In the end, it was Clan Sabrae who came to Merrill. Pol turned up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, bedraggled and worn.
“Pol!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “What are you doing here?” she invited him inside, where he looked around with interest.
“I need to talk to you,” Pol said.
“Of course!” she said. “But—oh, you must have come such a long way!” she lead him to the dining room to sit down at the table table.
“What's that noise?” Pol asked, looking around.
“That's the eluvian,” Merrill said.
Pol swallowed. “The—the mirror?”
Merrill nodded. “I got it to work!” she said. “Do you want to see?”
Pol stared at her, mouth agape. “I—yes, of course!” he said. She showed him to the eluvian, and lead him through to the crossroads. He stared around at it, stunned.
They came back out, and Pol let out a long breath. “This—this might be the thing the Clan needs,” he said.
“Oh—yes, what was it you needed, Pol?” Merrill urged. “You said you had to talk to me about something...”
“Keeper Lanaya's told everyone to stay away from Kirkwall,” Pol said in a rush. “All the Free Marches Clans are going south, to Coalition friendly country.”
Merrill chewed her lip. “Varric said Queen Aeducan wanted her people to stay away from Kirkwall too,” she said.
Pol nodded. “We heard from a messenger that Queen Aeducan told Lanaya that Kirkwall was dangerous, and she told everyone else.”
“And...?”
“And Marethari ignored it.”
“Marethari wasn't ever—well, she never really liked the alliance with the dwarves...” Merrill told him.
Pol shook his head. “It's more than that—she's not even listening to Vinell anymore.”
Merrill blinked. “Oh dear, are they fighting? What do you mean?”
“Merrill, we haven't even left the Sundermount for years,” Pol said. “All the others are getting—nervous about it. The others tries to tell her, over and over again, that we should leave, but--”
“Wait,” Merrill narrowed her eyes. “You—you haven't moved?”
“No.”
“You haven't left and come back? I thought--”
Pol shook his head.
“Oh, Pol,” Merrill breathed. “What's wrong? Do you still have no halla?”
Pol shook his head again. “No—and Marethari won't take any from other Clans.”
Merrill frowned. “That doesn't make sense. Most Clans don't like the Sundermount—maybe--”
“Merrill, you know that Clan Lavellan offered us help--”
“Yes, Ilen told me Marethari turned them away,” Merrill said, a troubled frown on her face. “Why?”
“Clan Lavellan tried again. They sent hunters to try and help, but Marethari turned them away, again.”
“What?” Merrill breathed.
Pol nodded.
Merrill got to her feet and began to pace. “But that—that doesn't make sense,” she said. “Who came from Clan Lavellan?”
Pol shrugged. “I don't know who, exactly, but Aenorean said they offered to help, and Marethari sent them away again.” he got to his feet and took her shoulders. “Merrill, you have to come. You have to do something.”
“Pol...are you sure?”
Pol nodded.
“What can I do? Half of them are still afraid of me, I'm sure--”
“I'm not,” Pol pointed out, a little sheepishly. “Look, Merrill—she hasn't even started to pick another First.”
Merrill looked at him, startled. “It's been years—Pol--”
“I know, I know—Ilen and Vinell are on her case about it, but she hasn't yet.”
“But--” Merrill's brow was furrowed. “You have Jathianni, and Vandathdin, and I thought for sure Eliovron was showing magic when I left...”
“She was,” Pol said. “She's a mage—a spirit healer, even!”
“Then why--?”
Pol shook his head. “I don't know. I don't know what she's thinking.”
Merrill bit her lip. “I need to see her,” she decided. “Something is very wrong.”
“She'll want to see the eluvian, too, I bet,” Pol said. “And Ilen probably wants the arulin'holm back.” he winced. “He definitely wants that back, actually.”
“Oh, dear,” Merrill grimaced. “I've been trying, but—well, there was the Qunari attack, and then Abigail had assassins after her, and--”
“I don't care what happened, as long as you come back up the Mount and—and—I don't know, talk some sense into the Keeper!” Pol said. “If—if the Hahren of the Alienage was acting like her, I—I don't know, but it wouldn't be any good!”
“No, it wouldn't be,” Merrill agreed. She rubbed her forehead. “I'll come as quick as I can,” she assured Pol.
