangers in their midst, I suppose.

Arianni comes over to us. "It is very good to see you both. I'm glad you've come. You got my message? About... about my son?"

I nod. "Yes, that's why we're here. Arianni, I am so sorry. Nyssa told me you were worried about Feynriel. I meant to come and see you long before this."

"It's alright, my dear," Arianni says warmly. "I heard you were injured recently. Are you well now?"

"I am," I tell her, wondering what else she may have heard. But it isn't important now. "What's wrong, Arianni? Hawke and I will do whatever we can to help."

"Thank you," Arianni says gratefully. "Do you think you could wait a few minutes? The children's parents should be along shortly to take them home. Then we can talk properly. This won't be a conversation for little ears." She glances worriedly at Hawke. "I hope you don't mind..."

"Of course not," Hawke reassures her. "We'll wait."

I feel a light tug on the bottom of my tunic, and look down. A small child with very dark hair stares back up at me, bright blue eyes huge in her tiny heart-shaped face.

"I know you!" she says brightly. "I seen you before! You're the pretty Dalish from the clan outside the city!"

I blink in surprise for a moment, and then smile down at her. "Well, I'm certainly Dalish. My name is Merrill."

"Are you her friend?" another child asks Hawke as the others suddenly crowd around, apparently having finished or abandoned their supper. "I seen you here before, too. You're a human, aren't you?"

Hawke nods, smiling. "Did the ears give me away?"

The children laugh. "My papa says humans are mean, but you're funny! And silly!" a little black-haired elven boy says loudly. "What's your name, silly human?"

"Hawke."

"Like a bird!"

Hawke gives a soft laugh. "Exactly."

The little dark-haired girl still clinging to my tunic reaches out her other hand and grabs a hold of Hawke's shirtsleeve as well. "Do you wanna play with us?" she asks, bouncing on the balls of her small bare feet. "We're playing Dane and the Werewolf." She bares her teeth with adorable fierceness. "Grrr! Arrooo!"

"Dane?" Hawke asks in surprise, raising her eyebrows a little. She gives me a brief glance, and then looks back at the children. "But Dane was a human. Don't you want to play as elven heroes?"

The little ones look at each other in apparent confusion. "Like who?" one of the braver ones pipes up at last. "Elves aren't heroes, are they?"

Hawke glances at me, looking a bit bewildered. "Of course they are!" she says, looking back around at the children. "You mean you really don't know of any?"

"Their parents don't really know any stories of the People," Arianni says, a touch of apology in her tone. "And I'm afraid I never really learned any amongst my own clan. Not well enough to tell them myself, anyway. I do try to tell them what I can, but I don't have the knowledge or skills and they don't believe me, so I read to them from the books the Chantry sisters donated to us. Mostly stories of human histories and legends of course."

Hawke nods in resigned understanding and I frown, glancing about at the children. Perhaps I should have tried to involve myself more in the alienage; tried to pass on stories of the People that I know. I have the training for it after all, where Arianni does not. But then, if the adults don't want anything to do with me, I doubt they will let me talk to their children. It is a very grave shame that these da'len know nothing of their heritage, especially that they don't even have any elven figures of legend to look up to. Perhaps I could write some Dalish stories down for Arianni to read to the children, at least.

Arianni excuses herself and goes to the table to fetch the empty fruit bowl, carrying it into the back room for washing, and Hawke turns back to the little ones. "Well, there are lots of elven heroes. Merrill has told me lots of stories about brave Dalish elves," Hawke says, resting her hand on my shoulder. "And there was Shartan, of course. He helped Andraste free his people from the Tevinters. And what about Gaharel? He was the elven Grey Warden who killed the Archdemon and stopped the fourth Blight. And of course, there's Mahariel. You must have heard about her."

The children are silent for a moment, looking at each other, and then one little girl whose features mark her as a child of both elf and human looks up at Hawke excitedly. "OH!" she says loudly. "I remember her! My mama tol' me 'bout her! She's the Dalish Warden, she fought Darkspawns with King Alistair and magickers and dwarves and Leliana the bard and assassins and everyone! And then she killed the big demon dragon thing in Ferelden!"

"The Archdemon," Hawke corrects patiently. "And yes, she did. Merrill grew up with her, you know. They came from the same clan."

The children look at me, wide eyed. "Really?" a bright eyed little boy asks, awestruck.

I nod, smiling at him. "Yes, da'len. She was a very good friend to have. She is very good and kind, and brave. She was always the best with a bow, and she could fight with any sword, even if it was bigger than she was."

"Wow!" the small boy breathes, obviously very impressed. He looks around at his friends. "I wanna play Wardens and Darkspawns!"

The dark-haired little girl still clutching at our clothes grabs both hands onto Hawke's sleeve and pulls. "Play with us!"

The other children nod fervently in agreement. "Yeah! Please?"

Hawke laughs as she lets them lead her into the open space at the centre of the room, the children bounding happily around her.

"You can play too," the bright-eyed little boy tells me hopefully. "You wanna?"

I smile down at him fondly. "I'm not very good at playing. But I might, in a minute," I tell him, and he nods happily and rejoins his friends. I stay where I am; content to watch Hawke with the children for the moment. I didn't even know how to play with children when I was a da'len, let alone now. But I am enjoying watching Hawke with them, it really is very cute.

"I'm Mahariel!" the little girl attached to Hawke's sleeve yells, letting go at last to jump happily in place. She grabs a long wooden spoon from the dinner table. "Cos I got a sword!"

"I can be Leliana, the pretty singing bard!" the tiny elf-blooded human child cries happily, tucking her hair behind her very slightly pointed ears and pretending to play an invisible lute. "La la la!"

"I wanna be King Alistair!" a small, pale haired boy with almost comically large ears announces grandly.

An even tinier little boy with bright red hair jumps to his feet, thumping himself excitedly on the chest. "I'm all the Darkspawns!"

"And I..." Hawke says, making her voice as deep and booming as she can, raising her arms above her head, her fingers twisted into claws. "... am the Archdemon! The big demon dragon thing!" She snarls playfully at the children. "Grrr! Arrgh!"

The children scream in delight and mill about happily in pretend terror.

"Aaah!"

"Kill it, Mahariel, quick!"

"Kill it, Kill it!"

The dark-haired da'len runs up to Hawke, ducks under her arms and pokes her in the belly with the wooden spoon. "I killed you, I killed you!" she crows triumphantly, brandishing her little spoon-sword. She pokes Hawke again. "Be dead!"

Hawke clutches at her stomach, giving a pitiful pretend moan, and collapses dramatically to her knees before falling to the floor, lying motionless.

The children all scream and laugh, and little 'Mahariel' puts her hand on Hawke's shoulder and shakes her. "Okay, don't be dead anymore." Hawke opens her eyes immediately, sitting up with a lovely smile and a bright laugh. The child smiles back at her. "Now let's play Magickers and Temple-lars!" she yells in excitement. She points the wooden spoon commandingly at Hawke. "You pretend to be a magicker!"

"I'll try," Hawke says, glancing at me with a surreptitious grin which I return widely, watching her in delight. Creators, she is just so adorable, playing with the children on the floor. Arianni comes back into the room and sits at the table, watching Hawke and her new little band of admirers with a pleased expression, and I move to sit next to her, quite content to just observe until their parents return. I had no idea Hawke was so good with children. She must have made a great big sister to Carver and Bethany; I can just imagine her playing with them like this. She'd probably make a wonderful mother too, to look at her now.

"I'm a 'prentice magicker!" a little boy yells gleefully, miming making fireballs with his tiny hands. "Fwoosh!"

Another boy leaps to his feet, pretending to twirl a staff. "I'm the Firs' Chanter!"

"That's First INchanter, silly," one of the girls laughs, and Arianni and I share a smile.

"I'm a Temple-lar!" yells the little girl who pretended to be Mahariel. "But only 'cos they got swords. I like swords the bestest."

Little 'Alistair' grabs a piece of kindling from the wooden crate by the hearth. "Me too, me too! I'm a-a Temple-lar too! I want a sword!"

"And I'm the Knight-Commandamer... Commadandummer... um... I'm the biggest scariest Temple-lar lady!" cries a tiny wisp of a girl, her large, dark eyes shining in her tiny pale face. She grabs a stick too, the longest one in the pile, and turns to the others, brandishing it in front of her. "'Cos I've got the biggest sword, and the sharpest one! I'm coming to get all the magickers and lock you up inna tower!"

"Oh, no!" Hawke cries, a look of make-believe fear on her face. "Quick! Everybody run!"

I laugh as all the little 'magickers' scream and run into the back room after Hawke, chased by 'Meredith' and the two little 'Temple-lars' as all three lift invisible swords above their heads and yell at the top of their lungs.

"Grrr!"

"Arrgh!"

"Arrooo!"

xxx H xxx

The small house seems oddly empty once the children are all gone; strangely sad, and filled sort of... lonely quiet. I suppose it's just the suddenness of the change. They really were sweet little things. Noisy, but sweet. It reminded me very much of playing with Carver and Bethany, so long ago now. Odd how easy it was to join them in their games, but then, I suppose maybe some people never quite grow up all the way. I can't say the thought bothers me at all, and I hardly think it's a bad thing. Playing with the little elven children just now was an absolute delight for me when all's said and told, for one thing. Merrill's small hand finds mine beneath the table, and I smile at her fondly. She seems never to have lost her sense of wonder and childlike purity, for another. In fact, they are among the things I love about her the most.

My attention returns to the moment as the front door closes behind the last child to leave, skipping out happily with her very tired-looking mother. Arianni joins Merrill and me and sits down opposite us, her expression now serious and troubled. Time to discuss why we came here.

