The next outing Merrill took to the shops was with Hawke, Isabela and Varric. Hawke had been looking for some person or another for Aveline and she'd decided to make an outing of it, promising Isabela and Varric a game of Wicked Grace afterwards. The Champion had also decided to make this another lesson in mercantilism with her innocent partner. Said elf was currently cooing over a few carvings while chatting away to Varric about how Master Ilen's carvings were much better and how Hawke had given her one of a halla several years ago during her rather unconventional courting.
To her credit, Hawke vehemently denied that she'd intended on courting the elf, bemoaning that it ruined her roguish persona (she was terrible at puns) and insisting that she had merely charmed the elf into her bed. No one believed her and Varric persisted in writing about their "forbidden love", explaining how it drew in readers. Clichéd romance apparently sold better than the actual story (which was true, of course, everyone had asked Merrill about Mahariel and once she was tipsy enough, she would go one for miles; it was never the same as in the stories).
Hawke gamely approached another merchant, one who sold knives and after a few of her 'just in case' ones had been inexplicably lost during Isabela's treasure hunting she needed more, and motioned Merrill over while she contemplated the man's wares. He rattled on about the craftsmanship, though she wasn't really listening. She was much more intent on searching out flaws and formulating a lesson plan for today. She picked up a rather promising looking one and began inspecting it further, testing her thumb on the edge and at the sharp knick, she placed it against her lips with a hummed noise between discomfort and appreciation.
"How much for the knife?"
"That's a fine specimen from Amaranthine, serah. Crafted from silverite, same as the fellows at the Keep." Merrill perked up slightly at the mention of the Warden Keep, after all, when they had met Leliana, she had informed them that the Warden-Commander hadn't been heard from in some time, not even by her. Hawke, on the other hand, kept her attention on the blade and nudged Merrill with her elbow.
"The price will magically appear soon, hm?"
"Fifteen sovereigns." Hawke nearly choked; only the time spent schooling her expression for tedious dinner parties featuring The Champion Herself kept her exclamations of amusement.
"Lesson two, Merrill: haggling." She affixed her most charming smile and wide green eyes finally turned to gaze between her partner and the merchant. "Never accept the given price. This knife can't possibly be from the mines in Amaranthine, nor can it possibly be Master Wade's work."
She had been a soldier in Ferelden, had idolized the Grey Wardens who had slayed the Archdemon and ended the Blight. It wasn't hard to find material on the woman's exploits, especially at the Keep. The pleasured pink that coloured Merrill's cheeks when she mentioned Mahariel had ceased being a sore spot of jealousy long ago.
"The angle of it is all wrong and there's a blemish in the metal right here." Hawke slid her fingertip along the middle of the blade, touching at the guard where the metal had warped. "It's silverite, but it's low quality. Not even the casteless would touch this. Try that price again."
"I…" The merchant had been struck speechless. "A sovereign?"
"Deal. Have a nice day, serah." The dazzling smile of the Champion of Kirkwall was back and she exchanged coin for gold before tugging Merrill along. "Now, you pick a stall and try it."
"Oh, Hawke, I don't think I could. You're so clever and wonderful with people." Hawke's fingers slid into the spaces between Merrill's and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she spoke, the frown slipping effortlessly from angular features when she leaned into the taller frame.
"You'll be fine, Merrill. I'll be right here."
And so Merrill picked a merchant who specialized in runes, something Merrill was at least somewhat familiar with. It was clear from the beginning that it wouldn't go well, despite Hawke's confidence, and the two ended up leaving with several rather useless runes and Hawke's purse much lighter.
"Lesson three: never buy into sob stories." And before the elf could apologise and pout and look so adorably repentant that Hawke's heart would melt into a puddle right there in Lowtown, she tilted the mage's chin up with her fingertips and kissed her forehead, then her mouth. "Baby steps."