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“No, thank you.” Merrill said, sweetly and (she hoped) firmly.
The dried apple-faced old woman on her doorstep squinted and leaned in close to look at her. The movement was so unexpectedly quick, that Merrill was startled and took a step back. It was a mistake.
“Nonsense.” The elder elf said dismissively, stepping past Merrill and into her home, cane first.
Not firmly, then. She’d have to try harder.
“Really, now.” Merrill protested. “I appreciate the thought, but I…”
The old woman turned on her, cutting her off, harshly. One long, knobby finger lashed out at her like a sword.
“I’ve spoken with three of your neighbors—THREE— and not one of them even knows your name. No one knows anything about you except that a lot of strange people—foreigners, shemlen— visit you at all hours.”
Her nose wrinkled as she spoke of foreigners and shemlen. Added to the wrinkles already present, the old woman’s face looked almost as if time had cut Mythal’s vallaslin into her flesh.
“I’m sorry?”
Merrill wasn’t precisely certain why she was apologizing. In truth, it was her natural reflex in most situations. This time, her unexpected guest sounded very angry. She must have committed some faux pas. Perhaps she’d missed some local custom involving names when she broke with her Dalish clan at the Sundermount to move to Kirkwall’s alienage.
The crone hobbled at the pace of a quick march, surveying every inch of the place. Ultimately, she went to the fireplace and took the better of the two chairs Merrill owned, laying her cane across the table.
“You’ve got a lot of space here, Marli. Room enough for a couple of children.”
“It’s Merrill, actually. And I…”
The old woman’s face lit up as she clasped her hands together with an audible clap. Her smile, while more pleasant than her scowl, failed to completely dispel the illusion of vallaslin in the flickering firelight now that Merrill had seen it.
“Ah, yes? Merrill? That’s lovely! I’m going to need a lot more to work with than just your name, though. To start, I think, tea. We’ve much to discuss and I’m already parched.”
“I haven’t any tea. I haven’t any time, either. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
“…But you’re going to throw an old woman out into the street for trying to welcome you into our community?”
“No! Well, yes. I don’t mean to! It’s just that I have to borrow something from my clan. My friends are waiting and if we don’t leave soon, we’ll have to travel the mountain by night or stay the night at camp. I can’t say that either option appeals. Unless you’ve got an arulin’holm handy, I’m going to have to see you out. I’m sorry.”
The old woman rose stiffly, her thin lips disappearing into just another line among the many on her face. She stumped slowly back to the door, leaning heavily on her cane this time. Merrill knew it was pure theater meant to make her feel guilty for dismissing her uninvited guest so abruptly. She felt like a monster anyway. At the door, the old woman paused.
“A ruling home?”
“Almost.” Merrill replied. “Arulin’holm. It’s a tool the ancient elves used.”
“Arulin’holm.”
The old woman nodded thoughtfully. She stretched her free hand out to the door, but her gaze rose to meet Merrill’s.
“Get some tea, dearie. I’ll see what can be done about getting you a husband.”
Her gait quickened once more as she stepped out into the muddy street.
“I only want an arulin’holm!” Merrill called after.
****
The eluvian looked magical. It dominated the room where Merrill kept it like a towering, impressive, tragically empty, throne. The lovingly embellished ironwood frame had a sheen no craftsman outside of the Dalish could achieve, almost iridescent. A carved halla leapt from the top of the frame not merely because Merrill missed them terribly. To the Dalish eye, it symbolized swift movement as clearly as a rune of momentum. It was all about sympathetic magic and not even slightly about home sickness. Though, if she were being honest with herself, there might have been a tiny bit of homesickness involved. Surely, it did no harm to the working. And yet, the working wasn’t working. The eluvian didn’t feel magical. Apart from the moment when the new silverite-backed glass stopped reflecting and faded to same dull grey as the original shard of Asha and Tamlen’s shattered eluvian as she fused them together, it didn’t do anything remotely magical. Even with the arulin’holm to help shape her intent, the eluvian remained inert and as magical as an old boot.
What if it never did anything but look magical?
Out of ideas, she decided to enact Audacity’s ritual to cleanse the mirror of the Taint again. It had seemed to work on the shard from Tamlen’s broken eluvian. If she’d made an error fusing it to the new glass of the larger mirror, she hoped the ritual might be able to fix whatever changed the face of the glass grey.
The moment the knife bit into her palm, there was a pounding on her door. She caught the blood in her fist before it had a chance to drip into the bowl she had prepared and stepped out of the circle she’d drawn on the floor.
“Elgar’nan.” She sighed.
The pounding came again. It didn’t sound like a person knocking so much as her landlady tacking up another eviction notice. Was it Harvestmere already?
She rushed through her home with a fist full of blood threatening to drip on her nice clean floors, pausing only to drop the knife and grab her coin pouch instead before opening the door.
“Wait! I have it!”
She pulled open the door and blinked in surprise at the old woman standing with her cane raised to strike again. She should have been more relieved that it wasn’t her landlady.
