"There's other people here. Can't be fussy about rescue."

"Do you know what she is? What she's done!?"

"Saved my life!"

"-I don't think I know that story. However: we don't have time to argue about this."

“Pol, please, we’re here to help!”

“No! Stay away from me!”

Pol runs back the way he came. 

“He’s running towards the vartarrel!” Merrill screams, and runs after him. 

...Ilska is fast, and tackles the elf.

“No! Get off me!” Pol lashes out with pointy elbows and sharp fingers. 

“Pol! Please, we’re not going to hurt you! I’m- I’m not going to hurt you!”

Ilska doesn't let him go, pivots him towards the exit. "If you're going to run, run that way."

Pol noticeably recoils from going anywhere near Merrill.

Merrill turns, hands her staff to Henri, and walks herself as far from Pol as she can, without blocking a clear run to the exit. 

Her nails clench into her palms. 

Henri drifts back with her.

Ira lets Pol go.

Pol stumbles out of her grip, and turns to stare worriedly at her, but backs towards the exit. 

Before he keeps going, he looks at Merrill, with terrified hatred. “That thing you brought back, it killed Tamlen. Mahariel. How can you justify that?”

“Because our history is worth protecting, Pol. Even if we have to do distasteful things.”

“Distasteful. The Templars has a different word for that,” Pol says, hatefully.

He runs to the exit, not sparing her another look.

Henri wraps his arm around Merrill's shoulders, handing her her staff back.

“I- we...um-“ Merrill’s lip trembles. 

"Let's go and deal with this, huh?" Henri says gently.

“Can I have a hug first? Please?”

"Of course!" Henri wraps her in a tight hug.

Cia steps in closer and adds eir arms to the hug.

Merrill cuddles gratefully into both of them. “It wasn’t always like this. The Dalish are good, kind people. You’re not seeing us at our best.”