Merrill was unhappy when Abigail next came to see her.
“I still can't get the mirror to work,” Merrill said. “But I think I know what might help.”
“What's that?” Abigail asked.
“I need an arulin'holm,”
“What is that?” Abigail asked.
“A tool, held in my Clan for many years,” Merrill explained, gnawing at her thumbnail. “An artifact from Elvhenan we recovered and restored, like the eluvian. And Marethari has it."
“Then you can go and ask her, can't you?”
Merrill bit her fingernail off all the way, and Abigail realized that her nails were so chewed down they were only stubs. She shook her head. “Oh, no, we'll talk circles around each other, and she's got this disappointed frown that could turn your legs to jelly—please come with me, Abigail?”
“That hardly sounds like the Merrill I know,” Abigail cajoled, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You came to the Deep roads with us, and you don't want to see Marethari?”
Merrill shook her head again. “Please, Abigail? I don't want to go on my own, she won't listen to me.”
“Well...” Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “Alright. I'll come. I don’t know how much help I'll be, but we can at least see Feynriel and Arianni, can’t we?”
Merrill nodded. “Mas serannas, Abigail,” she said, clearly relieved. “We should bring someone else, too—it's the Sundermount, after all...”
“I'll see who I can find,” Abigail said. “Isabela and Varric could probably come.”
“What about Carver? He could too, couldn't he?”
Abigail grimaced. “He and I...haven't been getting along so well,” she said.
“Oh dear,” Merrill said. “I'm sorry.”
“It's alright,” Abigail patted Merrill on the shoulder. “We'll get you your arulin'holm, don't worry.”
Merrill smiled at her, and Abigail felt something in her chest grow tight.
It was Varric and Isabela who joined Abigail and Merrill on their way up Sundermount.
“Your Clan lives up here?” Isabela said with a shiver, staring around at the trees. “Ugh—I can feel there's something wrong with it.”
“I know,” Merrill said, with a troubled frown. “I don’t think they should be here still...but they probably had trouble moving, because they don’t have halla.”
“They couldn't just use horses?” Varric asked.
“Oh, no, most horses aren't made for the kind of travel we go on,” she said. “It's why we use halla or harts—horses just aren't sturdy enough. Some Clans in Antiva or Nevarra, in the desert, you see, don't use halla either, because it's so dry...they use these funny animals with with humps on the back. Like a big horse, but with a different shaped head.”
“Have you seen animals like that in person?” Abigail wanted to know.
“Oh, yes, at the last Arlathvhen—there were a few Clans that didn't even use halla or harts at all, just those great big...I think they called them camels? They were enormous, bigger than a hart, even!” Merrill chuckled. “One Clan, from the Frostbacks, had a moose with them. Can you believe that? A moose? Their halla-keeper was ever so proud, because no one else had a moose.”
“So none of you use horses at all?” Isabela asked.
“No, not really. I mean, I suppose some could—maybe if there was a Clan on a grassland, they could use ponies? But most of the grasslands are nearer Tevinter, so we don't go there.”
They spoke a bit about the differences between riding a halla or a hart and riding a horse. Merrill was apparently not the best at riding any of them, but all Dalish children learned how to ride from when they were small.
“I’m not a big horse person,” Isabela said. “I like ships much better.”
“Most dwarves are too short for anything but ponies,” Varric said. “And I haven't really needed to learn.”
They came to Clan Sabrae, to find two Templars bothering a pair of hunters who guarded the entrance to the main camp.
“Oh no,” Merrill whispered.
“Don't worry, Daisy,” Varric assured her quietly. “We can handle it.”
They approached the Templars.
“No,” the Dalish guard insisted. “We have no mages here.”
“I know you do!” one of the Templars said. “Everyone knows about you bloody heathens--”
“And I'm pretty sure everyone also knows you can't believe what you hear,” Varric interjected. Everyone turned to look at Abigail and her group, surprised.
