Author's note:

Hi, sorry, it's been way too long again, I know. That's why I'm posting this. It's really only half the chapter it was supposed to be, but I'm not getting nearly enough time to write. 3 jobs, 6 day working weeks. Sorry! I'm compromising by splitting up my latest chapter into two halves. The second half is thoroughly planned out and a good deal of it is written, but it will still take me a while to finish. So here's the first half. I'll have the second half up soon I hope. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave the end of this one in any nasty sort of cliffhanger. It just won't be as interesting a chapter as if I had managed to get it all written up.

I'll have it up before Dragon Age Inquisition is released (at which point I will naturally want to spend pretty much all my limited free time playing), barring serious injury or similar. Shouldn't be too hard to live up to that deadline. Especially since they keep pushing back the release date! ;p

xxx H xxx

"Well, Andraste's flaming knicker-weasels," Anders exclaims softly, cradling the magical sword almost reverently in his long-fingered hands. "Vigilance. Never dreamed I'd see this blade again."

The torchlight dimly illuminating the gloomy back rooms of the clinic sets the sharp steel gleaming as Anders raises the blade, examining every inch of it with a fond, nostalgic gaze. I fidget impatiently as the moments draw out, and the former Grey Warden continues to gaze at the blade with rapturous intensity, as though it were engraved with depictions of sylphs and nymphs dancing naked in the moonlight, or something equally as fascinating.

At length, my patience wears thin. I clear my throat. "So..." I begin, waiting until Anders tears his eyes away from the sword to continue. "It really is the Hero's sword?"

"Oh, yes," Anders confirms. "I'd know this blade anywhere. It was stolen from Vigil's Keep by the Antivan Crows some time ago, but there's no mistaking it. There's not another like it in all of Thedas. I was there when she had it forged. I served under her at Vigil's Keep, you know." He smiles, a reminiscent and somewhat smug sort of tone entering his voice. "In fact, she conscripted me herself. Mahariel, I mean. The Warden-Commander."

"Yes," Merrill drawls with pointed dryness. "I'm quite familiar with Mahariel of the Sabrae, thank you very much. And we know that you knew her for a little while. You've mentioned a word or two about it here and there."

Every chance he gets. I smile a little, watching Anders blush and cough to give himself a little time to regain his composure.

"The Warden had Vigilance forged by a master craftsman, Wade, who had relocated his armoury to Vigil's Keep from Denerim, in order to provide the Grey Wardens with his expert assistance," Anders says, his tone that of a man caught up in a fond old memory. "We had been investigating the disappearance of a Grey Warden in the wetlands near the Keep, called the Blackmarsh - that's a whole different story. Naturally, we managed to turn a simple investigation into a whole range of different trials and misfortunes, among them awakening the Queen of the Blackmarsh; the spirit of an ancient dragon who once lived in the wetlands." He pauses hopefully, as though waiting for me to say something. An exclamation of shock and awe, perhaps. It sounds like it could be a fascinating story, if told by someone who wasn't so obviously hoping to impress me.

"Clearly, you all defeated her and lived to tell the tale," I quip, prompting him to get on with it. I really just want to hear about Vigilance, not listen to Anders brag. "Well done. And the sword?"

"Mahariel found the dragon's bones after the spectre was vanquished," Anders continues, looking a little put out. "Dragonbone is stronger than steel, stronger even than ironwood. She took them to Wade, who was able to use them to forge Vigilance. It's one of a kind."

"That's true enough," I agree. "When I fought with it, I could use it to channel my magic. How could that be? Dragonbone isn't inherently magical as a weapons material."

"No, not without alteration. Like the making of staves, when forging an enchanted weapon, you have to approach the crafting material with a conscious intent to make it conducive to magical abilities."

"But Mahariel wanted this sword for her own personal use, didn't she?" I query, somewhat baffled. "I know some warriors favour weapons with protective spells or enchantments to improve damage, but why would she want to bother making the sword conduct magic like a staff? She isn't a mage. Is she?" I direct this last question softly to Merrill, who shakes her head.

"No," she replies. " Her father was - he was our Keeper before Marethari - but the gift did not pass to his daughter."

"The Warden-Commander knew what she wanted when she commissioned the sword," Anders answers. "She wanted to use it for her lifetime, but then pass it on to her successor, whoever that might be. And since the Wardens don't discriminate against those with magical abilities, that person could very well have been a mage. Mahariel was very specific about what kind of properties she wanted the Warden-Commander's blade to have. Vigilance is perfectly balanced, sharper than dragon's teeth, stronger than ironwood and just as light. It is imbued with enchantments of defence and offence, and runes that enable any mage handling the weapon to store their mana inside it, to amplify its own effects and act as a reserve for the wielder to draw on. Much as drinking lyrium restores mana, except this would be one's own mana, stockpiled within the blade for later use. The blade can contain a significant amount of power, allowing the mage to regenerate mana, essentially doubling the mana store available to them as long as they have the sword in their possession, until the reserve is used up."

Merrill and I exchange an awed glance. "Quite a weapon indeed," I exclaim softly. "She thought of all this herself?"

Anders grins, nodding, eyes filled pride at the foresight of his former Commander. "She said that since swords live longer than people, she wanted a weapon that was as useful and powerful in the hands of a magic-wielder as it would be in the hands of a non-magical fighter."

I nod to myself, liking the woman's reasoning. "It would have taken a great deal of time and expertise to create such a weapon," I comment.

