Getting out of the city was easy, thanks to Aveline's influence in the Guard. Carver stayed with Gamlen and Leandra, while Abigail, Bethany, Varric, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel and Sigrun all climbed the Sundermount.
“My Clan had stories about this place,” Velanna said as they neared the mountain. It was enormous, Kirkwall built in its shadow. “No humans, or dwarves, or Vashothari dare to live here. Just the Dalish, and even then, very few.”
“Why, if you don’t mind my prying?” Abigail asked.
“It is a graveyard,” Velanna said. “A mausoleum for the ancient Elvhen. In the war between Arlathan and the Imperium, the elves made their last stand here. There is blood and pain in the very soil. The Veil is cracked and torn, and there are stories of something terrible living within the Fade.”
“Like the Blackmarsh?” Nathaniel asked.
Velanna gave a harsh, humorless chuckle. “No,” she said. “Not like that at all.”
They met the Dalish near the top of the mountain. The Veil wore thin and ragged, like rotting silk. Anders flinched every once in a while, curious spirits approaching him. Bethany heard whispers, just out of reach, and Abigail's hands buzzed with a strange, nervous energy.
Two Dalish hunters saw them coming and stood in their path. Velanna and the hunters had a quick conversation in Dalish, Velanna frequently gesturing to Abigail.
Eventually, the hunters turned to the rest of the group.
“You may see the Keeper,” one of them said, his voice thickly accented, far more so than Velanna's. “Step lightly, shemlen. Our arrows are trained on you.”
“What about us?” Sigrun asked, gesturing to Varric and herself. “We're not humans.”
The hunter scowled. “Durghen'len,” he corrected. “Our Clan is not a friend of your Queen. You should watch your step as well.”
“She's not my Queen,” Varric said. “I've never even been to Orzammar.”
“I care not,” the hunter said, waving them along. “Mind yourselves.”
“Who is the Keeper?” Abigail asked. “Flemeth never said—she just said to take it to whatever Keeper was here.”
“Marethari,” Velanna said with a slight frown. “This is Clan Sabrae. I was certain they allied with Orzammar and the Wardens in the Blight...”
“Maybe they changed their minds after,” Sigrun suggested with a shrug.
Velanna's frown deepened. “Perhaps.”
Marethari was waiting by a large fire pit. She was a peculiar looking woman. Her skin had a strange, papery quality about it, her long white hair bound in an untidy bun at the back of her head. Her tattoos were pale, curling over her cheeks and chin. She was small, smaller than Velanna, but there was a heavy presence about her that made her seem larger than she really was.
Her pale eyes flicked to Abigail immediately upon seeing the group. “You are the one with the amulet,” she said. Her accent was thick as well, but a little different than the hunter's had been. “Come here, da'len. Let me look at you.”
Abigail hesitated, then went to stand before her. Marethari surveyed her, her green eyes examining her as if Abigail was a weapon to look over for future use.
“Tell me, how did this burden fall to you?” Marethari asked.
“A witch saved me and my family from the Blight,” Abigail explained, exchanging a glance with Bethany. “She asked me to take it here.”
“Mm,” Marethari inclined her head. “Wise of you to heed her words. I am afraid, however, your part in this is not done yet.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“You must take it to the top of the mountain,” Marethari pointed, where the peak of the mountain loomed high overhead. “It must be given a rite for the departed—one of our rites. Then you may return it to me.”
“Why can't you take the amulet now, and do the rite yourself?” Abigail asked.
Marethari gave an odd, humorless smile. “Because she gave the amulet to you, not to me. You are the bearer. No one else may have this task.”
“Oh.” Abigail blinked, and exchanged a look with her companions. “I’m afraid I don't know any Dalish funeral rights...”
“I do,” Velanna said.
Marethari raised her hand. “I am sure that you do, lethallan,” she said. “But this one is unique to Clan Sabrae. You would not have been entrusted the amulet if the woman bearing it did not know we would be here. I will send my First with you—she is a more capable battlemage than I, and you will find many terrible things on the mountain's top.” Marethari gave a long sigh. “And when the ritual is finished, I ask that you take my First with you, away from here.”
