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With skin too tight
And eyes like marbles
You spin me high
So watch me as I glide
Before I tumble homeward, homeward
I know I tried
I was not stable
And flawed by pride
I miss my sanguine eyes
So hold my hands up - breathe in and breathe out
So love the one you hold
And I’ll be your goal
To have and to hold
A lover of the lights
— “Lover of the Light”, Mumford & Sons
…
“What will they think of the eluvian?”
Sawen’s smile is patient and kind. “What do you mean?”
Pacing around the cabin, Merrill thinks of the mirror, safely stowed aboard the ship’s cargo below them.
“They won’t make us destroy it, will they?”
“No,” Sawen replies with a shake of her head. “Keeper Deshanna looks forward to studying it, actually.”
“What of my magic, then?” Merrill asks. “Will they be as grateful to have a blood mage among them?”
At that, Sawen laughs. “Remind me to introduce you to my sister. I think you’ll find that won’t be a problem.”
Merrill nods slowly. Yes, she thinks, Sawen has mentioned this before. Blood magic is not simply accepted among Clan Lavellan, but coveted and valued. There is no more perfect a clan for someone of her talents.
A week at sea and they would be home with them in Wycome at last… yet unrelenting doubt still lingers in the back of Merrill’s mind.
“What about—what about my old clan?” She stops pacing when her voice begins to waver. “Will your clan ever accept me, knowing that they… that I…”
Merrill sees the look in Sawen’s eyes change then, softening with concern. She moves to stand in front of Merrill, taking her hands and lacing their fingers together. Shyly, Merrill averts her gaze, but Sawen gently takes her chin in her hand and stops her.
“You are the light,” Sawen says in the ancient tongue of their people. “You are the light that breaks through the clouds on the darkest of days. The earth is alive because you shine; you are the envy of the sun itself.”
Merrill gasps as her cheeks flush. She feels undeserving of such praise, but Sawen’s words lessen her anxiety with their own special brand of magic. Sawen is an artist with words; she speaks with such confidence and assurance. Others simply listen to her, believe in her.
“They are going to love you,” she continues, “just as I do.”
A small smile comes to Merrill’s face as she finds herself to be no exception to that rule.
…
Merrill hides away in the cabin during their next few days at sea, no longer burdened with worry, but with seasickness.
Sawen checks on her periodically, mixing herbal tonics to keep her stomach at ease, but sleep is Merrill’s only real escape, if only for a few hours at a time. She sleeps soundly, dreamlessly, the passage of time blurring together.
But on the fourth night, Merrill dreams of her home in Kirkwall. She sits in front of her eluvian, starting intently at her reflection. The glass shimmers faintly, warping her reflection just so. She leans in closer, frowning in confusion, as her reflection’s features transform into a different yet no less familiar face.
Marethari stares back, the signature look of disappointment in her gaze that Merrill came to know so well. Merrill lifts her hand to touch the mirror’s surface, but as soon as she does so the image starts to change again. Marethari opens her mouth, her teeth elongating into razor sharp points, and her eyes go bloodshot just before they start multiplying. Merrill gasps in horror, unable to look away despite knowing exactly what’s next to come.
The image in the eluvian disappears entirely, taking her own reflection with it, before the glass shatters and Audacity lunges out at her from inside.
Merrill wakes with a start. Frantically, she looks around the cabin, taking in her surroundings. Marethari and Audacity are gone, she reminds herself. She’s safe, nowhere near Kirkwall. It was a dream, a nightmare, nothing more, not real. A fearling, if she is to guess, sensed her fears in the Fade and decided to prey upon them.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and her skin is cold, slick and clammy with sweat. Slowly, she sits up in the bed, plagued with worry once more.
Beside her, Sawen shifts and rolls over.
“Nightmare?” she murmurs groggily.
Merrill winces at how tired she sounds, feeling guilty for having woken her. “Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t.” Sawen’s hand smooths up the length of her back comfortingly. “Come here, emma lath.”
Sawen pulls Merrill into her embrace. She kisses her hair, combing it back with her fingers, lowering her forehead so that it rests against Merrill’s.
“Was it the mirror dream?” she asks.
Merrill nods silently.
Sawen’s arms tighten around her and she draws her closer. Merrill glances up at her; her eyes are still closed, her breathing slow, but she is no less attentive because of it. Merrill times her breaths to hers in an attempt to calm her racing heartbeat.
“You’re still nervous.” A statement, not a question.
Ashamed, Merrill nods again.
Sawen rolls onto her back, bringing Merrill with her so that she is nestled comfortably against her chest.
“You are the light,” she then whispers. “You are the light that banishes the shadows from my heart. Darkness trembles in your wake, for it could never hope to match the light that you exude.”
The words nearly bring Merrill to tears. She lets out a shuddering breath.
“How do you do that?”
“Hmm?”
Merrill lifts her chin and kisses her gently. “You always know what to say.”
Sawen smiles slowly against her mouth, back on the precipice of sleep. “It’s a gift.”
She says it facetiously, but Merrill wonders if Sawen knows just how right she is. It is a gift, because she feels the crushing weight lift from her chest and her eyelids grow heavy almost instantly.