"I was hoping you would come," she says with quiet fervour, meeting my eyes. "You did so much for my Feynriel already, but..."

Her voice tails away, and I give her a small, encouraging smile. "It's alright. I'm here to help if I can. Your letter said Feynriel's nightmares have caught up with him. What's wrong?"

Arianni's eyes brighten as she struggles to keep her composure. "I cannot say for certain, but it was clear he was unwell. He would never tell me anything, but it wasn't hard to see. I knew it must have been his nightmares. I visited him among the People, but he turned me away. The Keeper had no answers for me, but I knew the demons still plagued him." She gives a dry sob, raising her hand to her mouth. "And now they've taken him! Two days ago, Feynriel went into a nightmare and hasn't returned."

"Mythal protect him..." Merrill whispers, reaching across the table and taking the sobbing woman's hand, eyes shining with worry and compassion.

I frown in concern. "He can't be woken up?"

Arianni shakes her head, holding tightly to Merrill's hand. "The Keeper says he is near death. His lips still fog a mirror, but that is all."

That is serious. The body cannot long survive without the spirit, not even with the most skilled healer's assistance, and if Feynriel is truly trapped in the Fade... "Has anyone gone after him?" I ask. "Surely the Keeper could pursue him in the Fade."

"That is why I asked for you, and why it is so fortunate you have come tonight," Arianni replies. "I have contacted Keeper Marethari. The Dalish have an ancient ritual that might help. But it requires someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade to free him, and despite three years spent under her tutelage, the Keeper does not believe that she is the one to do it. She says he has always felt too different, too... human to feel that he can bond with any of the clan, and in truth I doubt his human parentage made it easy for them to trust him either. But Feynriel holds you in such high regard, Hawke." A note of desperate pleading enters her voice. "If anyone can help my son..."

Something inside me cringes at the hope in her eyes. I truly don't know why I inspire such faith in her beyond being a mage, of course. But if the Keeper cannot reach him... even if he does trust me, I'm not certain why that would be of any more help than Marethari's experience. I will try, of course, but it is very hard, knowing that she sees me as her best hope for Feynriel's salvation when in all likelihood there is nothing I can do. "I have braved the Fade before," I tell her, trying to sound reassuring. "Perhaps I can aid him. How can I help?"

"You have been so kind to us. Feynriel thinks of you as a true friend," Arianni says gratefully, a slight quaver in her lilting voice. "My friends among the clan tell me he speaks of you all the time." She takes a breath, and makes a brave attempt to answer my question. "The Keeper says Feynriel's nightmares come from powers that are a throwback to ancient magics that once let elves shape the Fade. The only way to reach him is through his dreams."

"Shape the Fade? You mean, alter the Beyond with conscious intent?" Merrill asks, sounding awed. "How would such a magic work?"

Arianni shakes her head. "I'm afraid I cannot answer. I am no mage. I only know the Keeper said it was a power greatly feared by the Tevinter mages." She glances between us both. "Marethari is coming to speak to me tonight about the ritual. Now that you are here, perhaps she can perform it once she arrives."

"She is coming here?" I ask in surprise. "Feynriel is still in the Dalish camp, is he not?"

"The Keeper said his childhood things here will anchor his spirit to this world," Arianni answers, somewhat uncertainly. "He feels no great strong connection to the clan, but here he felt as though he belonged, at least for a time."

Ah, of course. I nod in understanding. Then this is the best place to perform the ritual. "She is right," I tell Arianni. "The connection to Feynriel's dreaming mind will be more potent here. It will act as a focus to draw him back through the veil." I meet her eyes. "As long as he has someone he trusts to lead him."

Arianni's face brightens hopefully, and she glances between Merrill and I. "Then you will stay? You'll help my son?"

I nod, and Merrill smiles gently at her. "Of course we will," she tells the older Dalish woman soothingly. "We'll wait right here until Marethari comes." Her smile doesn't waver as she mentions Marethari, but her voice gives the slightest quiver and her fingers clutch mine a little tighter beneath the table. I squeeze back reassuringly; there will be no repeat of anything like what occurred the last time we met with the Keeper, that's for certain. But I understand why she still feels troubled by the thought of seeing Marethari, especially here within the alienage. And for more reasons than one.

"Oh, thank you!" Arianni cries gratefully, smiling. "Your courage is truly legendary." She glances at the darkening sky outside the window. "Marethari should be well on her way by now; we can begin the ritual as soon as she arrives."

I nod. "Do you know anything of what this ritual will entail?"

"The Keeper can explain it better than I, but it is an ancient magic rite performed long ago by the People's more powerful mages. It will send your minds into the Fade." Arianni hesitates. "Once there, I imagine you... face down the demons until Feynriel regains control of himself." Merrill and I share a concerned glance, which does not escape the older woman. "She did mention that whoever she sent did not have to be a mage. If you could not come, she would have tried the ritual anyway, but you are its best chance of success. But... if there are others who would assist you against the demons, then there is time to call them, if you wish," she suggests. "I can send runners to bring them here myself."

I consider for a moment. If that is possible, then it wouldn't hurt to have some extra muscle in the Fade, so to speak. Anders as a mage is an obvious choice since he is already familiar with the spirit realm, and I think it would help him to do this. It would be good for him to help Feynriel and feel like he can do something positive for a fellow mage, particularly after yesterday's events with that mage girl beneath the Gallows. And if the ritual can truly send non-magical people into the Fade, then it couldn't hurt to have someone without mana along for the ride as well; someone without the spark of the Fade inside them that the demonic inhabitants find so attractive in mortal prey. "Send a runner to the Hanged Man and tell them to ask for Isabela or Varric to see if they can assist me here, then," I tell her. They're the closest, after all. Likely to be the most readily available as well, unless they've already headed off to the Blooming Rose for the night, of course. "And Anders, the Darktown healer. Do you know of him?" Arianni nods. "If he can be reached, he might be of great help to us. He has experience with this sort of thing."

Arianni rises, green eyes bright with hopeful determination. "I'll be back shortly," she says, and hurries outside.

Merrill gives a small, sad sigh, so quiet I almost miss it. I look at her worriedly. "What is it?"

She glances at me and smiles, shaking her head dismissively. "Oh... it's nothing, Hawke. I'm fine, really." I hold her gaze steadily, and her smile slips, then she sighs, shoulders slumping a little. "Well... it's just... the Keeper would delve into the ancient magics to help an elf-blooded human boy she has only known for three years?" She looks down sadly. "She wouldn't do so for me..."

I thought that might be what was wrong. I wrap my arm around her and hug her close. "I know, love. I'm sorry. You don't have to see her if you'd rather not. There's still time; you can leave before she gets here if you wish."

Merrill shakes her head quickly. "No, no, it's alright, I want to come with you, Hawke." She looks into my eyes hopefully. "I can come, can't I? I want to help Feynriel, and I'd love to see the ritual. And I promise I won't be a bother."

"Of course I want you at my side," I reassure her gently. "And you are never a bother to me, Merrill. You never have been, not once."

She smiles at me, though I can still see a shadow of doubt in her eyes at my words. It saddens me that I still can't make her believe that. I wish I knew of a way to raise her sense of self worth so that she would stop feeling that way about herself. Considering her upbringing, its entirely understandable; taken from her family so young, denied their love and care; dedicated to a life of learning, duty and little else without any choice, charged with a Keeper's impossible task of reclaiming Dalish heritage, such high expectations and immense pressure placed on her slender shoulders... but I don't know how I can prove her own value to her any more than I already have, other than to continue to show her the love and affection she deserves, to assure her every day that she is loved and wanted. I suppose it will just take her time to adjust to the feeling so that she can begin to believe it for herself. In the meantime, a change of topic should distract her well enough.

"I am curious about this ritual myself," I comment lightly. "Sending someone into the Fade should require large amounts of raw magical power, and as far as I know there are only two ways to acquire enough; blood or lyrium. And I don't see where the Keeper would get her hands on too much of either. Do you think we'd need to find some? Lyrium, I mean."

Merrill frowns thoughtfully, her attention successfully diverted. "Well, she certainly wouldn't use blood at any rate," she says, a little wryly, "but the clans collect lyrium wherever we can find it for magical uses, or to trade in human settlements sometimes, though not ones with too many Templars of course. We even trade secretly with the dwarves sometimes. Marethari may have enough already, especially if this ancient ritual can somehow augment the power of a small amount." Her voice takes on a dreamy quality, expression filled with a scholarly enthusiasm. "Some of the old magical methods for things we found in the old scrolls were so much more efficient than we thought possible. The ancient elves were so very wise. If only we hadn't lost so much..."

The front door opens, and Arianni steps inside. "I sent for your friends," she tells us. "And one of the returning labourers told me that a group of Dalish were at the city gates as he passed, asking for entrance. Marethari will likely be here soon, would you like to come outside and wait with me?"

I glance at Merrill, and she gives a nod and a little reassuring smile. "Alright," I reply as we rise from the table. "That would be polite. And besides, how often does a Dalish Keeper set foot in an alienage? Whatever else happens tonight, this will be something to see."

xxx M xxx

I shift a little from foot to foot as I watch Marethari speaking in low tones to Hawke on the other side of the room while Arianni arranges things for the ritual in her bedchamber. From the look on Hawke's face, the conversation is not at all pleasant. I don't know why it is making me so nervous. Probably because the last time Marethari spoke to Hawke alone, she convinced her to deny me the arulin'holm and wounded me to my very core, that might have something to do with it, I suppose. That is a completely irrational fear, I know; this is hardly the same situation at all. I doubt the Keeper would be trying to turn Hawke against me for my own good... at least not right now. And I know that Hawke would never do anything like that to me again. But sadly, fear does not respond to logic, it seems, especially when coupled with such deep past hurt.