“Merrill!” exclaimed one of the Dalish guards. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to see the Keeper,” Merrill said. “Is—is everything alright?”
“That's all we need,” the other hunter muttered. “First the Templars, now her.”
“You hush,” the first hunter elbowed him with a scowl. “Anyway—you two. Leave here.” he told the Templars.
“No,” the Templar snapped.
“Pardon me, Ser Templars,” Abigail said. “But we have business here. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't harass my--” she thought for a minute. “Business partners.”
“Business partners?” both the hunters and the Templars exclaimed in surprise.
“Oh, yes,” Varric said, catching on quickly. “See, this Clan is allied with Queen Aeducan—we're here to do some trading. And the Queen gets pretty testy when she doesn't get her shipments of furs and wood—you know how Orzammar is.”
“Oh, of course!” the friendlier Dalish hunter said, a look of understanding crossing his face. “Yes, we're attempting to trade, Ser Templar, and you are not helping.”
“Queen Aeducan doesn't really like Templars scaring her trading partners,” Varric said, folding his arms in a disapproving way. “And look—I know the Templars do a lot of Trade with Orzammar. So you don't really want to mess up that relationship, right?”
“I—Lady Hawke,” the Templar implored, apparently having recognized Abigail. “Please, there might be dangerous apostates in--”
“Don't be silly,” Merrill said, waving a hand. “Dangerous magic? That'd be a bit stupid, wouldn't it?” she winked at the hunters. “Because we don't have Templars to watch the mages and all.”
“But...” the Templar said. “Everyone knows the Dalish--”
“Last I heard, everyone knew that all the Templars liked to loiter around the Rose and not pay,” Isabela piped up with a wicked grin “But, I mean, that could just be a rumor.”
Both Templars went very red.
“This isn't the end of this,” the Templar snapped, but the pair of them turned and headed away.
Once they were out of earshot, both hunters let out a relieved breath.
“Has that happened before?” Merrill asked urgently.
“It’s the second time,” the friendlier hunter said. “The first was three months ago. I think someone might have spotted Feynriel one of the others or something.”
“Why doesn't Marethari leave?” Merrill asked. “If it’s so dangerous--!”
“As if you care,” the unfriendly hunter snapped. “You left.”
“Will you hush, Sylvas?” the other one huffed. “Honestly—you know Merrill has her reasons. You heard what Arianni said—Feynriel wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for her.”
Sylvas folded his arms. “Fine,” he gritted. “I'll go tell the Keeper you're here.” with one last glare at Merrill, Sylvas left.
“Sorry, Merrill,” the remaining hunter said.
“It's alright, Fennirel,” Merrill said softly.
“Look—you can see the Keeper if you want,” Fennirel said. “But it's...not exactly going to be warm.”
“I thought so,” Merrill said with a sigh.
“No, I mean—Marethari's still banging on about you using dangerous magic,” Fennirel said. “It's got half the bloody Clan scared of you, which personally I think is stupid, 'cause Arianni told everyone how you helped Feynriel, but still,” he grimaced. “It's not pretty.”
“Oh, dear,” Merrill said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Is that—is there anything else the matter?” she asked.
“There's a varterral in one of the caves,” Fennirel said. “Last thing we needed. And—ah—if you hear Vinell and Marethari shouting at each other, please, please don't get involved.”
Merrill furrowed her brow. “Why not? Why are they angry with each other?”
“Ask Vinell, not me,” Fennirel said. “Anyway—you can go in. Oh—and don't bother Ilen. Doesn't have anything to do with you—any of you—he's just in a mood.”
“He's always in a mood.”
“Yes, well,” Fennirel said lamely. “Go on, alright? I can't just keep chatting forever.”
“Alright,” Merrill said. “Mas serannas, Fennirel.”
“Da'rahn, lethallin.”
They continued on into the camp. They were immediately greeted by Arianni, who came up to them with a smile.