“What?” Velanna exclaimed, shocked. “Why?”
“Don't you need a First?” Sigrun asked, frowning in a confused way.
“I haven't even met her,” Abigail pointed out. “Why would she want to go with us anywhere?”
Marethari cast an unreadable gaze past them, to the trail that lead up the mountain. “It is a long and sorry tale,” she said. “Far too long to recount now. Know that this is what she wants—it is what she has decided.”
Velanna scowled.
“Ah—if you insist,” Abigail said. “We’ll do as you ask.”
“Merrill will be waiting for you on that path,” Marethari pointed to the path she had been looking at. “Be careful—she strays closer to the mountain each day we stay here.”
The group left to head up the trail.
“That was weird,” Varric said.
“More than weird,” Anders said. “I've never even heard of a Clan just—giving up their First. Fighting with them, yes, but just...letting them leave like this? Velanna?”
“Never,” Velanna said. “There is something worse going on here. I can feel it.”
“You sure that's not just the mountain?” Varric asked. “There is enough magic going on here than I can feel something's wrong, and that's not exactly a good sign.”
“It is not just the mountain,” Velanna snapped. “I will speak with this First, and then I can learn what is happening.”
The walked up the trail, which rose steeply over the cliffs of the mountain. They came across no one until they met an elf sitting on a large boulder, her back to them. She held something that gleamed in her hand.
The elf noticed them and got to her feet. She was quite tall for an elf, almost as tall as Anders. She had pale olive skin, as if she had not seen sunlight for some time, and her short black hair was cut unevenly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn't hear you follow—you must be the one with the amulet. One of you. Aneth'ara.” her accent was very thick as well, though quite different from Marethari's, as if she had learned to speak in a different country entirely.
“I am,” Abigail said. “I'm the one with the amulet.”
“Oh—I'm so sorry, I didn't even ask your name!” she exclaimed. “Unless—is it rude to ask a human their name? I'm Merrill—but you probably knew that already. I'm rambling, I'm sorry.”
“It's alright,” Abigail assured her. “I'm Abigail Hawke. This is my sister, Bethany, and these are my friends, Varric Tethras, Anders, Velanna, Sigrun and Nathaniel.” she pointed to each of them in turn.
Merrill smiled at them, her shoulders hunched a little as if she were shy.
“Marethari said you could show us a Dalish rite?” Abigail prompted.
Merrill nodded. “Well, not Dalish, exactly,” she said. “For that amulet, it's a rite only Clan Sabrae has—Marethari said it comes from Arlathan.” she pointed up the trail. “Come on, we should go—I can explain more on the way, if you want.” she looked down. “I mean—if that's polite. I'm sorry, I don't have much experience with your kind.”
“There is no need to worry over whether you are polite to them or not,” Velanna said, with a haughty tilt to her chin.
“Of course you'd say that,” Anders muttered. Velanna elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and he elbowed her right back.
“Oh! Ir abelas, I didn't realize you were—your hair is in your face, I thought--” Merrill broke out into Dalish, and Velanna gave a rare chuckle and answered in the same language. They had a short conversation as they went up the trail, until they came to a flat clearing where another hunter waited.
His head jerked up, surprised. He was crouched by a small patch of elfroot, gathering it. He got to his feet, and slung a woven bag full of elfroot over one shoulder. He frowned when he looked at Merrill.
“I see the Keeper finally found someone to take you from here,” he snapped.
Merrill scowled at him. “Yes.” her eyes traveled to his bag. “I'm not the only one drawn to the mountain,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You can't judge my choices when you walk the same path.”
The hunter recoiled. “I do not!” he said.
“Then go back down to the camp,” Merrill instructed, pointing down the path. “Or do you want to see Asha'bella'nar yourself?”
The hunter tilted his head back. Abigail noticed the faintest tremor in his hands. “Finish your task quickly,” he sneered, shoving past them. “We cannot be rid of this one fast enough.”
