Happy (belated) New Year!

Just Around The River Bend (Pocahontas) – Merrill

Merrill sighed as she wandered up the mountain. They didn't understand that she was doing this for them. But it didn't matter, not really. Keeper said a shemlen was coming to Sundermount tomorrow to take her away. She flopped down beside the river, and cradled her head in her hands.

Did she really want to leave? No, not really. She wanted to stay with her people, with her friends. To lead them into a new age with all the magic and wisdom of their ancestors. But they didn't want that. They didn't care.

Merrill dabbled a slender finger in the icy water flowing at her feet. She'd show them. She'd show them that change was good. "What I love most about rivers is,you can't step in the same river twice," she sighed to herself, shaking her head. "The water's always changing, always flowing…But people, I guess, can't live like that, we all must pay a price." A thought of the mirror and its milk honey voice echoed through her mind briefly. She shook it away, defiantly. "To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing what's around the riverbend!" she announced, throwing herself to her feet. "Waiting just around the riverbend…."

A flash of magic and she was on the water, dainty feet hopping along the stepping stones that seemed to blossom like flowers at her feet. She needed to go, she had to leave – the shemlen that was going to take her away – they were her chance.

"I look once more," she cried, giggling to herself in excitement, "just around the riverbend – beyond the shore, where the gulls fly free!" She thought of Kirkwall; the stories she'd heard, the ships at the harbour, the tall walls visible even from the mountain. "Don't know what for," she shrugged, "What I dream the day might send, just around the riverbendfor me…Coming for me…"

She stopped to catch her breath as the water burbled around her feet, and she dipped a toe into it. It was freezing, refreshing, exhilarating. She was terrified of Kirkwall. Maybe she was as bad as the rest of them, scared of change. But she had to be brave. Mythal help her, she had to be brave. It was an adventure, like in the stories. She was founding her own Arlathan, and her children's children's children would sing songs of her one day.

Change, she knew, was coming. "I feel it there beyond those trees," she murmured to no one in particular, "Or right behind these waterfalls – can I ignore that sound of distant drumming?" She thought of Keeper, of Paivel, of Ilen, of all those people who told her to stay home, to stay safe, to stop searching. They didn't want her to uncover their people's mysteries. What were they asking for? She knew all too well. "For a ordinary keeper, with an ordinary clan, who never dreams that something might be coming," she breathed, almost angry, "just around the riverbend?Just around the riverbend…"

She took off again, her pale delicate feet sturdy against the glistening rocks. Kirkwall wasn't like this – Kirkwall wasn't home. She had to be brave. "I look once more," she repeated, like a mantra, "just around the riverbend, beyond the shore,somewhere past the sea.Don't know what for..." She faltered, wondering, for that one, tiny second, why. "Why do all my dreams extend just around the riverbend?" she whispered. "Just around the riverbend...?"

The mountain around her was quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a halla shrieked. Merrill's eyes followed the sound, and she saw the smoke drifting up from camp. Marethari would be there, staring into the fire and thinking. Hahren Paivel would be telling stories of the Dread Wolf to the children. Pol and Junar would be arguing over bows, again, and Pol would be inevitably losing. They were her home – they were her family. The home of the Dalish was with their people. She was leaving it all behind, and she was doing it for the sake of a history none of them wanted.

"Should I choose the smoothest course," she whispered, as the breeze died up around her. "Steady as Andruil's arrow? Should I forget all I know? Is all my dreaming at an end?" She looked out toward the tallest spires of what she knew was Kirkwall. "Or do you still wait for me, Dream Giver….?" She asked, as the wind began to pick up and blow hard around her, buffeting her tiny frame. "Just around the riverbend?" she finished, the air carrying her words downstream, down mountain, toward the city.

She was decided. This was something she had to do.

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Merrill is very hard to write.

Up Next – She's different from the rest of us, Amell.