“Merrill!” she exclaimed. “Serah Hawke!”
“It’s lovely to see you, Arianni,” Abigail said with a pleasant smile.
“How are you, Arianni?” Merrill asked. “Is everything alright? Is Feynriel doing well?”
“Yes, yes, we're fine,” Arianni said, looking back and forth between them. “Why are you here? Is there something wrong?”
“I need Marethari to give me the arulin'holm,” Merrill explained. “I think it will help me fix the Eluvian.”
“Oh,” Arianni's face fell.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
“Marethari won't be happy to hear that,” she explained. “Merrill—I think—I don't know, she hasn't appointed a new First yet--”
“What?” Merrill exclaimed. “But—what about Jathianni, or Vandathdin, or Eliovron? She likes Eliovron. I haven't been back here for such a long time, why wouldn't she--?”
“I don't know,” Arianni said, shaking her head. “She and Vinell keep arguing about it, but she just hasn't yet. It's making everyone nervous.”
“Fennirel said that she's been telling the Clan about my work,” Merrill said.
“Yes—she can't stand the—the blood magic,” Arianni said in a whisper. “But I don't know, Merrill—it doesn't seem right for her to criticize when you're not even here.”
“Why don't we go speak to her?” Isabela urged.
“Yeah, maybe we can help sort this out,” Varric said.
Arianni nodded. “She's just over there, by the fire.”
They walked through the camp, and had a...mixed reaction. One elf waved cheerfully at Merrill, but most of the others glared or shied away. One pair spoke in hushed tones, anxious about something, but hardly even noticed when Merrill passed. Marethari was by the firepit, arguing softly with another man, but they stopped when Merrill approached.
“Keeper,” Merrill said. She nodded to the man, a middle-aged elf with long, steel-gray hair. “Ander'an'atish'an, Vinell.”
Vinell inclined his head.
“You return to us, da'len,” Marethari said. “Have you reconsidered this path at last?”
“Marethari...” Vinell muttered in a warning tone.
“No—I...” Merrill trailed off, looking away. Abigail put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and both Isabela and Varric stood a little closer to her.
Merrill took a deep breath. “I need the arulin'holm,” Merrill said.
“Merrill!” Vinell exclaimed. He spoke to her in Dalish, surprised.
“Vinell, could you switch to Common?” Merrill asked. “My friends don't understand.”
“Da'len, really,” Vinell said, glancing at Abigail, Isabela, and Varric. “You know Ilen isn't going to part from it.”
“I need it to try and fix the eluvian!”
“You still wish to rebuild it?” Marethari said with a sigh.
“You don't have to approve of it,” Merrill said, folding her arms. “I'm invoking vir sulevanan.”
Vinell gave a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of all the Creators,” he muttered.
“What?” Merrill said. “I can if I want to.”
“Ilen is going to throw a fit,” Vinell said. “You know how he is, Merrill.”
“I still need it.”
“Will it even work? Do you know?”
“She's already got that mirror to start making weird sounds,” Varric said. “Seems to me like it's halfway to being fixed already.”
“Oh, and you'd know so much about it, I'm sure,” Vinell said, his tone very dry. “I’m positive that a dwarf from Kirkwall is just overflowing with information.”
“Vinell, please,” Marethari said.
“Fine, fine,” Vinell grumbled. He threw up his hands. “I suppose I'll just go warn Ilen then...”
He left, and Marethari folded her arms. “Vir sulevanan is your right,” Marethari said with a scowl. “There is a service you can perform for us, if you insist.”
“I do.” Merrill's chin was stubborn, and her voice was steady as she spoke.
Marethari paced, thinking. “A varterral has taken the lives of three hunters,” she said.
“Fennirel told me about the varterral,” Merrill said. “We can kill it for you.” she glanced at the others, who nodded.
“Nuvas ema ir'enastela,” Marethari said. “Nuva mar'shos'lahn'en ir'tel'dera Fen'harel, da'lath'in.”