"The armourer, Wade, was no mage himself, but he had studied the craft of imbuing weapons with magical properties," Anders tells us. "He knew how to enchant weapons and how to work with lyrium, though it left him a little funny. Mahariel asked me and Velanna to assist by providing Wade with enchantments and runes, filling the gaps where his knowledge failed him."

Merrill perks up her ears almost visibly at the name. "Velanna?" she repeats curiously. "That's a Dalish name."

Anders nods. "She was a Dalish. A former First, in fact, before she joined the Wardens. She joined up with Mahariel because she wanted help finding her missing sister. More than half mad by the time she became part of our little group, if you ask me." He gives Merrill a measured look. "She was an outcast from her clan, too. Interesting. You two have quite a bit in common, actually."

Merrill glares daggers at him. "I am not an outcast. I chose to live apart from my clan. They are still my clan. Nor am I mad, nor a Warden, nor missing a sister, thank you very much."

"Velanna helped enchant the blade?" I interject, catching Anders' eyes pointedly.

He nods. "Yes, and so did Mahariel in fact."

Merrill frowns. "But Mahariel was no mage," she objects.

"She had knowledge that proved invaluable. Velanna and I altered the sword and gave it magical properties, following Mahariel's specific instructions. The result was a blade that a mage might be very interested in. Mahariel wanted it to be crafted to function as both a staff and a sword, fit for an Arcane Warrior."

"I don't think I've heard of Arcane Warriors," I say, frowning.

"I have," Merrill says quietly, awe in her voice. I look down into her delicate, heart-shaped face. "It is an elven branch of magic," she explains in answer to the questions in my mind. "Ancient, only heard of in stories now."

"Not any longer," Anders announces, a hint of triumph in his eyes as he voices claim to knowledge Merrill evidently is not privy to. The faintest suggestion of a grin turns his mouth as she looks at him in surprise. "During her time aiding one of the Dalish clans before the Blight was ended, Mahariel uncovered some ancient elven ruins in the Brecilian forest," he tells us. I feel an involuntary bristling at the smugness in his tone. He is enjoying telling Merrill of her former clan-mates adventures a little too much. It's quite clear he knows how it must feel to Merrill; hearing about parts of Mahariel's life, which must have come from the Warden's own lips while Anders was under her command. I give him a warning glance, and he schools his face to stillness, though resumes his tale. Merrill's gaze is slightly stricken, but fixes on him avidly as he continues.

"She found something she called a life-gem. Within it was the trapped soul of an elven mage who had hidden his life inside to escape some sort of danger. A war, I think. His body was probably destroyed, but his mind and memories survived through the years, mostly intact."

"I've never dreamed of such a magic," Merrill breathes.

"Nor had I," Anders replies. "But in exchange for the soul's release, he negotiated with Mahariel that she would take his memories inside her. It seems he was one of these Arcane Warriors, and was able to impart some of his knowledge and skills onto Mahariel, so that she could pass them on to other mages. Which she has," he adds, smiling in self-satisfaction.

"She taught this knowledge to you," I surmise.

He nods. "She did." His mouth twists wryly. "Though I confess, I did not really have the aptitude for it. I make a far better healer than a warrior-mage, I fear. But I learned what she had to give me from the memories the spirit imparted to her. There is not a great deal that was useful; not without proper instruction, or time to study and discover more of what has been forgotten. But I believe the spirit was able to pass on at the very least most of the basic training that it takes to ground one in the skills of an Arcane Warrior. How to cast spells and fight simultaneously, how to train the body to cope with the strain of utilising both physical and magical fighting techniques together, spells of ancient long-lost battle magic." He hefts the gleaming magical longsword in his hands. "And the knowledge of how to imbue weapons such as this with the magic necessary to make it a fitting weapon for an Arcane Warrior."

"I would like to learn this knowledge, if you would be so good as to teach me," Merrill says softly.

I see Anders frown, and speak quickly before he can refuse her. "I would like to learn too, Anders." I hold his eyes steadily. He has no right to keep this knowledge to himself, to let it die when there are students willing to learn. Nor has he the right to withhold the knowledge of these ancient elves from one of their own kind. "Mahariel may be the daughter of a Keeper, but she is no mage herself, as Merrill pointed out. The knowledge must be shared amongst those who can use it if it is to survive," I point out quietly, and intensify my gaze meaningfully. "If mages are to survive."

"You're right," Anders concedes after a moment. "Whenever you are ready to learn, come to me. I'll teach you what I know. But I haven't worked on discovering anything more about it," he warns. "That, you will have to do on your own. You will undoubtedly be able to take this knowledge further than I. Warrior's blood seems to run in your family."

"And maybe other Dalish clans know something of it that the Sabrae have forgotten," Merrill puts in. "Or perhaps we can find some ancient scrolls on the subject to help us."

I grimace, thinking of Xenon and his ancient and magical wares. I'd sooner walk the long road and discover the limits of Arcane Warrior magic on my own than chance bargaining with that deceitful old cretin again. "Perhaps."

Merrill sees my look and takes my hand gently. "You're going to be very busy, Hawke," she says with an adorable little grin. "Learning swording from Aveline, and Arcane Warrior talents from Anders is going to take a great deal of time."

"Happily, those two subjects should complement one another rather well," Anders observes dryly.

He hands Vigilance carefully back to me, and I slide the blade into its sheath, taking care not to slice my hand open on its razor-edged blade. A sudden thought gives me pause, and I partially unsheathe the blade again, exposing some of the runes.

