#thedaexchange

Varric grinned over his cards at Hawke, who was smiling in bemusement at the two elves across from her. "No? Expecting a lot more gore? Kirkwall is finally getting to you."

Merrill giggled. Isabela, trying to peek at Anders' cards, straightened up to raise her brows at the handsome blond assassin, who was murmuring quietly about something apparently very amusing. Zevran was clearly enjoying himself.

Merrill, they realized, was too.

Zevran leaned his head on a hand. This had an added benefit of forcing his eyes to look upon the recipient from under his lashes; Merrill beamed sunnily. "Ah, keria, please. Tell me of your favorite."

"Oh!" She clapped her hands. "Well, everybody loves Mythal. She was like--like a mix of Hawke and Isabela, all confidence and love. She was responsible, too..."

Hawke and Isabela exchanged looks, full of confidence and love. Nobody questioned Merrill's tastes in men: she could take care of herself, and if she wanted help she knew she could count on her friends.

She continued talking about Dalish culture throughout the evening. Absolutely no one was surprised when Zevran showed up the day after, or the day after that. 

Eventually, talk shifted from Dalish culture to Kirkwall politics to the elves at the Alienage to places they had or wanted to visit. Eventually, Merrill’s slim fingers found their way into Zevran's hair and formed little braids he never took out. Eventually, he began tracing her tattoos with a gentle finger. She always let him.

"Are you planning on going home?" Ferris asked three weeks later, voice drier than his drink. "At all?"

Zevran grinned, unoffended. "My home, I am finding, is another person."

Merrill smiles, and laughs, and absolutely no one is surprised when the rest of their lunch is eaten one handed.

-

AN: So @vaderslegacy I can’t tag you but I hope I fulfilled your request!! This was supposed to be posted yesterday but then I was like, “Banner. It needs a banner.”

In fact it wasn’t until she literally tripped over a pumpkin left outside her door (Sera’s work no doubt) that she realized what time of year it was. She just hadn’t understood exactly how intensely Hallow’s Eve was taken here.

As she strolled into the main hall she was overwhelmed by the intense smell of pumpkin pie and cinnamon that invited her to the breakfast tables where the cooks had laid out small pumpkin tartlets and an assortment of other desserts.

“Is there something the matter Inquisitor?” Commander Cullen voiced from behind her, Valerie turned on her heel almost slamming into the Commander surprised she felt her face heating up as she spoke.

“N-no. No of course not, I was just- just- taking in the atmosphere. I hadn’t realized…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to the pumpkins scattered about the room and the tray of desserts.

“What day it was? No neither had I until someone left the remains of a pumpkin under my desk,” he leaned in conspiratorially toward her, her heart leaping at his proximity, “I suspect Sera’s doing.” He straightened and looked around. “It is good though, after Adamant the soldiers could use a little cheer, it is after all – all in good fun.” He glanced at her slightly apprehensive.

All at once she realized that he was worried that she would stop the festivities.

“Oh, no! Of course they do!” Her hands waiving up near her face as if she could make him understand her confusion with her hands, “It’s just, I’ve never really celebrated Hallow’s Eve before. My family was always too busy and it just was never this…fun looking.” Her hands dropped to her side quickly as she realized how ridiculous she probably looked.

A funny look passed over Cullen’s face as he scratched behind his ear absently.

“Are you meaning to tell me, Inquisitor, that you have never celebrated Hallow’s Eve. Ever?” He cocked an eyebrow at her as stared at her questioningly. Oh maker, she thought, that did sound rather sad didn’t it? Valerie felt her face heat up again as she muttered a stilted yes, her eyes looking everywhere but the imposing form of him.

“Well,” he said his hand reaching out to gently grasp her forearm, she would never admit how her breath caught at the innocent touch, “we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” At once he offered her his arm that she took perhaps too quickly – escorting her to the dessert table and handing her one of the pumpkin tartlets she had been eyeing.

The pastry melted in her mouth as she tasted the delicacy, she would have to give the cooks a raise – they had certainly outdone themselves.

“How is it?” The Commander remarked from her side. Her mouth still full Valerie hurried to swallow the rest of the morsel before speaking. “Absolutely amazing.” She replied, licking the crumbs from off her lips. Cullen smiled at her before leading her outside into the courtyard that had not been over looked by the hold’s decorators. Gossamer cloth was strung across the bushes and tacked up into corners, carved pumpkins dotted the landscape flickering softly with candles within them and two children ran across their path towards the gazebo where Varric sat surrounded by children and a few stray adults. As they meandered towards Varric Valerie was glad for the warmth of the Commander next to her – a strong shiver catching her off guard as she moved turned her face towards him out of the wind.  

“...and in the dark of the night, when the wind is silent and the moon is full some say that you can still hear the screaming from the cellar where the family was killed. But the most interesting theory is that…” Varric’s voice floated towards them as he wrapped up his tale, luckily Valerie had already heard this one before – the real version that is – that Varric had told weeks ago in the Herald’s Rest. The man who had committed the murders was caught three days later in a pub bragging about the slaughter, still wearing the bloody shirt he had done the deed in. That was the part that disturbed Val the most – the complete disregard of human life the man had shown.

Cullen glanced down at the Inquisitor who looked far away, perhaps she wasn’t enjoying this? They had after all only caught the end of the story. His eyes wandered around the courtyard for inspiration when he spotted a few people near the benches carving large pumpkins and other gourds. He glanced down at Valerie thoughtfully before steering them over towards the mess.

“Tell me, Inquisitor, have you by chance ever carved a pumpkin?” She shook her head, “No? Well as luck would have it the last wave of refugees brought in a cartload of pumpkins – hoping to trade – to supplement our own growths for the holiday. Would you like to carve one?” Valerie’s eyes lit up as she nodded and separated from the Commander her pace quickening towards the tables. Grace, one of the stable hands saw her coming and grabbed a pumpkin and knife for her to carve with, handing them to her enthusiastically. Valerie turned back towards Cullen as she sat down, gesturing with her head to the empty seat next to her where they had played chess so many weeks ago. Cullen smiled as he walked, well aware of the mess that he was about to get into – but the smile on her face was worth every moment.

--

The sun had been set for hours by the time Valerie returned to her room exhausted. After the pumpkin carving (she had carved a cat and Cullen had carved the inquisition insignia – showoff) they had had lunch in the hall with everyone listening to another altered tale of Varric’s as they ate. Cullen stayed close to her the entire day, commenting and telling her all about his childhood in Honeleith and his siblings (his voice thick – not that she would mention it). The day was one of peace that Valerie could honestly say was one of the best days in her memory. There was no rush to do anything, no people to save, no world altering decisions with inquisitive looks from her advisors hoping that she made the right choice. Her friends – family really – were safe and happy.

In Dalish culture: When Dalish elves die, their clan [buries] them and plant[s] a tree over their remains. The dead are provided with an oak staff to help them along the path of the afterlife, and a cedar branch to scatter the ravens of Fear and Deceit who were once servants of Dirthamen.

In Dwarven culture:  The Dwarven system of belief [...] reveres the duality of the Stone and the Ancestors. Ancestors are worthy dwarves who have been properly interred in the Stone [...] and who therefore function as guides to their descendants.

In Qunari culture: A corpse is considered an insignificant husk that is no longer the individual it once was, and thus is afforded no special treatment; rather disposed of [in] whatever manner is most practical.