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Carver felt like an idiot. Here he was, twenty-four years old, give or take a few months, almost as old as Garrett had been when they came to Kirkwall, and he felt, well, like he was as old as he had been when they came to Kirkwall. Merrill tended to do that to him.
It had been five years though, since he’d seen her. First he’d been dragged off to the Grey Wardens then he’d been stuck there being a Grey Warden, and the only time he’d been back to Kirkwall, he’d been kind of busy on a mission, not to mention a wholly inappropriate time to go calling on someone to say hello, what with the qunari having gone insane and trying to burn the city down. But after he’d returned from the darkspawn prison, he’d stopped by Garrett’s estate—Mother’s old house—up in Hightown, and, well…the Grey Wardens could wait a little while longer for his return.
Passing through Lowtown brought with it a deluge of memories. Walking into the Alienage, he still felt the discomfit of standing out, especially in the enameled armor marking his order. The elves turned to watch his passage, and it was he who felt the alien. But he continued on, skirting the massive trunk of the vhenedhal to a door behind it. After a deep breath in an ineffectual attempt to calm his nerves, he rapped on it.
It flew open so quickly, he took an involuntary step back in alarm. Merrill mirrored the gesture, equally surprised. She recovered first, however. “Carver!”
“Uh, hi, Merrill.”
She stared.
He stared.
She asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh! I, uhm.” He thrust out his hand and offered her the bouquet of daisies he’d purchased from a seller in Hightown. “This.” Then reddened. Maker, he was making a hash of this.
Taking a hesitant step forward, she gathered the stems of the flowers between her hands. “You brought me…flowers?”
Her reaction confused him, and his expression crinkled with it. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Yes?”
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, these poor flowers. Cut down and not allowed to grow anymore.”
“No, no!” he quickly tried to assure her, then growled with frustration. “Bollocks. Please don’t cry, Merrill. I meant it to be nice. I thought you’d like it. Girls are supposed to like getting flowers.”
She blinked, her eyes still shining brightly. “They are? Did I miss something again?”
He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp as he floundered with words. “I guess it’s just a human custom to give flowers to girls you like.”
“I like you, too, Carver. Wait. Should I have been giving flowers to Isabela and Aveline all these years?”
“No!” He sighed. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should go.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. Your brother’s mad at me and hasn’t come visited me for ages. Will you come in? I can make tea.” She brushed her eyes with the edge of her thumb and gave him a tremulous smile.
He found himself smiling back at her, feeling suddenly shy. “If it’s not too much trouble…”
“It’s no trouble at all!” she replied, stepping back from the doorway. “You’ll…have to tell me what I’m supposed to do with these, though.” She eyed the bouquet thoughtfully. “Am I supposed to eat them?”
Closing his eyes briefly, he stifled a groan in a weak chuckle and entered her home.