"One more thing," I begin, turning back to Anders so he can see the blade. "Back in the alley, after we found Emeric's body, the runes on the blade began to glow, right before we were attacked by the shades. Is that some sort of Arcane Warrior thing too?"

He smiles. "In a way. Mahariel had an idea for a spell of forewarning. The knowledge of the Arcane Warriors helped us create it, but we had to improvise a bit. The blade can... sense, for lack of a better word... when danger is near. The glow is meant as a warning." He looks at me, considering. "You were attacked by shades and demons, correct? Did the blade glow green?"

Merrill answers for me. "Yes, it did! A sort of pale, sick-looking sort of green."

Anders gives a knowing nod. "I thought as much. Well, that just goes to show it still works. The blade is meant to give the bearer warning of imminent danger, and should glow in different colours depending on the threat. Mahariel had us base the number and categories of warning spells on the threats she commonly faced as a Grey Warden. Vigilance glows green for when malignant spirits of the Fade such as demons are about; blue for darkspawn of any kind; red for more mundane, non-magical enemies who intend harm to the bearer. It also shines white in the presence of benevolent Fade spirits, to show that no harm is intended. The Arcane Warriors of old knew spells to make the sword glow, but they seem only to have used it to intimidate opponents. It was Mahariel's idea to associate different colours with different threats, and to trigger the blade to give warning in advance."

"That is quite useful, actually," I comment, gazing at the blade with new respect, both for the weapon and the Warden. What a remarkable woman, to come up with such a complex idea for a spell without any training in magical theory. Quite a shame she wasn't born with magic; what a mage she would have been.

Merrill leans forward suddenly, running her fingers along the elven words inscribed along the blade. "And this?" she asks Anders. "Did Mahariel help with these words, too?"

"She did," he replies. "She asked Velanna to help her with it too, since she wanted to make sure her elven was perfect."

"I had no idea she had such a grasp of written elvish," Merrill says, smiling. "All in the clan can speak the old tongue at least a little, but the writing of it is most often the province of Keepers and Firsts. She did ask me to teach her, but I didn't really think she learned all that much from me."

"Well, you must have taught her enough to impress Velanna, at any rate," Anders comments with a smile. "Which is bloody hard to do, so I suppose she had quite a good grasp of it." He watches as I sheathe the blade again, a small frown appearing on his brow. "So you say Xenon gave Vigilance to you?"

"Yes," I reply. "As recompense for what we suffered in his shop, apparently. And he gave Merrill a knife that once belonged to Mahariel as well. Did he send anything to you?"

"He did, as a matter of fact. A spell book" Anders informs me, glancing towards the wall, where I see a very large, very ancient and important-looking book lying quietly on his writing desk, minding its own business. "Nothing belonging to the Warden, and nothing quite so fancy as that sword of yours, but it should prove to be quite useful to the cause. Ancient spells of battlemagic, and the like. Powerful stuff." He gives the tome a fond smile before he looks back at me. "There's also instructions on how to create an enchantment to disguise entrances, such as the one protecting Xenon's shop. Could come in very handy for the Mage Underground. Seems we made out quite well from that little misadventure in the end, eh?"

I hesitate. Now that I know the weapon did indeed belong to the Warden, I'm suddenly finding myself somewhat conflicted about keeping it. Xenon certainly didn't have the right to confer ownership of the sword upon me, it being stolen goods and all. I glance down at the sword. "Do you think I should send it back to Vigil's Keep? I daresay Mahariel would be glad to have it back."

Anders shrugs. "Unless you're willing to take it back yourself to ensure that the Crows or anyone else won't steal it again before it gets there, I doubt there's much point, Hawke. It's too big of a prize."

"I think he's right, Hawke," Merrill says beside me, looking at me adoringly. "You'd be best to keep it. Mahariel wouldn't mind, I'm sure. If she knew you, she would think the same as me; that such a blade couldn't have come into more deserving hands."

Oh... well. I feel a blush coming on and cough awkwardly. "Well... I suppose I could hang on to it for her, then," I concede, patting the blade. "Perhaps I'll meet her someday, and I can offer it back."

"Til then, you'd best start learning how to use it," Merrill cautions me seriously. "Like Aveline said. You'll only make yourself a target carrying a sword around, and an easy one at that if you can't wield it."

"I'll speak to her about starting training soon, I promise," I assure her solemnly, and turn to Anders. "And I'd like to start learning what you know of the Arcane Warrior arts as soon as possible too."

He nods. "Very well. When would you like to start?"

I give him an eager grin. "Well, there's no time like the present! Now, what was that you said about storing mana inside the blade...?"

"Ohh..." I complain under my breath as we leave Anders' clinic, walking slowly through the gloomy streets towards the Lowtown lift. "I feel strange. Sort of... empty." I flex a hand the way I do when I call on my mana, unused to the absence of the faint tingling sensation that usually accompanies the movement. "I hardly have any mana left! This feels far too reminiscent of the effects of Xenon's damned potion."

"Your mana will replenish itself soon, ma vhenan, don't worry," Merrill reassures me fondly, taking my arm and leaning her slight, warm body against my side. "Anders said it would, and he should know! And besides, your mana isn't gone, not really. It's just inside Vigilance now. You can draw it out if you need to. Would that make you feel better?"

I grimace. "It would, but after all the grueling work of figuring out how to get it in there, I think I'll just leave it where it is. For emergencies, you know. You're right anyway, my mana will probably be back to full strength by tomorrow morning."

Merrill smiles up at me. "It certainly will if you avoid strenuous activities and get a good night's rest."