Isabela, casually perched on the table edge, reaches out to me and tousles my hair in affection, as though she sensed me getting foolishly nervous and worried. I giggle softly at the unexpected gesture and give her a grateful smile. Likely she knows why I'm worried, no matter how foolish I'm being; she was there last time after all. She returns my smile with a wink and then glances over at Anders who is leaning against the wall, a worried frown on his face, amber eyes fixed steadily on the Keeper and Hawke. Her eyebrow quirks, and she grins mischieviously.

"Hello? Is Anders there? Can I speak to Anders?"

Anders glances away from Hawke and Marethari, and shoots Isabela an irritated look. "You can stop yelling. It's always me."

"Oh, good," Isabela says brightly. "I didn't want to talk to that other guy. You know; the stick-in-the-mud."

"He can still hear you," he retorts, a little crossly, and glances away. "Justice and I are one."

He sounds very sad, and I think I know why. Isabela was joking, of course, but maybe her jesting made him think of what happened when he lost control of Justice. I'm sure he still isn't feeling any better about that, it's only been a day, after all.

"Anders?" I ask quietly. "Are you alright?"

He glances at me in surprise, and shifts uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw. "No," he replies, his voice short and angry. I'm not sure if it is directed at me or himself, perhaps a little of both. "I nearly killed an innocent girl. How could I be alright?"

"I'm sorry," I tell him. I probably shouldn't have brought it up, I was just trying to be kind to him.

Anders straightens, turning to me with anger in his eyes. "You're sorry? For me?" he says incredulously. "This could be you! You could be the next monster threatening helpless girls!"

Isabela slips off the table and shifts her weight onto one leg, folding her arms across her chest and staring at him without speaking, somehow managing to project a very loud and obvious warning into so small and silent a movement. I wish I could do that...

Anders looks at her and makes a visible effort to calm himself down. "I'm... sorry..." he says, slumping back against the wall and glancing away from us.

I touch Isabela's arm gently, grateful for her support, though I don't think I need it too badly right now. He's just still hurting is all. "Anders..." I begin softly. "There's no such thing as a good spirit. There never was. All spirits are dangerous. I understood that. I'm sorry that you didn't."

Anders is silent for a long moment. "It's not a good feeling, you know," he says suddenly.

I blink at him in confusion; I didn't really think he'd want to keep talking to me. "What?"

"Being an abomination." He lifts his head and fixes me with a piercing stare. "I just got a taste of your future."

Creators, I'm getting very tired of trying to be nice to him and receiving endless lectures and jibes in return. I might appreciate it if I thought his concern was just for me, and not partially a remnant of his confused guilt and insecurity over his own... situation. "I'm not that foolish," I reply, looking at him crossly. I'd never let Audacity inside me I'd fight to the last to keep that from happening. I'd certainly never actually offer myself to him as Anders did with Justice. "Our relationship is, um, strictly platonic."

Anders ignores what I say, as usual. "It's like you're trapped in your own body, seeing out your eyes, while someone else moves you like a puppet," he drives on bluntly, his tone growing harsh and forceful. "And you're trying to scream, to move a single muscle, but there's no escape. Until you look down at the blood on your hands..."

"Stop it!" I interrupt him, trying to keep my voice low so as not to attract Hawke's attention. Her patience with him is short enough. If she hears him talking to me like this, she won't react well, and we need him right now. And I really don't like what I'm hearing."You're scaring me."

The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small grim smile of triumph. "That's the point."

"Stow it, Anders," Isabela says, her voice low and practically a growl. "You've made your point before. A lot. Frankly, and I hate to tell you this, but it's getting very boring."

"I'm just trying to talk some sense into her, since no one else seems to be trying anymore," he retorts, and then continues speaking before she can respond. "Anyway, you wanted to speak to me?"

Isabela snorts delicately. "Not really. I just wanted to make sure it was you."

Anders gives her a weary look. "Very funny. But in the Fade, chances are it won't be me."

"What?" Isabela asks, startled.

"The Fade is Justice's home. So I suggest you mind what you say about him before we go through the ritual," Anders informs us soberly, looking worried again. Well, more worried than he usually does, anyway. "I... have no control over him in the dream realm. I worry what a journey to the Fade might bring out in me."

"I'm sorry, Anders," Hawke says remorsefully as she walks over to stand beside me. I suppose she must have heard that last part of what he said. "I didn't realise that Justice had such control in the Fade." She looks between Anders, Isabela and me as Marethari and Arianni join us. "We're ready to begin now, but if you're worried, there's no need for you to risk it."

Anders shakes his head quickly. "It's alright, Hawke. I can still help you. Justice could be useful to you in identifying and resisting any demons you may encounter. Likely more use than I could be, in fact. And I rather think I owe you some favours."

Hawke nods. "And you, Isabela?" she asks. "Are you certain you want to do this? There will probably be rather a lot of demons, you know."

"Yes, yes, don't worry, Hawke," Isabela says, dismissing Hawke's concerns with a wave of her hand. "I've faced more than my fair share of demons and monsters running about with you, I doubt I'll be bothered. And I never give in to temptation." Hawke raises an eyebrow, and Isabela grins. "Oh, you know what I mean. Besides, frolic through dreams? Sounds like an experience. I'm game."

"Alright." Hawke looks at Marethari. "We're ready."

The Keeper nods soberly, and gestures to the furs and blankets spread out on the floor in Arianni's bedchamber. "Very well. In here. You may wish to remove any items that will cause you discomfort before we begin. Such as your chainmail, da'len." She looks at me directly, smiling faintly. I blink in surprise, I haven't seen her look at me with anything but disapproval in a very long time. I smile back a little, and she beckons all of us into the next room. "You will not need it in the Beyond, and it will help if you are as comfortable as possible. Once you are ready, lie down, and we shall begin."

xxx H xxx

With the Keeper's soft chanting in my ears, I close my eyes and open them again to the glowing light of the Fade. Her ritual is powerful indeed; I hardly felt the transition at all, as though my spirit left my body in no more than the space of a breath. I look about, trying to get my bearings and see where Feynriel's sleeping mind has fled. We appear to be standing in a cold, barren hall comprised of unforgiving stone. It is stark and almost completely bare of any furnishings or decorations, apart from a few plain floor rugs and some decorative shields adorning the walls. I step closer, trying to make out the insignia. Flaming swords and sunbursts... oh, no, surely not.

Why in the Maker's name would Feynriel be here?

"Is this the Templar Hall?" Merrill pipes up beside me, gazing about curiously at our austere surroundings. "What an awful thing to dream about..."

"This is it? I figured the Fade would be full of sex and boats and violence! I mean, based on my dreams," Isabela quips merrily as her spirit shimmers into being. "Now I've been to the Gallows three times in two days, sort of. Not to mention setting foot in the Chantry as well. That's more than enough of the spiritual than I'd want in a year." She shakes her head wryly. "Ten years. A bloody lifetime, actually."

"I don't know why his mind would draw him here," I murmur softly. "I'm not sure he's ever even been to the Gallows at all, let alone within the heart of the fortress itself. That's where we must be, I think."

"Perhaps the demons drew him here," Merrill suggests. "To remove him from anything familiar and unsettle his mind so they can take him more easily." I nod, her words making sense, and she tilts her head at me, eyes wide, biting her lip thoughtfully the way she does before she is about to ask an important question. "Hawke? What was it that Marethari was talking to you about before? You know, when she had you alone? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

She must be worrying because of what happened last time I spoke to Marethari alone. I smile at her gently. "It was about Feynriel, love."

Far from alleviating her anxiety, Merrill's eyes only widen further in worry. "What did she say?"

I give a heavy sigh as I think back to that unpleasant conversation. "She told me that because of Feynriel's dreamer abilities to shape the Fade, if he becomes an abomination, he will be unstoppable. She told me that if he becomes possessed, or if I believe he cannot be saved... I must kill him. She says that if he dies in the Fade... he will become Tranquil."

"Creators... he must really have the potential to be very dangerous for her to suggest such an awful thing. What did you tell her?" she asks quietly, a poorly hidden note of horror in her voice at my revelation.

"That becoming Tranquil is Feynriel's greatest fear, as well it should be," I reply immediately. "I told her I would never be the one to make it come true; for him or for anyone."

Merrill nods fervently. "Of course not. You won't have to, anyway. We're going to save him."

"Wait..." Isabela says slowly. "So if the boy is killed while he's here, in the real world, he'll become Tranquil?" She glances worriedly between Merrill and I. "What about you? Does this happen to all mages if they are killed in the Fade? You'll become one of those soulless... things?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I've never been killed in the Fade. I thought that if I 'died' while in the dream realm, it would simply jolt my spirit back into my body and I would wake. Perhaps Dreamers can be made tranquil because they exist in the Fade a little differently, a little more completely. I'd have thought my father would have warned me if that could happen, but then perhaps he didn't know. I can't say I'd like to find out either way if we can help it."

"I don't remember the Keeper ever mentioning such a risk to me," Merrill says, sounding concerned. "Perhaps it is just somniari. When Anders arrives, we can ask him if he's ever heard-"

"I had not thought to return in such a way," a familiar, booming voice proclaims behind us. "It is good to feel the breath of the Fade again, not the empty air of your world."

