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9:41 Dragon

Merrill pressed her back against Aveline’s, holding her staff tight. The air frizzled with magical power, and a hostile power nonetheless.

To her, the hostility of the apostates’ magic was something real, something concrete, a sensation that made her skin crawl. That sense of enmity was so strong, so lively that part of her wanted to run away and leave the battlefield that Kirkwall’s Alienage had become. All around her, several City Guards were fighting the apostates for the sake of Kirkwall—Aveline herself was busy landing a blow after another. Suddenly, Merrill could not afford to think anymore. A tall, well-built apostate was running in her direction. Growing in his hands, a cold aura that would soon turn into an ice spell. Years of training kicked in, as she shaped the raw power running in her veins in a fragment of rock, the same rock she was so familiar with when moving underground to reach one of her friends and offer aid in combat. When the Stonefist was ready in her hands, she took a moment, barely a moment, to measure the spell’s strength—she had no desire to kill the apostate, only to knock him down. Then, perhaps, Aveline would be merciless and simply expel him from the city.

It took the apostate only that brief moment to flood with ice young Cylan. As the ice enveloped him, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Then, all that was left of Cylan were ice chunks painted in the crimson red of his blood.

Cylan. The young Cylan, who wanted so badly to become a mage like her, who stared at her in admiration and called her ghi’lan. Guide, protector. As ghi’lan, she had failed him.

Merrill released her power. Her Stonefist crushed the apostate’s chest, and as he fell on the ground Merrill understood that he would never stand again.

So many innocents had perished after Anders had blown up the Chantry, so many Circles had cried Hawke’s name while asking for their freedom. Merrill, too, had advocated for the mages, when Meredith had invoked the Right of Annulment. She had proudly stood by Hawke’s side, ready to support the only friend who had always put trust in her, despite her mistakes and her use of blood magic. She had watched Hawke and Anders leave Kirkwall for their own safety, wishing them the long, happy life they deserved. She had stayed, for all she had after her clan’s death were the elves of the Alienage. Since then, though, many of the elves she had sworn to protect had fallen, despite her efforts. Behind a veil of tears, Merrill watched Cylan’s remains. How many had to die, before she would be alone and purposeless again?

“Merrill?”

Someone was calling her. She knew that voice, but it seemed so far that Merrill wondered if it was only an echo from the Fade.

“Merrill.”

The same voice repeated her name again, and two strong hands held her shoulders. Aveline appeared in her field of vision. Merrill blinked, driving some tears away. As the Guard Captain’s arms encircled her, the Dalish mage returned the hug. Ever since Hawke had left, Merrill had found out that Aveline was far more than a strict, moral woman—she possessed a motherly side, too, something she had come to treasure in a way she would never have expected.

Merrill’s gaze surveyed the Alienage. The battle was over, and the Alienage could take a breath. At least for now. Everyone has entered their home, and she heard several doors being shut. Only she and Aveline were still in the open.

“Come. I’ll make some tea,” Aveline offered. “Just… give me a moment.

Merrill nodded, starting to walk towards her hut. In the silence following the battle, she heard the sound of a piece of cloth being stroked against metal. She stretched her lips into a weak smile. Aveline was cleaning the blood off her sword in an effort to make her forget about the war, just for a while. A kind thought. She could not tell the only friend she had left that there was way too much red in her ledger, too much to be wiped out.

“I’ve assigned more patrols to the city’s boundaries. Any apostate or rebel Templars intent on entering Kirkwall will be spotted and stopped in time. It will get better, Merrill. I promise you.”

Sitting on her bed, Merrill listened to Aveline, her eyes on her cup. As she filled with hot water, in her mind that cup was Kirkwall, and the steaming water the Mage-Templar that was bringing Kirkwall to its knees.

“Will it? This is where the war started. Every apostate wants to come to Kirkwall, kiss the streets their heroine has walked, and rule it, make it the rebellion’s capital. Every rebel Templar is headed here to burn the place where the rebellion has started, to deprive the rebel mages of their holy sanctuary.”

Merrill raised her eyes to meet Aveline’s determined gaze. Under her scrutiny, though, that same determination lost some of its force.

“You have to trust me, Merrill. We have to trust each other and stay strong. Both for ourselves and the people of Kirkwall. Hawke cannot help us anymore. We have no one to turn to.”