I consider her words for a moment. "By tomorrow afternoon, then," I say, and grin as she scrunches her face up adorably in confusion. "After all, we weren't planning on doing all that much resting tonight, were we?"

Her expression clears, and she laughs, smiling in agreement. "No, we weren't. And I can think of at least one strenuous activity I wouldn't mind trying..."

We walk arm in arm for a while in silence, thinking about just what it is we're going to do later tonight. I can tell that Merrill's thoughts are in line with mine from the way she so desperately tries to hold back her giggles every time she steals a glance at me. A cheeky grin appears on her face and she looks up.

"You know, I wish my house was in Darktown," she says offhandedly.

I raise my eyebrows incredulously. Surely the Alienage, poor as it is, is at least preferable to the squalor of the Undercity. "Really? Why ever would you wish that?"

Her smile widens and she leans up towards my ear as we walk, managing very impressively not to trip over her own feet. "Because if my house was down here, we'd be home by now," she whispers, and kisses me softly on the cheek as I laugh.

We turn a corner into a deserted street and I take a moment to attach Vigilance's sheath to my belt, tired of carrying it in the crook of my arm. I had hoped to avoid actually wearing the weapon until I'm better trained, but the weight of the thing is starting to tire me. Besides, I've still got my staff at my back if anyone tries to attack us, which hopefully will not happen between here and the Alienage, so chances are good I won't actually have to use it unless I need the mana inside it.

I look up to find Merrill gazing wistfully at the sword now hanging at my side. I know what brings that look into her eyes now. "Thinking of Mahariel?" I ask gently.

Merrill smiles at me, and nods. "I hope you get the chance to meet her someday, Hawke. You'd really like her, I know you would."

"I'd like to meet her too," I reply. "Ad when I do, I'll be sure to offer her back her magnificent sword."

"She'll probably refuse to take it from you, if I know her at all," Merrill smiles. "She'd say that it found a master who could really use it properly."

"As the magical weapon she designed it to be?" I run my fingers over the hilt, amazed once again at the power I can feel inside it. "Mahariel must be a very clever woman, to help devise a magical weapon of such power and ability without even being a mage herself." I give Merrill a smile, taking her hand and squeezing gently. "If she had been born with the gift, she would have been exceptional."

"I bet she would have. Her father was by all accounts a very powerful mage," Merrill agrees. "Mahariel used to tell me she wished she was a mage, when we were little. It was something Mahariel always felt very badly about, even though she had no control over it. It made it all the more difficult for her when none of the other children of her age showed signs of magic, and I had to be brought in from another clan to be Marethari's First."

I nod in acknowledgement of her words, though my thoughts are a little distracted by the difference between Dalish perceptions of magic and human ones. How strange to think of a child wishing so fervently to have magic! To imagine a family where the dearest wish of a parent is that their child might be mage-born. My father was a good man, a good mage, and he taught me so gently and earnestly that my magic was a gift. He taught me how to harness my abilities and use them for good, that no-one born to magic is inherently bad, no matter what the Chantry might say, and that I should never let anyone convince me otherwise.

But...

I saw how hard he took it when he discovered I had inherited his magic, and how it made him sad again when Bethany's magic surfaced too. Once, I even heard him telling Mother how much he wished we had taken after her, and not him, that our lives would be so much easier if we weren't mage-born. Young as I was then, I felt it as a blow to my very core. To me it was as if he had said he was disappointed in us for being mages, something beyond our control. For being like him. I understand much better all that he meant by that now, but then it was very hard to hear from him. It's hard to imagine growing up in a culture like the Dalish, where parents are delighted to discover that their children possess magical abilities, where mages are held in high esteem and looked upon as leaders, where children dream of revealing hidden magics within themselves, and not as nightmares... if only there were a place like that in the world for human mages to be openly free. Other than Tevinter, of course. As much as I despise having to hide who I am for the safety of myself and my family, I would hate living in Tevinter far more, even were I the most powerful magister of all of them. I could never live in a place where slavery is legal, let alone so heavily practiced. The idea of owning another sentient being is utterly revolting. I don't understand how anyone could ever condone it.

"She told me she felt so guilty that I had to leave my family, my clan, all that I knew," Merrill continues, oblivious to my wandering mind, a sad little frown line appearing between her brows. "All because she wasn't lucky enough inherit her father's gift-"

Merrill's words are cut off by a great crashing and splintering as the ground beneath her feet collapses, and her hand is wrenched from mine as she disappears into a gaping hole with little cry, quickly obscured by a billowing cloud of dust and dirt.

I blink in shock, standing stock still at the edge of the yawning gap at my feet for a moment as my mind tries to grapple with what just happened, then my heart twists within me and I call her name, frantically trying to peer down into the darkness beneath the flurries of dirt in the air. "Merrill!"

Silence.

I glance furtively about me, and mercifully seeing no-one within the immediate vicinity, I cast a small ball of magelight down into the gloom, still trying to see as the dust settles. "Merrill?"

A few rocks clatter below, and at last I hear a small, bewildered voice echoing out of the gloom below where I stand on the lip of the pit.

"Oww..."

"Merrill?" I peer down into the hole, which is no bigger than a trap door but clearly deep, at last making out a small dusty figure some metres below me, sitting up in a pile of dirt and loose debris. She appears to be rubbing her head. "Merrill!"

The figure turns and looks up at me, bright eyes blinking slowly in the dark. "Ma vhenan?"

I sigh with relief, smiling down at her. "Are you alright? What happened?"

She appears to consider my words for a moment. "I fell down a hole..." she answers eventually, her voice filled with surprise.

