A/N – Happy Holidays to all of you. Enjoy the time with your loved ones and stay safe. My thoughts and prayers are with those who may have one less face around their table this year than the one before it. Remember to cherish those that you love; one day they may not be there. Here's some fluff.
"Daisy? What's all this about?"
Merrill jumped at the sound of Varric's voice, trying to straighten up far too quickly, resulting in hitting her head smartly against Hawke's mantelpiece. She had snuck in with the help of Isabela the night before, and while the shem woman 'distracted' Hawke (she was still surprised at the dour, grim, stone-faced man had seemed to agree to it—but the pang of jealousy she felt surprised her even more), Merrill had been busily decorating the sitting room of the estate.
After hours of painstaking work, and plenty of prickly wreaths and sharp ended ornaments stabbing her fingertips, the sitting room looked like this strange, foreign holiday had become dreadfully ill and thrown up all over the room.
"I-it's nothing! Nothing at all! I'm just—" Merrill paused in her embarrassed stuttering, long enough to sulk at Varric's characteristic chuckle and the shake of his head.
"Shh! He's going to hear you!" she whispered urgently, still pouting as the thin elf spun about to try and tie another of her personal stockings to the fireplace. Why it was necessary to put socks near the hearth, she didn't understand. She didn't really understand why it was customary to bring trees and other evergreen plants in doors, either. If the Shems wanted to be near nature, why did they not just go outside and enjoy it?
"Relax, Daisy, I think our Captain'll have him occupied for a few more hours, at least." Varric snorted, striding closer to Merrill and the low-banked fire, reaching a hand out to grasp the toe of one of her woolen stockings, peering at the many ratty tears and the worn, frayed look of the garment. Whether he noticed the darkening of her cheeks, or the very quiet, indignant squeak, he didn't say.
Merrill continued to fuss with the last of her stockings (she hadn't even known that she had owned so many!), and only once she managed to get it to hang properly did she take a step back, wringing slender hands together and examining her handiwork.
"Do you think he'll like it?" she whispered to Varric, beginning to show the barest of smiles.
Varric stepped back along with her, his head tipping back to look all around the room at the monstrosity that Merrill had created in the span of only a few hours. Where had she even gotten all of this stuff? The Free Marchers didn't even celebrate in a remotely similar fashion to whatever this was supposed to be, but one look at her hopeful expression quashed any and all desire he might have had to correct her. Shifting his jaw back and forth, Varric's hand rose to scratch at his chest hair when her most misshapen stocking slipped free and dropped to the rug beneath the fireplace.
Merrill's ear-tips drooped.
"I think he's gonna love it, Daisy." Varric murmured kindly, patting her back with the full breadth of his palm before bending over to pick up the fallen garment, "Here, let me show you a trick…"
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Isabela slumped back, dark skin glistening in a sheen of sweat.
At the head of the bed, she could feel and hear Hawke shifting until he had wriggled his way around, rolling onto his side next to her to cup one of her full breasts with a callused hand that, as it turned out, was just as good at riling a woman as it was cleaving grown men in half.
"So what's it about?" he murmured into her ear, the burnt half of his face hidden in the sheets. As always, he spoke quietly, and his words seemed to blend together. Only the practiced ears of his companions seemed to be able to decipher his grim monotone reliably—she was no exception, and it had fast become a normality.
Isabela rolled her eyes at the question, snaking one of her legs over Hawke's, barring herself to any explorative fingers that might have drifted south.
"What? I can't jump you for a bit of fun now and then?" she snorted, arching her back and pressing her breast more firmly into his hand. Hearing him grunt in response brought a smirk to her lips, and she turned her head to capture his in another kiss, this one much slower than the passionate, breath-stealing assaults they had levied on each other for hours prior. With both of their lips swollen, it was an interesting sensation, and a pleasant reminder of what they had just done, if the smell of sex and the soreness in their bodies wasn't enough of a hint.
"Mmrh." Hawke snorted, cracking an amber eye open to stare at her. He wasn't fooled. It was something that she had grown to hate and admire about the stodgy man. There was no fooling him. No matter who stood before him and what they said to him, he saw straight through it.
One corner of her kiss-swollen lips twitched, and Isabela rolled herself over on top of him, straddling his belly and leaning down, placing gentle, teasingly chaste kisses against his forehead and eyelids. It was much easier to lie to him when he wasn't looking at her.