“We could accept Sebastian’s offer,” Merrill whispered. “His troops would help us make Kirkwall safe again and—“

“Are you insane?” Aveline stood, her cup still in her hands. “The Prince of Starkhaven may as well wear a Chantry habit. Under his rule, Kirkwall would become a pawn of the Chantry! He does not care for us. All he wants is to make Kirkwall pay, and have us tell him where Anders is.” When Aveline got hold of Merrill’s chin, the Dalish mage was forced to look straight in her friends’ eyes.

“Once, Sebastian told me that the Chantry takes care of widows, orphans, and everyone who is in need of assistance. Back then I didn’t get it. I told him the Dalish clans did all of this and even more, without needing a clergy. Maybe it doesn’t matter if we would be pawns or not. Maybe it is time we care for—“

“Have you forgotten what he told Hawke? Have you forgotten how he promised to hunt Anders down? Do you have any idea how Hawke would suffer if she knew that we have welcomed Sebastian in our city, her city? She always believed in you, even when any of us was hesitant in entrusting you our lives.” In a fit of rage, Aveline smashed the cup on the ground. Merrill gasped, frozen where was. “Maker, you are so stupid!”

Stupid. Aveline had called her ‘stupid’, like she had done once, before they got closer, before they became friends. Aveline was calling her stupid, and treating Hawke like some sort of sacred entity. Hawke, who had… Merrill clenched her fists. She took a deep breath, struggling to control the rage growing inside her. The same rage she had repressed for a long, long time. Curling up into a ball, she managed to refrain herself from giving in to every negative thought in her mind. Her lips, though, spelled the words before she could stop them.

“Hawke left us alone to sort out this mess! Hawke stood by Anders, approved of his actions, lit the fuse of this stupid war, then left the city! Hawke WAS WRONG, Aveline! This stupid war killed Anders too! She is the reason why Cylan and many others are dead! Do you really think this is what she wanted?”

It wasn’t until she was done talking that she realized how she had spoken almost in a growl. Next, all that remained was silence, Aveline’s shock and her own amazement.

“Do you really think that?” Aveline inquired, almost breathless.

Merrill didn’t say a word, this time. She, herself, was stunned by the thoughts she had just brought to light. Hadn’t saving the mages from Meredith’s fury been the right decision? Should Hawke have left them to die instead? Somewhere, inside herself, knew that Hawke, the compassionate, gentle Hawke, the same woman who had always accepted her as she was, a blood mage and all, could never have agreed to the Annulment. Why, then, Merrill wasn’t sure of any of that anymore?

Aveline took a deep breath, sitting by her side afterward. “You are right. Hawke lit the fuse, but it wasn’t her to encourage Enchanter Fiona to call a vote asking for the disbandment of the Circles. It wasn’t her to suggest the Templars to go rogue and chase the mages all over Thedas. You know how heartbroken she was, when the Mage-Templar war broke out. And even if she had truly wanted to start a war, she couldn’t be blamed as the sole responsible anyway. The mages rallied to freedom’s call because they craved it way before Hawke rose to defend The Gallows.”

Every single word felt true and right. She had witnessed firsthand how Kirkwall Templars had abused, in more than one way, the Circle Mages. Still… Merrill offered a weak, defeated reply. “But if she hadn’t defended the Gallows, perhaps now Kirkwall would be at peace. Perhaps, the rebellion would have started somewhere and we would not be right inside the eye of the storm.“

“I don’t know, Merrill,” Aveline replied. Her shoulders plumped down, as tired as her voice. “We cannot know. In any case, Provisional Discount Cavin will never agree to Sebastian’s terms. All we can do is stay strong and fight for our city, while Hawke travels to Skyhold to offer her support to the Inquisition. If there’s anyone who can stop the war, it’s the Inquisition.”

Stay strong. Those two words, once again.

Maybe Aveline was right. Maybe Hawke wasn’t to blame.

The real question was—could Kirkwall really survive on its own?

Apparently, Merrill thought as she watched Starkhaven’s soldiers nearing the city’s wall, Sebastian, too, was doubtful that Kirkwall could survive on its own. So doubtful that he had decided to turn his offers of help into an open military march.

Up on the battlements, Merrill was near enough to Aveline and Donnic to hear them whisper.

“He’s taken the mountain pass. Maybe the fact that he didn’t march through the coast means that Ostwick, or Markham, may help us. What the Free Marches cities always wanted is to remain independent.”

“They won’t help us, Aveline. They have their own battle to fights, against demons and rifts. They would, were the circumstances different. But…”

Pressing her lips together, Merrill looked around. Kirkwall was ill-fated, and perhaps, as Hawke had found out during her permanence, there was some kind of evil under it, something able to prompt both mages and common people to horrific acts. It didn’t matter. Kirkwall was still her town, and she would save it.