"You did," I agree, biting back a highly inappropriate grin. "I saw the whole thing."

She drops her hand and smiles sheepishly up at me. "No pun intended, Hawke?"

That surprises a laugh out of me. "No, actually. Do you really think I would joke about something like this?"

Merrill raises her eyebrows at me, and I chuckle again. "Fair point. Can you get out of there?"

Merrill glances around, igniting her own ball of magelight to add to mine. "I don't know," she answers thoughtfully after a moment. "You might need to get me a rope or something... ooh... oh, Hawke, this place is fascinating!"

"How do you mean?"

"I think... I think this used to be a part of old Kirkwall. From the time of the Tevinter Imperium! It looks sort of like an old temple down here, there's marble columns and mosaics on the floor, and carvings on the walls..." She looks up at me. "Hawke, can we go exploring? Please?"

I sigh to myself, and consider. I don't much like the idea of leaving her here alone, even just to go get a rope, or a ladder, or whatever I can scrounge up. If she's fallen into an old building, maybe we can find an entrance or a system of tunnels to lead us out. Of course, that will mean I'll have to go down there too, and then of course if we can't get out we'll both be trapped... and...

Oh, why not? I'd rather be trapped down in the hole with Merrill than safe up here, alone. Any day. And I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her while I was off looking for a bit of rope.

"Alright, back away a bit, love," I call to her. "I'm coming down."

Green eyes blink up at me seriously. "Shall I catch you?"

I laugh. "Best not try. I'd rather not crush you today." I hear the scuff of bare feet on stone as she moves to obey me, and take a deep breath. "Here goes nothing..."

I ready myself and jump into the darkness. At the last moment before I hit the ground, I cast a flow of air directly beneath me, slowing my fall and allowing me to land lightly on the balls of my feet instead of the jarring impact I could otherwise expect.

"Oh, that was clever!" Merrill's awed voice issues from the shadows to my left. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"You didn't really have enough time to think about anything, my love," I remind her gently, reaching for her hand as she moves towards me into the luminous glow cast by my magelight. As soon as her skin touches mine, I send a little of my remaining mana through her body, swiftly examining her for any damage and sighing with relief at finding none, beyond a bit of minor bruising. The only visible evidence of her fall is a bump on her head. Maker, she must have her gods' own luck. I use a touch of mana to heal the bruising inside her so it doesn't become anything more dangerous, and smile at her when she thanks me.

"Adventure awaits," I tell her, gesturing to the abandoned passageways before us, just itching to be explored. "Shall we?"

The empty halls stretch out before and above us, remarkably free of rot and damp for all they are so far underground, and so ancient. The towering columns and intricate decorative carvings and scrollwork are indeed indicative of Tevinter architecture. Unlike the sparse cells and rough rooms below the Antiquarian's shop, these structures are obviously meant to be works of art as much as buildings. A temple, Merrill suggested. She may well be right.

But dedicated to what?

Our exploration goes uninterrupted as we continue on, wandering cautiously through the passageways. There's not a soul in sight down here, not so much as a spider. Not even of the regularly sized variety. I am surprised at first that such an extensive network of rooms and passages has gone unclaimed here in Darktown, where no empty dwelling space stays empty for long. But as we move deeper in, I begin to understand why no one has set up residence in here, if anyone has even found the place at all. There is... a scent here. One of dark magic, of... blood. I feel it in my mana, but also as a physical reaction, some inexplicable humming current of power raising the hairs on my nape. I'd wager anyone looking to live or loot in here has felt it too, mage or no, and has instinctively kept away. Of course we would be the ones to ignore that very helpful survival instinct and forge ahead into a place that in all likelihood is going to reveal itself to be the ancient prison of some terrible demon, or an ancient temple devoted to the sacrifice of victims in the use of blood magic. Well, we've no choice now. We've got to find a way out of here, or go back and yell through the hole Merrill fell through until one of Darktown's more curious citizens comes to help us. Probably for a price.

"Hawke?" Merrill's voice echoes in trembling waves from the vaulted ceiling, unseen in the darkness overhead. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea..."

I am about to agree when the darkness suddenly vanishes in a rush of warm red light, torches mounted in ancient wall brackets flaring into flames. I start and instinctively pull Merrill with me into the middle of the hallway we just entered. Back-to-back we wait, staring down both ends of the corridor, but when nothing more happens we relax.

"Why did that happen?" Merrill wonders. "Some sort of ancient Tevinter spell, perhaps?" I feel her open her magical senses, examining the room for enchantment. She nods, eyes alight with power. "Cast so that the torches light up whenever there are people in the halls. Did you feel anything trigger when we came in here?"

"No," I answer, examining the merrily burning torches, "but that is a impressive spell. These torches are fresh, though. Someone has been making use of these passages." I glance at Merrill meaningfully. "Not entirely abandoned, then."

"Well, whoever is - or was - coming down here must be a mage, to be maintaining the torch spell safely," Merrill muses. She sniffs the fetid air and shivers. "I bet they're responsible for the magical residue in the air, too." She glances at me, and away. "It's... blood magic. You can probably feel that, I suppose. But there's more than just traces of blood magic. Whoever was down here must have been summoning demons too. I can sense traces of them, though I can't tell if they're still about."

Yelling through the hole for help is looking more and more appealing. I touch Merrill's arm gently. "Do you want to continue? We could go back and call for help."

Merrill makes a face. "I suppose we should. But I don't really like the idea of that. We'd look so foolish."

