Chapter Text
After the caravan vanishes from sight, the first thing Carver does is visit Merrill.
Down in the alienage, children laugh and chase each other, sprinting around the tree and under his knees, having long ago lost their fear of the curious shemlen with the fur-lined vest who sometimes joins their games. As he passes, Nyssa waves to him from her stall. Maybe it’s just a trick of his foul mood, but Carver thinks she seems paler, more tired than usual.
He knocks on the door to Merrill’s house. At his touch, however, it creaks open.
She sits at her uneven table, the one Carver salvaged from the Hanged Man, looking lovely and small and perfect. Head in her hands, she stares unblinkingly at the cover of one of her books.
“Sorry, uh, to barge in. The door was open,” he says. He takes one hesitant step toward the table. “He didn’t take you either, I see.”
“He?” For a moment her eyes dart around the room, panicked, but then she lets out a low, steadying sigh. “Oh. Your brother. Yes. Why would he?” Her chin lifts. Her eyes are red, puffy. “He rarely takes me on his adventures as is. The only time he asks me along is when you’re there.”
Carver swallows hard. “Maybe he thinks you’re my chaperone.”
“I’m not. I’m—“ She trails off in an angry sigh. “Ah. Something dirty. Not now.”
“No--it wasn’t--I,” He frown and walks over to her, placing one hand awkwardly on her shoulder. He hopes his hand isn’t too hot and sweaty. “Merrill. What is it?”
She does not look at him, only shoves her head back into her hands, hair cascading around her fingers. “Templars.”
Carver’s breath hitches.
“They came to the alienage yesterday.” She draws a shuddering breath. “Normally they mostly leave us alone, but someone must have told them about Nyssa’s sister. They took her.” Merrill’s nails dig into her scalp. “And you know what I did?”
He moves to put an arm around her shoulder, but at the last minute, he loses his nerve and places his hand on the bookshelf behind her instead.
“You know what I did?” she repeats. She looks up at him, her eyes furious, bright, shining. “I hid. In here. Because I thought they might come for me next.”
Suddenly she bats away the book in front of her with the heel of her palm. It slides across the table and falls to the ground with a loud thud.
“You did—“ He wants to say the right thing or the smart thing or what you thought was best, but he can’t quite wrap his tongue around the words. “Oh, Merrill.”
“What kind of First am I if I won’t even stand up to the Templars?” Against her scalp, her fingers clench into tight fists. Small droplets plop heavily on the table. “I’m supposed to protect elves, not run and hide when someone wants to hurt them.”
“It doesn’t do your people any good if they lock you up in the Gallows, too.”
“My people,” she scoffs. “My people. What do my people care for me?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly. “But you care for them. And sometimes that’s enough.”
Holding his breath, he reaches out and, with trembling fingers, tucks one braid behind her ear. She lurches into his touch, like a tired kitten leaning against an outstretched palm.
“I won’t let them take you, Merrill,” he says softly. Then, before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses the side of her head.
She jerks back, blushing. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she manages words. “You can’t stop them.”
He regards her a long moment. The scent of her hair lingers on his lips.“I can try.”
Straightening, he turns and begins to walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Making a choice,” he says, and leaves.