“I'll come with you,” he said. “I shouldn't really be by myself, anyway.” he grimaced. “That's how I almost got swiped by that varterral.”
“That's true,” Merrill agreed. “Abigail should be home in a bit—we can talk to her about trying to get up the mountain.”
When Abigail returned, she was uncertain about making the trip.
“Abigail, I have to see to the Clan,” Merrill insisted. “They need me!”
“But--” Abigail started. “There’s Templars still patrolling the borders, and Maker only knows what’s on the mountain...”
“That’s why I need to go, Abigail.”
“I just--” Abigail closed her eyes and pushed her hair off her forehead. “I don’t want—I don’t want to lose you, too.” she whispered.
Merrill took her hand. “You won’t,” she promised. “You won’t.”
Abigail looked at Pol and bit her lip. “Well—at least let me go with you,” she said.
“That won't make them very happy,” Pol said with a grimace.
“Then I'll bring Varric, too.”
“I don't think that would help much,” Pol admitted.
“I'll bring him anyway. It's always good to have an extra hand, isn’t it? And he's—likable.”
“Ask him,” Merrill agreed. “And--” she thought. “I'll go find Isabela,” she decided.
“Isabela?” Abigail asked with a frown. She and Isabela were still not on the best terms with one another.
“Yes, Isabela,” Merrill insisted.
“Who’s Isabela?” Pol asked, looking from Abigail to Merrill.
“She’s a friend,” Merrill said. “She’s another human, but she’s a friend.”
Pol sighed. “Don’t you have any elf friends?”
“I don’t know where Velanna is, and Fenris doesn’t like the Dalish.”
“Well, I suppose...” Pol rubbed the back of his head. “We have to hurry, though.”
“We can do that,” Abigail said.
It took them three days to get out of the city. Aveline had to arrange Guard patrols just so, and Anders managed to direct them to somewhere safe-ish, where hopefully Templars would not be patrolling. They were lucky, and got out of the city with little trouble.
The climb up the Sundermount was tense. Pol and Merrill were both jumpy, and Abigail could feel the Veil wending and warping as they climbed. It seemed as if the Veil was even worse off than the last time they'd been here.
There was one lone guard at the border of Clan Sabrae's camp, and upon spotting Pol and Merrill, his face lit up.
“Oh, thank the Creators,” he said as a greeting. “Merrill—you should go in right away,” he said.
“You want me here too?” Merrill asked in surprise.
“I figure even a blood mage can't make things much worse,” he said with a shrug.
“So it's very bad then, is it?”
“Feynriel's been having bad dreams for months,” the guard said. “And so has everyone else. It's bad, Merrill.”
They walked into the camp, which was unusually quiet. The Dalish muttered to each other, some casting glares in Merrill's direction, others looking relieved. The mood set all of their teeth on edge. One moment a woman would be giving Merrill a dirty look, and in another moment, a pair of teenagers would breathe alarmingly relieved sighs.
“Merrill!” Vinell, looking frazzled and sleepless, came trotting up to them.
“Vinell!” Merrill exclaimed.
They had a short conversation in Dalish, and Vinell pointed up the path up the Sundermount. Merrill went pale.
“What is it?” Abigail asked.
“She's gone up the Sundermount,” Merrill said. “Vinell—what's she doing there? What are you all still doing here?”
Vinell just shook his head. “Pol must have told you—something's gone wrong in that head of hers,” he said. “Hunters from Clan Lavellan came by, and she just turned them away. An ambassador from the Coalition came, saying they were trying to ally with Free Marches Clans—oh, never mind. Merrill, you need to find her, and hurry!”
“Why me?” Merrill asked. “She'd never listen to me.” she wrung her hands.
“The only other one she'd listen to now is Sarel,” Vinell said. “She just—Merrill, she says that she doesn't want to leave till you come back.”
Merrill stared at him. “Vinell--”
“I know, I know!” Vinell threw up his hands. “You left—and I thought it was pretty clear you didn't want to come back till you'd gotten that cursed mirror sorted out, or whatever it was--”
“Marethari didn't want me back!” Merrill wrung her hands. “This doesn't—this doesn't make any sense,” she shook her head.
