A/N: Guess what. I hate my teacher. Writing this in class and he finds it and rips it into shreds! What happened to the good ol' days when all that happened was you got detention/lunch hour? Sigh, pout. Self pity. Et cetera, et cetera. Which I think means 'and more' in Latin. Pistrix means 'shark'.

I carefully weave my way around tables, avoiding the occasional dirty, drunk man grabbing at me with relative ease. I listen to the drunken murmurs around me with amusement.

"Maker, that elf girl's pretty." From one man. I can't be sure if he's talking about me, because there are a lot of elf wenches working here and I'm not really at my best. Then again, everything looks so much better when you're sipping on a big mug of beer. Don't ask me how I know that.

"What? Who let a little elf girl wander in here?"

"She's probably just working here for a little extra coin, Burt."

"She bloody looks like she's five or six. I don't think that's legal!"

"When has the Hanged Man ever cared about the law?"

"That's true."

My blood freezes and I know exactly what 'little elf girl' they're talking about. Maveria. She must have woken up and decided to come find me. I swiftly turn around to see if I can find her in the crowd. I see her, and start elbowing my way through a flood of people who I swear weren't here a second ago.

When I finally get into hearing range of her, I hear her talking to someone with a very pleasant accent. I can't quite place where I've heard that voice before, but I know I've heard it.

"Where are your parents, da'len?"

"Don't have any." Maveria says like a chirping little bird, happy as can be even in unfamiliar surroundings. "I do have a sissy."

"Where is she?"

I finally get to where my sister can see me, and her long, skinny finger immediately shoots up and points in my direction.

"Right there. She's the one in the sleeveless white shirt." The woman Maveria was talking to picks her up with surprising strength. She looks far too slender to possess such muscle. She strides right up to me and places Maveria into my arms. I see that Maveria's wearing a bright red and gold dress, so that means she saw the clothes I laid out for her. The woman gives me a sweet smile, and I notice her ears. She's a fellow elf.

"Thank you for looking out for my sister, miss..." I say, knowing I shouldn't call her 'Miss Elf' but not knowing her name.

"Oh, you don't need to call me miss. It makes me sound so old. It's just Merrill. And you're welcome. We elves need to help each other out, yes da'len?" Energy radiates off of Merrill as I take in everything about her. Her pleasant smell, her pale skin, the scars on her wrists, and... her tattoos. I gasp.

"You're Dalish!" Merrill giggles and raises an eyebrow.

"Did the language give me away, or do I smell like dirt? Everyone says the Dalish smell like dirt, but I don't think it's true."

"No, no, your vallasin!" I cry, excited that I have found a Dalish kinsman in the city.

"Ah, you're a smart girl then, are you? What should I call you, smart one?" I laugh. No one has ever considered me smart. Even my Mother once admitted I was a bit uncoordinated.

"You can just call me Ella."

"All right then, Ella." I decide now might be a good time to ask about Isabela and Aveline.

"Do you know two women named Isabela and Aveline?" Merrill doesn't reply though, and she's bounding away with quite unimpressive grace. For an elf, she isn't very acrobatic.

I hear Merrill shout "Hawke" and a woman comes running up to Merrill and almost tackles her in a gigantic bear hug. The woman who is apparently Hawke laughs a big, hearty laugh.

"Hawke, I haven't seen you in forever!" Merrill says, when they detach and stand with Hawke's arm over her shoulder.

"I know! I was going to invite your over for a Hey-I've-been-living-in-a-classy-mansion-for-three-months-now party, but Mother made me go to a ball with" here Hawke paused and shuddered for dramatic effect, "the Delauncets. Ugh, they're so Orlesian. I almost felt like telling them that my favorite bedtime story was the story of how the Fereldans drove out the Orlesians, but I was able to resist. Barely." Merrill giggled her little giggle that sounded like little tinkling bells, and replied

"I don't know what's funnier, that or the idea that you still listen to bedtime stories."

I clear my throat behind them and they finally notice me. Merrill introduces me to Hawke and I politely ask her 'How do you do?', but she only laughs and says

"You don't need to run through the speech. But if you're really interested, I'd do a lot better if I had a beer." Maveria squirms in my arms and shouts

"Cheers!". I'm mortified, but I do have to admit that although it was embarrassing, it was also very funny and it broke the ice somewhat.

"Come on, let's get a table and I'll buy you some food." My stomach growls, and I readily accept Hawke's offer.

"Merrill, you wanna round up the gang for cards and some supper?" Merrill nods, and I'm left alone with a dozing Maveria in my lap and a Hawke sitting across from me that, although she seems very nice, radiates crazy.

"So, tell me about yourself." Hawke's voice snaps me from my almost trance-like fascination of her.

"Oh, there's nothing to tell. Name's Ella. I live in the alienage. I'm an orphan. Same old story. But you, you must have some stories to tell." Hawke chuckles.

"I do, at that. But Varric, that's one of our friends, is the story-teller. You should ask him."

I was about to initiate farther conversation, but suddenly a man came and grabbed Maveria out of my lap. He held a knife to her throat and in a menacing and gravelly voice said

"Thirty soveriegns for the child's life. The choice should be clear, should it not?" I sat on the chair, my hate and anger pulsing. Who was he to threaten me?

"I would advise you, put her down." My voice took on a commanding tone on the last few words. There was going to be a fight.