A/N: Aaaaah, I am done. What a monster of a story. I had no idea when I started out what I was in for. In retrospect, she doesn't feel aggressive enough for a red Hawke, but I blame Merrill's influence. I think it's time I took a break from Merrill, my blood sugar needs a rest. My personal muse challenged me to write something else entirely. Btw, thanks muse, for proofing, as always.

One spark among the embers

One voice against surrender

One dream that's worth defending

One love that's neverending

Assemblage 23 - Spark

Hawke couldn't remember ever having felt more tired, more exhausted than this. At what point had her tightly-controlled life in Kirkwall gone so wrong that it would come to this? She was running, always running, an ability she truly excelled at now. Beads of sweat and drops of blood were drying on her face. Her breath came hard and laboring, every single breath painful in her lungs. She was cut all over, bleeding from countless wounds, spent.

Why had she thought that defending that bitch Isabela would be a good idea? Had she not run from Kirkwall with the Tome of Koslun, did she not start this whole Qunari mess? And yet, when the Arishok demanded that she be turned over, Hawke spit at his feet and dared him to take her over her dead body. It must be ill-placed loyalty. Or is that what friendship feels like?

Even if she survived this duel that he had demanded, Hawke's life as she knew it was over. Every single nobleman in Kirkwall had been herded into the Viscount's throne room. Every single one watched Hawke dueling the Arishok to the death, with the only abilities that she had left to her: magic.

Twenty-some years of hiding from the world that she was an apostate mage, and any moment Knight-Commander Meredith might fight her way here. Even if she survived, she would likely be dragged to the Circle on the spot. She had seen her cast spells. Focus, Hawke. He's almost got you now. She whirled around as the towering form of the Arishok charged at her, and froze him on the spot with a blast of cold. Anything to bring distance between them. She was a formidable mage. Pools of fire were licking at their feet, and time and again she knocked the air out of him by forming barriers. She mastered the elements, held him with force.

It wasn't enough. She had already given her all. She was out of potions to bolster her strength. She didn't even have precious lyrium left to her. The Arishok slammed her into one of the pillars, and her head was ringing. A gash at her temple had blood running into her eyes. It stung, blinding her. She stumbled forward, but he impaled her on his sword, actually lifting her body in the air. It hurt so much. She was done for.

"HAWKE!" She would have recognized the voice anywhere. Hawke turned her head toward that voice. She fell on the floor, and was sure she heard her ribs crack from the force. She left bloody handprints on the floor as she pulled herself towards the source of that voice. Merrill. She was barely able to see her with the blood in her eyes, but there she was, looking pale and frightened.

Merrill held out her palm, and Hawke saw the cut, saw the blood. Understood the offer. Why is she still trying to save me? She accepted the offer, instinctively tapping into the blood's magic, mending her wounds. She saw Merrill cutting herself on her forearm, for more blood, more force of life. Another chance for her to live.

Hawke rolled over and thus the Arishok's intended final blow missed her. He slipped on the bloody tiles of the floor where Hawke had been, and that was all that it took. She was filled with renewed energy. Her flames rose brightly, burning the Arishok, consuming him completely. She froze him into place, and then let him burn.

She fell on her knees, spent and withdrawn, when it was clear the duel was over. Hawke's eyes sought Merrill's and briefly they locked gazes. How will I ever be able to thank you, Merrill? The elf turned away, to hug Isabela, rejoicing that her friend was saved. It made Hawke feel lonely, but she deserved no less.

A sardonic thought was on Hawke's mind when she opened the door to the Hanged Man this day. It was about a month after the duel with the arishok. To her surprise, she was not hauled into the circle, but instead heralded as savior of Kirkwall. As champion of its people. A whole month had been spent attending one banquet after another, being wooed and charmed and appraised by the upper echelons. Meetings with Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino both, and more men and women flung at her than she would care to recall. Diplomacy and subtlety were not her strong suit, had never been, but she found most nobles were actually only too eager to lick her boots. Many seemed to think that Hawke was the one who could tip the scales in any group's favor.

I am the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Hanged Man is my favorite tavern in Kirkwall. She wondered if Merrill would laugh if she told her this. She took a deep breath. She hadn't seen the elf at all in that month. She knew the companions were still regularly meeting here, even after Isabela's departure, yet again, and it was time to finally sort things out. At least that was the plan.