“What have you got, Merrill?”
Though she lived surrounded by them now, Merrill had only ever gotten to know one alienage elf. He’d come to her clan to learn the old ways and become a Hunter. Pol had never said anything about aggressive alienage grannies whose sole purpose in life was to see that every elf of marriageable age was paired off. She had wanted to ask him about what to do about the pushy matchmaker when she visited her clan a few months ago. He’d run to his death instead when he saw her.
“Oh, look at you!” The old woman tutted without waiting for a reply. “So pale! You should come outside. Get some sunlight on your face. And you must eat something. You’re thin as a rail!”
“No, I’m fine.” She lied. “I can’t go out right now, anyway. I’m b…”
“You’re bleeding!”
Blood seeped through the fingers of her left fist to drip steadily on the red mat at her feet. The matchmaker took her hand and raised it too close to her squinting eyes.
“Valmiel!” She yelled and an elf tending a table of used goods for sale a few yards from her doorstep flinched. “Valmiel, bring your needles! The girl is hurt!”
“Then, perhaps she could step over to my sta…”
“NOW!”
“This isn’t necessary. It’s not as bad…”
“You’re making a mess, dearie. Do be careful. You’ll track blood everywhere. Watch your step, Valmiel.”
The old woman dragged her by the hand to her table by the fire, then started lighting candles for more light for the other uninvited stranger to work by.
“Elgar’nan! Do you ever let anyone finish a sentence?” Merrill protested.
“No. At my age, I haven’t the time to wait for a truth that likely isn’t coming. Now, sit still and let the man work. And while you work, Valmiel, would you please tell Merrill here about the fine matches I made for you and your brother?”
Valmiel worked quickly so he could return to his stall before thieves looted everything. For some time now, she’d been living in Kirkwall, passing Valmiel’s stall every day. This was the first time she’d heard his name spoken. It was likely the first time he’d heard hers as well. Before long, Merrill sat staring at his ugly black stitches in her palm while the old woman sat next to her, judging her tea.
“In the city, we drink tea made from dried leaves, you know. It’s pressed into blocks and shipped here from far away lands.” She said. “This is good, too, I suppose. A little bit mint and citrus and…”
“Tree.” Merrill interrupted. “It tastes like tree, from a short walk from here. But I think it’s a good tasting tree. Add a little honey and it’s a treat.”
The matchmaker chuckled.
“Truth? Excellent! Shall we get to business, then? I’ve not been idle since last we spoke.”
“There’s no business. I don’t want you to find me a husband.”
“It’s not just about what you want. You can’t stay a child forever.”
“I’m not. The Dalish have their own rites of passage to adulthood. It’s a little more involved than just getting married to a stranger.”
“Merrill, you’re not with the Dalish any longer. You’re with us. And we wouldn’t BE strangers if you didn’t insist on hiding alone in this big empty palace when you’re not skulking around with your smugglers, pirates, and dwarves. If you want to live among us, then live among us. We’ve been waiting for you to take your place in our community for nearly four years now.”
“Four YEARS?” Merrill repeated. “Has it really been four years?”
Her eyes lost their focus and her mind followed. Both completely missed the matchmaker’s point.
“Not quite, but almost.”
She thought once she had a safe place to work, away from her clan, that she’d be able to finish restoring the eluvian and learn the secrets it held quickly thanks to Audacity’s helpful information. Had she spent too much time following Hawke to get him out of the trouble he made for himself? No. She was missing something important. If repeating the cleansing ritual didn’t work, it didn’t matter how much time she spent starting at the useless relic or helping Hawke and his friends. She had done all she knew.
“How could I have worked for so long with so little to show for it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. You haven’t even told me what your work is. I assumed it involved smuggling and piracy, given the company you keep. One does what one must. I don’t judge. I can find any number of marriage prospects who won’t judge either.”
“I never intended to stay this long.” Merrill muttered, eyes still unfocused.
“I get the distinct impression that you’re speaking to yourself instead of me. Perhaps it is an unfortunate consequence of spending so much time on your own in here. If you’d let me find you a husband, you’d have someone to talk with so you wouldn’t be so out of practice with the art of conversation.”
“Sorry. I haven’t eaten yet today and I lost a bit of blood.”
“Oh yes? I suppose that must be why you haven’t asked me yet what brought me to your door today.”
Merrill tried to smile. As weird and unwelcome as her efforts were, she was certain that the matchmaker meant well. It was strange that a flat-ear was so interested in her future while her own clan didn’t seem to care if she lived or died. She wasn’t looking forward to telling the old woman no and asking her to leave again. Sitting and having tea was nice, though, almost like having a friend over.
“I assumed you’d get to it in your own time.”
The matchmaker folded her hands. The line that was her mouth cracked into a cryptic smile for a moment before she spoke.