If needed, she would help the Prince of Starkhaven enter the city without bloodshed.

City elves, the ones Merrill had once dismissed as inferior and fake elves, were nothing but resourceful. During the years she had passed in the alienage, she had found out that some of them still prayed to the Evanuris—but they didn’t expect the elven gods to come to their rescue. Shut up in the Alienages, they had found ways to move around the city. Secret passages. Shortcuts. Hidden streets unknown to the City Guard.

So, Merrill had managed to slip out of sight and go beyond Kirkwall’s boundaries. Luckily for her, Sebastian’s army had chosen Sundermount to encamp. Even at night, even after all the years, she had not set foot in Sundermount, Merrill the Dalish elf remembered each single trail. And now, thanks to that knowledge, she was in sight of the army.

It was an astonishing sight. Even without so little knowledge of military tactic, Merrill knew that Kirkwall was no match for Starkhaven’s army. Aveline would insist on fighting, no doubt, and that choice would only lead to other unnecessary deaths. More innocents like Cylan were bound to die. All because of Aveline’s stubbornness.

The contact of cold, sharp metal on her neck brought her back to reality. She had never felt calmer, the moment she turned to look at the sentry who had discovered her presence.

“Please, tell Prince Sebastian that Merrill is here to see him. Tell him I can help him. Tell him that I want no more bloodshed.”

One soldier at her right, one at her left, Merrill was crossing the camp. She was well aware of the gazes on her, and completely indifferent. They didn’t matter. Sebastian mattered. Eventually, they reached the biggest tent. The soldiers stopped in front of the entrance.

“Let her in.”
It was Sebastian’s voice, no doubt. The timbre was the same, but there was something different. Sebastian’s voice had always felt warm to her, even when he tried to have her, or Fenris, come to mass and see what the Maker was really about. The man inside the tent felt cold and detached.

One soldier pushed her inside, not that strong to make her fall, still enough to make her stumble and fall on her knees. She didn’t falter. That soft pain was nothing compared to what Cylan must have experienced.

As Merrill raised her eyes to meet Sebastian’s, she was greeted by the same coldness she had perceived even before actually seeing him. Sebastian—no, Prince Vael of Starkhaven, stared at her impassively. He didn't say anything, he remained seated on his Andrastian-modeled throne. He still wore a white, shiny armor, but was not the same man she had come to know. Merrill desperately searched in that stranger’s face for something, anything that could belong the old Sebastian, the man so easily embarrassed by Isabela’s dirty jokes and ready to preach with such passion that even her had found herself listening to him, and discussing with him, a couple of times. She found nothing. For the first time, she wondered if she had made a huge mistake.

Suddenly, Sebastian smiled. It was a brief smile, but there it was. Merrill let out a sigh of relief.

“Merrill.” Her name on his lips felt impersonal, but still courteous. “You take me by surprise. I didn’t expect you coming here. Aveline, perhaps, could have chosen to come in front of me. She and I, after all, share a common… tight morale. You and I, instead… we never saw eye to eye. Did we?”

He was amicable enough. Perhaps she would allow her to stand? Merrill decided to give it a try. And when she did, she wasn’t ordered to fall on her knees once again. “I took your advice,” she whispered. “When my clan died because of me, you told me to admit my sins, to accept my pride, then fight it. I still think there's not enough I can do in this lifetime to make up for that, but maybe… maybe I can do something for Kirkwall.”

Sebastian’s eyes filled with surprised, at first. But his gaze hardened again. “Are you there to beg, then? Did Aveline…” he began, then paused, thoughtful. “No. If Aveline wanted to convince me to spare her city, she would not send you to all people. She would not endanger anyone but herself, and most importantly, she wouldn’t trust you with such a delicate task.”

Merrill swallowed, ignoring the obvious insult. He was right, after all. She hadn’t exactly proved herself reliable. “Aveline does not know I am here.”

“This makes things far interesting, Merrill. So,” he leaned towards her, still seated, “if you’re not here under Aveline’s orders, what could you possibly want from me so badly to defy her authority?”

It was time to stop dance around. That new, strange Sebastian was proving willing to listen, and she would not lose that chance. “Kirkwall can’t stand on its feet, if it’s left by herself. There are too many demons and apostates to fight, day after day, night after night. Kirkwall is not strong enough and…” she hesitated a split second, looking Sebastian in the eyes, “… I believe you can help Kirkwall. My city would be ten times strong, if your armies and the City Guard worked together.” She took a deep breath. “People die every die. Every day we gain an advantage, and the day after we lose it. We are alone. Kirkwall is dying. My home is dying. I-I know shortcuts. I can help you enter and take the city without bloodshed.”