They stared at her when she walked in, with her fancy finery, most guests hushing when they recognized that the Champion of Kirkwall was here. Her companions had their regular table. She greeted them all with a nod and a thin smile. In her own way, she was grateful for all of them. Brooding Fenris, hard-pressed to contain his dislike of her magic, and yet still feeling he owed her a debt. Rebelling Anders, haunted by Justice and his fight against mage suppression. Stalwart Aveline, more straight-forward and principled than anyone else Hawke knew. Clever Varric, sharp of tongue and mind, and always mistrustful of Hawke's cold logic and impatience. And Merrill, of course. Sweet, naive Merrill, a most powerful mage in her own right. Who wouldn't even look at her.

"Evening. I hope you're well." Hawke nodded to everyone, and there was a choir of greetings. When Varric offered her a seat, she politely declined. Instead she nonchalantly touched a hand to Merrill's shoulder. "I would speak with you, if you had a moment."

Merrill rose her head and looked challengingly at her. "What if I don't?" The others were quiet, as Hawkle shuffled her feet uncomfortably. The elf shook off Hawke's hand and then rose. "What is it then? Where to?"

Hawke pointed to the stairs and went up the short flight, to where the few rooms of the inn were. One of them had belonged to Isabela, and Hawke had been paying for it ever since the pirate disappeared. She didn't even know why, but she wanted her to have a 'home' still when she came back. She would come back. For Merrill, if anyone. Who wouldn't?

Merrill looked confused as she stepped into the room, and then just melancholic as she walked about. What a sad, little room, with none of Isabela's vibrancy to fill it. No laughter, no card games, no drinking nights, no body shots, no sex, no life. Just rickety old furniture and an empty dresser. Hawke pressed her back against the door, watching Merrill look around sadly. They must have been more than friends. How sour the bile in her throat was.

"So what is it you want?" The elf raised her chin and stood right opposite of Hawke now, with crossed arms. "Let me guess. You want to lecture me on how my disgusting, perverted blood magic should not have been used, that you did not want anything to do with it." This wasn't going anything like Hawke had imagined. Merrill was bristling with resentment, and her eyes were so uncaring and chilly, it was hard to bear her gaze.

"That wasn't what I wanted to say at all." Hawke sounded defensive and cold, even to her own ears. She tried to sort her thoughts. Should she go down on her knees and ask Merrill to forgive her? How about the heavy pouch of sovereigns to show her gratitude? Her thoughts were racing.

Merrill paced before her, more heated and angrier with every word. "I do not want to be here with you. I don't want to deal with someone who would lump me up with some monster like Quentin. I have never done anyone harm." She stopped at one of the chairs in the room and then flung it to the other end of the room with surprising force. "How many years have I wasted on you, trying to absorb your pain, trying to be your friend. More than your friend. Over and over again you betrayed my trust." She whirled around to glare at Hawke. "You are just like everyone else. No, you are worse."

Hawke dug her nails into her palms, taking in all that she heard. She knew she had mistreated Merrill when she sent her away, but she had not expected that it would run so deep. Merrill was apparently able to read her mind because she laughed bitterly. "You take me for granted, don't you? That I'll always be there, ready to trust again, when you need me. And you need me. I know you do. Do I still haunt your dreams?" Yes, you do. How did she read her so well?

She came closer to Hawke, mere inches between them. Her breath was hot on Hawke's face. "I am so sick and tired of it. Of you." Hawke still didn't say anything, still trying to think how to respond, but she was shaking. Anger was rising in her. Merrill wasn't done yet. "Perverted and reviled, you called it. You came to me to receive it. You are just as perverted and reviled. We're the same. Only that I am not repressing my feelings and shutting everyone out. You are full of darkness."

Hawke's anger flared up. "Is that why you have one friend in the world and she keeps running away? Is that why you spend your days in loneliness? You are full of darkness too." She hissed down at Merrill, their eyes sharp daggers. "If you hate me so, why did you save me? Why did you not let me die? I would have."

Merrill reached for the lapels of Hawke's coat and pulled her closer. Their noses were touching. Hawke was very aware of how warm the elf's body was and how good she smelled. So clean and fresh without guile, unlike her words. "I didn't do it for you, Hawke. I didn't want to lose Isabela. It's not all about you."

Hawke snarled in response, and in anguish. "No! You didn't do it for her! You need me too!" Her hands closed around Merrill's head, making her close the gap between their lips. Their kiss was desperate and painful, hungry and breathless. Hawke was vaguely aware that she was moaning with every stroke of their tongues. Merrill bit her bottom lip hard, and Hawke returned the bite with one of her own. They tasted their own blood, mingling, and never broke the kiss, until they could no longer breathe.