Velanna yelled something insulting in Dalish at him, and he shouted something back. Sigrun grimaced—she'd picked up a little Dalish and Velanna and the hunter were being extremely rude.
“Oh, goodness,” Merrill's face flushed. “Velanna—don't do that, please?”
“I know what it is when your Clan does not understand your decisions,” Velanna said. “He does not deserve my respect.”
They continued on. “I'm sensing a story there,” Varric said. “Want to tell us about it?”
“No,” she stared after the hunter, a frown on her face. “It's nothing. Just ignorance. So, um—Velanna says you all came from Ferelden,” Merrill said quickly. “Have you been here long? Do you like it here?”
“I was born in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “It's got a lot of interesting things—not sure how much a Dalish elf would be interested in, but you never know.” he gave her a disarming smile, and Merrill giggled a bit.
“Kirkwall is a mire,” Velanna said, her face twisting.
“At least you don't live in an actual sewer,” Anders said.
“Oh, do you live in a sewer?” Merrill sounded very concerned. “Oh dear. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all...”
“I'm sure you'll be alright,” Bethany said. “Anders just lives in—in a bad part of town. Elves live in the Alienage, it's—well, it’s nicer than Darktown, at any rate.”
“For a given measurement of 'nice,'” Sigrun said. “It's got that big tree in it, though—they don't even have trees that big in Hightown. Do you like plants?” she asked Merrill. “I used to think all elves liked trees and things, but Velanna says that’s not true.”
“We like them perfectly well,” Velanna said. “We just don't go around smelling everything.”
“If you'd lived your whole life underground, you'd want to see how things smelled too,” Sigrun said, playfully bumping Velanna's shoulder with her own.
“They're nice,” Merrill said. “I like flowers—when we’re traveling, always see so many different kinds! Can you grow flowers in Kirkwall? There were never many flowers in the shemlen cities in Ferelden.”
Velanna started speaking in Dalish to Merrill again, and the group continued on. The air was oppressive and foreboding, worse the higher they went. Merrill lead them through a series of caves and out the other side, and all the mages shuddered.
The Veil was very, very thin on this side of the mountain. The whispers were clearer now, and all the mages could feel the presence of many spirits pressing against them. There was a strange sense of vertigo, a fogginess like a dream.
“What's wrong with the Veil here?” Abigail whispered. “What happened to it?”
“The elders came here to sleep,” Merrill said softly. “Uthenera, they called it. The long dream. But they don't sleep peacefully anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Anders asked.
“You'll see.” Merrill sounded unfathomably sad, and a strange feeling of heartache settled on all of them. “I'm sorry--” she said, jerking her head up. “I didn't mean to—on the mountain, here, you have to keep calm. The spirits and other people get disturbed by strong feelings. Ir abelas.” she took a deep breath, and the strange sadness lifted.
“I have never even heard of that happening anywhere,” Anders said. “What--?”
“It doesn't happen anywhere but here,” Merrill said. “Not that I know of.”
“I told you,” Velanna said. “This mountain is dangerous. Even living in its shadow is dangerous.”
They continued forward along the path, until they encountered a shimmering magical barrier that blocked the way forward.
“Oh, dear,” Merrill breathed.
“What is it?” Abigail looked at the barrier. She reached out to touch it, then pulled her hand back at the last moment. “Who put this here?”
“No one,” Merrill said. “The mountain wants to keep us out.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. It does this sometimes.” Merrill looked at it. “I can open the way forward. One moment.” she rolled up her sleeve and pulled a knife from her belt. She cut her arm, and blood dripped from her wound. She raised her hand, and the Veil shuddered around them, grew more solid for an instant—and then the barrier dropped.
“Blood magic?” Anders breathed. “No wonder your Clan has a problem with you.”
“Be quiet,” Velanna snapped, scowling at him. “Your Chantry superstitions don't apply to the Dalish.”
“They don't like it, though, my Clan,” Merrill said, looking away from them.
“Because it's dangerous!” Bethany exclaimed. “Are you insane? Surely there was a safer way to do that!”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Velanna said. “Dangerous? She cut open her arm—it is a few drops of blood!”
