faderift | i was left to my own devices

WHO: Merrill, open
WHAT: Keeping oneself busy with an aravel.
WHEN: During all this Tevinter nonsense.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Decorating.

How Merrill had convinced the ferrymen to allow her aravel onto the boat and across to the Gallows was uncertain; if asked, Merrill would insist that she had just asked, while the ferryman would turn a bit red and mumble something about eyelashes. Either way, it was certainly there - drawn by a horse instead of halla and with a mutt of a dog inside of it instead of other elves, but an aravel nonetheless. Merrill had directed both her horse - a massive thing, clearly some sort of war horse that a tiny Dalish mage had no business riding but did anyway - and the aravel itself to the stables, parking it outside.

Travel had taken its toll on the aravel. Obvious repairs had been made, but they were travel repairs; patched sails and different pieces of wood. Now that she had a relatively safe place to settle and access to all sorts of supplies, Merrill could repair it a bit more properly. The elf could be seen at all hours of the day working on new knots, fetching bits of wood, or looking over cloth for new sails. She had things to trade, too; herbs and stone found in her travels, skins of deer and rabbits, and trinkets that had most likely been taken out of the pockets of bandits unlucky enough to target her. The back and forth was near constant, but Merrill treated each trip and trade with a smile. She even hummed as she did her work.

No aravel, in Merrill's mind, was complete without decoration. Pieces of wood were delicately cradled as she carved images of the wilds, of bears and halla and flowers. She was not as skilled with the sails, but that didn't stop her from trying to thread bits of color into them, green chief among them. Perhaps the most striking, however, were the feathers. Feathers of songbirds, bright red and yellow and blue; feathers of eagles, patterned and large; and feathers of the griffon, white and striking and Merrill's favorite. They were braided into the ropes, tied to the wood. Merrill would trade the feathers she didn't want or need, would go and groom the griffon that allowed her to ride him and bring back what fell.

She was busy, and it was good, and it didn't at all make her worry any less about those in Tevinter.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It is so good to see her again. Not just to see her, but to touch her, be touched; Galadriel is her friend and the closest thing to a mother that Merrill has had since Marethari. It's easy to tilt her tattooed cheek into Galadriel's hand, to rest it there and assure them both with the touch that they are both here, alive and completely real. For her part, Merrill links her wrists behind the much taller elf's neck, letting her fingers idly stroke at her hair - while Barkley 'helps' from below.

"Not long at all- a few days, maybe? I left Kirkwall a little after the Inquisition arrived, after I made sure that everything was in order with my house in the alienage, and then- well, I couldn't just pretend all the other alienages weren't out there."

Most of the Dalish may want nothing to do with her, but a tatooed elven mage who knows Hawke can be a boon to some of the city elves, when problems arise. Merrill is not naive enough to ignore that being one of Hawke's Companions gives her a certain amount of status, and as the official inquiry into her blood magic had turned up nothing- well. Many humans are still terrible about her ears, but less so than they are to others, and that gives her an edge.

"I've avoided all of the- um, wars and things. At least when I could, when there was no way for me to help any of the elves getting caught up in things. And I got terrifically lost for a bit, which helped."

Especially considering where she had been lost.

"What about you? How have you been? How long has it been?"

i was left to my own devices

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