Carver tried to keep up with Merrill, but she was so lithe and the night was so dark that there was no way of keeping her in his sight. He decided that the most logical thing to do would be to pay a visit to her home in the Alienage. He wouldn't be stepping inside her home, no! He reassured himself. He'd just come to her door step and give her a strong warning.

As cold as the winter air was up in Hightown, it seemed to be even colder in the Alienage. Carver bristled a little, and tried to ignore the suspicious looks that he was getting from the drunken elves loitering in the alleyways. He knew a Templar in the Alienage would cause a stir, especially a Templar in the Alienage at night. He could feel eyes peering at him from the shadows and the ramshackle apartment buildings. He composed himself and tried to make his visit as quick as possible.

He saw Merrill's small little home at the far end of the Alienage, past that bug decorated tree whose arms were barren this time of year. He quickly made his way to her door, ignoring the elves lingering by the shabby market stalls to the right. He could tell they were watching him, but if he were to look directly at them, he knew their eyes would dart to the ground.

Carver knocked on Merrill's door and realized he had his hand poised on the hilt of his broadsword. He shook his head and withdrew his hand. He didn't need to look this paranoid, especially in front of Merrill.

Nevertheless, as he saw the knob of the door turning, his breath caught in his throat. Was he making a complete fool of himself?

"Somehow, I knew you were going to follow me," she sighed, slouching in her door frame. Her eyes were downcast and she looked completely and thoroughly embarrassed. "You never give up on anything much, do you?" This time she looked up and smiled, her huge eyes glinting.

In spite of himself, Carver smiled smugly at the praise.

"Well, so long as you're here, you might as well come in." Her eyes darted around the Alienage. "Creator's know that the people here are already suspicious of me enough; they don't need to see me chatting up a Templar at my front door."

Carver's face turned hot with embarrassment as he realized the affect this could have on Merrill's reputation within her neighborhood. But Merrill didn't seem to mind, stepping back, holding her front door open to the Templar.

He walked carefully inside, as if Merrill's little home was as fragile as she was; made of daisies and straw instead of wood and stone. But Merrill's home felt just as cold and hard as everything in this damned city, even with her little elvhen tokens on the shelves and a fresh batch of flowers in the center of her dining room table.

Merrill lead him to this table gesturing for him to sit down. She placed an off white teacup in front of two of the three wobbly chairs at the table and began to pour a dark looking tea out of a steaming teapot. "I'm terribly sorry if this tastes bad. I wasn't expecting company this evening, and, well, I just drink this cheap stuff myself…"

Carver paused for a second before sitting down as he noticed some unreadable yet expertly and elegantly sculpted runes painted on the floor in a rust color. This unfamiliar magic set his teeth on edge.

Noticing his unease, Merrill smiled. "They're just old protection runes, Dalish ones. I learned them when I was first to…" At that her voice trailed off. "But never mind them, they won't hurt you. And either way, I doubt you came here for a lesson in magic." At this, she looked up, her face seeming more serious, worry written in her eyes.

Composing himself, Carver began, "No I'm not here for that, but Merrill I want you to know I know what you've been doing and I need to make something very clear with you." He tried to put on his best Templar voice. He took a sip of his tea, which was much too strong and earthy than to his liking.

Merrill clenched her teeth, holding her cup in front of her lips. "This is about the blood magic, isn't it? Carver, how many times has my magic helped –"

"No! It's not about the blood magic!" Carver realized that saying this while he was interrogating Merrill in her own house and dressed in his Templar garb probably looked as idiotic as it sounded. "No, it's… Merrill, I know you've been stealing."

Merrill's face softened, but then she crossed her arms defensively. "What are you talking about, stealing? I've never stolen anything in my life."

"You don't have to lie to me Merrill," Carver said as gently as he could. "I saw you at Seneschal Brann's house –"

"Seneschal Brann's? No wait, you can't call that stealing!" Merrill pinched the bridge of her broad nose, sighing. "Look, Varric already talked to the City Guard, and he said I can pick all the flowers and herbs from Seneschal Brann's garden that I want…"

"Listen, Merrill, it's important that you take everything Varric says with a grain of salt and – wait, 'pick flowers'?"

"Yes flowers." Merrill saddened, slouching in her chair and staring down into her lap. "When I was with my Clan, tending to our flowers and herbs always helped me relax. And I saw Seneschal Brann's garden and… it's just so beautiful Carver. All these exotic plants and flowers so soft and compliant they can be made into hats and jewelry. And when I got here, to my home I mean… the first thing I noticed was that there were no gardens in the Alienage. Nothing that's planted here lasts very long…" Merrill's eyes began to water and she pressed the back of her hand against them as if to stop an oncoming flood.

Carver fidgeted in his seat, not knowing what he would do if he saw the elf cry. He knew he would get chewed out by Varric for this when the dwarf would undoubtedly find out, but he had only been trying to help Merrill. He reached his hand across the table to try an comfort her, but as soon as Merrill noticed she composed herself and withdrew from Carver's reach.

"Look, it's fine, it doesn't even matter," Merrill said in a clipped voice. "I couldn't find the herb I needed anyway, so I didn't 'steal' anything."

With that, Merrill picked up her and Carver's teacups and began to rinse them out in the washing basin, making a point not to make eye contact with Carver.

Carver stood up immediately. He got the hint that now was the time for him to leave, but he couldn't leave Merrill in this state.

"Merrill, what herb is it that you need?" He asked quietly.

Merrill turned away from the basin and regarded him with confusion.

"You know, I can request any number of rare herbs since I'm with the Templars," he boasted, only lying a little bit. He doubted the quartermaster would let him get any herb he wanted, being so low-ranked within the Templars, but Merrill didn't need to know that.

Merrill drew her mouth into a thin line and didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Carver. Then, sighing, she said flatly, "Witherstalk. I need Witherstalk."