"I'd rather look foolish than risk facing an unknown number of demons," I say. "Especially when my mana is somewhat depleted. Whoever comes to find us can expect a nice shiny reward for their service. I'm sure we can live down the embarrassment, as long as they keep their mouths shut."

Merrill chews her lip for a moment. "What if Anders comes?"

Well, that decides it. "Demons it is, then."

Merrill and I share a wry smile and begin cautiously making out way down the now well-lit passage. "If people have been making use of this corridor, it stands to reason they must have a means of ingress somewhere close by. I'm hoping our way out is somewhere through here," I say quietly as we approach a stone door flanked by more flaring torches. "Probably concealed somehow. Let's keep our eyes peeled for trapdoors and the like."

Merrill shudders. "I've always hated that saying. Creators, the images it puts in my head. Peeled eyes... ew!"

The door proves to be stubbornly resistant to all our efforts to move it. "Mythal!" Merrill gasps, wiping droplets of sweat off her flushed forehead. "It hasn't shifted an inch! It should just open, shouldn't it? It doesn't even have a lock!"

"Perhaps not the ordinary kind..." I muse, touching my mana and refocusing it on the door. There, where the handle would be on a normal door. A small spell, created by...

Blood magic. Of course.

"Could we just... blast it open?" Merrill muses behind me, as yet unaware of my discovery. "Although, we might risk bringing the whole Undercity down on top of us if we did, so maybe not..."

"It's got a magical lock," I interrupt gently. "Made with blood magic, I think."

"Oh." Merrill blinks, examining the spell herself. "Oh, yes. Um... I can open it, I think, but I'm not sure if..." She glances at me, and hesitates, unsure.

"Merrill, as long as it doesn't involve actually summoning demons, I really don't mind if you use blood magic to open the door," I assure her, and then frown as she unsheathes her belt knife. "And as long as it doesn't involve slicing your wrists to ribbons. I can't promise my usual quality of healing magic at the moment with my mana reserves so low."

"I only need a little," Merrill replies absently. "Besides, I can probably heal it myself now." She gives me a cheeky grin and sticks the ball of her thumb with the point of the blade. A bright red drop of crimson wells up immediately, and Merrill presses it against the door, right on top of the spell with a whispered word. The door slides into the wall with the grinding murmur of stone against stone, and again the darkness before us is banished as more torches light up around the walls of a large tomb-like chamber. Merrill sticks her thumb in her mouth for a moment, then pulls it out and concentrates on it, healing it admirably well. I give her a smile of approval and then lead the way into the chamber.

The room is dusty and covered in cobwebs, which would suggest that it hasn't been used in a long time, if it weren't for the footprints littering the dirty floor, and the distinct lack of stuffiness in the room. The air is remarkably fresh in here, especially for an underground ruin. Hopefully that means our way out is close. The existence of this room and it's torches and blood magic spells makes for an interesting little mystery, though.

"I more than half expected to be attacked by now," Merrill comments, sounding somewhat wistful.

"Disappointed?" I ask playfully as I scan the chamber for exits.

My little elf chuckles. "Well, maybe a little," she replies. "It usually makes things more exciting, don't you think?"

I give a small laugh at her interesting perspective, and move to the other side of the room where I can see a door similar to the one we entered by, probably locked in the same manner. A way out of these ruins, hopefully, if the track of footprints on the dusty floor leading to and from the door is any indication.

"Ma vhenan, look here," Merrill says, calling my attention to a somewhat out-of-place plinth by the far wall. Moving over to join her, I raise an eyebrow at the sight of a large book resting open on the shelf. A very new looking book at that. A recent addition to this ancient tomb, obviously.

"Can you sense the power in it?" Merrill asks, peering intently at the tome. "I can feel... old magic. But it's so new! How can that be?"

"It's unusual..." I agree. "As is this whole thing."

I draw Vigilance a few inches out of its sheath and examine the blade for a moment. No glowing. No demons nearby then, or at least not within Vigilance's range. Good. Surprising, but good. Cautiously, I open the cover of the book, and when no traps are triggered, read the handwritten note on the inside of the cover.

Well done, my brother or sister of The Path, for if you are the one to find this tome, then you have found the other Books of Blood and passed my tests to prove yourself worthy of the knowledge contained within.

If I did not lead you to this, my ultimate and faithful replication of the Fell Grimoire, then my enemies have destroyed me. But if you, worthy initiate, can master the knowledge in this tome, I have not failed. You have followed my hints and overcome the guardians I set to separate the weak from the strong. Now, armed with the knowledge and secrets of blood magic, that great and primordial power, that you will learn from these ancient writings from the greatest of the Tevinter mages of old, our cause will prevail.

Mages were never meant to walk among mortal men, to languish under the crushing heels of the Templars. We are the masters of the elements. We transcend the physical plane and call forth the very powers of the spirits themselves. We are not meant to be subjugated, but to command. There are secrets undreamed of deep in the Fade. What secrets the Tevinters learned from the spirits are contained within these pages. Therein lies our destiny... our salvation.

May you lead our brethren on the Path to victory, worthy one.

Tarohne.

Ah. I feel my mouth twist in distaste, my mind turning back years as I step back to let Merrill read the note. Tarohne. The mad blood mage who was turning templar recruits into abominations to sow chaos and disorder within the templar ranks, intending to somehow resurrect the Tevinter Imperium into the bargain. She didn't get very far, thanks to us, but she could have done a lot more damage if we hadn't stopped her. I remember feeling somewhat conflicted about it at the time, not being altogether too fond of the Templar order myself, but I disagreed strongly with Tarohne's methods. Using blood magic and abominations to attack the Templars, who oppress us because they fear that all mages will succumb to blood magic, is not the way to prove them wrong. And Tarohne's disciple, Idunna, using blood magic try to make me slit my own throat did not earn Tarohne and her group any points in their favour.