We turn around. Anders stands a few paces behind us, fully manifested, but... not himself. His skin and clothing writhe with veins of glowing energy, his eyes now shining orbs of effervescent cerulean light, all too close a reminder of yesterday's events. Anders was right it seems; in the Fade, Justice has control of his soul's form. I only hope the spirit can keep a better hold of his temper today.

I step forward warily. "Justice, I presume?"

He glances at me briefly, nodding once, and then strides past us. "Come. I sense Feynriel's mind straining," he says brusquely. "We will not have much time."

I hesitate for a moment and then follow quickly as he marches towards an open doorway at the far end of the ephemeral Hall. Apparently we aren't going to address the fact that he tried to kill me only yesterday. Truly I can't see what about this rude and abrasive spirit made Anders want to become friends with him in the first place, much less let him merge with his very being. I will be keeping my guard well up about him this time, I think. "Right. Well, remember, we're just here for a visit, so don't get too homesick."

I increase my speed and slip through the doorway with Merrill and Isabela at my back, stepping into the inner courtyard right behind Justice. We follow him down to the bottom of the stairs, where he halts with unexpected abruptness, glancing about, clearly at odds about what to do next. We appear to have reached, if not a dead end, then a crossroads of sorts; there are several gates and doors leading out from this place, and Feynriel could be behind any of them. I look about cautiously, trying to remain alert and on guard. With three powerful mages suddenly come into the Fade realm at once together, it will not be long until we attract the notice of a-

"Well... it's rare to see two forgotten magics in one day." The grotesque, misshapen form of a lesser demon abruptly manifests before us as though summoned ironically into being by my wary thoughts, its deep gravelly tones filled with intrigue and cunning.

"A sloth demon," Merrill says, eyes narrowed distrustfully. She glances about at us, speaking quick and urgently. "Think active thoughts! Like... running and jumping and such."

"Call me Torpor," the loathsome creature simpers. Ugh, Maker's blood, it looks like an overgrown cockroach in a robe. "I trust you're here for the Dreamer mage, Feynriel? I have a proposition that might interest you."

It knows something about Feynriel? Considering that I and even Justice, our resident Fade denizen, are currently at a loss for our next move, it might be helpful to play along for a little. Just to see what it knows. "Speak," I allow it, my tone sharp and forbidding. "But I promise nothing."

The sloth demon twists about, fixing each of us in its misty glowing stare. "I sense the magic in you... yes, you could do it..." it mutters almost to itself, and then turns to speak directly to me. "Two of the most powerful demons in this realm are vying for control of the Dreamer. Sadly, I'm no warrior. I couldn't stand up to them. But if I did, I'd only want the boy's power to secure my position in the Fade. You cannot find him without my help, and you cannot leave without him. Without my assistance, you are stuck here. One with power such as yours... you could preserve his mind from the demons who fight for him. Agree to bring him to me unharmed, and I will have the power to free you. And I shall reward you handsomely in exchange."

"Don't listen to him," Justice orders, fixing me in a commanding stare. "Sloth demons prey on your trust! It exists to make men forget their purpose and their pride—do not relax around it!"

"I'd be no threat to your world," Torpor wheedles in a poor attempt to sound convincing.

"Trust me, please," I mutter quietly to Justice. "I know what I am doing." The spirit glares back impassively, unmoved, and I turn back to the demon, hoping Justice will at least try not to interfere. "So if I help you possess Feynriel, you won't attack Kirkwall?"

"We are drawn to the mortal realm to merge with a living soul. Once I've done so, what need will I have for your people? I merely want power against my own kind. Bring me Feynriel, and I will grant anything you ask: power, magic, money, the strength of ten men! The boy will return to his body, as you will. He will simply have... a passenger."

"This is a monster," Justice says forcefully, the timbre of his voice growing deeper, darker. "It asks you to sacrifice an innocent to its ambition!"

I shake my head at him almost imperceptibly, trying to urge him to be silent without speaking. Maker's flaming breath, just play along, just for a few minutes...

"Ignore this tiresome little spirit," Torpor says dismissively. "I ask only what it has already taken, a willing merger with a human host."

I glance at the form of Anders's dream self, which is now glowing with a brighter blue light than ever; a sure sign that the spirit within is close to losing control. If Anders is in there, he must surely see what I am trying to do if he knows me at all. I can only hope he is somehow able to persuade Justice to stay his hand a little longer. "Tell me about the demons menacing Feynriel," I ask the sloth creature, trying to look as though I might seriously consider its proposal rather than finding the very concept of trading Feynriel's freedom for profit sickening to my soul.

"There is a demon of desire, called Caress," Torpor replies, clearly eager to buy my trust with information. "She ensnares him in dreams of bliss from which he will not emerge. The other is a creature of pride, known as Wryme. It offers Feynriel the power to control his life and world."

Caress, and Wryme. A desire demon and a demon of pride are tempting him. Such powerful enemies will be difficult to defeat, but every piece of knowledge helps. "How is Feynriel now?" I press, attempting to sound interested rather than desperate. "Is there still time to save him?"

"He suffers under the demons' assault. Every time they strain his connection to the mortal world, his mind breaks a little further," the demon answers, clearly trying unsuccessfully to sound as though it does not immensely enjoy the thought of Feynriel's suffering. "The pain of it shakes this entire realm."

Alright. He suffers, but he has not yet broken. Now I must know how to save him. "What would it take to defeat these demons?"

"They each weave an illusion for Feynriel. You must help him reject it. But be cautious—shatter the dream too quickly, and his mind will break. He must reach the realization on his own. Agree to deliver me his mind - intact - and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Justice steps in close to me, the face of his host twisted into a furious grimace. "Do not work with this creature!" he roars. "I will stop you!"

Torpor eyes Justice with a mixture of caution and wary disdain, drifting a few paces back from the livid spirit as though debating whether or not to retreat.

Andraste's pyre, not now! I must know where Feynriel is, there isn't time for this! "Don't fight me on this," I warn, a note of pointed urgency in my voice. Dammit, Justice! The creature has already told me all about the two of its demonic brethren competing for Feynriel, how to break their hold and save him from them. Now I just need it to keep talking, to tell me where to find him. If it were Anders in control he would trust me, but Justice... Maker, just a few moments more and I'll have all I need to know-

"My kind and this have been opposed since the beginning of time," Justice snarls. "This is a creature of complacency! Of injustice!"

"Don't-" I begin, but the wrathful spirit ignores me, drawing Anders' staff from his back.

"I cannot let you treat with it!"

Damn him to the fires of the Void!

A great ball of blue spirit fire manifests in Justice's hand, and he hurls it at me. It explodes against the arcane shield I only just manage to raise in time as Merrill lifts a hand and rips the earth and stone from beneath his feet, encasing his legs and petrifying him. Isabela takes the chance to leap around behind him as he struggles to break free, slashing at his back as he bursts from his stony prison and then leaping out of the way as he turns on her in a blind rage, knocking her into the wall behind and sending her tumbling dazed to the ground. Justice advances on Isabela, his attention now firmly fixed on her alone. Merrill casts a shield about her as Justice lashes out with a storm of crackling lightning which even the swiftest, most agile rogue couldn't have otherwise avoided, even without a concussion. I summon my mana and form it into a powerful spirit bolt, but hold it back; I have no idea what will happen to Anders if I destroy his form here, protected by his spirit friend or not. If there's a chance he might awaken Tranquil, or Maker forbid never awaken at all...

Merrill gasps with the effort of holding the shield over Isabela. "Hawke!" she calls. "What do we do? I can't hold it, he's too strong here!"

I can hesitate no longer; even if she wouldn't be harmed in the waking world, there's no way I can be truly certain of that and Anders would never forgive himself if Justice hurt her. I could never forgive myself for not preventing it. "Take him down," I order grimly.

Her eyes widen a little in anxiety but she nods, summoning fire and hurling it at the possessed form of our friend as I release my pent-up spirit magic at last. The force of it surprises me; it pierces Anders' body like a hail of shimmering arrows, causing Justice to roar in anger as his form rips asunder and fades from existence, leaving only spatters of evanescent blood on the stone beneath which soon disappear into nothingness.

I breathe heavily, staring at the place where Anders... Justice... vanished. Merrill drops her arcane shield and hurries to help Isabela to her feet, murmuring soft words of concern and receiving a half wry, half reassuring smile in return. "I'm fine, kitten. I've suffered far worse, I assure you."

"What human wanted to merge with a prig like that?" the sloth demon scoffs, oozing back over to where we stand. It fixes me in its unblinking stare. "Where were we? Ah, right. Fabulous powers, yours if you deliver me the Dreamer." Torpor raises a taloned hand, indicating the closed doors on the landing above, directly to the left and right of us. "Use these doors to enter the other parts of Feynriel's nightmare. You will take on the form of something he dreams. Gently guide him out of temptation—if you disrupt him too quickly, his mind will snap. Are we agreed?"

"Thank you, but no. I have what I need," I answer, a slight sneer on my lips. The charade is done with; the demon has told me everything without my having to promise it a thing. "I will not give in to temptation, fiend. But thank you very much for all your help. Much obliged. Truly."

The demon makes a noise between a growl and a sigh, its brightly burning eye flashing as it summons its power. "Have it your way."

I scowl grimly and leap into the fray, the strength of my power fuelled by the anger and guilt of being forced to attack my friend, taking pleasure in the flash of fear across the monster's twisted features as I summon the full force of my mana and strike. A single sloth demon is no match for me, even in this realm. The demon roars in anger and fear as Merrill and Isabela add their strength to the battle.

A few spells and slashes and it is done, the demon weak and easily defeated as I suspected it would be.