"You'd think you'd be happy to have me back in your bed," she snarked, eyes rolling once more as she looked over towards the fireplace, recalling the last odd encounter she had had within Hawke's estate. Still peering at the flames, she didn't see his hands reaching up to caress the toned muscles of her abdomen, shifting and moving over with feather-light touches to the thick curve of her hips, grabbing handfuls of soft flesh and kneading to try and keep her mind from drifting elsewhere.
"I am." He stated.
Slowly, the swarthy skinned woman turned her eyes back down to the scarred, muscled man beneath her, and her hands lowered to rest on top of his, curving her spine to give a better view. There was more that he wanted to say. There was more that she wanted to hear him say—but he never did.
She had made the mistake long ago of telling him not to.
Pushing past regrets aside, Isabela leaned over and captured his lips in another kiss, her well-trained hand reaching back to grasp one of her favorite parts of Hawke.
With a sigh, they fell into each other once more, their bodies mashing together to push away the need for words.
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"One-Eye, No! Th-that is a very, very bad mabari!" Merrill protested, whimpering as she tried to wrest a pitifully wrapped package from the russet dog's impossibly large maw. How many bones had she seen turned to dust in those jaws? And now here he was, trying to chew her presents! Feeling particularly bold, Merrill did her best to recall how the fellow Dalish youth from her childhood had tamed a savage wolf at the clan gathering, the blackened half of his face glaring out at the rest of them all the while.
One-Eye stared right back at her, strings of thick drool coating the patchwork wrapping of the parcel in his mouth. He could smell something inside of it—something baked, something with bits of dried meat and berries, and seeing as it had been on the ground… The grizzled old mabari had slumped over from his plush pillow in the corner to investigate.
And now the elf-girl that usually snuck him treats and quick pets when his Master wasn't looking was… trying to be his Master…?
With any other humanoid attempting the same, he might have been angry, but Merrill, he knew, was utterly harmless. Snorting and chuffing with what was very clearly amusement, One-Eye shoved his massive head against Merrill's stomach, accidentally pushing her back against the fireplace and smearing slobber into the loose-fitting linen clothing she had scrounged up from some dusty crate.
"One-Eye!" Merrill shrilled, slumping backwards onto her bum, which only served to present the mabari with the perfect opportunity to press his advantage, slobbering and grumbling all over her neck and face, rubbing his scent all over the little elf.
"Show him who's boss, Daisy!" Varric chuckled from the high-backed chair on the other side of the large rug, glancing up very briefly from the large tome he was scribbling away in.
"Varric, she's a lady," a voice thickly wrought with an accent reached his ears, and the Dwarf sighed, twisting to look behind the chair to see Sebastian marching righteously over to the utterly massive canine and the poor elf girl he was mouthing. "One-Eye, your Master would not be pleased at all to see you behaving so rudely," the prince warned the hound, reaching out a hand to pat the purebred's broad shoulders. Growing up as nobility had its advantages—even outside of Ferelden, he had learned the nature of their prized hounds, and knew better than to physically challenge the dog over his behavior.
One-Eye paused mid-lick, giving Merrill time to turn her face away and gasp for breath.
Slowly, his remaining eye turned up to stare at Sebastian's face, searching for any signs of trickery. There were none. Did he mean to tell his Master about his behavior? The Mabari shut his mouth slowly, revealing his prominent under-bite, and the equally stoic expressions that he shared with his Master. Truly, the two must have been of the same spirit.
"That's a Good boy, One-Eye. Off of her, now, she's a very busy lady." Sebastian forced a tiny smile as he looked up at Merrill, giving One-Eye a pat as the dog slumped back off to his cushions, heaving a dreadful canine sigh when he was able to lie down again.
"Th-thank you, Sebastian!" Merrill heaved a sigh of relief, rising to her feet and trying to slick the drool off of herself, which only succeeded in rubbing the vicious liquid into her clothes even more, "He doesn't have any ears, I couldn't pull his head away!" she remarked.
Sebastian's forced smile slowly grew into a genuine one, and his head shook as he unstrapped the well-made satchel from his back, withdrawing tiny wrapped gifts of his own.
"All Mabaris have their ears and tails cropped—exactly so that you can't drag them off." He informed her, holding his satchel in one hand, and the intricately wrapped trinket in the other, "Where should I put these?" he said, bright eyes flicking this way and that in search of the usual place—beneath the tree.
Of which… there were three.
One corner of his mouth twitched, and Sebastian stole a glance at Varric. The dwarf shook his head almost imperceptibly, a knowing smirk pulling at his lips. Oblivious to all of this, Merrill happily lead Sebastian over to a potted shrub that she had painstakingly dragged inside, showing him where she had piled the other presents.
