Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare.
Prompt 7: Ceremonial
Word Count: 903
The moment Merrill let the word drop from her mouth, she regretted it, wishing she could pluck the bitter syllables from the air and breathe the miasma back into her lungs. But she couldn't stop herself from repeating it, even going so far as to touch him, holding him in a way that would have normally made her blush. Never mind that he hated her and only moments later tried to take her life.
She had not been herself.
And as she slowly moved away, following Verric like a docile lamb, she realized what she was feeling.
Grief.
She had been able to ignore it, barring it and hiding it within her subconscious, but then Fenris had cut her to the quick. Saying those words had hurt her, just as they had him, because it was not in her nature to say such things.
"Now lass, let's take a look at that arm." Verric said, pulling her to the side of the road after the others had passed from sight. He tutted at the damage, her chainmail twisted into her flesh and skin torn like her clothing.
Merrill winced, the pain finally registering as the strange numbness which had over taken her faded. She could feel her body healing, the blood magic lacing her form setting to work. But it was a double edged sword; if she didn't remove the metal imbedded in her arm quickly, the skin would form over it and she would be forced to surgically remove it.
The dwarf inspecting her spoke softly, firmly, like she would bolt at any provocation. "You need to remove your clothes, Daisy."
Merrill felt an uncharacteristic twinge of irritation, inwardly rolling her eyes. But she nodded, swaying around Rodent's muscular form as she headed for a nearby tree to do as she was told. She was nothing, if not an obedient listener. Mostly.
She gasped, leaping away when the dog snapped at her, dark eyes watching her warily. "Oi!" Varric snapped, brow wrinkling. Rodent huffed but stayed put, large paws planted firmly as he stared her down. Merrill's face twisted, hurt, but quickly ducked behind the tree. Even the war hound was mad at her.
A small sound of pain escaped her as she pulled the heavy links over her head, trying to shrug out of her garments without irritating her wound. Verric must have heard her, because suddenly there were gentle hands lifting it up.
Merrill's face went beet red, embarrassed that he could see her in her small things. But his worried gaze never wavered, fixed on her face in concern and she inwardly kicked herself. 'He is trying to help you, you dolt!' she berated.
But she felt like she was suffocating under his care, even as he bandaged her from shoulder to wrist, covering the clawed wounds that would soon be nonexistent.
'You're wasting supplies.' She thought absently, pulling her hand away from his and digging through her pack for something not covered in blood.
'Though I don't really mind being covered in blood.'
Merrill stilled at the errant thought, unnerved by the strange statement. She would have inspected it farther, but her sharp ears made out the faint tread of someone approaching.
Hawke was coming.
And she was nearly naked.
Her expressive eyes widened in panic, good arm searching franticly at the bottom of her bag for something, anything, to ware.
Rodent barked happily and Verric retreated back to the road to give her privacy, calling out cheerfully. "Daisy's just fixing her hair, Hawke. We might be here for awhile."
Hawke snorted, voice loud. "I hope she doesn't take too long, or we might just have to drag her out, flowered crown or no."
Merrill blushed, finally tugging out a clean patch of fabric. Her hands stilled when she saw what it was, smoothing over the white cloth. It was her Ceremonial Garment, the dress worn for weddings, hers specifically and for… funerals.
Her eyes watered, but she shook her head vehemently, lifting the soft dress and putting it on. It was sleeveless, the small popped collar brushing against the back of her neck. She was grateful that it fit her, as she hadn't worn it in years, though it was a bit tight around the bust. It flared out at her waist for easy movement and she couldn't help but twirl, melancholy thoughts taking her as she watched the fabric flutter.
She grabbed her pack and stepped back onto the road. Verric grinned when he saw her, breaking off from a hushed conversation with Hawke as she approached. Hawke blinked at her appearance, then smiled and patted her head. "You clean up rather well, I think."
She bobbed awkwardly at his compliment, nervous hands grasping for something that wasn't there, something that was missing.
"Um, shall we, ah, you know?" Merrill stammered, gesturing at the path ahead. Hawke nodded, hands raised to the back of his head and they set out.
It was twilight when they reached the sea, settling around the newly made fire comfortably. Rodent still shied away from her, despite the glare his master sent his way. Then Hawke insisted that she take first watch, kindly offering to take the last. She agreed curtly, angry that they were babying her, though it had never bothered her before.
Merrill frowned at herself.
Her emotions had been fickle since the incident on the road and she struggled to control them. But as night grew near, they spiraled, her thoughts darkening. Images of her clan plagued her, their haunting faces masks of disapproval, anger, and then terror. She remembered Keeper Marethari's last words to her, anguish resurfacing. Merrill thought over the last three years of her life, fighting, wanting so desperately to help her clan, her family.
It was then, as denial finally fled, that she realized something.
They were gone.
And she had nothing left to live for.