"I rather hoped it might put up a little more of a fight," Isabela says in disappointment. "That was hardly what I'd call satisfying. I'm itching for a proper brawl."

I glance up at the door on our left, behind which awaits one of the truly powerful demons we must face to save Feynriel, if the sloth demon spoke the truth. I glance at Merrill and Isabela, beckoning them to follow me up the stairs to the waiting doorway with a jerk of my head. "Don't worry," I tell her wryly, pushing the door open. "I have a feeling you'll get your chance all too soon..."

The young child sitting at the writing desk blinks up at his fondly smiling father, blinking in confusion. "But... why can't I remember you?"

"This is a trick, Feynriel," I persuade the boy, my words gentled by his mother's soft burr as I wear her form. "He wants something from you."

"Why...?" Feynriel says slowly, and then takes a deep breath in sudden realisation as his mind begins to fight the demon's dream at last. "That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you!"

Vincento assumes an expression of wounded sorrow. "Your mother never allowed—"

"My mother loves me!" the young Feynriel cries indignantly, anger and suspicion now heavy in his high boyish voice. "She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back. And it was Mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! Who are you?

The dark spirit in Vincento's form glares at Feynriel, wavering and flickering, the demon's glamour fading as it loses its grip on the mind of its prey.

"Don't... question..." The creature's human appearance abruptly melts away to reveal the true monster underneath; hair replaced by horns, fingers by talons, eyes by strange, slit-pupilled feline orbs, chiselled male features replaced by a dark parody of the female form. The newly revealed desire demon snarls in anger. "Me!"

The boy screams and flees the dream, vanishing from sight as the room shifts and takes on the image of the Templar's Hall once more. I feel a small shiver run through me as my spirit abandons Arianni's form and my own appearance reasserts itself at last.

The desire demon, Caress, turns to me, her strangely disturbing but oddly alluring body gleaming in the soft light of the Fade. "You! You turned him against me."

"Complete accident," I retort lightly, hard-pressed to keep a smug grin from my face as I spread my hands in mock-innocence. "I was trying to help. Honest."

Merrill's spirit form winks back into existence on my left. I breathe a sigh of deep relief; Maker above, I had no idea what happened when she and Isabela simply vanished like that. Thank blessed Andraste the Fade returned her to me unharmed.

"Ma vhenan!" she cries, grabbing my hand. "Are you alright? What happened, where's Feynriel?" She eyes the demon before us warily. "Did she hurt him?

"No," I tell her softly. "His mind has fled this demon's clutches safely, but we need to find him before the other can turn him."

A flash of light to my other side, and Isabela appears, looking somewhat dazed and confused. "Where'd I go just now?" she asks, her voice faintly uncertain and slightly queasy. She blinks and looks around, spotting the demon. "Well, at least this one is better looking than the last one," she says with a brave attempt at her customary bravado. "Let's hope it falls just as easily."

The demon blinks at her, then tilts her head at me, a sly, vengeful expression creeping into her eyes. "Take away my pets, and I'll take away yours," she says slowly, her voice a sinister purr. "How loyal are these friends you drag into the Fade? Would your pirate queen stay if the open water beckoned?" I frown, not liking where this is going in the least. Caress turns to Isabela, smiling enticingly. "What do you say, sweetheart?" Her tantalizing words flow from her like honey as she sways her hips beguilingly, thin tail swishing behind her as she glides towards us. "A two-mast brigantine, square-main topsail... A hundred well-built lads to answer your every whim." Her eyes lock with Isabela's as she slides her clawed hand up her body to cup her own naked breast, fondling and kneading herself, favouring the pirate queen with a sultry grin. "I know you've been looking for a... stiff masthead..."

Isabela's eyes widen, growing dark with want, and she breathes in deep. "Ooh..."

Maker, no... "Don't fall for it," I warn her. "This is a demon, Isabela. Don't let it tempt you."

She turns to me, golden eyes already clouded with greed and desire for Caress's empty promises. "Well, if it wasn't a demon, I wouldn't think it could grant wishes..."

Andraste, I don't want to fight another friend! I throw up my hands in exasperation. "Maker's bloody balls, Isabela!" I meet her eyes angrily, filling my voice with urgency as I try to appeal to her sense of friendship. "Should I turn around now to let you stab me in the back? Or would you rather it be a surprise?"

Isabela only laughs, apparently taking my comment as wry approval. "You are just the sweetest!"

Caress turns to me, grinning evilly in triumph. "You have cost me a Dreamer, little mage, but at least you will provide me a death!"

"Isabela..." Merrill says warningly, pleadingly. "Don't listen, please. We're here for Feynriel. Don't fight us, please don't."

Isabela wavers visibly, looking at Merrill with worried eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, I feel a sliver of hope that her kitten has changed her mind...

But then the demon speaks again, her melodic voice compelling, her violet eyes piercing and hypnotic.

"The 'Siren's Call Two' awaits in Kirkwall Harbor," she says, running her fingers softly along Isabela's cheek. Isabela moans softly, and Caress gives a wicked smile as she steps back out of reach of the battle that is about to ensue. "I'll be under the furs... in the captain's quarters."

Isabela hesitates a moment longer, staring at her, then reaches for the daggers sheathed on her back, drawing them in one fluid motion. The smile she wears as she turns slowly to face us is as vacant and cold as her eyes.

"I like big boats, I cannot lie."

She raises her blades and attacks.

Maker's breath... please, may I never have to kill another friend...

"Do you think Isabela will be alright?" Merrill asks worriedly as we hurry along the corridor to face the final demon. "What happens to a non-magical person when they get killed... um, if they die in a dream?"

I shake my head. "I don't know, Merrill. I think she'll just wake up, like in a normal nightmare, but I just don't know."

Merrill takes my hand gently. "I'm sure she's fine. We'll wake up and find her waiting for us when we save Feynriel and get him safely out of here, you'll see. I'm sure they're just fine, Isabela and Anders both."

I sigh. "I hope so."

"Ma vhenan." Merrill squeezes my hand and I glance at her, finding her looking up at me. "I know how you're feeling. Don't feel bad about Anders and Isabela. They're going to be alright." She pauses for a moment. "And you know... it wasn't so much Anders as it was Justice who turned on you just now, and he simply can't be reasoned with, we know that. So there's no reason to feel badly that he didn't trust that you knew what you were doing. And as for Isabela..." A small, cheeky smile plays over her lips. "Well, she is only human, after all."

I can't help but laugh at that, taking joy from the way Merrill's eyes light up as I do so. "Very true," I tell her as we reach the final door at last. "Well, I promise that whatever demon lies behind this door, I will not give in to my crippling humanity and let it tempt me. That's a promise. We'll defeat it, help Feynriel and get out of this nightmare at last. As long as we're together, there'll be nothing to it, right?"

Maker's fetid breath, this nightmare is even worse than the last. Needless to say, I feel extremely uncomfortable right now, stuck in the body of a man, one whom I've never even met in person. It isn't even just the difference in gender or height or race that I find disconcerting. The First Enchanter appears to suffer from a very exacerbated allergic reaction to the rough woollen robes of the Circle, even here in the Fade. Localised in some very, very uncomfortable places... no wonder he has such a reputation for being irritable.

"Don't listen, Feyrniel," I warn urgently, ignoring all... distractions... and locking eyes with the half-elven boy. "Say no. This is a trick."

"First Enchanter? What are you doing here?" the now fully grown form of Feynriel asks me, glancing in puzzlement at the regal form of the Sabrae Keeper standing beside him in the walled garden of the Templar Hall. That the form of this dream is less immersive in its illusion is encouraging; on some level Feynriel must already see that something isn't right. After all, when would a Dalish Keeper set foot in any Templar stronghold under any circumstances other than duress? Why would either of them be here? Feynriel looks back at me, eyes narrowed. "Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?"

"Why would she entrust her people to a human?" I counter. The boy frowns as his mind plays over this new inconsistency, looking suspiciously at the 'Keeper' from the corner of his eye.

The demon wearing the form of Marethari shoots me a fearsome glare and turns to back to its prey once more. "You are one of us, Feynriel," 'she' announces grandly. "Your magic will restore our greatness."

"But... you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason," Feynriel says slowly. "Even the Dalish don't practice it anymore."

"It is too dangerous," I remind him. "You know that is what Marethari truly believes. Could the elves trust you with the power to shape reality?"

The boy hesitates, wavering. "I..."

"Could you trust yourself?" I ask, pressing the advantage home. I must make him see that this is not Marethari. She does not consider his power as a means to reclaim Dalish heritage, she has made that perfectly clear, and she would not in any way have said anything in the waking world to make him believe so. He must remember that, and see through the demon's illusion.

"You have a gift we feared lost," the demon wearing the Keeper's face tells Feynriel persuasively. "As somniari, you can tap the power of the Fade and the spirits within, as we all once did. A Dreamer's mind shapes the Fade." The demon reaches out and touches the elf-blooded Dreamer possessively on the arm as he blinks at her in bewilderment. "Open yourself to the spirits, and you can bring that control to the mortal realm."

The boy looks between her and me with a look of wary confusion. Perhaps my arguments, disturbing as it was to hear myself pontificate in the deep voice of a man, were good enough to sway him after all. "Spirits?" Feynriel says slowly. "You... you mean demons! Weren't you..." His eyes widen and he backs away from the Keeper's form. "Keeper Marethari warned me of this!"

"Don't listen to him!" the demon orders harshly. "The First Enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness."