“Sathem lasa halani, Keeper,” Merrill said. “Sule tael tasalal.”
“Ea son, Merrill.”
Marethari marked the cave of the varterral on a map for them, and they were off. They climbed the mountain, the Veil twisting and thinning around them.
“Who was that?” Abgail asked. “The man she was talking to?”
“That was Vinell,” Merrill said. “He’s an old friend, an elder. He's a bit like—well, I suppose if you imagined Fenris with a dozen grandchildren, he's a bit like that.”
Varric and Isabela both laughed, surprised.
“That'd be a sight,” Varric said with a grin.
“He was fighting with Marethari, though,” Merrill said, her expression troubled.
“Do they fight often?” Abigail asked.
“No, not at all. Something must be wrong...”
“You said they shouldn't still be here,” Isabela pointed out. “Maybe he's unhappy about that.”
“Maybe,” Merrill said. “I still don't like it.”
They came to the cave, from which a truly awful smell emerged. The cave was full of spiders, and they had to fight through them to get through. Luckily, there were no undead there, the way there were on top of the mountain.
They went through the caves, not finding the varterral, but finding someone else. A slight, redheaded elf peered at them from around a door.
“It's safe,” Abigail called. “You can come out!”
The elf came out. “Oh, praise Andras—or, thank the Creators, whatever—I thought I'd never get out of—oh no,” he caught sight of Merrill.
“Pol!” Merrill exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”
“What are you doing here?” Pol exclaimed, stepping back.
“I'm here to help, Pol.”
"Don't,” Pol snapped. “Stay back!” the elf turned and made to run back in the direction he had come from.
“Pol, no!” Merrill reached out and managed to grab his arm, jerking him back.
“Let go!” Pol exclaimed, trying to yank out of Merrill's hold.
"Don't be an idiot," Abigail snapped. "There's a varterral loose in the caves, you'll just run right at it!"
"Better the varterral than her!" Pol still tried to pull his arm out of Merrill's grasp, but she held on tighter.
"What are you talking about?" Merrill exclaimed.
“She's a blood mage!” Pol said, finally pulling away from Merrill.
“Do you seriously care about that?” Isabela asked, but Pol was already hurrying in the other direction. They raced after him, and came to a steep flight of stairs that lead into a huge cave. Pol was at the bottom of the stairs, frozen, while the varterral advanced upon him.
"Oh, Andraste's tits," they heard Pol mutter, and Merrill fairly jumped down the stairs while the others were hot on their heels.
“Out of the way, Pol!” Merrill exclaimed when she got to the bottom of the steps, and the elf obligingly moved behind her.
The varterral reared up, and Abigail seared its underbelly with a gout of flame. It was an enormous, spidery thing, with too many legs and tough skin. Varric’s arrows bounced off its hide, and Isabela’s attempts to cut its legs didn’t work. The only thing that helped was Merrill and Abigail’s magic, and even then, only blasts of fire and arcane bolts. Merrill tried blood magic, but it just made the creature stagger a bit before righting itself.
Finally, however, the varterral was dead, collapsing on the ground.
“Andraste's ass, that thing is enormous!” Isabela said.
“It's like some kind of bug,” Varric said, kicking it.
“It’s too huge to be any bug, even a spider!” Isabela grabbed the back of Varric’s coat. “Stop touching the thing, for the love of the Maker, it’s disgusting.”
"Come on, Pol," Merrill said, putting a hand on the other elf's back. "Let's get you back to the Clan."
Pol nodded. "Thank you, Merrill." he said in a very small voice. His skin was still bloodless, and he visibly shook.
“Lasa halani, Pol.”
“Why in the name of the Maker did you run at the thing?” Isabela demanded, catching up to the two of them. “That was bloody stupid—if we hadn't caught you, it would have eaten you!”
