You pace anxiously about your room. The lack of a need to visit Gladesville has left you with time, time that you are currently using to fret about how they are proceeding without you. You force yourself to stop pacing and take a calming breath. You should not be wasting time on something so unproductive, especially given that Gladesville is likely more than capable of taking care of itself. You should put this time to good use. You have three tasks this week that could benefit from extra time dedicated to them.

After some deliberation, in which you consider devoting extra time to training, you decide to spend the extra time with Merrill. She seemed somewhat unsettled the last time you had spoken, and you think it would be beneficial if she had the extra attention that having a longer lesson could give her. Assuming you can find her that is, she has been rather elusive since your last conversation. Here in the privacy of your room, in your mind, you are willing to admit you are growing worried.

More than once over the last few months you have found yourself frustrated by your inability to manage terrain you do not know well. Your struggle with learning terrain enough to consider it 'well known' has only exacerbated the problem. You met Ranger through attempting to improve the matter, yet as of late you have let your lessons lapse. There is a brief temptation to attempt to improve your craftsmanship, but you know nothing about the matter and have no teachers on hand, while Ranger is already present and willing to help. Now that you finally have some time, though you could continue to investigate the strange pull into the Beyond, you decide to ask Ranger if he might continue your lessons.

Your teacher jolts upright from the pile of reports he was sleeping on. "Wazzit? Hozzat?"
"Are you sleeping enough?" You ask, concerned.
Ranger rubs sleep from his eyes, shaking himself awake. "Sleepin' fine. Was up late drinkin' with tha' Wesley fella'."
"Perhaps an unwise decision when there is need for work the next day." You observe.
Ranger makes a rapid shooing motion with his hand. "'s fine. Jus' readin' reports, nothin' urgent."
You pick up one of the drool stained papers. "I see. What are these reports on?"
"Jus' how the huntin' is goin'. Had a chat with the girlie and the fanatic 'bout the hunters earlier. Wanted to make sure it's working out."

You scan the report with a practiced eye. It is littered with spelling mistakes and poor grammar, but the gist of it is that things are working out. Gladesville's hunters are no longer running a deficit, but the food shortage has more complicated origins than that.
"If I were to lend you assistance in this matter, do you suppose you would have time for a lesson later today?" You ask, placing the report in what you hope is the 'complete' pile.
Ranger's expression could be best described as ecstatic. "Ya help with the boring work and then I get to spend the rest of the day hunting? Fu… I mean I would like that."

You blaze through the paperwork with an efficiency that leaves Ranger staring at you in obvious envy. In truth it is hardly anything to marvel at. The vast majority of it is simply information about local conditions. You sort it all into three piles, one for things that require his attention, one for things that are one off reports that need no reply and the last for things that may need to be consulted in future.
"Sweet maker and spirits." Ranger breathes. "That would have taken all day for me to do."
You shrug. "Compared to how circuitous some of my kin can get when talking about simple matters, the inefficiency of ignorance is a welcome change."

Ranger gives you a wry smile. "Yar people? Talkin' too much? Say it isn't so."
You give him a flat look. "You are not as funny as you believe yourself to be."
"Case in point." He retorts.
The old man stands up, stretching his back. "Well, now that's done, let's get out there and do somethin' interestin'."
The two of you head out into the forest. Just beyond the walls of Endataurëo, Ranger turns to face you.
"Right, what are ya lookin' for? Ya jus' want to learn more huntin' or ya got somethin' special in ya noggin?" He asks.

You are tempted, sorely so, to ask Ranger to focus on why a scout acts in the way one does. You refrain only because you know in your heart that what you need most is a deeper insight into others, rather than a more specific need for the skills of a scout. Thus, it would likely surprise any who were privy to your thoughts that you did not do so. The reasons for this are not simple, there are many layers to them. A desire to learn through practice is a part of it, as is a desire to demonstrate your trust in your teacher, there is an element of cultural motivation and many other reasons. None of that is important, what is important is what you say.

"You are my teacher, I trust you to guide me well. Whatever you wish to teach, I will learn." You inform the old hunter.
"No pressure or anythin'." Ranger grumbles, attempting to conceal his nerves. "Right. Well, worst case scenario is we end up lost in the woods for a few hours I guess. Come on, I'll run ya through the same stuff I did with yar redcloaks."
"Redcloaks? Are you referring to my warriors?" You ask.
"I mean yeah, they're all pickin' up on wearin' cloaks like you do." Ranger replies.
"That is a ridiculous nickname. Leaving aside the fact that the Sabrae healers also wear red cloaks, the colour of their garments is hardly the defining factor of my warriors." You retort.
It takes some time to start on Ranger's lesson, for reasons that are in no way your fault. If Ranger had just admitted you were right, the argument would not have taken as long as it did.