"Tarohne..." Merrill turns the name over slowly on her tongue. "That's a familiar name."

"She was the one behind those templar recruits being kidnapped and turned into abominations a few years ago," I remind her. "Remember Keran?"

"Oh, yes," Merrill laughs. "He seemed sweet enough, for a templar. A bit of a bumbler, but sweet. And he still hasn't told anyone about us being mages, or anything. At least, I suppose he hasn't, since we haven't been arrested."

I flip through a few pages of the Fell Grimoire copy. Neat printing, detailed - if somewhat graphic - illustrations. This is fairly decent work. "So, Tarohne actually had a Fell Grimoire. She's made quite a nice copy of it, for a madwoman. Especially compared to her other books."

I pause, and curse mentally as I realise what I said. Merrill frowns, gazing at me in confusion. "Her other books? You've seen some of her... what did she call them, "Books of Blood"?"

I give an inaudible sigh. "I have. I found all of them, actually. Do you remember, back when we were trying to find the missing recruits, we visited the Blooming Rose to see the prostitute who had... serviced them.. prior to their disappearance? The one who tried to turn her blood magic on us?"

Merrill's eyes narrow a little, and she smiles grimly. "Oh yes, I remember her. Idunna, wasn't it? The apostate prostitute. What did Isabela call her? Apostitute?"

I snort a laugh despite myself and grin at her. "Hah! So she did. Anyway, a while ago she sent me a letter, detailing where I could find Tarohne's writings and beseeching me to destroy them for her to protect anyone who might stumble upon them. Which we did."

"I don't remember that," Merrill says slowly. "When...?"

I shift uncomfortably. "We weren't... speaking, at the time."

Merrill's eyes widen, and she looks at her feet. "Oh. When we were fighting... about the mirror."

I nod, rubbing at my neck. I detest thinking about those horrible days. "I don't think they would have been much use to you," I tell her. "Tarohne was a mad bitch. Her writings were mainly comprised of incoherent ramblings about evil templars and injustice. Anders might have quite enjoyed them, but I don't think you would have found anything in them that would help with your mirror." I close the book and put my hand on the cover. "This book, however, might actually be of use."

Merrill glances at me in surprise. "You want me to take it?"

I give her a fond smile, nodding and trying to ignore the nagging doubt plaguing the back of my mind that this may not be a brilliant idea for several reasons. "Love them or loathe them, the Tevinters had considerable knowledge on the study of blood magic. Doubtless they know of more uses it can be put to other than calling demons and turning people into abominations. The magisters who wrote this were masters of blood magic, men and women who approached the subject like any other class of magic to be studied. Their knowledge may be less corrupted by time and lesser minds, assuming Tarohne's copy is a true one. Perhaps you can learn something more helpful from this book." Without relying on that demon again.

Merrill gazes at me for a long moment, eyes glinting in the torchlight, and then she steps forward and hugs me hard. "Thank you, ma vhenan," she whispers, holding me tightly. "That means a lot to me, for lots of reasons." She pulls back a little to look into my eyes, a loving smile on her face. "I haven't felt that odd presence in the mirror since I stopped using blood magic on it. but I still won't use blood magic on the mirror while we're looking for another way to fix it. But I'll take the book just in case, and so no one else stumbles across it down here."

"Better that then have it fall into the wrong hands," I agree, kissing her forehead softly. "There's no blood mage I'd trust with this knowledge more than you."

"I suppose that's true enough," Merrill laughs, and moves to take the book.

The moment she lifts it, all the torches in the room snuff out, burying us in blackness. I hear Merrill drop the book back onto the podium and feel her press her back to mine. We wait, straining our eyes for threats in the darkness. Silence reigns for an endless moment...

... and then ungodly howls tear the darkness on all sides as the torch flames reappear, born anew into fiery rage demons, their snarling, formless faces contorted in mindless fury as they come for us. Tarohne's bloody tests. Maker's blood, I should have expected this!

I call my mana to my fingertips, alarmed at how sluggishly my power responds before remembering most of it is resting uselessly in the sword at my waist, and cast a spray of deep freezing ice at the nearest demon. It howls, recoiling in pain as the ice devours it and I follow with a bolt of lightning, splintering it into pieces.

A swift glance over my shoulder gives me a stunning glimpse of Merrill's power as she smothers two blazing demons at once, covering them in earth and stone and turning to freeze a third as they fizzle out of existence. That gives me an idea... I grin as I turn and cast an arcane shield around another demon before it takes my head off with its flaming claws. It batters uselessly at the walls of its prison for a moment before I suck all the air out from within, depriving it of the means to burn and extinguishing it like a snuffed out candle.

The last demon falls to Merrill's magic, and the torches flicker back to life. I breathe heavily, feeling more drained than ever. Must have even less reserves of mana than I thought...

"The blood feeds..." A harsh, chilling whisper echoes about the chamber as Merrill and I look around in vain for the source. "The blood nourishes..."

"Hawke..." Merrill murmurs nervously, and I give her a grim smile, full of confidence I am far from feeling.

The voice grows louder, closer. "In blood, the call is heard." A desire demon appears in a flare of dark fire, purple eyes gleaming with ancient malice. "In blood, the deal is made!" The demon grins, revealing monstrous pointed teeth. "The great Xebenkeck shall feast on blood!"