Feynriel shakes his head, eyeing her in distrust. "Trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were. You're not the Keeper! Mother's people have no Circle, but they don't consort with demons!" He waves a hand dismissively at the demon. "Begone, fiend!" he cries, his voice hard and steady in a very impressive attempt at sounding forceful and commanding.

'Marethari' turns her fierce glare on me again. "You! Why did you interfere?" Her body trembles and shakes, contorting horribly as the demon concealed within the illusion bursts forth, dissipating the slender elven frame. Feynriel's soul remains frozen in horror for a moment, and then turns and runs, tearing free from the confines of the dream. I feel myself return to my normal form as the nightmare world breaks. Merrill reappears in a flash of light and hurries to stand beside me, gazing wide-eyed at the enormous creature before us. This must be Wryme, the demon of pride.

The dark monstrous spirit turns its terrible visage to me, its maw twisted in a vicious snarl. "With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!" it growls angrily, deep voice echoing and booming about the high walled courtyard.

The sheer size of the creature towering over us is daunting enough, but I can feel the power within it from here. I only hope Merrill and I can defeat it quickly enough with our strength combined, and find Feynriel before anything else happens to the poor boy. I meet its gaze steadily, readying myself for the attack that must be coming. "The boy only wants his freedom, not your power."

"Those who are free to choose, always want power," Wryme answers with a sneer of disdain. "You think your friends are different?" I feel a subtle shift in the very fabric of the world around us as the demon turns its gaze on Merrill, something resembling a vindictive smile on its face. "You think this elf, with her innocent face, would turn down a demon's offer? She didn't before. I feel the touch of one of my lesser brethren on her already."

The strange feeling in the air grows; the demon is exerting its power... Maker, it's trying to influence her. She won't let it tempt her, I know it. She agreed to find another way to fix the mirror, to help her people without demonic help. She won't...

"How about it?" Wryme asks compellingly, leaning its brutish head in Merrill's direction. "Would you take what I offered the boy? Scion of the Dalish, saviour of elvenkind?"

I look at her and freeze, dismayed to find an expression of cautious interest on her face. "Can you... do that?" Merrill asks, a note of longing in her lilting voice.

Oh, Merrill, no. No, no, no, no, no...

"I am the greatest of my kind!" Wryme declares, sending a wave of spirit energy flowing about Merrill, causing her to visibly sway where she stands, eyes wide. I take her by both arms, trying to get through to her, anchor her, but the demonic power surges through her form, shocking me into releasing her. Maker, it's strong, I can feel its influence myself. If I were the one Wryme was directing its attentions towards, I don't know if I could resist, but Merrill... she is strong, she is, she can fight it, she must! She will. She has to. Because if she can't... if the demon forces her to turn against me, and I have to fight her... Maker, no, no...

Wryme gives a satisfied chuckle deep within its throat. "You want power to help your people? Whatever tricks your little pet has taught you will pale in comparison."

Maker, please, don't listen to it, don't! "Don't trust it, Merrill. Demons always turn on you in the end," I remind her urgently.

She looks between me and Wryme, and shakes her head a little, confliction and confusion clear on her face. "Hawke? I... I can't... can't think..."

"Don't listen to it, Merrill. You must fight its hold on you, you know that! Fight!" Fight, love, please! Please don't do this, don't make me hurt you, I can't stand the thought of hurting you! Please...

She meets my eyes desperately, and I see the fear within them as she fights the demon's call... and loses, all resistance fleeing her face and voice as the spirit envelops her in its full persuasive power. Her eyes grow dim, her expression slowly turning blank and unfeeling. "I... cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people," she says at last, her voice dull and near-indifferent. She raises her staff, adopting a battle stance.

No...

The demon gives a roar of triumph, flexing its claws. "You took my Dreamer, now you'll take his place!" It stares down at Merrill, flinging a limb towards me as it gives a ringing command. "Attack!"

Merrill obeys mechanically, summoning a spirit bolt as she slashes with her staff, the blade of her staff ripping into my shoulder just as her spell hits me. I cry out, staggering from the blow, and drop to my knees as she lashes out at me again, her face devoid of all emotion.

"Merrill, stop! The demon is in your head, fight it!" I block her blow with an arcane shield and push out with my mind, throwing her back, She lands a few paces from me and rises without hesitation, already turning back to attack me again. "Merrill, please, fight it!" There is no change in her vacant expression as she continues to come at me, her movements precise but impassionate, fully under the sway of the pride demon. I envelop her in a shield to stop her, try to hold her in place with petrified stone but she breaks through both effortlessly without a care for the damage to herself, her strength fueled by the monstrous being controlling her.

I can't hurt her, I can't, how can I? She isn't in control, this isn't her-

I feel the crackle in the air as Merrill summons a lightning storm and my heart breaks as I realise I have to act, or she will kill me. And she and Feynriel will be trapped here forever under the demons' thrall. Maker... I thrust the butt of my staff between her shins and twist, knocking her onto her back once again on the cold hard stone, winding her. Wryme gives a terrible roar of rage as I take the chance to call a maelstrom of scorching flame around it, enveloping it in a burning cloud which it struggles to dispel. I scramble upright while the demon is distracted and stand over Merrill, the melee blade on my staff poised over her heart as she gazes up at me, wide green eyes blank and unseeing but still so full of light...

Maker above, I can't do it, I can't bear to hurt her, I can't-

Wryme roars again, shaking off the last of the fire, and lashes out at me with one long, heavily muscled limb, the force of the blow sending me flying across the courtyard and smashing into the wall right across the other side. My staff rolls across the pavers as I drop to the ground, stopping just out of reach. I use the wall to drag myself up, wincing at the sudden flare of pain in my torso, knowing that if this were real I'd have fractured a rib or two from the impact. I suck in a painful breath and summon the strength to lunge for my staff as Merrill walks forward, summoning fire in her free hand as Wryme strides behind her, a maniacal grin on its beastly muzzle. Andraste save me, I cannot fight them both at once. I can't hold Merrill back, and I can't defeat the demon with my strength divided between them.

Maker forgive me, I know I have to do it, I know I do...

Oh, Merrill, forgive me...

Quickly, I freeze the stones beneath the demon's feet, buying time as it struggles to keep its footing on the slick ice. Merrill raises her hand as the fire in her palm flares-

-and I lunge forward in the same moment, bringing the sharp metal tip of my staff to her now undefended chest and slashing precisely at the pulsing artery in her slender throat, sobbing as the blade bites home.

Forgive me, love, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!

I tear my eyes away as Merrill drops her staff and slumps to the ground, fingers clutching desperately at her throat, and turn back to the wretched demon as it finds its footing and twists to face me, snarling. I turn the ice beneath its taloned feet to water, my heart screaming with the horror and pain of what I've done as I summon the full strength of my mana into the fiercest, hottest bolt of lightning I've ever called, shooting it straight into the newly melted pool in a burst of passionate magical rage. Wryme shrieks and howls as the lightning sears and chars his body from the inside out, an ungodly symphony of dying screams abruptly cut off as its life force gives out and its form vanishes. Dead.

My staff clatters to the floor as I turn and run, falling to my knees beside Merrill, taking the small form of her soul into my arms as she chokes and bleeds. She stares up at me with wide, frightened eyes, the emerald orbs no longer tainted with the shadow of the demon's control but filled to the brim with pain and terror.

Maker...

She takes a dragging breath and tries to speak. "M-m... ma v-vhen...an..."

Oh, Merrill, oh blessed Andraste forgive me!

"Shh," I whisper, rocking her. "It's alright. I'm so sorry, my heart. You'll be alright, I promise. Don't be afraid. It's just the Fade, you aren't really hurt." Maker, please let that be true, please let her be alright. Please let it be true. Please, Andraste forbid, don't let her wake Tranquil, or never wake at all, please. My heart is breaking, splintering, shattering within me. I could console myself thinking that without magic Isabela would not have been hurt, and that Anders, possessed as he was by Justice, would have been unharmed when I struck them down, but by Andraste I can't stand this. I don't know enough about what happens when a mage's soul dies in a nightmare, let alone what happens when one is propelled into the Fade like this, not truly dreaming at all. What if the Keeper meant that Feynriel would become Tranquil only because his connection to the fabric of the Fade was so strong, what if a mage who is not a dreamer simply dies? How can this be happening? My own injuries feel just as real here as ones inflicted outside of the Fade, Merrill has to be in so much pain, oh, Maker, I can't stand the thought, I can't stand it...

Merrill trembles, gasping, and I hold her close. "You'll wake up in Arianni's home, whole and unhurt. There's nothing to be afraid of, love. Let go." I cup her cheek and kiss her temple, trying to keep my voice steady and reassuring. "Let go, and you'll wake up, and I'll be with you again soon, I promise."

The light in Merrill's eyes fades, and they flutter closed. Her body falls lifeless in my arms and disappears, leaving me alone, shattered and broken in a pool of ephemeral blood.

xxx M xxx

"Merrill!"

I gasp and bolt upright, clutching at my throat, feeling the skin smooth and unbroken beneath my fingers as the Keeper holds me against her. "Shh, da'len, it's alright," she murmurs softly, rubbing my back. "Breathe, child. You are out of the Beyond. You are safe." She holds me as my breathing returns to normal, as I get control of myself again. Or try to. Creators... Creators forgive me, I gave in. I let a demon take me, let it turn me against Hawke, oh merciful gods! I tried to kill her, I... I forced her to kill me and I left her all alone, oh Mythal...

"Your friend Isabela woke several minutes ago," Marethari tells me softly. "The other, Anders, woke some time before. He seemed angry and left very quickly. Is Hawke alright? Did you find Feynriel? What has happened, da'len?"