Ranger leads you through the forest. If you end up travelling through some uncomfortable terrain, you are willing to believe that is simply coincidence. You doubt he would be petty enough to deliberately lead you through such terrain as vengeance for crushing his pathetic arguments.
Your teacher glances back at you as you bite back a curse as another vine snags your ankle. "It's still weird to me that ya're so graceful normally, but ya blunder through the undergrowth like an elephant."

"It is not exactly a simple matter to move as gracefully as I do. I have lived all my life in cities and towns, marched on roads. Whenever I have dared the woods for hunting I did so astride a horse. I am ungraceful because I am unused to the terrain. Thus I cannot maintain my grace with the ease of a Nandor."
"Ya could just say that ya ain't much used ta walkin' through woods." Ranger snarks.
You stub your toe on a stone, bringing your journey to a halt as you grasp at it in pain.
"What is an elephant?" You hiss, trying to distract yourself from the pain.
An elephant, it turns out, is a large grey beast with a snake nose and sail ears. It sounds fictional to you, but Ranger insists it is real.

The pain has faded enough to focus on Ranger's lesson once more. He starts to give you advice on moving through the underbrush and how to avoid the stones concealed under leaves. Finally, you come to a stop in a clearing.
Ranger turns to you once more and speaks. "Right. This lesson is on learnin' the land about ya and instructin' people on how to get there. So I want ya to find a place, then direct me there. Once I'm there, I'll tell ya everythin' ya got wrong in ya directions. That sound like a plan?"
"I am not entirely sure what else it could possibly sound like." Of all the sayings you have discovered this is one of the most nonsensical.
Ranger runs a hand down his face. "Just get on with it."

There is a part of you, one you inherited from your father, that insists anyone saying you cannot do something is a challenge. Your father also passed his usual response to challenges onto you. It is thus no surprise that when presented with a task your warriors failed, one that you yourself acknowledge is something you struggle with, you are seized by a desire to undertake an immense challenge. The thought of leaving your cloak in some random clearing and guiding your teacher to it is a tempting one. It would prove, both to yourself and your friend, that you are in fact capable of being a skilled scout.

Fortunately, your self-control asserts itself before you can commit to anything with such potential loss. Your cloak has always found its way back to you, but it has not always come back in a timely manner. Since you cannot replace your cloak, you are wary of being without it for any length of time. You choose to tackle a more moderate challenge. After half an hour of searching you find a tree with a strip of back torn down its length. Your guess is that the tree was struck by lightning. It is far enough away from where Ranger waits to be a non-trivial task to guide him there. It is also close enough that if you fail you will not be spending the better part of a day wandering around lost.

Your first, immediate really, problem is that you do not remember the way back to Ranger. Navigating back to him is a challenge, requiring much searching of your memory and more than a few tricks for locating someone that Ranger has shown you. You are feeling very nervous when the time you expected to arrive at the clearing passes you by. Despite the temptation to turn back, you press on trusting in your lessons. Your faith is rewarded when you stumble through a thick bush to arrive in the clearing where Ranger is standing.
"Took yar time. Ya picked a spot yet?" The old human drawls.

You straighten up, picking various pieces of plant residue from your clothes and hair. "As a matter of fact, I have. There is a clearing with a lightning struck tree somewhat west of here. If you would follow me…"
Your teacher barks a harsh laugh. "Not trickin' me like that. I'm sure ya could lead me there, but this is a test of yar ability to direct people. Give me directions and I'll head there myself."
You blink in confusion. "What if I get the directions wrong? Will that not take a great deal of time?"
Ranger shrugs. "Ya tell me how long it should take and I turn back if I go over it. Part of the test is figerin' how long it takes someone to move."

You are understandably nervous as you give the directions. The confusion as to how to get back here proves helpful though. It has both given you a straight path to follow and ingrained the path in your memory.
"… It took me fifteen minutes; I suspect you will be faster. Do mind the thorny vines hanging at roughly head height." You finish your explanation.
Ranger places his hand on the top of his head and then extends it until it hits you just beneath your chest.
"I think I'll be fine." He says flatly, looking up at you.