When they broke the kiss, drawing in breath in sharp gasps, Merrill started taking off her clothes, carelessly dropping them in a pile on the floor. Hawke did the same, her eyes never leaving Merrill's. The moment she was done she reached for the elf, wrapping one of her legs around her hip. They held each other tightly, each digging their fingers into the other's skin. Hawke had to close her eyes as they continued to kiss and breathe into each other's mouths. It felt so good, and so bad at the same time. Merrill was leaving a trail of bites from one shoulder to the other. The pain and the pleasure of it were exquisite. There would be marks. She deserved them.

Hawke opened her eyes and Merrill took this opportunity to step back, pulling Hawke with her. The elf pushed her down, roughly. Not even to the bed, just to the floor where their clothes were piled up. She topped Hawke, her fingers digging into the skin of her shoulders. There would be bruises. Hawke wrapped her legs around the Dalish, bringing her ever closer. The heat between them was near unbearable. There was very little that was said between them. Sharp cries of lust, and of pain. Heated whispers of "More!" or encouragement. Intense sighing of their names to each other.

No one would believe that Merrill could be vicious, but her naive facade was far away when she devoured and consumed, ravaged and penetrated, inhaled and annihilated Hawke's body and every single defense of hers. She fell apart before her eyes, and they both cherished it. Their eyes were locked upon each other, clouded with lust, but still searching the other's gaze.

In all her encounters with Merrill, few as they were, Hawke had never fully let herself go, but tonight she did. She violently shook with release and hoarsely screamed. She fell against Merrill and feverishly worked on bringing her release as well. She sucked hard on the skin of Merrill's neck and felt the elf gouge the skin of her back during her almost violent climax.

Hawke rolled onto her side, overcome with emotion, and unable to bear the pain of the cuts on her back, or Merrill's gaze. She felt Merrill hug her from behind, gently kissing her back. Hawke wiped at her eyes, the tears burning, before she spoke. "I did not mean what I said about you. I lose everyone that I love. I didn't want to lose you too, so I pushed you away. It had to be believable, didn't it?" She cried into her hands, all the while Merrill was stroking her back.

When she calmed down, Merrill pulled her hand from her face and looked at her. "We can't do this, Hawke. This constant push and pull, off and on, hot or cold. I can't do this. It's been years, and we're still doing this. You hurt me so." She dipped her fingers into the cuts on Hawke's back, making her gasp in pain. It didn't stop the Dalish. Her fingers were glistening with fresh blood as she painted patterns onto Hawke's face. It dried along with her sweat, burning her skin. Merrill continued this quietly and solemnly. She swept back Hawke's hair and smiled as sadly as Hawke had ever seen her smile. "Vallaslin would suit your face, Hawke. Elgarnan, full of vengeance, full of anger, it would suit you. You are a terrible force to behold." She rested her chin on Hawke's shoulder, wiping the last of the blood off on Hawke's arm. "I think I am too broken to be with you, Hawke. Maybe you are too broken to be with me. Maybe we are just meant to long for each other and look out for each other from afar for the rest of our lives."

Hawke shook her head. "No. That's not how it's going to be. I will figure this out. I want us to be together." A tear rolled down Merrill's nose, to dilute the dried blood on Hawke's arm.

The elf abruptly rose to get dressed, and then moved to the door. She turned back to Hawke, looking down at her form on the floor. "I did it for you, Hawke. Not for Isabela."

When Hawke left the Hanged Man she ignored the stares from the others, ignored every one's looks as she walked out with intricate patterns painted on her face in her own blood. A god of vengeance seemed like the perfect choice for her dark expression.

Hawke watched from afar, and longed from afar, and yet in the next three years did not once figure out how to fix their problems. Saying 'I love you' did not seem sufficient. She was thinking of grand gestures, like raising sculptures of the elf all over Hightown. She had the means. But what would it accomplish?

They were gentle with each other when they saw each other at the Hanged Man. Very rarely, they would take a walk together, just to find out how the other was. They never spoke of their feelings, and never about their magic. Merrill looked haggard and withdrawn, her eyes bigger than usual in her face. She was still struggling over the eluvian, ceaselessly.

Isabela's return was their catalyst for change. Another spark.