With a sigh, Merrill closes her eyes and curls herself around Sawen’s body, desperately wishing for dreamless sleep.
…
The sun is rising in Wycome when they come ashore, and the air is cold with the early stirrings of winter. Merrill rubs her hands together beneath her cloak as she looks around in awe. The city’s walls are formidable and tall, casting long shadows along the docks. By comparison, she feels impossibly small beside their intimidating structure. Within those very walls lies her fate, her future. The moment she has both dreaded and anticipated would soon be upon her, and Merrill tries her damndest not to shake like a leaf.
Rejection is a horrid thing. It eats away at the soul from the inside like poison, and Merrill is no stranger to its lasting effects. And though it has been difficult, with few regrets she made peace with her exile.
Now, she fears reliving it.
“Da’len!”
When she sees them, Merrill nearly forgets how to breathe.
A procession of elves stand outside the gates, more vallaslin-marked faces than she thinks she’s ever seen in her entire life. Merrill feels frozen, her heart beating erratically as she takes in the sight of them. The one who called to them—Keeper Deshanna, Merrill realizes, distinguished from the others with her robes and staff—stands in front of the crowd, her head held high.
Sawen wastes not a second, running to them. Like a single unit, they embrace her, circling around her as they welcome her to her new home. They take turns greeting her with hugs and kisses to her cheeks, the love and adoration they feel for her palpable, even at a distance. Merrill tries to guess who is who, easily spotting her parents and siblings based on her interactions with them alone.
Merrill lingers on the outside and watches them with longing in her eyes, as though they are surrounded by an invisible barrier she can’t cross. Her fear of rejection and desire for acceptance wage a war within her she feels she can’t win.
“Merrill?”
Merrill startles at the sound of her name. Keeper Deshanna emerges from the crowd, and as she approaches Merrill can’t help feeling vulnerable and exposed. She holds herself painfully still, straightening her posture under the scrutiny of the keeper’s gaze.
Deshanna looks her up and down, her movements deliberate and slow. Merrill can’t help noticing the similarities between her and Marethari: greying hair, wrinkles around her eyes, marks of Sylaise fading somewhat at the edges. But she is different, too: taller, her shoulders broader, the lines around her mouth kinder. Her waist-long hair is braided over her shoulder, small, delicate flowers woven between the strands. Merrill focuses on them, reluctant to meet her eyes directly.
“Merrill, formerly First of Clan Sabrae,” Deshanna finally says. “Is that right?”
The knot in Merrill’s stomach tightens. She knows. Merrill can tell just by looking at her, the way she watches her face for her reaction. She knows everything.
“It—it is,” she stammers.
Deshanna holds out her hand. Merrill’s heart skips when she places her own within the keeper’s grasp. Deshanna greets her the same way she did Sawen, leaning in and kissing her once on each cheek. Merrill hesitates at first, but manages to respond in kind, and the chattering of the crowd behind them dies down as all eyes turn to them.
“You are younger than I thought you to be,” Deshanna says.
Silently, Merrill nods, unsure how to respond.
“You have endured much in your few years, haven’t you?” she asks, eyes passing over her face once more. Then, sagely: “Your eyes tell stories of your hardships. You have been alone for far too long.”
Deshanna squeezes her hand gently, comfortingly. Merrill squeezes back with bated breath.
“Yet here you are,” Deshanna continues, and she smiles warmly. “Welcome to your new home, da’len.”
Wide-eyed, Merrill opens her mouth to speak, finds nothing to say, and then promptly chokes on a sob.
Deshanna acts quickly, bending to embrace her, rubbing her back soothingly. Relieved, Merrill returns the gesture wholeheartedly, and she knows then that this was all worth it. Despite all her fear, all her uncertainty and shame, every moment of this journey was worth it.
The rest of Clan Lavellan comes to life again, their excitement reawakened as they draw Deshanna and Merrill back into their circle. Another hand at her back gets Merrill’s attention, and she turns to see Sawen smiling knowingly at her.
Merrill knows her smile in response is meek by comparison, but she nods, stretching out her hand. She all but crushes Sawen’s fingers in her grasp as she pulls her into her arms. Sawen’s laughter, warm and bright, fills the air, and Merrill cherishes the sound of it as she sinks further into her embrace.
After a few moments, Sawen steps back just enough so that she can look at her, and she smiles.
“You are the light,” she says for all around them to hear. “You are the light that guides me forward, for wherever you are, I am home. In your presence, those who gather here feel your warmth in their hearts, ready to love you as I do. And how I love you, my heart. I love you far more than these ancient words can say.”
Tears leak from the corners of Merrill’s eyes, and she wishes she could tell Sawen how much she cares for her just as beautifully. She tries her best, cycling through the phrases she knows—her heart, her one love, her soul’s desire—yet none of them feel adequate. More than anything, she wishes she could express her gratitude, because finally she isn’t alone, not anymore and never again.
The path ahead is clear, her future brighter than ever, and Merrill is unafraid.
Elvhen translations:
eluvian - mirror. Literally, “seeing glass.”
emma lath - my love
da’len - little child, or “little one”