The Sordid Tale of Meryell Verlen, Chapter 13

“I would ask you a question, da’lin.”

Sighing, Meryell glanced out of the corner of her eye at Solas, who had abruptly brought his horse up alongside her own. Feeling one of her ears flick in annoyance, she replied, “Sure, Chuckles. I suppose I can be fucking charitable today. What’s the question?”

“I have recently learned your last name is Verlen . I merely wonder why it is that you carry such a name.”

“You know what it means.”

The Sordid Tale of Meryell Verlen, Chapter 12

“Come to the Singing Maiden when you get free tonight,” read Cullen after tugging down the note that had been pinned to the open flap of his tent. “Be ready to relax. Oh, and leave your armor in your tent.”

The handwriting was Meryell’s, he recognized it easily after seeing it so often on the reports she sent in from the field. However, the drawings underneath the text were obviously Sera’s work. Both were naked figures having quite a good time and, judging by the fur over the shoulders and the ridiculously over-proportional cock on one as well as the large tits and exaggerated pointed ears on the other, they represented himself and Meryell. The doodles also did what he assumed was their expected job of making him think about her naked, which immediately caused an uncomfortable tightness in his pants as well as an embarrassed flush across his face because Maker only knew how long it had been pinned there.

The Sordid Tale of Meryell Verlen, Chapter 11

“Herald, may I speak with you?”

“Well,” Meryell drawled in response, not looking up from carefully re-wrapping the hilt of one of her daggers, “technically we’re already talking but I suppose we can continue.” As soon as Cassandra let out an annoyed huff of breath in response, she sighed and lifted her eyes enough that she could glance briefly at the other woman’s face. “Seeker, you are seriously going to have to get used to sarcasm if you’re going to keep hanging around with me and Varric.”

Cassandra scoffed, saying, “We do not hang out, as you say. And perhaps you and he would do better to be more serious.”

The Sordid Tale of Meryell Verlen, Chapter 10

“You lookin’ for your pa, girlie?” asked Harvard, one of the company’s oldest veterans, as Meryell strode up into the space around the main campfire. He was probably in his seventies by now with a heavily scarred face and close-cropped white hair that showed off an equally scarred scalp. Harvard was still as smart as a whip, though, and while no longer capable in a full-on fight, he still served the company as the main face of those who whipped new recruits into shape. She recalled her own time under his hand with a certain fondness as he’d had a soft spot for the foul-mouthed brat she’d been a decade ago.

That and he’d gleefully added to her already considerable bank of curse words.

“For once I’m not, Vard,” she replied before dropping into an open camp chair that had been left around the fire. “I’m actually hunting for the Captain. Got a question about another company for him.”