“You ran from Merrill,” Abigail said, frowning. “What exactly is so frightening about Merrill?”
“He's scared of the blood magic,” Varric reminded them.
“Marethari told us,” Pol said. “You're a blood mage.”
“Now, Pol,” Merrill said with a disapproving frown. “You don't think that means I summon demons and everything? That's silly Chantry nonsense.”
“She said you're trying to do something dangerous,” Pol explained. “That thing you want to fix—that mirror—killed Tamlen and Mahariel.”
Merrill sighed. “Well, it's not anywhere near any of you,” she said. “Is it?”
“But the blood magic--”
“I think maybe you should pay a bit more attention in lessons,” Merrill said. “Marethari may not approve of blood magic, but she wouldn't approve of you running at a varterral, either.”
“I—I'm sorry,” Pol said. “I—I mean, ir abelas.”
“Enaste,” Merrill said with a tiny smile.
“Oh—Radha, Harshel and Chandan's amulets are still here,” Pol said. “That's why I was here. I thought maybe I could go and find them.”
“Oh, Pol—that was dangerous!” Merrill exclaimed.
“Well, I know that now,” Pol said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very sheepish. “I thought I could sneak past the varterral.”
They went looking for the hunters' bodies, and recovered the amulets. “There,” Merrill said, handing the amulets to Pol. “Now your job is done. Let's go back to the Clan.”
“Alright,” Pol said softly.
They left the cave and went back down the mountain, to go meet with Marethari.
“The varterral is dead,” Merrill said. “And we found Pol, too.”
“And these, Keeper,” Pol handed her the amulets.
“Thank you for bringing Pol back to us,” Marethari said. She glanced down at the Hunter's tokens in her hand and sighed. "And my thanks for these. Their families will be informed of their passing. I will breathe easier knowing the varterral will take no more of our people."
Both she and Merrill were quiet for a long moment.
“Pol almost ran into the varterral,” Merrill said, her brow furrowed. “He ran from me.”
“It was stupid,” Pol said quickly, shaking his head. “I—I didn't think--”
“Many of the Clan fear you will bring the corruption, or worse, from the eluvian,” Marethari said, cutting across Pol.
“You can't get the Blight from a mirror!” Merrill exclaimed. “It's a mirror!”
“So then Tamlen and Mahariel were not killed by it?”
“No—they were attacked by darkspawn!” Merrill said. “Anyway—the eluvian's not here now! There's no reason to be afraid!”
“There are things worse than the Blight,” Marethari said. “Things you can carry with you.”
“No demons will possess me, and you know it, Keeper!” Merrill said. “That's the whole point of blood magic--”
“It is?” Pol said.
“That is not true,” Marethari insisted. “Toying with instruments such as the eluvian makes you prey for demons--”
“So does living on the Sundermount for years!” Merrill shouted. Everyone went quiet, and people began to stare. “Um—anyway—can I have the arulin'holm? I'll bring it back soon, I promise. We've done as you asked.”
Marethari frowned, and her eyes flickered to Abigail. “Because Merrill won't listen, and you too helped to slay the varterral, I will give you the arulin'holm.”
“Ah—wait a moment--” Abigail said, holding up her hands. “I—Merrill's the one who made the bargain, not me.”
“Keeper, what are you doing?” Merrill demanded. “Abigail is human—“
“We just killed a giant bug for you, and saved one of your men,” Isabela said. “You said if Merrill did this, you'd give her the knife.”
“Merrill saved me,” Pol said. “Keeper—if you did promise--”
“I can't let Merrill do this,” Marethari said.
“Don't talk about me like I'm not here!” Merrill snapped. “Marethari, please, give it to me, or—or I'll tell Ilen you gave it to a human!”
That gave Marethari pause. “No,” she said at length. She held out a small blade in an ornate sheath to Abigail. Abigail took it.
“I can't take this,” Abigail said. “It's Merrill's.” she handed it to Merrill. “Here.”
