Not So Bad
A/N: Just a little fluffy fenrisXmerrill idea I had one day. Enjoy!
It was as Hawke promised. They fought their way through to Meredith, and she bought drinks on her tab to celebrate. She had diverted their festivities to the Hanged Man for the night, probably so that Bodhan, Sandal, and Orana would not have to deal with the obvious chore of cleaning up after a ragtag team such as theirs as well as their other allies and supporters. As much as she knew, this will be one of the few nights of celebration she would get until the inevitable aftereffects of the Mage/Templar War would come bearing down on Kirkwall.
As she heartily socialized with not only her companions but with the other patrons of the tavern, her companions took festivities into their own hands as well, Isabela in particular. She took on Hawke's tab and began passing rounds of drink.
"Warn me whenever you're ordering!" Hawke hollered after her as Isabela handed Merrill and Aveline pints excitedly.
"What fun would that be? I'd rather it be a surprise!" Isabela shouted back, a malicious grin on her face as she handed Fenris, Varrick, and Bethany drink as well. Although they all knew there was better alcohol out there, it was a night to not care and just be thankful they were alive.
"To Hawke! May you never drag us into templar/mage shit ever again!" Varrick toasted with a wide grin, and everybody in the tavern followed suit amidst cheers. Hawke just laughed as she chugged down with the rest of them.
In due time, Isabela gathered Hawke and the rest of her companions for a well-deserved drinking game, downing shots in each successive round. After a good number, the effects clearly kicked in.
Fenris slumped out of his barstool seat and headed towards a nearby table, smirking as Varrick and Donnic brought him in for a round of diamondback in their stupor.
"Ready to pay up, Elf?" Varrick sniggered as he prepared the game.
"As I've said, I'm good for it," Fenris replied readily, his green eyes narrowing as they danced excitedly. Donnic raised his pint to him in readiness, a similar look on his face.
As Fenris cast his lots, he turned and saw Merrill nearby, very much passed out as she fell from her stool. Quick as he saw it, he propped her up by her back before she hit the ground, and he scowled slightly.
Typical. She couldn't have possibly known her limits he thought sourly as he looked for a place to lay her down. It was futile.
Aveline had challenged Cullen to an arm wrestling contest in one corner populated by some of her guardsmen and some of Cullen's fellow templars. Bethany took it upon herself to officiate their little show with much glee, and they cheered on the commencing struggle of dominance. Their metal gauntlets and armor added additional wear and tear on the wooden furniture as they rooted on their heads of command.
The bar itself was preoccupied with Hawke and Isabela throwing playful insults at each other with Varrick cutting in between them and their diamondback game with a few other of the guard. Even the bartender had his own officiating going on between the three as the empty liquor bottles continually piled up. On the side, the bad poet was scribbling down notes with each taunt Hawke and Isabela hurled at each other.
Everywhere else, the patrons had occupied with excited talk about a Meredith-free Kirkwall, or went with bar brawls that caused slight destruction around them, which were met with abrasive laughter and bets. Overall, the atmosphere was happy chaotic.
Hmph. Nowhere is safe.
Fenris rolled his eyes as he straightened up the slightly-limp Merrill onto her feet instead of her bum. The next best place would be in one of the rooms upstairs. As much as he didn't think much of Merrill, he at least owed it to Hawke to take care of his fellow companions as she would have done them. After all, Merrill did not succumb to any demonic influence during their faceoff against Meredith and betray them as a blood mage. That at least deserved some merit. And if he were to be treated any fairly, he surely would rather be tucked somewhere at least out of sight instead of somewhere where he could get trampled upon by drunkards.
He hoisted Merrill onto his back and stumbled through the hectic tavern and up the crooked stairs. She was much lighter than he anticipated, and he grinned, amused at the thought of being able to swing her around like his Blade of Mercy. She was quite clammy to his touch however, though with slight warmth from all the drink. Feeling her moan slightly at the awkward way of being carried, Fenris lifted her into his arms almost effortlessly. She breathed deeply, and he felt shivers racking her pale body.
Passing a couple who had stolen away to make out in a corner, he reached the first door on his left and kicked it open. He found the obviously-aged bed, and due to his slightly unsteady walk and Merrill's weight, he plopped down upon it and welcomed the relief it brought him from carrying her and a buzzed head. She let out a small groan from the sudden slamming sensation, and her eyes fluttered lazily. Fenris moved to position her head onto the meager pillow, but Merrill instead began to double over the bed, and a look of anguish replaced the sickly expression on her face, white as a nug.
"Merrill, you better not-!" Fenris growled hoarsely as he grabbed at a nearby bucket. He barely made it in time as she heaved straight into it.
He was barely reminded of his amount ingested as a slight surge of sickness formed in the pit of his stomach while he could only reach over and keep her braided hair out of the way. It was unexpectedly soft between his fingertips, and not at all dry or straw-like in texture like he imagined. The jet black of her hair contrasted sharply against the opaque-white markings accentuating his hands.
"Someone goin' off in there?"
Fenris looked up and saw one of the tavern patrons peering into the room curiously. He was beyond woolly behind the eyes as he fought to focus.
"Yes. Bring some water," he answered curtly. The patron nodded and walked off, and Fenris turned back to the still-retching Merrill.
Her body shook as her puking spiel neared its end. If it weren't for the act that she had seemingly tainted herself with a demon's pact that probably furthered her already-clouded judgment, Fenris probably would have had a bit more pity on her. With a last deep breath, he let go of Merrill's hair as her tense posture relaxed and she propped herself up against the bed. Fenris could see her usually bright emerald orbs now glazed, her vision plainly shifty. They glistened a lot more than normal, and he felt as though he could see right through the green-tinted glass they resembled.