Vinell took her shoulders. “Merrill—listen, Feynriel says he's felt something bad in her dreams,” he said in a hushed tone.
“A demon?” Merrill gasped.
“Creators forbid it, I hope not,” Vinell said. “But you need to find her—Feynriel's been in a right state about it, he's one of the ones who said we should send someone to find you.”
Merrill nodded. “She went up the path?”
“Right up the path that'd take you to Asha'bella'nar's resting place,” Vinell pointed.
“Mas serannas, Vinell,” Merrill said. “I'll do what I can, I promise.”
“I don't doubt it. Be careful, Merrill.” he said.
They went up the path.
“That didn't sound good,” Isabela said.
“It isn't,” Merrill said. She glanced down at the Clan's camp below her, and saw several elves looking up at them, tracking their progress. “He said she’d only listen to Sarel...”
“Who’s Sarel?”
“Marethari’s husband.” she looked at Isabela. “He’s been dead for years.”
Isabela let out a long breath. “Ah.”
“Feynriel’s been having bad dreams, too,” Abigail muttered.
“We all know how well that went the last time,” Varric said, his tone dark.
“Come on,” Merrill said. She bit her lip and pulled her staff off her back, her shoulders tense.
They walked up the Sundermount, and it was similar to when they had first climbed it, all those years ago. The Veil warped and thinned, and something unpleasant bore down on them.
Marethari was not at the site of Asha'bella'nar's resurrection. Merrill cast about, her expression desperate.
“Maybe--” she said. “Maybe she's--” she cut herself off, a look of sudden realization crossing her face.
“What is it?” Abigail asked.
“Blood magic—I saw the memory--” she hurried ahead along the path, her companions trotting after her.
They came to the mouth of a small cave.
The Veil was thin and worn by the cave entrance, feeling like rotting silk against their skin. Enormous statues flanked the entrance, covered in moss, clearly ancient and worn away by time.
“This is very bad,” Merrill said, biting her lip, her green eyes wide with worry. “Very, very bad.”
The cave was large, and felt as if it held many memories. The Veil was misty and thin, almost as if it wasn't there at all. Being there felt like a waking dream.
“There's a demon held here,” Merrill said softly. “Something very old, and very bad, from long ago when my people fought the Tevinter Imperium. It's said that it was drawn to the death in this place—and someone bound it here.”
“I don't feel anything,” Abigail said. She could feel the Fade, very close, but she could feel no demon.
Merrill nodded. “I—I don't either,” she said. “And that doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't have been able to leave--” she froze. “Marethari?” Merrill called.
“Merrill,” Marethari stepped out of the shadows of the cave, and immediately the mages in the party could feel something very wrong.
“There's a demon,” Merrill breathed, and stepped back from Marethari. “Ab—Abigail. There's—the demon--”
“I know,” Abigail held out her staff.
“Merrill--” Marethari reached out a hand.
Merrill shook her head. “Keeper—what have you done--?” she drew her blade and held it to her arm, but didn't cut yet.
“Merrill, that's not the Keeper,” Abigail said.
Merrill closed her eyes, pressed her blade down, and blood sluiced from the cuts in her arms.
“Don't--!” Marethari hissed, but the blood magic bore down on her. The Veil rippled, then bucked, like an unhappy animal, then settled again. Marethari was driven to one knee.
“Keeper...?” Merrill tried.
Marethari was silent for a very long moment, taking deep breaths. “I wanted to protect you,” Marethari said eventually. “It said it could—I thought it would have gone after you. It said it wanted the mirror...”
“It didn't,” Merrill said. “It could never have used it, Keeper.”
“You were vulnerable, da'len,” Marethari sadi. “The blood magic--”
“It doesn't work like that!”
“I know that,” Marethari said. “Now.”
“Why didn't you know that when I told you?”
Marethari closed her eyes. “How could I trust the memories of this place?” she asked. “The mirror took Tamlen—it took Mahariel—nothing good could come of it. The demon—it only made sense that it would want such a terrible thing...”
Merrill knelt by Marethari, who was shaking and frail.
“It was just memories, Keeper,” Merrill whispered, her voice trembling. “Just...just memories. Demons lie—you know that. It didn't want me. It wanted you.”
