мerrιℓℓ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chainlightning) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2018-08-23 09:15 am
chainlightning) wrote in faderift2018-08-23 09:15 am
Entry tags:
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.
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.
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Though then Beleth mentions a plague and Merrill pales a bit.
"The- what? And the dead in the Necropolis- what?" You don't get a lot of news while lost in the Crossroads, as it turns out.
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"There was some kind of blood plague that infected the rifters and templars. Which happened to comprise...all of the division heads except for me, at the time." There's a thin smile on her face, and she supposes it's a sign that enough time has passed that she can laugh about it.
"We figured it out, barely, but it was...it was exhausting. I think the worst part was when I had to impose a quarantine on everyone, and you would think I had told them we were...well, locking everyone in the Gallows, I suppose. But it wasn't like I had a choice, or that it was going to be permanent. What if it had infected people in Kirkwall? Or spread out to the rest of Thedas?" She sighs, arms crossed, shaking her head. It wasn't fun, no, but they had Thedas as a whole to think of, a burden that outweighed personal comfort.
"--But that's over, now. And cured. For good. The Necropolis--I wasn't there for that, but we've been trying to figure out what happened. Sabotage, obviously, to make us lose allies in Nevarra. Which was a pain, because I spent most of my time trying to schmooze with people in the palace--but what's done is done, I suppose. We're working on that, as well."
Aren't you glad to be back, Merrill???
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Merrill shakes her head, rubbing the heels of her palms over her eyes. She can only imagine how stressful that had to be for everyone - for Beleth especially, with her responsibilities, with being the only one left standing.
"Goodness," she manages after a moment, dropping her hands and reaching to squeeze Beleth with one of them. A hand, part of her arm, a shoulder - she just wants the other elf to know she's there with her, for her.
"Well- is there anything I can do?"
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Her offer almost makes Beleth laugh. It comes out as a soft, tired huff. Not because she doubts Merrill's ability or desire to help, but because it feels sometimes like there is so much going on, and nothing that she can do. It feels like things will just keep happening, and times like these are just brief interludes before the storm. And what can either of them do against a storm?
"Your company, as silly as it may sound." Is what she finally says, with a soft smile. "Many see me as Scoutmaster before Beleth—which is necessary, for my job. But it can be...isolating. More than anything, I want the company of my friends."
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Beleth is lucky, in a way; Beleth had friends before she became the Scoutmaster. But Merrill doesn't envy her the position or the friends. Beleth deserves both, she thinks, and she'll stand with her.