“Thank you,” Merrill said, scowling at Marethari. “Come on—we need to go see Ilen.”
“Merrill--” Marethari started.
“You wanted to give something of Ilen's away to someone he doesn't even know,” Merrill said, folding her arms. “He should be told about that.”
They went to Ilen, who was a short, stocky elf with long, graying hair. They informed him that Marethari had attempted to give Abigail the arulin'holm, and he was furious.
“Oh, for—Marethari dhava 'ma masa,” Ilen cursed.
“Ilen!” Merrill exclaimed.
“First she wants to give it to you,” Ilen snapped. “Then this shemlen?” he gestured at Abigail. “Lost her bloody head, I swear...”
“She's just worried,” Merrill said.
“Oh, right, worried,” Ilen rolled his eyes. “Merrill, I tell you—you should come back.”
“Why? Half the Clan doesn't even want me here. Pol was terrified of me!” Merrill folded her arms.
“Pol is a bit dim,” Ilen said, ignoring Merrill’s admonishing look. “And if half the Clan doesn't want you, the other half knows Marethari is damn well losing her bloody mind,”
“No, she isn't!” Merrill exclaimed, stricken.
“Every time we try to bring up leaving, she refuses!” Ilen said. “Feynriel needs to get out of here, everyone knows that—don't want any damn demons sneaking up on him in his sleep—and we've had to fend off Templars, and she still won't let us leave!”
Merrill stared at him. “What is she waiting for?”
“I haven't the faintest idea,” Ilen said. “But maybe you could talk some sense into her.”
“She wouldn't listen to anything I said,”
“No, but if you were here, you and Vinell could override her,” Ilen explained. “He’s been trying, but you know that he can’t override a damn thing without the support of the First...”
“And she hasn't appointed a new First,” Merrill breathed.
“Exactly.”
Merrill bit her fingernails. “Ilen, I can't come back till I've finished with the eluvian,” she insisted.
Ilen rolled his eyes. “Oh, not that damned mirror again! Who cares about the bloody thing, the Clan needs you!”
Merrill ran a hand through her hair. “I don't want to barge in uninvited,” she said. “If things are bad now—half the Clan is still terrified of me, what happens if I come back, Vinell and I override Marethari's decisions, and the Clan doesn't like it?”
“Who cares?” Ilen waved a hand. “We all want to get out of here.”
“Then signal a nearby Clan for help!”
“We tried that, too! Clan Lavellan came by, offered us a halla and everything, but Marethari turned them down!”
“What?” Merrill whispered.
“I tell you, there's something the matter here!”
“Ilen, I—I'll have to think about it,” Merrill said. “I don't want to risk splitting the Clan in half. You should tell Marethari how you feel—I'm sure she'll see sense soon. Maybe it's better if I stay away...”
Ilen snorted and folded his arms. “Think quickly, Merrill,” he said. “We've all been having bad dreams.”
They left quickly, Fennirel spotting them and giving them a parting wave when they exited the camp.
“That sounds bad,” Varric said. “It sounds like things are kind of a mess with them.”
“I don't understand it,” Merrill said shaking her head. “Marethari is sensible, I don't know why she'd act like this.”
“Why doesn't Marethari like your blood magic?” Abigail asked. “It doesn't seem so bad at all.”
“I learned about blood magic in the Fade,” Merrill said. “I couldn't cleanse the mirror without help, so I went dreamwalking, trying to find something that could help me. I found a memory of blood magic, but Marethari thought it might be a demon, tricking me. I suppose she still thinks that.”
“That doesn't really explain why she's doing everything else,” Isabela said.
“I don't know,” Merrill said, shaking her head.
“Maybe something on the Sundermount got to her,” Abigail suggested.
“No, she wouldn't let that happen!” Merrill snapped. “I'll—when I give the arulin'holm back to Ilen, I can ask more about it then.”
They returned to the city.