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"Gods, Hawke…" Isabela sighed, eyelids fluttering as she felt him slip free from her.
The heavy body on top of hers shifted, his elbows coming to rest on either side of her head, thick, big-knuckled fingers tangling themselves in her hair. He didn't say anything at first, opting instead to kiss her temple, gently scraping a week's worth of stubble against the curve of her cheekbone. Isabela hummed happily, turning her face to return the intimate gesture, if only briefly.
Quietly, she watched as Hawke extracted himself from the bed, rising to his feet and rolling his shoulders in a quick stretch, flexing his arms and legs individually to work out the kinks and strain that their vigorous coupling had given him.
"Are they done?" Hawke mumbled out, glancing back at the naked, voluptuous woman on his bed.
Isabela blinked, sitting up to lean back on her elbows as she watched him stride to the wardrobe in the corner, withdrawing the set of comfortable trousers and soft robe that he wore when at home and alone. A wrinkle formed between her brows, and the pirate woman began to sulk at him, waiting until she felt his eyes on her once more before she replied.
"You knew all along?" she accused him, feeling indignant at this revelation. Her part-time lover didn't say anything in response, nor did he nod. He didn't need to, it was already obvious.
"Tch. Next time I won't go through the trouble of folding myself into thirds," she commented wryly, swinging her legs off of the bed and rising to her feet unsteadily. Her inner walls groaned in protest at their recent abuse, and the places where his hands had gripped her tightly seemed to sing. Stepping over, Isabela smirked as she saw his eyes track down to her thick thighs, observing them as they rubbed against each other, muscles and a womanly softness jiggling beneath her darkened skin.
"I like thirds." Hawke commented, slurring the words quietly into her ear as he slung his arm around her lower back, scarred mouth pressing itself into her hair, drawing in her scent.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Isabela reached up to cup both sides of his face, tracing the horrible burns that had wrinkled and deformed the right side of his face. Next she knew, he had pushed a soft robe to her, the barest of smiles trying to pull the corners of his mouth upwards. To most, she knew he would still look as grim as the grave.
Turning about, she slid her arms into the sleeves of the soft fabric, then tipped her head back to kiss the corner of his chin.
"Alright, you sack of shit, they're all waiting downstairs." Isabela huffed, swatting the outside of the tall, broad man's thigh to get him moving in the right direction.
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By the time she heard footsteps coming down the main set of stairs, the rest of their companions had all arrived. Anders stood off to the side, head tipped up and peering out of the high windows, watching flecks of snow that would melt long before they hit the ground. Varric remained in his chair, scribbling away. Sebastian stood near One-Eye. Fenris outright refused to mingle with either herself or Anders, and sat on the lowest steps of the stairs. Aveline stood near the table, trying to rearrange the food and awkward decorations so that things had more order and made sense.
They were quiet. It wasn't the same as when Bethany had hosted this get together, all those years ago.
She could see it in all of their faces. They knew it, too.
"Here they come, quickly, everyone get ready!" Merrill chirped, wringing her hands together, her clothes still a mess with dog-slobber, bits of needle-y foliage sticking out of her hair. To their credit, despite however much they disliked and disagreed with one another, her companions roused themselves for Hawke.
For whatever reason, it seemed each of them had connected themselves in some way to his stoic, withdrawn, stern demeanor.
The door to the sitting room cracked open, making One-Eye chuff and clamber to his paws, staring at it with a battle-ready alterness, only to grit his underbite and slump off to his pillows once he saw his Master and the dark skinned woman enter the room.
"Surprise! Happy Winters Day!" Merrill shrilled, tossing her skinny arms up into the air.
The rest of them followed with their own well-wishes, stepping forward to embrace their elected leader in some form or fashion. Merrill hung back, wringing her hands together in front of her bony hips as her eyes darted around, trying to see the room as Hawke might have seen it. Had she done it right? When she caught his eyes, Merrill ducked her chin down towards her chest, the bare ball of her foot tapping gently against the rug.
She couldn't tell by his expression if he was at all surprised or remotely pleased.
After he had greeted and exchanged muttered words with their friends, Hawke strode towards her, quickly dwarfing the little elf girl with his gargantuan frame. Sometimes, she wondered if he might have qunari blood in him.