I don't answer, what can I say? I can't bear to tell her what happened, that I... Mythal forgive me, that I fell to a demon, that because of my weakness I betrayed my heart, my soul, and may even have cost Feynriel his life if Hawke can't save him alone...

Hawke...

I turn to Hawke, her body still lying on the furs beside me, and my heart rips at the tracks of tears on her cheeks, the pain in her expression as she sleeps. Creators, what have I done?

"Merrill!" Isabela's surprised voice rings out behind me as she enters the bedroom, carrying a small cup of water which she hands to the Keeper, who dampens a cloth with its contents and dabs soothingly at Hawke's face with the cool wet rag. Isabela crouches beside me, and I look at her miserably as she gazes back at me in concern. "Hawke isn't awake yet? What happened?" she asks. She smiles crookedly, a look of remorse and shame stealing into her eyes. "A bloody demon tricked you too, did it?"

I hear the Keeper let out a slow, controlled breath, see the look of badly disguised sorrow and disappointment in her face as she looks between us both. "No one is immune to a demon's offer," she says. She catches my eyes. "Remember this, Merrill."

I hang my head, ashamed, only feeling worse as I watch Hawke feebly clutching at her ribs and shoulder, knowing she must be in a great deal of pain in the Beyond to feel an echo of her wounds here in the waking world. Her breathing is laboured with the effort of keeping herself in the dream, still fighting to rescue Feynriel's soul.

Oh, Creators, let her find him. Let them both wake safely.

And please let her forgive-... no. No, I won't ask that she will forgive me. I don't deserve her forgiveness. I don't.

Just please... please... let her be alright.

xxx H xxx

"Feynriel."

The elf-blooded boy turns at the sound of my voice as I make my way slowly down the steps into the Templar Hall courtyard, where he stands before the lowered portcullis. I stop a few paces from him, pushing away my own fears and concerns as I examine him closely. He seems whole, and calm. I don't sense the influence of any more demons about him. "Are you alright?"

Feynriel blinks, considering the question for a moment. "I'm not sure if this is real," he says softly, and raises troubled golden-brown eyes to my face. "If so, it is the second time I owe you my life. You helped me see the demons for what they were, helped me get away from them. Thank you." He looks around himself slowly, voice filing with quiet wonder. "The Fade feels different now. I see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment."

Good. Then this nightmare will be over at last. But I can't let him go without making him realise what he is, what power he asserts over this place. Why the demons want him more than any other mage who sets foot here, and the danger he is in should he be unable to protect himself from them. "The Keeper has told you that you are somniari? A Dreamer?" I ask, and he nods slowly. "That is why the demons desire you so much, why they plague your dreams so relentlessly," I explain seriously. "Dreamers control the Fade and the dreams of people in it. You must master your power."

Feynriel's eyes widen as he takes this information in. "I see why the Chantry fears us. I've heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them." He gives me a determined look. "You're right. I must master it, find someone to study under. The Dalish do not have what I need." It appears they certainly don't, but I have no advice to offer; I know nothing of Dreamers. Feynriel thinks for a moment. "Perhaps Tevinter," he says slowly, a twist of distaste to his mouth. Understandably. "I would never have considered going to such a place, but if these powers can be trained, it would be there." He sighs a little, looking at me questioningly. "I see no other choice. My mother would certainly not look kindly on such a journey, but I have to go. Can you give her my farewell?"

"I will," I agree. Ordinarily I would argue that he should speak to his mother himself, but... Maker forgive me, now that I know he is safe, I just want to leave this place and see if the same holds true for my companions... especially Merrill. Elven Creators, keep her safe, you hear me? "May the Maker guide your path, Feynriel. Now, if you don't mind, do you think you could wake yourself up so that we can both get out of here?"

"I... I think so." Feynriel turns, filling his hands with power and reaching out to touch the invisible edges of the dream. "Yes, I see what to do now. I can do this." He glances over his shoulder as the Fade world recedes. "Goodbye, Hawke. And thank you."

xxx M xxx

Hawke begins to stir, making soft sounds as her eyelids flutter. She is waking at last.

Marethari places a hand gently on her forehead. "Her spirit is returning," she says to the rest of us, and glances at Arianni, waiting anxiously in the corner. "I can feel Feynriel's soul returning to his body as well."

Arianni breathes out hopefully. "She saved him?"

"We shall see," the Keeper replies. "But it seems that Hawke has been successful, despite everything."

Her words are calm enough and she does not look at me, but the disappointment is clear in her tone, her voice edged heavily with displeasure. Suddenly I can't bear to be in the room any longer. I can't bear Marethari's disapproval, can't bear to face Hawke when she wakes, I just...

I can't...

I scramble to my feet and run, hearing the Keeper call for me but not listening, not looking back, dodging Isabela's arm when she tries to catch me, to stop me and comfort me most likely, but I don't deserve it and I don't look back.

I throw open Arianni's door and run out into the night.

xxx H xxx

"Feynriel is leaving," I tell Arianni, pushing down the flash of remorse I feel as the hopeful happiness in her eyes is replaced by fear and anxiety. I try to explain his reasons, ignoring the small voice inside that admonishes me for not convincing Feynriel to say goodbye in person. "He must go elsewhere to train. There is no one in Kirkwall to help him. He asked me to say goodbye."

"My son!" Arianni cries, eyes brightening with distressed tears. "No! I must find him before he goes."

"It is wise for him to seek guidance," Marethari tells her soothingly. "Kirkwall cannot provide what he needs. The important thing is that he is alive, and safe."

Arianni stares at her for a moment, and then nods in acceptance. "Yes of course, you're right. But if I hurry, perhaps I can still say goodbye. May I come with you to the Sunderlands?"

Marethari nods warmly. "Of course." Arianni hurries off to prepare for the road, and the Keeper looks at me, something like wonder in her eyes. "I truly did not think what you did was possible. You are a rare human, indeed. You accomplished a miracle with Feynriel." She turns to the table behind her to fetch something from her pack. "As thanks, I give you the tome where I found this ritual. It should prove valuable to your own studies of magic. This book belonged to the last dreamer of our tribe. It has a rare magic beyond price. Please accept it with my gratitude." I take it from her automatically with a nod, barely registering her thanks. My mind is not entirely in the moment. I woke alone, I don't know where Anders and Isabela are; I haven't seen them, and Merrill... she was right beside me. Andraste, are they alright? Where are they?

As if in answer to my thoughts, Isabela appears in the doorway and gives me a weak grin. "Does this mean I'm not getting my ship? Bugger it all!" the pirate queen says in a frail attempt at jocularity. "At least we all escaped unscathed, though." She sees my expression, and her shoulders drop a little, a look of shame coming over her face. "Hawke, look, I'm..."

Her voice tails away, the word 'sorry' remaining unspoken, but I'm not concerned with her betrayal or attempted apologies, it doesn't matter to me in the least, not now. I only want to know about Merrill. She said we all escaped, so she, Anders and Merrill must have returned to their bodies, and the Keeper would certainly be distressed if anything had befallen Merrill, like Tranquillity, or... anything. But if she's alright, then where is she, why isn't she here? Maker's breath, it's not enough to know she's physically unharmed, I need to see her for myself, I need to hold her, touch her...

"It's fine, Isabela, but where is Merrill?" I ask, near stumbling over my words in my haste. "Tell me she's alright!"

"She's alright, Hawke, but she's gone. I don't know why. She seemed upset when she woke, and ran off as you were coming to."

"Where did she go?"

Isabela shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know, I didn't follow her, I wanted to wait until you woke. But she can't have gone far, it's only been a few minutes. How many options are there? Your place, hers?" She fixes me in a piercing gaze, looking worried. "Why did she wake before you? Was it a demon? What happened to make her so upset-?"

I shake my head and brush her questions aside, unwilling to speak of what happened within the Keeper's hearing. "It doesn't matter, it's over now. I just... I have to go and see her." I glance at Marethari and Arianni, still busily preparing to leave for Sundermount. "Please excuse me, I must go."

They nod in farewell, and I turn to leave.

Isabela follows me into the alienage. "Looks like she didn't go far after all," she says, nodding in the direction of Merrill's house. I follow her gaze, noting no firelight in the small window, but the front door is slightly ajar, as though closed carelessly and in haste. "I'll leave you to comfort her, Hawke," she says as she walks towards the alienage stairs, obviously keen to make a quick exit and distance herself from the evening's events. I don't blame her. "After all that, I need the privacy of my own rooms and the company of a good bottle of rum. Or two."

I watch her leave and then make my way quickly across the square to Merrill's little house. I can't imagine how she's feeling right now, but I'm torn between two irrational fears; that she will be angry with me for hurting her, for not finding another way; or that she will blame herself for being overwhelmed and subsumed by that immensely powerful and influential demon in its own realm. I know which is the more likely. Above all else, I need to know she's alright. I need to comfort her. For my own sake almost as much as for hers.

xxx M xxx

"I...I can't believe I turned on you. With the demon, in the Fade...I'm so sorry. I'll understand if you can't forgive me."

She stands in the doorway to the bedroom, wide-eyed and silent as I sit despondently on my narrow bed, back in my old house where I fled after waking up; the Keeper's disappointed frown chasing me out the door. I heard her call for me, but I just couldn't face her anymore, knowing that she realised I had succumbed to a demon's call. And... I couldn't face Hawke after what I did... what I forced her to do to me...

And now she's here. I suppose I didn't exactly hide myself very well. Perhaps I wanted her to find me, to be disappointed with me, angry with me, hate me, even. That would punish me for what I've done like nothing else. Nothing else except knowing that I've hurt her so badly. Mythal, knowing that I hurt her wounds me more deeply than any pain I've ever felt...