You end up waiting for twenty minutes before Ranger arrives back in the clearing.
"I assume by the time of your return that you found the tree." You say.
Ranger nods. "Sure did. Ya're gettin' pretty good at this sort of thing. Come on, I'll direct ya back from here and see if yar as good at followin' directions as givin' 'em."
As it turns out, several human lifetimes of following scouts' directions has in fact given you a knack for following directions. You are thoroughly pleased with your progress in these matters. You have not improved yet, but you feel you are improving your scouting abilities significantly. Analysing Ranger's behaviour reveals nothing you did not already know, but it remains good practice.

This week will once again see you dedicating time to improving the skill of those who serve you. You do not expect to acquire workers at the skill of a Noldo, but you can certainly work to bring them up to that level. So far you have managed to improve the quality of the wine your vintners make, though that was more a matter of improving processes than the innate skill of the workers. You have also managed to improve your warriors up to a standard you deem acceptable. As soon as they are fully equipped, they will be indistinguishable from a new Noldor cavalry detachment. Though that is perhaps a touch harsh, they lack the reach of most of the Noldo and that effects their performance, they could still improve you suppose.

While you continue consider the matter you examine the field that is currently being composted to improve its ability to grow the orchard you plan. The smell is certainly something else, but it seems to be progressing as well as could be expected. This prompts you to consider if you should spend the week training your farmers. On one hand, they are already far more productive than anybody else in the area; a natural result of your personal involvement in the creation of the fields. Yet that is not to say there are no benefits from improving the skill of your farmers. An increase in medicinal herbs for example, not to mention the additional food in a region struggling with a lack of it.

With your inspection of the future orchard done, you return to the main complex. The winepress makes surprisingly little noise for something of its size. You watch as the vintners operate the machine, considering your options further. The vintners could certainly stand to improve. You would rather have higher quality wine rather than more production of it as a general rule, and the reception from Martin's clients seems to agree with you. To your annoyance, you are now facing the simple problem that if you want to improve your wine further you are either going to need to change the ingredients or allow it to age. Though if you are willing to accept what you are currently making, practice will allow a slight uptick in production thanks to improving their familiarity and efficiency with the steps involved.

At last, your wanderings bring you to the central courtyard. The small oasis of peace and greenery amid the stone and spell work touches something primal within you. Here you can relax. It is here that you come to another realisation. Your housekeepers do excellent work, cleaning and cooking for everybody. Karla in particular is very talented and everybody compliments her work. You could elevate the others to her level or assist her in doing so if nothing else. You are slowly starting to get more guests and your pride demands they leave with an unforgettable experience rather than a simply satisfactory one.
You look up at the central tree and sigh. "Even without Gladesville there is always so much to do." You are tempted to continue training your warriors. You refrain, both because you have finally trained them to a standard you deem passable and the logistical issues involved with bringing a third of them back from Gladesville. Instead, you have decided to spend the next few days teaching your housekeeping staff. Though they are not the most obviously useful of those in your employ, you certainly would not like to attempt to do without them. If you are to host guests such as Ophelia and Lanaya with any regularity you want them to be as capable in their role as possible.

It is with this in mind that you assemble your five housekeepers in one of the little used rooms in the central complex.
You address the group. "Thank you all for coming. I apologise for the necessity of taking time from your busy schedules. It is my intention to dedicate the next few hours to improving your skills in the tasks I have hired you for."
Karla snorts. "So you're suddenly an expert on cleaning, cooking and laundry."
You smile benevolently. "I am in fact very skilled at laundry; I can wash blood from a white cloak one handed. As for cooking and cleaning, I suspect I will be deferring to your expertise on such matters."

Though the human woman seems somewhat mollified by the end of your reply, she still takes umbrage with the first part. "Yeah? You want to put your money where your mouth is then?"
You raise an eyebrow. "I never claim that I can do something that I cannot. I will happily demonstrate my skills in this area, perhaps I will even teach you something while I do so."
Karla smirks at you as the Dalish women scurry off to fetch something for you to wash.

