Chapter Text
Merrill has lived in the city for two whole weeks and still had no friends. She tried sitting on benches at the park, smiled at people that walked past, but all they ever did was glance at her and walk away. She tried sitting at the coffee place near her building, acting like the book she was holding was incredibly interesting and wonderful, but no one ever approached her or even glanced at her.
She tried going up and starting conversation with others, but that didn't work either. Humans gave her a mean look while stepping far away from her, the city elves believed she thought she was above them, and the qunari were too menacing. The dwarves were the kindest, though most of the time they seemed like they were in a hurry with their cellphones and headset things, and they never spoke to her very long.
Job hunting, though, that was the actual worst for her. Human employers took one look at her, told her to get out, and would threaten to call the police if she didn't leave right away. Dwarf employers would at least talk to her, but would immediately say no the moment they found out she didn't have any job experience. The only elf-run stores she's seen were little merchant carts around the alienage, and she never saw any qunari-run stores.
Merrill let out a heavy sigh and slumped on her hard and unwelcoming mattress. She stared at her wood floors, covered to the brim with stains that will never go away. She tried to scrub them off every other day, but nothing ever worked. Nothing worked on the stains on the walls, or the bathroom, or her counters.
Nothing will ever work.
Oh Creators, she missed her clan so much. She missed never needing to work for money. She missed never having to deal with permanent stains or rude and hateful people. She missed Marethari.
She would still be just as alone and isolated in her clan, though. Just knowing that she would be alone no matter what made her eyes sting with tears.
Merrill sunk down to the dirty floor with a sob. She curled her legs towards her chest, covered her face with her hands, and let out the most hideous sounds she had ever heard herself make. It was the hardest she had ever cried. Creators, she didn't even cry this hard when Marethari forced her out of the clan.
She didn't know how long she cried, all she knew was that she felt shameful for crying so hard. She leaned her head back onto her bed, forcing herself to try and take deep breaths. Merrill opened her eyes and stared at the dirty ceiling in the dim lighting, blinking a couple of times to try and refocus her vision. She rubbed her eyes and decided to try and get out of her awful mess of feelings.
“What did people do when they were in a hopeless situation?” Merrill murmured to herself and squinted at the ceiling in concentration, thinking of all the things she read in stories. “They cried, ate junk food, talked to friends, slept all day, and… what else…? Oh! They went out to clubs and bars, to dance and 'drink their sorrows away'.”
Marethari forbade alcohol, but Merrill was always curious about it and why people were obsessed with it. Merrill felt a small rush of excitement over finally being able to satiate her curiosity, and tried her best to ignore that pang of guilt over deciding to commit an act that her keeper frowned so deeply upon.
Merrill pushed herself off the floor with a little huff and padded over to her closet. She opened the plain wooden door and began to shuffle through her clothes.
“People usually dress up for clubs and bars, yes...? Or was that only for fancy ones…? Oh, that doesn't matter, I should still look nice. People talk to nice looking people. Ah, fancy, fancy, where… Do I own anything fancy…? Oh wait, what if they think I'm trying too hard, or that I'm stuck up or smug, and what if the place isn't all that fancy? Creators, I don't even know what the closest bar is, dummy, I should've looked that up before, stupid stupid.”
Merrill patted her pants for her phone and took it out of her back pocket. She struggled to type in where the nearest bar was, muttering to herself how stressful typing was and asking how people could type so fast.
“'The Hanged Man'? Oh, that's such a depressing name! Why would people want to go to a place named after a dead man? Well, an anonymous dead man.”
Merrill heaved a long sigh. “Okay, okay, I should get dressed and stop talking to myself before I convince myself to stay in bed and cry some more. Thank the Creators that it's in walking distance...”
She pulled on a pair of her nicest and cleanest black leggings and her favorite sweater. It was a dark green and had sleeves long enough for Merrill to hide her hands in nervousness. It was her go-to sweater whenever she needed comfort or luck, and she desperately needed both right now.