“Ir abelas, da'lath'in,” Marethari whispered. She reached out with one trembling hand and brushed Merrill's cheek.
“Nae, nae,” Merrill said, pressing Marethari's hand to her face. Tears began to spill from her eyes “Nae, Keeper, ir abelas, I should have—I should have--”
“It is my doing,” Marethari said. “Mine. I should have trusted you. I should have...” she closed her eyes.
“Keeper?”
“Everything is waking up, da'len,” Marethari said, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. “Wolves and warriors and emperors—everything is coming back.”
“Marethari?” Merrill whispered.
“A warning...from the demon...” her hand fell. “It heard...Fen'harel...” She closed her eyes, and listed to one side. Merrill caught her before she could collapse.
“Marethari?” she asked. Marethari didn't respond. “Nae—nae, Marethari--” more blood flowed from Merrill's arms, but her magic did nothing.
“Merrill...” Abigail reached out and took Merrill's shoulder.
“I don’t—she wasn’t hurt,” Merrill insisted. “I don’t--”
“Merrill, what do we do now?” Varric asked.
“We—we need to take her back,” Merrill said. “The Clan will—they need to see--”
“Of course,” Isabela said softy. “Do you need help carrying her or--”
“I can do it,” Merrill said. She lifted Marethari into her arms, and they left the cave.
At the mouth of the cave, the hunter Aenorean came to greet them. He stopped dead when he saw Marethari in Merrill's arms.
“Keeper...?” he breathed.
Merrill shook her head. “She's—dead.”
“You killed her!” Anorean accused, jabbing a finger in Merrill's face.
Merrill stiffened. “No, I didn't!” she said. “The demon--”
“The demon you learned blood magic from?”
“That’s not how it works!” Merrill insisted. “Why won't any of you listen?”
“Because that mirror you love killed Tamlen, and Mahariel, and you still took it with us!” Aenorean said. “And now—now the Keeper is dead, from the demon that lived in that cave!”
“That doesn't have anything to do with me!”
“You can't trust the things you learn here, any fool knows that! This is your fault!” Aenorean exclaimed.
“It isn't my fault that she decided to abandon her duty!” Merrill snapped back, and they devolved into Dalish too quick for any of the others to follow.
Eventually, Abigail felt she had to step in. Abigail stepped forward and grabbed Aenorean's tunic. “Out of our way,” she growled.
“Abigail, don't--!” Merrill said.
Aenorean shoved Abigail off of him. “You would hold with this—shemlen filth?” he snarled at Merrill.
“Aenorean, don't,” Merrill snapped. “Both of you, stop it! We need—we still need to bring Marethari back to the camp.”
Aenorean held out his hands. “I'll do it,” he snapped. “Your bloody hands don't need to be touching her.”
“No,” Merrill insisted, holding Marethari close. “She named no First after me. This is my right, my duty, not yours.”
Aenorean's face fell for a moment, stricken, then soured again. “Fine,” he snarled. He stalked ahead of them, down the mountain path. They hurried to follow. Aenorean reached the camp before they did, and as they came down, they realized the camp was in uproar.
Several people came to meet Merrill, many others were crying, Aenorean was arguing with some of the other hunters.
The people who came to meet Merrill included Feynriel, Vinell, Arianni, Pol and an entire crowd of other elves that Abigail didn't recognize. Someone brought a cloth to wrap Marethari in, and Merrill laid her body down while speaking rapidly with the other elves, in Dalish too fast to follow.
Abigail, Isabela and Varric hung off to the side while the arguments and the grieving grew more intense, Merrill caught in the middle of all of it. All three of them had picked up some Dalish, but none of them were fluent, and even if the Clan had been speaking Common it would have been confusing.
Eventually, Feynriel came to explain what was happening. There was an enormous dispute over who was at fault for Marethari's death—Aenorean and his supporters believed Merrill was to blame, whereas Merrill had her own supporters who claimed that Marethari had endangered herself and her Clan.
There was no clear line of succession—Marethari had no Second, as her husband Sarel had died long ago, and Merrill was still technically the First even though she no longer considered herself belonging to Clan Sabrae. None of the other mages in the Clan, even the adults, had Keeper training of any kind. Marethari had not so much as begun to teach them.
