One day, Merrill came to visit Abigail at Gamlen's house. She wasn’t around very often, so it was a bit of a surprise. Carver and Bethany were both pleased to see her (Carver blushing and stammering a bit), but she had come to see Abigail specifically.
“Is something wrong, Merrill?” Abigail asked.
“Our neighbor, Arianni, her son's gone missing,” Merrill said.
“Why hasn't she called the Guard?”
“Her son, Feynriel, is a mage,” Merrill explained. “I thought maybe we could find him before Templars or slavers do, since she's ever so worried. She was talking to one of the Templars, but he couldn't promise not to hurt her son.” Merrill wrung her hands.
“What do Sigrun and Velanna think?”
“They want to help her too,” Merrill said. “Sigrun just thought I should find you while they went to see if they could find any trace of Feynriel.”
“Well...” Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “I don't know, Merrill...” she grimaced. “I don't like to do free work, especially if Templars might be involved. Do you think the boy's really in trouble? Maybe Anders knows some people who could help--”
“We already talked to Anders,” Merrill said. “He hasn't heard anything about Feynriel, and none of his friends have either.”
“Mm,” Abigail frowned. “That's bad.”
Merrill nodded. “So, do you want to help? Anders can't—he says that two of the gangs in Darktown are fighting again and that means more work for him than usual.”
Abigail set her shoulders. “I'll see what I can do.”
Velanna and Sigrun had contacted two people Arianni told them to see. Sigrun went to find a Ser Thrask of the Templars, and Velanna to interrogate Feynriel's father. Neither Thrask nor the father (a human merchant from Antiva) could say where specifically Feynriel was. However, Vincento, the father, pointed them to a man called Samson who apparently helped apostate runaways.
This was immediately suspect.
“Anders’ never mentioned a Samson,” Sigrun said with a frown. “And he would know—he knows just about everyone who might be smuggling mages out of the Circle.”
“Maybe he’s new?” Merrill suggested.
“He could be that, or he could be a slaver,” Velanna said with a scowl.
“Well then, we should definitely see him,” Abigail decided.
Samson was actually fairly easy to find, as he was reasonably well-known around Lowtown if one asked around enough. He was thin and wan, his cheeks sunken and his skin sickly. He had the shakes and greasy hair of lyrium withdrawal, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.
“You're Samson?” Abigail asked. They met near a merchant stand, far enough away to be out of earshot.
Samson inclined his head. “You've been asking questions.”
“Do you know where an apostate named Feynriel might have gone? We heard he came to you for help.”
Samson narrowed his eyes. “Why d'you want to know?”
“His mother asked us to help,” Merrill piped up.
Samson looked at her. “His mother? Not the Templars.”
“We do not work with Templars,” Velanna said with a disapproving sniff. “Aranni—Feynriel's mother—is our neighbor.” she gestured to herself, Sigrun and Merrill. “We wish to help her.”
Samson glanced at Sigrun. “Never met a dwarf who lived in an Alienage before,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Sigrun shrugged.
“Have you heard of this boy or not?” Velanna demanded.
Samson sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah,” he said. “He wanted out of the city, heard I could help him.”
“And did you?”
“He didn't have the coin,” Samson spread his hands helplessly. “And I don't have enough coin to take on charity cases.”
“So what did you do?”
“I turned him away, told him to go back to his mother,” Samson said. “I'm no Templar anymore, but the nightmares he was talking about—well, I don't know anyone outside of the Circle who could help.” he shook his head. “I don't think he took my advice, though.”
“Do you know where he went next?”
“Last I heard, he was at the docks, looking for a cheaper ship,” Samson said. “The only thing is, ships that are willing to take on half-elves with no coin? Usually up to no good.”
Velanna growled a Dalish curse.
“Do you have any specific idea of who he might have gone to?” Abigail asked urgently.
“No, I'm sorry,” Samson said. “Hopefully he's still poking around on the docks—especially if he's been talking about those nightmares to anyone else. Most ships don't want to take on apostates, even slaver ships, and all that demon talk would spook just about anyone.”
They left Samson to hurry down to the dock district.
“Why didn't Feynriel come to us?” Merrill fretted. “I thought for sure he and Arianni know we're mages...”