Silence followed. A silence long enough to make Merrill wondered if she had actually talked, or only imagined those words leaving her mouth.

“Aveline should have sent you, after all. You are far more reasonable than I remember, if you understand that I have only Kirkwall’s interest at heart. If Aveline had sent you with proper terms of delivery, we could have concluded this pact before dawn. But…” he shook his head. He looked almost regretful.

Merrill dropped on her knees. “Please, Sebastian. I can’t take it anymore. Kirkwall can’t take it anymore. Please, for the sake of our friend—“

“Tell you what, Merrill, you plea well enough.” He stood, walking to her and extending his hand. “You convinced me. I welcome your help, and I will aid Kirkwall… on one condition.”

Her hand still enclosed in Sebastian’s, Merrill froze in place. One condition. Just one. “Which condition?” she replied, her voice trembling.

“Tell me where is Anders.”

Now, there was no gentleness in his voice. He wanted that information, and he would not accept any other term of delivery. She had cried for Anders’ death, but now. Now his death made that answer easier to give. There’s no hunting a dead man.

“Anders died. He died at the Conclave.”

Merrill watched as Sebastian’s gaze darkened. His grip on her hand intensified. Those eyes—they were the eyes of a furious man. She remembered how he had asked for Justice after the Chantry’s explosion. Was he blaming the Conclave for having stripped him of his vengeance? She quickly stood, freeing her hand while the man was obviously living the past all over again.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, Sebastian.”

“Who told you so?”

“Hawke did. Hawke let me and Aveline know.”

“And where is Hawke, Merrill?”

Almost gasping, she fell silent. That was a question she’d rather not answer. Hawke, after all, had entrusted her location to her and Aveline. Only to those she called friends.

Sebastian grabbed her shoulders, strongly enough to make her let out a soft squeal. “Where. Is. Hawke?”

“Please, don’t make me reveal it. She asked u… me to—“ Merrill almost cried.

“Either you tell me, Merrill, or our deal is off. Your choice.”

Ferocity was all over the once kind Sebastian. It was in his blue eyes, now dark like the ocean’s waters, in his stance, in his voice. He had never raised his voice once, but there was a growl deep inside, something that reminded Merrill of a wolf ready to strike.

“Will you harm her?” she whispered.

Sebastian breathed in. His grip became gentler. The blue of his eyes became clear, the blue of a lake once again. “I won’t. She’s not at fault, Anders was. I believe she was blinded by her love… that’s her only crime. And even though that blindness has condemned Elthina, she did not plant any explosive in the Chantry.” He released her. “I only wish to ask her personally. See his remains, if there are any.”

He was right. Aveline was right. They were all right, and she has been so unjust in blaming Hawke. It was still Hawke’s secret, though, so she whispered the name of the town Hawke where had sought refuge in Sebastian’s ear.

Three months later

Kirkwall was born anew.

Inquisitor Lavellan had fought by the City Guard’s side, and together the City Guard and the Inquisition had driven the Prince of Starkhaven’s army back. Prince Sebastian, so sure to invade the city in a fortnight, had not prepared for a siege—so, after a week he had abandoned the field.

Kirkwall remained an independent city of the Free Marches, and now, Inquisition agents roamed the streets, assisting whoever needed help, instead of Starkhaven soldiers. Inquisitor Lavellan never once had asked for compensation for her help.

Her city was safe, and Merrill grateful as much as any citizen to the Inquisition. And as much as the very idea pained her, maybe she would even leave with the Inquisition, offer her services to Lavellan—she wasn’t sure she could handle any more of Aveline’s suspicious stares. She had forgiven her for leading Sebastian’s soldier inside the city, and for a time it had seemed that everything could turn back to normal.

But ever since Hawke had sent them a message, letting them know that she had barely escaped Sebastian’s fury, Aveline’s attitude towards her had changed. The more time passed, the more she and Aveline were estranging.

Merrill had no desire to deal with the matter with Aveline. She would have to admit her treachery, something Aveline was not sure she was the culprit of. Yet. She had not the heart to prove her friend right and pain her. She had tried to help Kirkwall, and had almost ended up giving it up to a tyrant. Maybe, she could make up for her mistakes by helping in closing the rifts in the sky.