“But demons--”
Velanna rolled her eyes. “Did you not feel the Veil strengthen? Blood magic is no doorway to demons—if anything, it’s spirit healing that opens the door for demons. You summon spirits! Did you never make that connection before?”
Bethany blinked. “Oh.” she said in a very quiet voice.
“It's safe,” Merrill assured them. She ran a hand over her arm, and the blood stopped immediately, and she pushed her sleeve back down. “Really! I'm not hurting anyone—and it works best here. Just throwing fire or lightning at barriers like that doesn't work—I've tried before.”
“If it’s not a problem, why doesn't your Clan like you using blood magic?' Nathaniel asked as they moved cautiously forward.
Merrill shrugged, her back tense. “I learned it in the Fade,” she said. “Like a—do you know i've'an'virelan?”
“Dreamers,” Velanna said. “Somniari. Are you a Dreamer?”
“Oh, me? No, never!” Merrill laughed, rubbing her arms. “But you can learn to do it, a little bit—like someone who's not a spirit healer learning healing spells. But Marethari doesn't trust it. She thought maybe a demon told me, disguising itself as a memory. I don't know why it would, though.”
“Why would you trust anything you saw in the Fade?” Abigail asked. “It's all a trick—isn't it?”
“Oh, no!” Merrill said. “You just have to be careful. You can walk into memories with practice—I'm not very good at it, though. I get lost, and then I have to find my body again.” she shuddered. “No, I saw a memory, of an elf using blood magic, and I thought that maybe—maybe I could try it.”
“Why would you do that?” Anders demanded.
Merrill was quiet. “Our Clan was attacked by darkspawn, when we were still in the Brecelian,” she said. “All our halla died. My friends Tamlen and Mahariel—I thought maybe, I could use the blood magic and cleanse their blood--”
Everyone was quiet as Merrill trailed off. She took a deep breath.
“I couldn't. But I knew I could use it for other things.”
Abigail was about to ask what other things when something rose from the ground. A corpse clawed its way out of the dirt, dressed in shredded brocade, an ancient sword hanging loosely from a skeletal hand.
“Andraste's ass, not this again,” Anders muttered as more corpses began to rise, all dressed in ancient and rotted finery, clutching various weapons. One even held a mages' staff, though it wielded no magic. The corpses fought like people whose minds knew how to fight, but whose muscles had forgotten.
They finished off the corpses, though Merrill said that if they weren't destroyed entirely, they would rise again soon, their bodies pulling back together.
“Why is your Clan here?” Abigail asked. “It seems...dangerous.”
“Marethari says that before Sabrae traveled Ferelden, they traveled the Free Marches,” Merrill said. “And when they did, they came here. So we came here also.”
They came to an alter placed on a precarious cliff. There was a bowl of blue Veilfire already burning there, and it gave off no heat.
“Put the amulet there,” Merrill instructed, pointing. Abigail put the amulet in the place she indicated, and Merrill stepped up beside her. She raised her hand over the alter.
“Hahren na melana sahlin,” she intoned. “Emma ir abela souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas. In uthenera na revas.” she flicked her fingers, and for a moment, everything was the same.
Then the dragon woman appeared in a flash of brilliant white light. There was a roar, like that of a high dragon, and the light coalesced into the shape of a hundred batlike wings, which folded in on themselves until they formed the shape of a woman.
The woman shone brightly for a moment, then her figure softened and solidified, and she at last looked more or less real. She was tall, enormously tall, a full head taller than Anders. Her long white hair was swept back from her crown in an imitation of dragons' horns, and her red tunic looked to be made of dragonhide. Her tunic had a train that trailed behind her like a cape or an extravagant dress. The tunic itself was over a suit of armor, which was silvery and gleamed faintly with enchantments.
Her face resembled that of Flemeth’s, except that where Flemeth’s eyes were a dull, ditchwater brown, this woman had eyes of brilliant, shining gold.
Merrill bowed low.
“Ander'an atish'an, Asha'bella'nar,” she said.
Asha’bella’nar smiled.