|Hometown||Hills of Nevarra|
|Residence||Sundermount, outside Kirkwall (Sabrae Camp)|
|Gear||Vestments of the First; Vir Tasallan|
|Behind the Mask|
The hold stunk, and that was perhaps the nicest thing anyone could say about it.
Merrill supposed that was being ungenerous. It was a rare ship that would take an entire clan of Dalish across the sea. Well, without trying to sell them off to the Tevinters, anyway. That deserved at least a little bit of appreciation and respect, as well as fewer complaints.
But, Elgar’non, the ship stunk.
She tried to nonchalantly keep her face covered with a cloth, but Marethari was giving her the ‘lecture eyes,’ and the stink was beginning to permeate even the thick linen as well. So she lowered it and tried to mentally plug up her nose, looking around for any engaging distraction.
The clan was miserable, and seasick, with every elf a different shade of green. It was unsettling to her that this was the most time she’d ever spent actively among them, no longer isolated inside her araval, surrounded by books and magic. She had longed to be more involved for so long that this vomit-flavored consolation prize was the utmost disappointment.
But that was only for now. Her fingers brushed into her pack, skimming over thick canvas-wrapped shards of the Eluvian. A song of taint and corruption exploded her senses, blocking out the smell in the worst of ways. She snapped her fingers back hastily, pointedly ignoring the Keeper’s curious, concerned interest.
Everything would begin again in the Free Marches, with something to work towards, to redeem. She would find a way to fix the Eluvian, to bring back the secrets of the past that Tamlen had died for, that had left Mahariel forever changed and absent. That’s what Keepers were for, after all: to remember, even the dangerous things.