“You heard Arianni,” Sigrun said. “She's terrified of him getting attacked by demons.”
“But we could help!” Merrill insisted. “I know a little dream-walking, and I know how to keep demons away--”
“She was just scared,” Sigrun soothed. “Arianni doesn't know everything we know. And if she told him she was going to tell the Templars...”
“Of course he would run,” Abigail said with a sigh. “How old is he?”
“Not even twenty,” Merrill said. She perked up. “Maybe Isabela's heard of him.”
Isabela had, indeed, heard of him.
“Or at least, I've heard of a half-elf bothering the cheap captains,” Isabela said when they explained the situation. “And word's gotten around that the boy's probably half-mad or demon possessed, too. S'pose he mentioned the wrong thing to the wrong person.”
“Do you know where he is?” Abigail urged.
“I can probably figure it out,” Isabela said. “Come on.”
“Why haven't the Templars caught up to him yet?” Sigrun asked as Isabela lead them towards the docks.
Isabela snorted. “Templars know better than to listen to a bunch of sailors,” she said. “Half the time if a sailor's seen magic, he was drunk off his tits and mistook the moon for the ocean.”
“Shouldn't the Templars be more on guard, though?” Abigail asked with a frown. “They're paranoid enough as it is—I would have thought they would spend their time chasing down every lead, no matter how ridiculous.”
“I suppose they've been burned too many times,” Isabela said. “Sailors will call anyone an apostate or a sorceress or a magician. It's practically a tradition. You wouldn't believe how ridiculous they can get sometimes.”
“That, and the Templars are kind of stupid,” Sigrun said.
“That's true,” Abigail said. “But also paranoid—that's why I don't know why they wouldn't listen to every rumor.”
“Don't push your luck,” Isabela muttered darkly.
It took some asking around, but someone did know where the half-elf with the strange dreams was. It took them a few hours to locate him, badgering a scarred ship captain who didn't seem like she much appreciated it.
“Are you Feynriel?” Abigail asked as they approached him.
“He is,” said the captain before Feynriel could say anything. “For the love of the Maker, will you deal with him? I don't need demon-children on my ship.”
“I'm not--!” Feynriel protested, but the captain was already walking away. He glared at Abigail and the others.
Feynriel was elf-blooded, and it showed. Common knowledge was that the child of the union between a human and an elf always looked human, but this was not true. Many half-elf children had the large, reflective eyes, strong nose or short stature of an elf. Many had jewel-colored eyes or even pointed ears if the human parent had elvhen blood in their line.
Feynriel had a very strong nose, the large eyes (a dark gold), and though he did not have pointed ears, his ears were larger and slightly odder shaped than the average human's.
He peered at Sigrun, Velanna and Merrill curiously. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Your mother wanted us to find you,” Merrill explained.
Feynriel snorted. “To drag me back to the Templars, right?”
“Templars?” Isabela laughed. “Don't be ridiculous.”
“I could've sworn you knew Velanna and I are mages,” Merrill said with a slight frown, her brow furrowed.
Feynriel flushed. “Well...maybe Mother mentioned something about that, once or twice,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head.
“You and Arianni could have told us!” Merrill urged. “We could have helped, lethallin!”
“Helped how?” Feynriel demanded.
“I don't know, perhaps given you any kind of magical learning from which to work off of?” Velanna said, rolling her eyes. “Told you any ways to ward off demons, instead of what you apparently know, which is nothing?”
“Mother told me some ways,” Feynriel mumbled. “She remembered from the mages in her Clan...”
“But she is not a mage herself,” Velanna said. “She could hardly teach you much.”
“How about we have this conversation away from other people?” Abigail suggested, eyeing the shifty-looking sailors that frequented the docks.
“Good idea,” Sigrun agreed.
“I'm not going back to the Alienage,” Feynriel said, folding his arms.
“That's alright,” Isabela said amicably. “You all can come to my place—for the moment. I don't exactly want any of you to stay too long.”
They went back to Isabela's tiny house, and Feynriel explained the nature of his particular magic.