"There's lots of food, I saved quite a bit from our jobs to make sure I could buy the ingredients. I- I made some traditional Dalish foods, too, I'm not sure how you'll like those, though, I've heard our meals can be a little bit hard for most people to—" Merrill squeaked as her words were abruptly cut off, and Hawke stooped down to wrap his big arms around her, crushing her to is chest and lifting her off of her feet.
Hawke had never touched her before, save for a hand at her shoulder or on her back.
Her stunned surprise faded away into excited giggling, and Merrill squirmed in his grasp, stretching her toes out to try and find the ground, or at least some form of purchase, a sense of relief like no other welling up inside of her narrow, flat chest.
"I-it's not right, I know, I've messed it all up, and I've done it all wrong, and it doesn't even begin to compare to Bethany's, but—" Merrill began to babble, only to feel Hawke tighten his hold on her, making her cut off with a breathless grunt.
Slowly, Hawke set her back down on her feet, but still held her against his body.
From her close proximity, she could feel the gentle shudder of his torso as he drew in a shaky, unsteady breath, trying to ground himself and maintain the sense of self-control that seemed to make up the very root of his personality.
"She…" Hawke whispered, looking down and blinking several times. Merrill felt a wet droplet flick against her collarbone, and she said nothing. Instead, she slung her arms around Hawke's waist, clinging tightly to the shem that had done his best to support her and guide her all the years she had known him.
"She would have loved it." He finally choked out, deep voice husky with a sense of grief that would never fade. Turning, still holding Merrill against him, Hawke looked back at the rest of his companions, nodding over towards the tankards of sweet wines and other snacks that had been laid out.
Varric grabbed two, handing his over to Hawke.
The companions turned to face the fireplace, and the portraits of those lost that rested above it; Bethany's being the largest and finest among them.
"We miss you, Sunshine," Varric stated, a little too loudly thanks to the emotions that welled forth, "The world's not half as bright without you in it."
Merrill's eyes flicked to the each of her companions, observing them as they raised their tankards in loving memory of Bethany Hawke.
Aveline dipped her head, revealing the respect she had held for the younger woman. Anders frowned, looking away and bringing his tankard back to his chest. If he had been there, perhaps there might have been something that he could have done. Isabela's eyes moved back to Hawke, watching her lover with concern. Varic's eyes looked abnormally shiny. Fenris remained aloof and off to the side, knowing far better than to interrupt a grief he didn't share. And Sebastian…
Merrill felt her heart begin to ache for the prince.
Sebastian stood staring up at the portrait, wet tracks of tears slipping freely down his cheeks as he paced closer to Hawke and Merrill, drawing in loud, shuddery breaths as he needed them. His eyes tracked over every detail of the painting—the soft lines of her mouth, the curls of her hair, the bright, curious glimmer to her eyes, the way her hands were resting so neatly in her lap, posture straight and lady-like.
"My heart… my sweet, sweet love…" he whispered brokenly, hands shaking.
Extracting herself from Hawke's grasp, Merrill gently took Sebastian's drink from him before he could spill it, and she stepped back to give the two men space.
The Prince of Starkhaven blinked several times, looking down at his hands and shaking his head. It had been years, but the pain of losing the woman he had loved so dearly had never left him. Strong arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, and Sebastian found himself clinging tightly to the one piece of Her that he had left in this world.
"She loved you," Hawke whispered.
Slowly, Sebastian cracked his eyes open and looked up to her portrait once more, openly embracing the man that would have been his brother, in another life. A softness filled the room, a sense of peace permeating throughout each of them. A rush of smoke from the fireplace startled the group, drawing forth gasps and grunts, each of them tensing.
When it cleared, Bethany's portrait had changed. She was smiling now, eyes sparkling as she looked down at them, her hands crossed and pressed against her heart, a delicate golden chain dangling around her neck, barely visible.
She was still watching over them.
Smiles began to return to the group, and Varric turned away to quickly wipe his sleeve across his eyes. Fenris stood near the door, observing them as they settled after the unnatural phenomenon. Aveline had stooped down and clasped her hands together in prayer. One-Eye stood staring up solemnly at Bethany's portrait, a single strand of drool dripping off of his under-bite. Anders stared down at his feet. Isabela strode over to link her arm with Hawke's, drawing him over towards the food and the snacks. Merrill tip-toed backwards, observing each of them as they settled down.
The last to look away, Sebastian brought his finger-tips to his lips, somehow finding it in himself to smile, cry, and laugh at the same time as he kissed his fingers, extending his arm and holding them facing out towards Bethany's portrait.
She smiled at him, and the chill of winter faded.
In Loving Memory of Bethany Hawke.