She walked down the stairs of her apartment and stepped into the brisk fall night. She huddled into her sweater and took a deep breath of the cool air before walking to The Hanged Man. She muttered the directions to herself the whole time, too nervous to keep herself from talking.
Merrill stopped outside of the building, a little white doll hanging from a rope in front of the door. The building was much smaller than she imagined, and the wooden door was much heavier than she thought it would be.
The overwhelming scent of pee and musk and blood assaulted Merrill's nose. Her hand immediately covered her nose and mouth on instinct. She speed walked over to the bar, hoping that the smells wouldn't be so harsh once she reached it. She sat herself on one of the creaky wooden stools and hesitantly moved her hand away from her mouth. She breathed in a little bit and found that the smells were still as strong and obnoxious here. She sighed in defeat and tried to breathe only from her mouth.
“What can I get you?”
Merrill jumped at the deep voice. She flushed red and looked at the bartender in front of her – oh how did she not notice that someone was right in front of her, stupid so stupid. The man had dark skin decorated with some of the most beautiful tattoos Merrill had ever seen. She looked at his green eyes and white hair and – ears, pointy ears!
“Dalish!”
The man scowled at her. “Yes, I noticed that you're Dalish. What will you drink?”
Merrill reddened even further at her outburst. She hunched and lowered her head slightly, barely remembering to keep eye contact.
“Sorry, no, uh, I meant, you're Dalish. You are Dalish, aren't you? With the, uh… tattoos...”
His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at her. He leaned onto the counter, hunched and menacing as he said in a low and dangerous growl, “No. We 'simpler' elves discovered what tattoos were some time ago. You must have been too busy frolicking in the woods and talking about how technology is evil and how your kind will 'save those poor dumb city elves'.”
Merrill's mouth dropped and her eyes widened. She started to wave her hands frantically back and forth, stuttering, “N-no, no, I-I never thought that, I'm so sorry, I didn't-”
The bartender sneered at her and growled. “What will you drink?”
Merrill stared down at her hands and mumbled, “I'll just have a water...”
The bartender went to the sink and filled a glass. He came back to her, placed the glass rather hard in front of her, and walked away from her. She guessed that he would probably stay away and ignore her for the rest of the night.
Merrill sighed heavily and held the glass between her hands. She spun and pushed the glass between her hands.
She was a fool for coming to the bar. She was too out of place, too awkward, and she missed her clan and Marethari more than ever. She was alone and an outcast there, too, but she at least had Marethari to talk to.
Merrill blinked furiously to get rid of the tears in her eyes, and reached a hand up to wipe them away quickly and harshly. Creators she felt so humiliated and alone.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Merrill whiped her head to her right, looking up and immediately blushing. Next to her was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her eyes were a golden brown that were framed beautifully by long locks of wavy black hair and dark skin. Gold jewelry framed her face wonderfully and made her eyes stand out that much more.
She was so beautiful and she was talking to Merrill and Merrill was staring at her without answering.
“Oh, uh, yes, yes you can. Sorry for, um, staring.”
The woman chuckled as she sat down next to Merrill. Her laugh was warm and friendly and so inviting. Merrill felt herself smiling a little as she heard the woman's laugh.
The woman waved the bartender over (he made sure to not look at Merrill at all) and asked for a shot of tequila. He set the shot down and promptly walked away. The woman raised an eyebrow and asked Merrill, “Did you do something to Fenris?”
Merrill looked down as she felt her face heat up again in shame.
She mumbled, “I thought he was Dalish and he got angry with me.”
The woman clicked her tongue and said flippantly, “Don't take it too personally, kitten. He always finds a reason to be angry and broody.”
“O-okay,” Merrill stuttered, more than a little thrown from being called kitten.
The woman threw back her head and downed the shot and slammed the glass down on the bar. Merrill focused hard on not staring at her throat. Merrill's eyes widened when she felt fingers hold her chin. The woman turned Merrill's head to her smirking face, and Merrill felt herself shudder when she saw the woman's eyes, heated with desire.
“I'm Isabela. What's your name, kitten?”