“Other mages start out by—I don't know, lighting things on fire or making them fly about,” he said. “But not me. I can walk in people's dreams. Before I had it under control, I kept wandering in and out of my mother's dreams,” he explained, looking away. “And the neighbors'.”
“Under control?” Velanna raised an eyebrow. “You don't have any control—that is your problem!”
“Only dreams?” Merrill propped her chin on her hands, looking thoughtful. “Nothing else?”
Feynriel rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe I could do other things,” he said. “But I never tried to.”
“Somniari,” Velanna said.
“Oh, Creators,” Merrill exclaimed. “Do you really think so?”
Velanna nodded. “Yes—natural Fadewalking? He's a Somniari.”
“Well, we can hardly teach him,” Merrill said, worried. “I know a little Fadewalking but not very much...”
Velanna nodded.
“What's a Somniari?” Feynriel asked, looking from one to the other.
“A mage who can walk the Fade naturally,” Merrill exclaimed. “You can wander around in other people's dreams and see memories with little effort.”
“I thought mages all went into the Fade while they slept?” Isabela asked.
“That is an oversimplification,” Velanna said.
“Yes, it's a little different from that,” Abigail explained. “Mages can go into the Fade, and demons are more likely to be attracted to us when we're asleep, but mostly we stay in our own heads when we dream, unless we're leaving on purpose. People's dreams are part of the Fade, which is why demons can come in, but they're not really the same thing.”
"Most mages need lyrium or another aid to get into the Fade without practice," Merrill piped up. "And I think it's only Somniari who can go into other people's dreams."
“...right...” Isabela said.
“The Dalish could help,” Merrill said, tapping her chin. “Feynriel, I mean. I think Marethari is still on the Sundermount...”
“Is the Sundermount the best idea?” Velanna said. “With all the spirits there...”
“Marethari will move on, I’m sure of it,” Merrill said. “They've only been there a few months—it doesn't make sense that they'd stay.”
“Would the Dalish even take me?” Feynriel snapped. “Mother's Clan threw her out when they learned she was having me.”
“What Clan does she hail from?” Velanna asked, while Merrill looked away, ashamed.
Feynriel shrugged. “I don't know! Does it matter?”
“I know several Clans that have half-elves or even part-elves as Clanmembers,” Velanna said, frowning a little. She and Merrill exchanged a look, and an expression of understanding crossed Merrill's face.
“Arianni's from Orlais, isn't she?” Merrill said.
“Well—Mother always said her Clan went from Orlais to the Free Marches when they were wandering,” Feynriel explained. “Why?”
At that, Merrill and Velanna exchanged another look and a deep sigh. Velanna shook her head and muttered something in Dalish.
“What is it?” Feynriel asked, looking from one of them to the other.
“Ferelden and Free Marcher Clans are a lot more...open-minded about city elves, and elves who might not be pure elvhen,” Merrill said. “Orlesian Clans are...different. I don't think it's their fault!” she was quick to assure Feynriel. “It's not safe to live in Orlais as a Dalish Clan. But it makes them cruel.”
“Oh,” Feynriel blinked. “Mother never told me that. Why wouldn't she go to another Clan, then?”
“I'm sure she had her reasons,” Merrill said. “Maybe she tried to find other Clans, but couldn't. Maybe she didn't want to go back. Maybe she likes living in an Alienage better. You should ask her yourself.”
“In any case,” Velanna said. “Back to the subject at hand?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Merrill said. “You should go to Clan Sabrae, Feynriel. If Marethari can't help, I'm sure she'd find someone who can.”
“Oh,” Feynriel said. “Are you sure your Clan would take me?”
“Your humanity would set you apart,” Merrill said. “But they would never simply turn you away, not when you're in such need.”
They ended up taking Feynriel back to the Alienage to say goodbye to Arianni. Arianni was relieved to see Feynriel safe. She wasn't sure about sending him to the Dalish instead of the Circle (the bad memories of her Clan extended far beyond their final rejection of her), but Velanna and Merrill assured her it would be alright, and much safer for Feynriel.
Velanna accompanied Feynriel to the Sundermount, as Merrill wasn't sure how happy Marethari would be to see her. Velanna returned within a few days, with the news that Marethari and the Clan had decided to help Feynriel as best they could.