I stare down at my feet, not daring to lift my head. I can feel Hawke's gaze on me, but I can't bring myself to look at her, to see the sadness in her eyes, or the hurt, or anger, or maybe even the fear that must surely be there. I knew I would only put her in danger, and now I nearly murder her in the Fade. We could have lost Feynriel. I could have made her Tranquil, or killed her for all we knew! I could have killed her! I can't bear it... I bend forward over my knees, lowering my face into my hands in shame and misery, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a wretched sob. Creators, how did this happen? Why was I so weak?

I hear her move; is she leaving? I can hardly blame her after what I've done.

But... no, her footsteps are moving toward me, not away...

Suddenly I feel her sit close beside me on the bed. I flinch away from her warmth, the warmth and love and comfort I don't deserve, or I try to anyway, but she doesn't let me. "Oh, Merrill. Merrill, come here." She pulls me to her and wraps her arms around me tightly, one hand burying itself in my hair and pulling my head down to rest on her shoulder, ignoring my half-hearted attempts to pull away, to deny myself what I don't deserve. "Blessed Andraste, I'm just so relieved you're alright. You had me so worried when I woke, and you weren't there. I was terrified that I had hurt you, or..." Her voice trails away with a quaver.

She... she was afraid that she hurt me? When I was the one who... who... oh, Mythal forgive me... I draw a deep, shaking breath, clinging to her fiercely. "I'm sorry, Hawke, I'm sorry, I never wanted to... to... I never meant... oh, Hawke, I couldn't stop!" I give a heaving sob, and her arms tighten about me in response. "I'm so sorry..."

"Shh, it doesn't matter, my love," she whispers, rocking me gently. "I'm not hurt, it's alright."

I feel her kiss the top of my head and I close my eyes, feeling utterly worthless and ashamed. "I told you I would bring you pain. I told you I was too dangerous to be around," I whisper, feeling utterly devoid of hope and happiness. "I can't help it. I was so afraid I would hurt you, and I did! I hurt you so badly! I didn't mean to, I would never, never mean to hurt you, Hawke, but I just can't seem to prevent it. I should have been strong enough to lie and tell you I wanted you to leave me alone. You should have just let me go and forgotten me. You should have found someone else to make you happy-"

"Merrill, hush," Hawke forestalls me quietly. "Hush. Stop this. I don't want anyone else. You make me happy, love. Happier than I ever thought I could be, in a way that no one else ever has, or ever could. And I could never have let you go, no matter what I said. If you had told me you wanted me to leave you alone, I would have respected your wishes, but I could never have forgotten you. It was far too late for me, even then. I love you too much." She breathes in deeply, wrapping me tightly in her arms as though afraid I will try to flee, to run from her words and the love I don't deserve. "Merrill, listen to me please. I need to say this to you, and you need to hear it, for my sake if not for your own. When I met you, I wasn't looking for love, I didn't expect it. I didn't choose to fall in love with you; it just happened, and it grew as I got to know you, stronger every day because of how utterly wonderful you are. Choice had nothing to do with it. The heart wants what it wants, and no one can choose who it will pick. The only thing you can decide is whether you will acknowledge it, take a chance and let yourself love the one your heart decides is worthy." She lifts my chin gently with a finger and gazes deeply into my eyes. "And you are, my heart. You are so worthy, and wonderful, and you are so, so loved. And that will never, ever change; no matter what. Don't you forget it. None of this was your fault, alright? I need you to believe that."

"How can you forgive me so easily?" I cry softly, hiding my face in the warm curve of her throat. "I tried to kill you! You could b-be dead right now, or tranquil. You were hurt all b-because of my weakness, my stupidity!"

"You could be tranquil, too, or... or dead by my hand." I give a dry sob at the pain in her words, and feel her hold on me tighten comfortingly. "But you're not. Because you're stronger than that. And I'm sure I would have been fine too, if you'd managed to kill- if things had gone differently. It's alright now, Merrill," Hawke repeats, stroking my cheek, and presses her lips gently to my head again before unexpectedly giving a light laugh and smoothing her hand over my hair. "Besides, let's not forget that Anders tried to kill me because Justice apparently doesn't understand the concept of 'playing along'. And Isabela tried to kill me because a rat-tailed demon with goat horns and big breasts said she might give her a boat. At least you were tempted by something as noble and selfless as the salvation of your entire people."

But I would never, never intentionally sacrifice Hawke for a demon's deal. Not under my own will, my own choice, my own power, no matter what the demon made me say to her in the Fade. I need her to understand that, need to tell her, even though she has not asked for an explanation. I pull away from her embrace and grasp her hands, staring into her eyes.

"I didn't mean what I said in the Fade; that I cannot put you before my people's fate. No matter how much I wish to restore our history, I would never give your life to do it, never, Hawke. I don't know what made me say such a thing." I speak quickly, anxiously, desperate to explain myself to her. "It... it felt like...everything the demon said reached out and pulled at my heart. It seemed to be the only thing that had ever made any sense, seemed to be undeniably right. I believed everything it said so completely from the moment it looked at me to the moment you... you..."

My voice fails me as I look into her eyes, remembering. Her azure gaze ensnares mine, piercing my soul. She is silent, waiting patiently, her face expressionless. I feel my throat tighten painfully, recalling the tears that ran down her face as she was forced to strike me down and I feel my own eyes well at the grief and pain I caused her. "I didn't want to believe it, but I just... had to. I knew not to trust, and I don't know why I did. I've been so careful with all my dealings with spirits until now. I should have recognised I was being manipulated. To make such an obvious mistake..." The tears run freely down my cheeks now, and my words falter and die on my lips as I hang my head. How easily the demon turned me. It couldn't even touch her, couldn't turn her, couldn't tempt her even for a moment. She's too pure, too good, and I'm just... I am nothing compared to her, nothing, I'm ... I'm...

I'm...

Hawke slips gracefully off the bed and kneels in front of me, her hands still entwined with mine in my lap. She presses my fingers firmly with her own as she looks up at me, her sapphire eyes capturing mine with such intensity I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

"Listen to me. It wasn't you," she says, voice soft but fervent. "You didn't betray me. The demon made you do it; it was in your head, twisting your thoughts. I understand what it's like to be under the influence of such beings." Her eyes are wide with utter sincerity as she gazes into my soul. Creators, I fall to a demon and try to kill the love of my life, and yet somehow she's the one pleading on her knees. I don't deserve her. I don't.

"You are too forgiving-" I try to say, but she stops me by reaching up quickly and drawing my head gently down, pressing her lips passionately against mine, firmly silencing my protests and I melt into her kiss, gods forgive me, I can't help it.

She smiles at me wickedly when the kiss ends at last, and her hands glide over my legs, under my tunic, sliding teasingly over the bare skin of my thighs. "Don't you know the meaning of irrevocable, unconditional love, ma sa'lath?" she says, and I gasp as she tightens her grip a little, fingers kneading and stroking me beneath my clothes. "I guess I will have to explain it to you. Better yet," she breathes as she leans forward for another ravenous kiss, "how about a practical demonstration?"

If I live to be a thousand, I'll never do enough to deserve her, I think, smiling as she gently pushes me back onto the bed, her fingers soft on my skin, mouth warm on my throat. Her kisses move lower, her hands fumbling at my belt and then my clothing, and I close my eyes against the tears that threaten to spill from them; this time tears of gratitude, joy, wonder, love. I will try, emma lath, ma vhenan, emma vhenan'ara. My kindred soul.

I will try to be worthy of you one day.

Right then, there you go, guys, hope you enjoyed it. I do try.

Oh, by the way, just another little side note because I'm very paranoid about plagiarism and I've been well trained from uni to reference things; that little story of Hawke's at the beginning isn't really dragon age lore. I adapted it from Aristophanes' Speech from Plato's Symposium. It relates a Greek myth that (as I put in this chapter) is pretty much the same; we were all once two people joined as one being, but the gods got scared so Zeus split everyone into two, and when the two halves find each other, the person who completes them, that's finding your soulmate. I tried not to change the basic story of the myth too much when I fit it to dragon age lore. Whether you believe in the concept of soulmates or not, I just thought that was really nice, and I wanted to include it. Don't read too deeply into it, obviously it doesn't cover all possible combinations of sexuality or sexual fluidity if you know what I mean. Humans are naturally prone to categorise things in order to make sense of the world, despite the fact that some things just can't be categorised. It's just a nice little story, at least I think so.

I'll try to be quicker about updating, but remember, I do exist in the real world as well, and I have a life to lead. Encouraging me to post is fine, it makes me feel wanted, but well... no more death threats in reviews and PMs, okay? Implied or otherwise. Even as a joke. I do tend to assume they're intended as jokes, but they still make me a little nervous, so maybe refrain? I'm only bringing it up again for emphasis and please don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a good "I'm going to kill you" joke, but in this case it's just like at the airport if you make bomb jokes, because sometimes they're not jokes, and its better safe than sorry. Except instead of being tackled and in all likelihood tazed by overexcited security personnel, you'll just be making a poor little Australian girl too upset and freaked out to write anymore, and that's a karmically punishable offense, you know ;p

Okay I probably won't get upset, exactly, just maybe start sleeping with a knife of my own under my pillow, but still. Threats of violence make me very paranoid. I don't like being knifed. Please don't stab me. If you kill me, I'll definitely never finish the story. See? My logic is undeniable.

Once again, Merry Christmas and a happy new year from maximasdecimas.