"I'll be, you actually can do this one handed." Karla remarks as she stares at you.
"People are often surprised by what you can do with only one hand." You remark as you hold the white sheet up to the light.
Your right hand has been firmly secured behind your back and you have spent the last half an hour explaining the secrets of Noldorin laundry techniques. As you had promised you have scrubbed all stains from the sheet, in fact it is looking far more white then it had when newly made.
"If I hadn't listened to you explain in detail how to do what you just did, I'd swear you used magic. In fact, I still think you used magic." Karla complains.

The hand behind your back is untied, and you massage your wrist for a few moments. "I would not be too worried about it. If you apply the techniques, I showed you then your results will be similar."
The human woman's face twists. "Where the hell'd you learn this stuff anyway?"
You shrug. "I spent many years in what could most charitably be described as an army camp. There was a lot of blood to be cleaned and a notable dearth of people willing to do it for me."
The hosts of the Noldor had left many of their civilians in Valinor, not all but many. When Himring fell, you had even fewer with you who were not warriors.
"Enough of that, I believe it is your turn to share your expertise with the others." You tell the human woman.

Karla seems to have taken your demonstration of proper laundry technique as a challenge. Some would call you paranoid for thinking so, but you saw the way she was looking at you. She feels that you are mocking her, and that you believe yourself her superior in the arts she has honed her skills in. You do not obviously, but she believes it none the less. When she volunteers to lead a class on cooking you are equally prepared for something great as you are for an assassination attempt. The latter part you will admit is probably paranoia, but better paranoid then killed by a cook.

You have had the privilege to watch true masters at work in their fields. Anyone who has ever done so will admit there is something almost hypnotic about it. Karla is no master, and thanks to your station you have seen master cooks at work before. The difference is that they never stopped to explain what they are doing or attempted to teach you. Karla doing so adds a certain spice to the experience of watching her lesson.
"And that should stay in the oven for about twenty minutes. I know you feel like that's too short, but these ovens are something else. While that's baking you're going to want to get started on the next dish…" You will admit that you are somewhat lost at this point, but you are still enjoying yourself.

Karla has been a storm of movement since she entered the kitchen. She seems to know exactly where everything is kept and an economy of motion that some swordsmen could learn from. Far more impressive to you is her ability to keep the sheer number of dishes going at once. The woman has an absurdly precise internal clock and a keen memory for what is currently cooking. Even as she explains how to cook the latest in a long line of 'her mother's recipes' she is snatching things out of ovens and off stoves with barely a glance. There is a part of you, the 'overprotective mother hen' as your brothers call it, that insists she should be stopped before she burns herself.

Despite your internal panicking you remain outwardly calm and continue to watch the lesson.
"How do we know how much to add?" One of the Dalish women asks.
"It's mostly a matter of experience, but about as much as you can pinch between two fingers usually works." Karla explains. "If in doubt, err on the side of less and taste. If it needs more, add a small amount and taste again. Do not be afraid to taste your work."
Cooking is not really something you will ever be very good at, you reflect. Everything she has said so far sounds like far too much work. You will stick to simple, filling camp food.

The lesson ends with several wonderful smelling dishes placed before you. The other housekeepers divide them up and begin eating before the steam has finished rising.
Karla looks at you, a victorious smirk on her lips. "What did you think of that, sir?"
"You are an excellent cook. Far beyond anything I can accomplish. I am certain if you dedicate yourself to the art, you will be a master in no time." You reply earnestly.
The woman's eye twitches, and you get the impression that she might have screamed in rage in a more relaxed setting. As it is she shovels her food into her mouth, grumbling under her breath. You will never understand humans. This food is very good though.

Your lessons are finished for the week, you have let those you have instructed return to their duties. You are sitting in the study at something of a loss for what to do. You had planned to continue Merrill's lessons, but she has been avoiding you since last week's one. You have only seen her at mealtimes, and even then she is distracted and dodges your questions. You had already taken up most of Ranger's free time and Xandar is currently in Gladesville. You are idly toying with the idea of maybe making some extra pens and ink, just in case, when you hear footsteps outside the door.

You are hardly paranoid enough to note such things normally, but due to a lack of anything else on which to focus on you keep track of the sounds beyond the door. The footsteps do not pass by your door, so likely the person is here to speak to you. Yet there is no knock on the door. If you strain your ears, you can faintly hear breathing. There is a long silence, and your muscles begin to tighten. It would be highly unlikely, but you cannot help but wonder if this is an ambush in the making. Finally, the knock you were waiting for comes.
"Enter." You command, your posture deceptively casual.