She felt like going insane. Hawke had actually smiled when she heard that Isabela was back, having moved back into her old room that she had kept for her all those years. She was no longer smiling. Merrill was practically wrapped around Isabela, giddy with joy that the pirate was back. The woman seemed to know that Hawke was seething with jealousy, because she made it a huge display to rub noses with the elf and shower her with all sorts of physical affection. She eventually dragged Merrill off to her room with her, to show her some of the booty she had brought from her recent travels. She did not mean any other booty, did she?

Aveline shook her head. "She's got you by the balls, Hawke. Why do you let her do this?" She was confused at this and stared at Aveline in wonder. "Isabela knows that you hate this, she's trying to make you angry. Everyone knows you hate it." Everyone knows you love Merrill, her eyes were saying. She looked at the others and saw nothing but agreement.

Hawke rose, shaking her head angrily. "It's none of your business. Besides, Merrill loves her, and missed her. I would not deprive her of that." Instead she withdrew from the Hanged Man, to write Isabela a raging letter requesting a visit.

Isabela wouldn't have been Isabela if she didn't show at Hawke's mansion in the middle of the night without having been let in by anyone. Hawke was trying to read more correspondence, receiving dozens of letters each day, about some matter or another. She sat before the fire, her feet on a stool, and almost jumped when Isabela suddenly slid into her lap.

"Hello Champion. Your locks are still not worth talking about it. You look romantic, the scholar with her letters, with smoldering anger in her eyes. Will you ravish me, oh Champion?" Hawke rolled her eyes and jumped out of the armchair, leaving Isabela sprawled in it.

"Is there nothing you won't mock, Isabela?" Hawke threw a couple letters towards the fireplace, setting them on fire even before they hit the flames.

"There are a few things I won't mock because they are precious to me. Let me think. My ship, if I had one. The sea. Or someone as precious to me as...Merrill." Isabela's look at Hawke was challenging.

Hawke exhaled and then sat down again, this time on the footstool. "Do you love her?"

The Rivaini laughed and tilted her head. "Of course I do. She is the sweetest thing I know, and desperately lonely. I don't care about her blood magic. She has a good heart. She deserves better." She smiled and stretched out languidly in the chair. "How about you? Do you love her?"

"Yes." She didn't even hesitate. Wasn't it painfully obvious to anyone?

"My suggestion would be to actually tell her this. Because she doesn't seem to know." Isabela leaned forward curiously. "Now, Hawke, how do you go three years without it? She told me you had a romp in my room, and nothing ever since?"

Hawke gasped and glared. "It's not so easy, Isabela." She violently shook her head.

"Of course it is. For people like you and her, it should be easy. You love each other, you pine for each other. You're both mages. You both are fucking lonely." Isabela looked more serious. "She has some weird shit going on, Hawke. I think she's going to do something reckless and dangerous, because she keeps asking Aveline to take care of you and me. Make this right."

She tapped her foot on the floor. "I thought this would be a lot easier. Just make Hawke jealous and she will jump her. Maker, you're so stubborn and stupid." The Rivaini stood. "I have high expectations, Champion. If anything happens to her, I'll stab you, because you could have stopped her. You'll wish you never dueled for me." She frowned and then added "I never said thank you for it, and I probably might not ever."

She was dead-serious about it too.

Of course Hawke's sense of timing was hopeless. By the time she wanted to proudly proclaim her love for Merrill, the elf asked her to come to Sundermount with her. As usual, Hawke could not say no. Not to Merrill, ever.

Return trips from Sundermount were always a study in misery. How many years ago had they taken a shattered Merrill home to the alienage when Pol had run from her in fear? Now she was even more shattered. She clung to Hawke's arm as the Champion guided her down the slopes of Sundermount. There was nothing more here for Merrill now. Her clan was dead, perished at their hands.

Hawke thought she could have done something different to stop the carnage, but she could never have blamed Merrill for Marethari's death. It was not her fault. It was a chain of horrible events, misunderstandings. The corrupting touch of demons. Hawke yelled at the clansmen to stand down, and they didn't.

Back at the alienage, Hawke did not leave her side, wrapping the shivering Merrill into blankets and washing the blood from her face. She was injured, stabbed by Marethari, or rather the demon, and it went further than just skin-deep.

Hawke briefly left in the morning to buy food for them. When she returned, Merrill was seated on her bed, staring at the eluvian in misery and despair. She rose when she saw Hawke, standing before the mirror. "You were right, Hawke. I am broken. I have killed my own people, in blind pursuit of what I thought would save us. I thought they would love me. But instead I destroyed those that I wished to serve. I am full of darkness. Marethari..." She covered her face, mourning the woman who had raised her like a mother.