Well, this just about makes my day.

Xebenkeck blasts us with a wave of ice. I block it with an arcane shield and strike back with a spirit bolt, which hits the demon square in its bare chest, knocking it back several feet. Before it can recover, Merrill summons lightning and casts it towards the demon, which screams as the white hot energy crackles over its body.

The scream grows louder and louder as the demon's face contorts, and it twists suddenly to face us, still screaming, the volume rising higher and higher, slamming into us in an almost physical blow that blows Merrill off her feet and sends me to my knees, clutching my temples as sharp pain shoots through my head like iron spikes. The hurt recedes, and I look frantically for Merrill. My heart leaps into my throat as I see her slumped against the far wall, the demon approaching her with raised claws and a feral grin.

"Merrill!"

I send a bolt of lightning toward the demon, but my mana is now too weak for battle spells, and the demon brushes off the shock almost without noticing as it reaches for the crumpled elf on the ground. "Merrill!"

I do the only thing I can think of and cast all my remaining mana at Merrill, healing her, filling her with energy and all the power I can muster. I hear her gasp from across the room, watch her scramble to her feet, eyes ablaze with power and rage as she faces the approaching demon, surprising the creature with a blast of fire straight into its snarling face just as it opens its mouth to scream. Xebenkeck's voice chokes off in a gurgle as the fire sears down its throat, and Merrill strikes again and again with spirit bolts, sending the demon sprawling in an ungraceful heap. She stands over it as it writhes on the ground, clutching at its throat, slowly raises her arms, and then brings down a fierce storm of lightning, channelling it into the demon's body, striking again and again until the remains of the creature collapse into wisps of darkness and vanish.

I climb slowly to my feet as Merrill turns towards me, breathing heavily.

"Hawke? Are you alright?" she asks, concern in her eyes.

"I'm fine," I assure her, feeling a mad grin spreading over my features. "Do you know what you just did? You just destroyed one of the oldest demons in existence!"

Merrill gives me a half smile. "Really?" She glances at the spot on the floor where Xebenkeck writhed out of existence. "I guess it was having an off day, then. Besides, you gave me your mana."

I laugh, and pull her into a hug. "I only healed you. Don't put yourself down. That was amazing, Merrill!"

Her arms tighten about me, and I can almost feel the heat of her blushing cheeks against mine. "Oh, well, you know..." she mumbles, a pleased smile in her voice. "Thank you, ma vhenan."

I match her smile as I cup her cheek gently. "Thank you, emma sa'lath." I lean in for a kiss, enjoying the moment as she trembles at my touch, the sensation sending shivers up and down my own spine.

"Let's get out of here," I suggest breathlessly to Merrill once we come back to ourselves, looking over her shoulder to the ancient door across the room, covered in dust and shadow. "See where that takes us. But first, you'd better grab that." I point to the book still sitting quietly on the podium. "It was hard won."

Merrill nods, a trifle dazedly, and follows me over to the door after she collects her prize. I try the handle, and as expected since rarely is anything ever easy for us, find it locked. Sighing, I bend down to examine the rusting, ancient lock. The wood around it is warped and decaying... and it looks like the door would swing outward on its hinges...

"Locked, is it?" Merrill comments wryly. "Of course it is."

"It isn't protected by blood magic, though," I note with some scorn. "Fairly short sighted of them to protect only one entrance."

Merrill steps closer, placing the hand not clutching her new book against the door. "Ah..." she says after a moment. "This entrance was bound by the same spell on the other entrance. When we broke that enchantment, the twinned spell on this door was removed too. Although, it is still locked. And quite rusty. I doubt if they used this door much, if at all." She sighs, moving back. "If only Isabela or Varric were here. They'd have it open in a breath."

I straighten, and take a pace backwards. "Oh, I think I can get it open," I assure her, grinning. "Stay back..."

I turn on my heel and lash out with one foot, delivering a sharp, precise kick to the door with all the strength I can muster. The weak wood around the lock splinters and shatters, slamming the door open with a resounding bang and revealing the darkened corridor beyond.

I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me and turn to meet Merrill's appreciative gaze. A brilliant smile lights up her fine features. "I love it when you do that," she breathes, hugging the book to her chest.

My grin widens at the love and admiration I see in her face. "I'll open all doors this way from now on, if it pleases you," I inform her solemnly, and she giggles, shaking her head at me.

"I can only imagine what Leandra would have to say if you kicked the front door down every time you came home," she laughs, and waggles a finger, doing a fair imitation of Mother. "'Young lady, civilised people open doors with their fingers, not their feet! And for that matter, civilised people keep their doors in working order. With you around, we may as well go back to using flaps made of dead animal skins and have done with it!' Oh, she'd scold you something fierce!"

"I'd just tell her it's all in the name of love," I grin. "And if that didn't work, I'd tell her I'm contributing to a healthy economy by creating jobs for skilled craftsmen, keeping carpenters and locksmiths in business all over Kirkwall."

Merrill giggles harder, and I smile as I hold out my hand to her, gesturing with exaggerated gallantry to the musty corridor that will lead us out of here. I hope. "Are you coming, emma sa'lath?"

Small fingers grasp mine as magnificent emerald eyes dazzle me with their radiance, bathing me in warmth and love.

"I go where you go, ma vhenan."

See what I mean? Not exactly a cliffhanger, but not a full bodied chapter. But rest assured, the next bit will come soon.

To be continued!