"F-Fenris?" she mumbled, her gaze watery before her as his face swam. She felt limp and numb all over, and her head lolled ungraciously. Fenris roughly shook his head and tore his eyes away from her unsteady, yet entrancing, stare.
"Yes, yes, Merrill. I'm here," he told her as the patron returned with a goblet of water and another bottle of drink before he left. He thrust the water out to her. "Rinse and spit. You obviously did not know when to stop."
"Isabela kept offering. I couldn't have possibly turned her down," Merrill coughed, smiling weakly as her head pounded. "She wouldn't have allowed that…Not that she hasn't faced any rejection before I'm sure, of course!" She gargled the more-than-welcome liquid and spat into the basin beside her. Having regained a fraction of consciousness, she grimaced at the clear mess she had made. Of course she just had to make herself look even more of a fool in front of Fenris than she already was.
To her surprise, Fenris chortled in agreement. "True. She forced some on me herself." He eyed the new bottle of drink and took a swig. The strength hit him like a rock. This one probably included.
"Can I have a bit of that?" Merrill asked, feebly pointing to the bottle. Upon seeing Fenris' translucent eyes narrow suspiciously, she added quickly, "I won't throw up on you! I'm done with that…I promise! I just don't like the aftertaste of bile."
Hesitantly, Fenris slowed in handing her the bottle as the new wave of alcohol flushed anew through his system. Merrill made a successful grab at the bottle, and she began to take in big, slow gulps.
"Don't push it Merrill!" Fenris warned her as he attempted to yank it from her grasp. Merrill hiccupped as she resisted, and Fenris could only chuckle.
"It tastes better than the other stuff. They taste like moonshine!" she protested, grinning maliciously.
By now, the numbingly limp side-effect took complete hold of both elves. Merrill, holding on the bottle, felt herself yanked forward with Fenris' strong pulls, and the struggle over the bottle ensued. Fenris had to admit. For a relatively clumsy Dalish elf, Merrill had quite the effortless strength in her lithe limbs. Nonetheless, he was still superior to her, and one final yank proved too much, and a new feeling washed over once her lips hit his.
It was a feeling he never expected from anyone, much less someone ditzy like Merrill. He fully expected her to taste like bile as she mentioned, yet it seemed like some otherworldly cleanse took over with that alcohol, as a peculiar taste of honey and the faint scent of lavender and incense intertwined with fresh grass assaulted his senses. There was softness in her lips that unlocked the usual tautness of his own as if they responded much too naturally. His heart suddenly jolted to life and began pounding against his ribcage in giddy discomfort.
He pulled away in an attempt to steady himself as time suddenly seemed to slow down. His heart jumped to his throat as his and Merill's breaths mingled in the close space between them. In a flash, sense seemed to have hit her as Fenris' lyrium markings produced a dull blue glow.
"Oh Mythal! I-I'm s-sorry, Fenris!" Merrill gasped as she leaned away from him cautiously. She was without her staff, and in the occasion that he lunged at her intending harm for what just happened, she was basically defenseless. Fear flashed in her wide eyes, and Fenris rolled his eyes indignantly as the glow died down.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Merrill," he said flatly, his heart relaxing. Never did he even think anything of her more than just another mage who became Hawke's friend. But that…was surprisingly pleasant.
Merrill's tiny voice pierced his thoughts. "Thank you."
Fenris looked back at her with an expression she couldn't place. "For what?"
"You know…for dealing with me like this," Merrill said in almost a whisper. "If anything, I almost expected you to just leave me a crumpled mess on the tavern floor, really."
She eyed him with gentle scrutiny, a kind, shy smile on her face. Fenris couldn't help but feel a tad more vulnerable to her gaze. Maker help him if this be the work of magic. Either that, or he really had to come to terms that she wasn't as bad a person as she seemed when they all first met her on Sundermount all those years ago.
"I at least owe it to Hawke to watch out for my companions," he finally replied thoughtfully, averting her lofty gaze, "Even if that meant taking care of you. Despite your dealing with demons, foolish as they were, you've proven yourself resilient and worthy as an ally." He didn't dare admit any more, lest he make the mistake of confronting that sudden accidental kiss.
He felt Merrill relax, her eyelids drooping as she laid her head on the pillow again. She seemed to have gotten the silent message. "You've changed for the better too, Fenris. Not that I really believed you to be wholly bad or anything…"
And she drifted off to sleep, her usual serene look taking its peaceful place. That allowed Fenris to smile a small smile to himself as his eyelids, too, lost their battle against drunken fatigue.
The sun shone brightly through the Hanged Man's cracks and roof holes as Hawke woke from her slumber. Varrick, Aveline, Donnic, Cullen, and half of the guardsmen and Templars had already gone. The bartender and a few of his loyal patrons were set about getting the tavern back in decent order, straightening up the furniture set upturned or askew.
She headed up towards the rooms in search of the others. She found Isabela relaxing in one of them, counting some coin on the bed. She winked as Hawke smiled and left in search of Merrill and Fenris.
Upon reaching their room, she tiptoed slowly at the sight of them. They were both asleep, Merrill upon the bed, and Fenris sitting on a stool beside the bed, yet also half-slumped across the bed close to her. Hawke bit back a smile at the sight of their fingertips barely touching in their slumber, tauntingly so. Deciding that they, as well as herself, needed some more sleep, she walked out silently with the puke bucket to be cleaned by the tavern hands, closing the door behind her.