Title: Shoot anything that moves
Summary: A collection of miscellaneous misadventures of Greyjoy Hawke and his companions.
Rating: K (subject to change depending on what the ficlet entails.)
A/n: Yes, I named my Hawke 'Greyjoy' because 'Theon Hawke' just didn't sound as cool. Come at me bro. He's a warrior and a snarky bastard; except for when he's not but don't tell anyone—he has a reputation to protect. Also I have no idea when this is set. Now taking prompts over at my tumblr (link in profile); stop by and say 'hi'.
1. Gifts
He didn't know what possessed him in the market today. One moment he's wandering aimlessly, glad to be outside in the warm sunlight and the next he's purchasing his Dalish companion a gift. Greyjoy Hawke stands at the plain wooden door for what seems like an eternity before finally raising a hand and knocking. Merrill opens the door quickly as if she's been standing there as long as he has and just waiting for him to knock. It really wouldn't surprise him if she was; she's always been very intuitive. "Oh hullo Hawke!" she greets with a wide smile.
"Hi Merrill." He replies with a smile of his own; her enthusiasm is contagious. She invites him inside as she always does and they quickly fall into their usual routine: he follows her in, sits and turns down the offer of water because he'd be far safer drinking sea water than what passes for water in the alienage.
"What brings you here?" she asks curiously and then gives a little gasp of realization. "Do you have another quest planned?" She must be incredibly bored with life in the alienage if she's eager to take up another quest. He doesn't have a quest planned but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't been home in a few days; there could be a slew of letters with adventure opportunities waiting for him there.
"Er…not at the moment." He replies by way of apology. They fall into an uneasy silence and he contemplates on whether or not he should actually give her the gift or not.
"Oh, wait—you're not ill are you and making the rounds to say your goodbyes?" she asks worriedly. Hawke makes a face at that. Where did she get ideas like that?
"Maker no!" he assures her. "Healthy as a horse, me." He jerks a thumb into his chest a bit too enthusiastically and winces a bit when it connects; Merrill doesn't seem to see the wince and for that Hawke is grateful.
"Oh good." She says with a sigh of relief. "That would've been awful!" He suppresses a chuckle at that. She reminds him a bit of Bethany when she was younger.
"I'm here because I got you a gift." Hawke says. He takes the satchel from his shoulder and slides it across the table to her. Merrill blinks in response.
"A gift? For me?" she sounds confused at the thought of someone buying something for her.
Do the Dalish not give gifts? Hawke wonders as he watches her cock her head to the side and stare quizzically at the satchel. "A bag?" Hawke's smile is bemused.
"No," he answers. "The bag's mine—your gift is inside it."
"Oh, of course." She says and her tone is one of embarrassment and at the sound of it Hawke's smile widens. If there has ever been anything more adorable then he has yet to see it. He likes her company the best of all his companions (the exceptions being Varric for his story-telling and ale drinking abilities that rival Hawke's own and Isabela for reasons that have everything a lot to do with the fact that when she's around Hawke isn't thinking with his upstairs brain); Merrill is eternally hopeful and when she's around Hawke can't help but feel the same way. He needs a little optimism in his life and Merrill needs someone to look after her because Maker knows there are still more than a handful of things about the human world that she doesn't understand and more than a few people in lowtown who will take advantage of her; well, not if he can help it.
"Well, go on." He urges. Any trepidation he's had is now gone and he's nothing but eager to see what she thinks of her gift. "Open it." Merrill peeks into the satchel as if she's afraid whatever is inside might be alive. Once the bag is open she breaks into as wide a smile as Hawke has ever seen as she pulls the new boots from the bag. They're dark brown and made of soft leather with green leaf patterns across the toes that wraps up and around the body of the boot and best of all they have soles. He thought of her the minute he saw them. If he has to guess, that's why he bought them. He's been that way most of his life; whenever he sees something that practically screams out a friend's name he can't do anything but buy it.
"Oh Hawke," she says. 'Thank you! They're wonderful!" She hugs them tightly to her chest.
"You're welcome." He replies. "You can use them the next time you come adventuring with me; I know how you hate how cold and hard the ground here is."
"You remembered that?" Merrill asks in disbelief. Hawke has quite the reputation for being more than a bit self-involved and he knows it. It's mostly true but that doesn't mean he doesn't listen when his companions speak.
"Of course." He says proudly. "Contrary to popular belief I am not completely self-absorbed—only mostly." He finishes with a smile.
"You never cease to amaze, Hawke."
"That is my aim."