“M-Merrill.”
“A pretty name to go with a pretty face.”
Merrill heard the bartender, Fenris, let out a short bark of laughter. Isabela turned to glare at him, and Merrill saw him smirk at Isabela out of the corner of her eye.
“Unless you want to join us, leave.”
Merrill saw Fenris lift up his hands in playful surrender before going to help another customer. She glared after him before turning back to Merrill, a smile back on her face as if nothing ever happened. She released Merrill's chin and put her elbow on the bar, her check resting in the palm of her hand.
“I've never seen a Dalish around town before. I've definitely never seen one at a bar, especially in one as dirty as The Hanged Man. Tell me, did you really walk in her for a glass of water?”
Merrill looked back down at her hands, twisting and turning her hands before she whispered, “I, um, I did come here to drink alcohol. I just… changed my mind is all.”
Isabela raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why is that?”
“Well, you see, we were forbidden from drinking alcohol in my clan, and now that I'm-” Merrill bit her lip hard and focused all of her energy on making herself say without her voice wavering, “no longer with my clan, I thought it would be nice to try it out. Unfortunately, I don't know what kind of alcohol tastes good, and I felt like the Keeper of my clan would come in and smack me if I did get alcohol.”
Isabela giggled goodnaturedly, and Merrill felt her small smile grow into what had to be a silly looking grin. She made a friend. She made a friend and she was beautiful and Merrill has never felt so happy and ecstatic.
She jumped a little when she felt Isabela's hand land on top of hers, and she saw Isabela's face twist back into one of desire.
“I like you. You're cute and you seem really sweet. I have a room in the hotel a few blocks away if you want to join me.”
Merrill felt like her face would melt away from how hard she was blushing. Isabela wanted to have sex with her. Isabela, the most beautiful woman Merrill had ever seen in her whole life, wanted to have sex with Merrill. It didn't make any sense to Merrill. She was tiny and scrawny and awkward, and Isabela was smooth and gorgeous and Merrill had no clue how anyone was gorgeous as Isabela would find someone like Merrill attractive enough to sleep with.
She thought hard about Isabela's proposition, staring at her with her mouth gaping open, struggling to comprehend Isabela's attraction to her, when a fist slammed down on the bar in between Merrill and Isabela. Merrill yelped loudly and looked at the man who slammed his fist down. He was glaring at Isabela, and Isabela glared right back with the same amount of fire.
“Where's my money, Rivaini?” he growled at her.
Isabela scoffed, “What money? I owe you nothing.”
She turned around, dismissing him, but he grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around to face him. Isabela nearly fell off of her stool. She gripped the bar behind her hard, glaring heatedly at the man. The bar went quiet, everyone staring at the scene. Merrill felt her magic roiling underneath her skin, begging to be unleashed, and she had to bite her lip and clench her fists to control herself. There were laws against magic in cities, and she didn't want to get arrested.
“You promised me two hundred for the information.”
“And you promised me good information, but seeing as how your information was worth nothing, you will get nothing.”
The man stepped closer to Isabela, his face right against hers. He panted harshly, his hand balled tightly into a fist. He was ready for a fight but Isabela was, too. Merrill could see it in the way that she held herself before him, tense and ready to hit hard.
Fenris stomped quickly from behind the bar and grabbed the man from behind, throwing him away from Isabela in a surprising feat of strength. The man scrambled to his feet and charged at Fenris, fist in the air. Fenris ducked and tackled the man to the ground, punching his face repeatedly before being flipped underneath the man.
Isabela sprang out of her seat and ran to the man and Fenris, both of them choking each other. She went in front of the man and kneed him in the face, hard enough to make him fall off of Fenris. Isabela reached into her boot, pulling out a knife oh Creators, and straddled the man before he could get up, holding the knife to his throat.
Merrill stood up and went to Isabela, not sure what she was doing but she had to do something before someone died right in front of her. She went behind Isabela and used all of her strength to pull her off of the man, and then Merrill felt a burst of pain explode on her face before everything went black.