Aenorean, Merrill, Vinell and several others including Ilen the craftsmaster and Maren the Halla-keeper were arguing over who was in charge.
“So what should we do?” Abigail asked.
Feynriel shrugged. “No idea,” he admitted. “My mother wants to get help from some other Clans—Vinell and Maren do, too, but there aren't any nearby for miles. A lot are heading away from Kirkwall and the Sundermount.”
“So, what are we waiting for?” Abigail asked.
Feynriel shrugged.
Merrill came up to them. “We're leaving,” she said.
“What?” Abigail said. “Why?”
“We can't—we need--” Merrill faltered. “We don't have a leader,” she said. “So—Aenorean is going to take his people further north, so maybe they can find another Clan.”
“And what about everyone else?” Feynriel asked.
“Well—Pol and some others want to come with me,” Merrill said, shifting from foot to foot. “Back to Kirkwall—and the eluvian.”
Feynriel and Merrill started to speak in Dalish (Feynriel's more clumsy and accented than Merrill's, but reasonably fluent), and the thread of the discussion was lost again.
Eventually it was decided that the bulk of the Clan (so to speak) would follow Aenorean to try and seek aid from other Clans. However, some people would follow Merrill. Pol, Feynriel, Arianni, Ilen, Maren, as well as Ashalle (the rough equivalent of Merrill's aunt), Paivel the storyteller, Sylvas and Syrillon, twin hunters, Fenirrel, one of the other hunters, Jathianni, one of the mages, Vandathdin, another mage, and Variel, a tanner. Several younger children came with them as well, accompanying their parents, as well as several teenagers. Vandathdin and Variel were both skeptical of following Merrill, but trusted passionate and brash Aenorean even less.
“Where are they all going to go?” Abigail asked.
“Well, they can live in the Alienage for now,” Merrill said. “I don’t—I don’t think they could all fit in your house, Abigail.”
“They certainly can for a few days,” Abigail said. “Just until you all get on your feet.”
“Really?” Arianni said. “Don’t you live in Hightown?”
Abigail shrugged. “At least let me help shelter you,” she said. “It’d be cramped, but..." she heaved a sigh. "Just let me help.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Merrill said. “At least until they can find houses in the Alienage.”
"I've never lived in an Alienage before," Ashalle said with a tiny smile. "I suppose it will...be an experience."
"It's certainly something, all right," Feynriel muttered.
“Oh, we wouldn’t stay in the Alienage forever,” Merrill assured them all. “We can use the eluvian to find somewhere new to stay!”
“I want a look at that thing, by the way,” Vandathdin piped up. She was a chubby woman with long black hair, pale green vallaslin and a disapproving frown. “I want to be sure it's safe.”
“It's safe,” Merrill said. Vandathdin didn't look convinced.
“What about Marethari?” Abigail asked.
The group looked downcast.
“We can't bury her here,” Merrill said. “Everyone agreed about that.”
“She would never have wanted to be buried in a city,” Vinell said. “So Aenorean and his people are going to take her up north, away from here.”
“North—towards Antiva?” Abigail asked.
Merrill nodded. “Elrogathe has a second cousin in one of the Antivan Clans,” she said. “Well—when she last checked, she did. They're going to try and see if they can find her.”
“And what about you?” Isabela asked. “You don't want to find an Antivan Clan?”
Everyone looked away, not meeting Isabela’s eyes.
“Not really sure how far they're going to get, really,” Ilen said quietly after a long moment of silence.
“What do you mean?” Abigail wanted to know.
“It's miles of mountain between us and Antiva, and Marethari refused any help fro the other Clans when they were still here—and that includes halla,” Maren said. “They hardly have the supplies to make it over the mountains, much less through the desert.”
“So you’re going to just let them go?” Abigail asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“They're more scared of me than they are the desert,” Merrill said, her tone uncharacteristically bitter.
“Foolish,” Vinell muttered, shaking his head. “Absolutely foolish.”
“So, are we going to leave now, or...?” Isabela asked.
Merrill's group gathered up their supplies, as did Aenorean's, and after some parting farewells, the groups went their separate ways.