The door swings open to reveal Merrill. She is fidgeting and nervous. Her expression is twisted in a strange way.
"Merrill! Glad to see you." You say, relieved and feeling a little foolish. "You seem distressed, can I help in any way?"
"Hi Nelyafinwë." Merrill's voice indicates that her thoughts are far away. "I'm fine."
"I am glad you are well." You reply in a gently prompting manner. "Why have you come to see me then?"
Merrill continues to fidget, gaze distant. After nearly a full minute of silence she turns her gaze to you.
"You said that we were half elven, that we should have a choice to embrace our elven heritage. Help me do it." She says her voice tinged with the determination of desperation.

Taken aback both by the question and her tone, you are not swift enough to conceal your initial reaction.
"Why?" Your mind leaps to suspicions about unwise reasons she may want to shed her mortality.
"Does it matter? Isn't it my decision?" Merrill retorts defensively.
"It is, but you are asking for my help. If I am to give it, I want to know you have given this proper thought and are not rushing into it for a superficial reason." You are struck with a sense of déjà vu, you had taken part in a very similar conversation with Elros.
Merrill hesitates for a moment, then her entire body slumps and the words begin to pour forth in a torrent.

"Ever since I talked to Joy, I've been thinking about my people. We are not humans, or so we claim, yet how are we different? Pointed ears? What if an elf loses them, are they a human now? I wracked my brain, but I could think of nothing. We were once immortal, but if that is the difference and we have lost it, are we now human?" Her tone is a strange mix of desperate, furious and grief-stricken, as is her expression.
Understanding dawns on you. "Hence your questions to me."
Merrill nods shakily. "You were so quick to answer. You had so many things to say, you gave as much detail as a dwarf might. And so I thought, what about us. And I realised. You were right. We're half breeds. Humans in elf skin, playing pretend in the forests."

That has more to do with her beliefs than your words. You have nothing against the Perequendi, and you would never describe anyone as a 'half breed'. Merrill does not let you speak.
"I won't accept this, I can't. I'm a proud descendent of the Dales, one of the heirs to the Ehlven people of old. I will not be a human in disguise! So, I've been trying. Trying to choose to be an elf. I tried everything I could think of, nothing worked. I'm still me, still unchanged. Please, help me."

You stand up and walk over to Merrill. You place your hand on her shoulder.
"Of course I will help you." You say.
Admittedly, your first instinct was to say no. You have heard many similar pleas from humans over the years. It is part of their nature to fear the gift that makes them unique. A second look at Merrill, considering what she had said at greater length, mollified these fears somewhat. You do not think she wishes to shed humanity due to some perceived deficiency of human nature, rather she wishes to chase the identity of her people. To regain what they once had so that she might truly call herself one of them. It is a very Dalish desire, you suppose.

Merrill smiles at you gratefully. "Thank you. I, it, it means so much to me that you're doing this. I don't know who else to ask."
You smile back at her, then you wince. "Unfortunately I am not certain how exactly I can help."
Merrill's face falls, so you hurry to explain. "Everything I know about Perequendi indicates that it should be a natural instinctive choice. Then again, all Perequendi I knew had their Quendi side as their base form, so I am not even sure if the rules are the same. I assume the keepers have no tales of this sort of thing?"
Merrill shakes her head. "As far as the tales go, we should be elves, their direct descendants of a pure line. At least since the Dales were founded."

You pause for thought. There might be something about this in the deep lore of your people. You wish you had a chance to speak to Ëarandil, for he was not one of Lúthien's descendants and thus was free of the interference of Mandos. Regardless, you had not, and you are not so confident that the answer to your questions even lies in Arda. There must, logically, be some factor in Thedas that caused the extinction of the elves. Given your experiences you think you know what that is.
"I suspect that the problem is the Veil." You tell your student.
"Because it stops souls from crossing through? I don't see how that's related; I mean I have my soul." Merrill says.

"Bear with me for a moment, the explanation is somewhat involved." You begin. "We know your soul is inherently linked to the Beyond, since you visit it in sleep."
Merrill moves to speak but you cut her off.
"I know you are a mage and thus more connected. I did ask you to bear with me. We need to establish why no Dalish has ever made the choice to our knowledge. So all in Thedas are linked to the Beyond. The Veil targets certain markers in the soul related to immortality. My own experience of passing through it has proven that it is quite a painful experience. It is probably that when a soul in the process of embracing its immortal nature passes through the pain will cause it to reflexively stop."