Hawke put the bag of food she had bought on a table, and then moved to stand behind the elf. "I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. This...this mirror here, it hasn't brought you any joy. You are not full of darkness, Merrill. Remember, I once felt the touch of your dreams and your thoughts. There is so much lightness and joy." She pulled her to herself, lifting her chin. "I could not imagine anything better in life than experiencing it at your side. All that you have to give. You have so much to give."

Merrill leaned against her, exhaling, as Hawke continued to speak. She had prepared for this speech for three years, no, longer than that. It had to have been worth it. "It's not your fault, what happened. They didn't understand. The Keeper loved you, and tried to protect you. We do crazy things for love."

She laughed bitterly. "It drives me insane that Quentin was right, that love is the strongest force in the universe. But he didn't know love, just insanity. I have felt the hand of the Maker, or of your Creators, being with you. Don't give up on yourself. Don't give up on me. Let's not surrender to our darkness."

The elf looked up at her, her face still tear-stained, but there was a smile. "Was that very hard for you, Hawke? I think it must have been. You don't usually say that much."

"Does it bother you if I do? Would you have me use one-liners, brisk responses? I found they make expressing emotions very difficult." Hawke shook her head, in wonder. "Do you realize how much you have changed me for the better, Merrill? You are so giving. Will you have a life with me?"

Merrill looked at her as if she was a stranger, touching her face lightly. "Yes, still feels like the same Hawke. Smells like the same Hawke." She placed a kiss on Hawke's lips. "Tastes like her too." Hawke looked hurt again, feeling rejected, which made Merrill add "You pout like her too. You do know that I love you, yes? Hawke, if you will have me, I will have a life with you. A life without blood magic, and a life without memories of this creators-forsaken mirror." She pushed Hawke away, and smashed it with her staff, with all the force she could muster.

One thing never changed on the Wounded Coast. The amount of bandits, mercenaries, wild beasts, it never decreased, no matter how many times they were slaughtered. The coast was never truly safe. But it also never changed that it was a lovely stretch of coast. Taking walks there made Merrill so happy. Once she'd even convinced Hawke to go skinny-dipping, and the lovemaking on the beach that followed was some of the best she could recall. It was good seeing Merrill happy. It was good feeling happy herself.

Sometimes Hawke couldn't believe that she had needed Merrill's blood to experience anything but anger. They laughed together, they loved each other with ardor, tenderness or both (depending on their mood), and sometimes they even had highly scientific discourses about all sorts of magic. Though never blood magic, this chapter of their lives was over. Currently, their arms were linked and they were debating which school was more powerful, Elemental or Primal.

"There is absolutely no doubt that a fully trained primal mage will beat an elemental mage. We just have that many more tools available. We are more versatile. Protection, control and destruction. You with your fire and ice do not measure up. Why, I would encase you in rock and then sear the life out of you." Merrill was quick to add, "Theoretically spoken of course. I would never..." She scratched her head, embarrassed. She got so carried away when they talked about magic. She was such a powerful mage.

They crested a ridge and came upon two things. First, they espied a different couple, who were actually kissing quite deeply. It turned out to be Aveline and her husband Donnic. Merrill giggled and leaned against Hawke. "Are they supposed to do this while on duty? Isn't that unprofessional? How adorable they look. Do we look that sweet when we kiss?"

Hawke shook her head. "We look much sweeter. You could lose a tooth or two to watching us." Aveline and Donnic had broken apart when they heard Merrill's giggling. They looked so guilty that Hawke had to chuckle. "Carry on, by all means. We won't tell anyone. The coast is clear too. This is the most romantic spot on all of the coast. " She pointed at the stand of dead trees, burned and electrocuted until all life was sapped out of them, many years ago now. "I fell in love here. I found my one dream that's worth defending."

Aveline shook her head, all puzzled. "All those years, and we never knew that beneath your shell there was this poetic, romantic, Hawke."

The other woman put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, don't tell anyone. Think of my reputation." She put her arm around Merrill's waist. "Shall we go home?"

The elf nodded with a smile. "Let's go home. I think your brother is coming over for dinner. Please don't fight with him tonight? Ah, what am I saying, you two always will."

Hawke looked pleased and nodded to the other couple. "Stop by if you wish. It's good to have friends and family joined together."

They would never be alone with their darkness again.

The End.