Delight twinkled in Petronilla’s silvery-grey eyes. “Yes, I have. After hearing the clan speak it earlier, I took some time to work on my pronunciation. I think I got it right this time!” Dalish were elusive at best—They had to be, to avoid persecution—but Petronilla had been lucky. When they crossed paths with Dalish clans, they often traded with them peacefully rather than engage in hostilities.
Those had been rare, happy times. The Dalish were rightfully wary, and the adults watched her carefully when she ran off to play with their children. She was always happy to trade cloth, toys, and other handmade objects with them in exchange for little things, often Elvish lessons. A few lucky times, she had run across a Hunter or two amiable enough to offer hunting lessons in exchange for herbs or salves she made under Malcolm’s harsh guidance. One Hunter had taught her how to disarm bear traps after she had offered a few candied apples in trade.
Kirkwall elves were as wary as Dalish. Their alienage was small, and it forced them to be a tightly-knit community. For this reason, Petronilla had difficulty fathoming why Merrill was not flooded with new alienage sisters, brothers and even suitors. The Dalish were often venerated among the Fereldan elves. She did not know their reputation here. Merrill’s tribe was Fereldan, and they had crossed the Sea relatively recently…
“They’re not an openly friendly bunch, Merrill. It’s, unfortunately, out of necessity. They’re only just recovering from a bad stint under Aveline’s predecessor. A lot of Elven teenagers were lifted from their homes during that time, and not all of them have been found alive. So…” Petronilla cleared her throat. Jeven had been a right arse, exploiting the elves any way he feasibly could with his criminal contacts. “Well, I mean to say you’ve come to the alienage during a time of mourning. It’ll take them a while to learn to accept you. Don’t take it personally.”
She glanced at her empty hands and filled one with a scone. Merrill’s taking to the jam elicited in a light-hearted laugh. “Beth and I spent two weeks working on that jar. I hope you enjoy it.” Good jam was difficult to come by in the marketplace of Kirkwall. Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown or the Docks, good jam seemed to have vanished into the Sea as they crossed it to enter the City of Chains. Sometimes, Bethany would sell it in the market to one of the vendors for extra coin. Theirs was quickly becoming popular. It was ironic, as their jam was made in the Fereldan style using recipes learned from Highever to Redcliffe. A merchant from Denerim had taught them a new recipe too, but the ingredients were difficult to come by.
Taking a bite, she took her time to savor the flakiness of the crust. She gave a soft hum when Merrill mentioned the mabari’s typically large size wouldn’t be suited to her rather quaint home. Boo may be petite by breeder standards, but even she was too big to be comfortable in Merrill’s house… She would have to remember that.
Aye. The affirmative brought her to pause. It was a Fereldan phrase rarely heard here in Kirkwall outside of fellow refugees. She turned toward the mantle and the kettle in turn as they were mentioned. She nodded and sat up, and winced as a sudden ache reminded her of the midwife’s kit clipped neatly to the small of her back. It was small, meant to be filled to the brim with tools, salves, lotions, herbs and other supplements and carried at any pace, including a run if the patient was in a bad way or needed immediate care.
It was an interesting coincidence how Merrill mentioned her warm relations with the alienage elves just as she had begun to reach around to unstrap the kit from its nest. Petronilla felt herself flush bright pink. “Growing up, I learned the midwife’s trade. I got very good at it, and my mentor would take me everywhere with her to learn new techniques. When I came here—”
A soft grunt interrupted her explanation as she opened the last clasp and removed the kit from her back. She held it up for Merrill to see. “I brought my kit here, and a lot of new knowledge with me. I worked with a shady group at first, but I worked as a midwife on the side. The elves were often neglected by human midwives, and few would take elven apprentices. A lot of good women died. They were in a bad way, and I offered to serve them as any true midwife should. Mother and child alive, healthy and on their way to recovery is considered payment enough. They began to trust me.”
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