“I’ve been in contact with matchmakers from Denerim to Wycome and all points between. While I wasn’t able to find you a man with an arulin’holm, I was able to find someone who knows what one is, and that’s no mean feat let me tell you. His name is Thayl. He’s a little older than you, mind, but I understand it shows more in the wild tales he tells than in his body or spirit. Quite handsome, they say, and Dalish, like you. He had the bad luck and curiosity to visit the alienage at Jader when the Orlesian press gangs were about. He was dragged off with a handful of the elves of the city to crew a sailing ship. Surprisingly, he took to it like a duck to water and spent the next several years hunting slavers and pirates on the Waking Sea. He’d probably still be at it if he hadn’t lost his hand. The Orlesian recruiting practices may leave much to be desired, but they are good enough to pay well those maimed in their service. His pension could easily provide for a family, but not among the Dalish, he says. Though he can still work, he refuses to return to his people now that he can no longer use a bow. His stubborn pride holds him to the cities now. Sound like anyone you know?”
Merril looked away, studying her wasted wound again to avoid the old woman’s smirking gaze. The matchmaker must have spoken with Ariani about her before the returned to the Dalish. How much did she know? She cleared her throat.
“It’s not his pride.” She suggested. “He may not be welcome among the Dalish. A Hunter who can’t hunt would be a burden. Some clans would leave him behind to make his own way.”
“Well, he’ll be making his way to Kirkwall in five weeks time. He’s taken work as a caravan guard escorting merchants between the towns and cities of the Marches. I think the two of you should meet.”
For a moment, Merrill allowed herself to imagine the character the matchmaker described. He had bronzed skin and sun-faded hair from long days working on the deck of a ship. In her mind’s eye, he looked like he belonged on the cover of one of Varric’s serials. He told Isabela’s wonderful, bloody, bawdy stories, but in Elvish. Merrill missed the sound of the soft, subtle language of her people so much she’d actually tried to teach a few words to Hawke and his friends. They made it a drinking game. Now whenever someone belched loudly, they mangled “ma serannas” with their awkward Fereldan and Rivaini accents and Merrill taught them nothing more.
Would it be so terrible to share her life with someone who both knew the old ways and shared her struggles to get by among humans and their Chantry? She could certainly use the help to make her rent on time every month. But if he was Dalish, what stopped him from sharing the fears that held her clan back? She sighed and let the swashbuckling Dalish daydream slip away.
“I don’t know. He does sound quite dashing. Now is not a good time for me, though. Perhaps when my work is finished.”
“You’re not getting any younger, dearie. Consider that. Start your family now. There’s time enough for everything else.”
“No.” Merrill said, firmly, this time. “I have a duty and I’ll see it through if it kills me.”
“We all have our duties. Who will take up yours if it does kill you? Hmm? Children are a duty, too, and an important one. I’ve daughters in Ostwick and Ansburg myself. They are of immeasurable help to me in my work as they carry it on themselves, in their cities.”
It was something to think about. Along with Swasbuckling Husband might come the most fearless Dalish children to roam Thedas since the Emerald Knights. No superstition would keep any child of hers from reclaiming their past. But there was an awful lot of childhood they’d have to get through before they would be a boon instead of a burden in her search for knowledge. She could see the wisdom in the old woman’s words— bland, unimaginative, conventional wisdom. It wasn’t her sort.
“Hahren, I do appreciate all your effort on my behalf, even if I haven’t asked for it. But I can’t do this now. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a meeting I’ve arranged, not a betrothal. Meet him. Talk to him. Where’s the harm?”
The harm was having another of her people turn on her in favor of continuing to live in ignorance. If he were anything like the person she imagined, if he turned out to be someone that she could come to care for, it would be much worse. She couldn’t risk getting involved with any of the Dalish until she’d finished her work. It was too risky, both for her heart and for the eluvian.
“I can’t right now. Don’t ask me to explain. Mind you, if your sailor knew anything about restoring ancient Elvish eluvians to working order, I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”
The old woman emptied her cup and set it down thoughtfully.
“Eloooovians, you say?”
She seemed amused by the word. She pulled herself up with her cane.
“Someone who restores eluvians. Right. That, at least, is something to work with. You might have said something to begin with, dearie. No matter. I do enjoy a challenge, and it’s lucky for you that I do. I’ll send for you when I have something. Just you wait. I’ll fix you a real cup of tea and some biscuits with honey while we fix up your future.”
Merrill choked on a pine needle.
“Wait! Do you really think you could find someone like that?”
“Not if I don’t look. I’ll be in touch.”
Merrill was sure that she wouldn’t, but it was a nice thought. Someone to help with her life’s work, not judge her for it; that’s what a husband should be. Hawke would make a wonderful husband, if he had the blood for it.
After seeing her guest out, she returned to her duty and glared at the stubborn magic mirror that couldn’t even manage the trick of ordinary mirrors. It promised without giving everything she wanted and denied her the life she knew, the people she loved, and the family she didn’t even know she wanted. She was a fool to waste her life on the hateful thing, but there she was, removing her fresh stitches. If the ritual didn’t work this time, that was it. She was out of ideas. She had done everything she knew…though perhaps not everything Audacity knew.