You fall silent, indicating that Merrill may now ask any questions she may have.
To your complete lack of surprise she does in fact have questions. "What? How? I mean. No. Ok, first question. Why do you think it isn't an instant process?"
You shrug. "Changing one's nature is not something done easily or overnight. I also know that the Perequendi who choose to become Quendi are, not to dance around the point, very strange. It seems logical to me that the process takes time, perhaps hundreds of years for a true transformation. It is just a theory."
Merrill nods, accepting your reasoning. "What about the automatic reverting?"
You place a leg on your knee. "That is far simpler. Your soul is used to being 'human', for lack of a better term. When it suddenly experiences pain during a routine event it returns to what it knows is safe."

Merrill falls silent. It seems her questions have come to an end.
"What should I do if I want to stop this from being a problem?" Never mind, she still had more.
You wrack your brain. "I have a few ideas, but I am not sure how confident in the matter I am. I would like to have some time to experiment with them and see where they go."
Merrill arcs an eyebrow at you. "Do you have anything else planned this week?"
She has you there, you even have extra time to make sure that your ideas are as solid as possible.
"Very well. Let us try a few things and we'll decide which is best." You reply.

The first option you investigate is the possibility of simply staying in the Beyond until the transformation was done.
"Didn't you say that the transformation might take centuries?" Merrill objects immediately.
"Yes and no. The initial change takes far less time, but that change necessitates other changes that may take centuries." You expand on your earlier point. "Even then, I could simply be wrong. I am not exactly working with an wide pool of examples."
Merrill maintains her sceptical look. "Even if it only takes twenty four hours, I would have to stay in the Beyond the entire time. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
You shrug. "My soul was in the Beyond for months, and I was fine."
Merrill stares for a moment, then buries her face in her hand. "It's very dangerous for everyone who isn't an immortal exception to every law of magic I was ever taught. We try something else."

You consider at length once your first idea is shot down. It would have been the simplest idea in many ways, though admittedly you would have wanted to wait until you had your own way into the Beyond so that you could help your first student. That gives you an idea actually.
"How are you at 'lucid dreaming'?" You ask your student.
Merrill stares at you for a moment before she recognises the term. "Oh, you mean that thing where people stay awake during their dreams? Let's them control the Beyond for a bit."

At your nod Merrill continues. "Yes and no. Mages dream a little differently to most people, but it can be dangerous to be conscious during your dreams."
"If only we had some kind of barrier that prevented demons from approaching us." You note dryly
Merrill stares for a moment, then gives a surprised laugh. "Oh yeah. I'd forgotten. I guess you're going to teach me to lucid dream."
"It seems the best way, if your soul is acting without conscious direction, then simply being conscious should be enough to avoid the problem." You reply.

Teaching Merrill is always a delight. She is deeply curious and determined to learn. Your role is far more often as the voice of caution rather than the one that tries to ignite the love of your subject in her. This is no different. You begin by running her through the meditation techniques that you found useful. Merrill seems amused at first, but when you explain that many of them were either useless or counterproductive, she takes your lesson far more seriously. Given that she had taught you these lessons in the first place she does not need you to explain how to do them, beyond your own modifications.

"It is important to remember that many of these may not work as well for you as they do for me." You caution. "You may need to alter them several times."
"I know, this sort of thing is very personal. In hindsight I should have sent you to Lanaya and Marethari to try to find more techniques rather than just giving you mine." Merrill says.
"Actually I was referring to the fact that I have a fundamentally inhuman mind and that will likely have an effect. Your point is correct, but you are the origin of many of these techniques and thus are far less susceptible to that particular problem." You correct.
Merrill blushes and focuses on practicing for the rest of your time together that day.

You are awoken that night by a bloodcurdling scream. You are not the only person who thunders through the halls, dressed in pyjamas and carrying a sword. After several minutes of confusion, you manage to determine it came from Merrill's room. You enter alone, suspecting what might have happened. You find Merrill shaking and crying. Keeping your sword out of view, you approach her.
"Are you hurt? Do you need a healer?" You ask gently.
Merrill looks up at you and shakes her head.
"Do you wish to speak of what happened?" You continue your gentle inquest.
Merrill remains silent. For a moment you are at a loss for what to do, but after that moment passes you place your sword against the wall and sit down on the bed. You reach out and embrace the young elf. Eventually her shaking stops and you can return to bed.