Title: Broken glass
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Merrill, Isabela; Merribela
Rating: K
Summary: "I'm sorry," the elf says in a quiet voice. Sometimes she feels like she's always apologising.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, although the writing certainly is.
A/N: written for the "send me a word and I will write a drabble" thing on tumblr; prompt: "broken glass" + merribela
The Hanged Man is busy as always. Merrill walks in and immediately takes a step back when a fat drunk man nearly elbows her in the face. Just a month ago she would be shocked, now she's quite used to how people treat others, especially in this part of Kirkwall. It's like they deliberately choose to ignore her. She's just an elf after all. Nobody cares about elves.
She doesn't mind, at least not as much as before. There are people who do care about her, like Hawke and the rest of the Champion's crew. Merrill only wishes that one day they choose to meet somewhere else, because the Hanged Man isn't exactly her favourite place in Kirkwall. Not that Kirkwall has something better to offer anyway…
Merrill tries again, and walks forward, looking around. Hawke's not here yet; then she can notice Isabela who's waving at her, sitting in her usual spot. The elf moves towards her but then she's distracted by something hanging on the wall. Merrill stops, looking at the thing, not quite sure what she's looking at exactly. It may be a painting. Well, it certainly has the right shape, and it also hangs on the wall like every other painting Merrill has ever seen in her life. It's just so confusing to see something like that here of all places, Merrill can't stop staring.
"I see you noticed the thing." Isabela appears by her side. "Nora won't tell me how they got it, but my guess it that someone lost it in cards. Though it can't be worth much."
"But what is it?"
Isabela shrugs. "Art. Probably. You should ask Varric, maybe he can tell you."
"Is that a… duck?" Merrill squints. She turns her head, trying to see something among the colourful blobs. She takes a step forward. Maybe if she stands close enough, she'll understand more. She's quite sure it's a bird. Or maybe a person in a funny dress. Or…
"Watch out, Kitten!"
Merrill gasps in surprise as Isabela pulls her close, and feels a sudden flare of heat in her cheeks
"There's broken glass on the floor," the pirate explains. "And other nasty things. I begin to wonder if they ever clean in here…"
Merrill can't say anything else than a quiet "Oh". Isabela's perfume reminds her of something sweet, and her body is pleasantly warm. She feels rather silly, just staring at the pirate. She should say something, but her mind is empty, so completely distracted by how close Isabela is to her, by the hand on her waist, and the pirate's amber eyes that seem even more beautiful than ever.
"Are you alright?" Isabela asks with a hint of concern. "You look like you're about to faint."
"I– uh, um…"
Merrill's never been good at lying, so what comes out of her mouth is not even a full word. She blinks in embarrassment, searching for the right words to apologise to Isabela for being so stupid. But before she can gather enough courage to speak, the pirate decides for her.
"Here, let me help you."
And just like that, Isabela swoops her up in her arms. Merrill blinks, uncertain if she's perhaps dreaming, but the stench of poor alcohol reminds her they're in fact in the Hanged Man, and no, she's not having one of her dreams.
It's weird, she thinks, panicked as Isabela carries her through the room. Is it? It's weird. Or maybe it's not?
She can never tell. People don't even look at them; Isabela doesn't seem flustered at all while Merrill feels her face burning hot. So maybe it's not weird, and she's just panicking.
Or maybe it's because it's Isabela who's carrying her in her arms. Merrill likes Hawke, she likes all her friends. If they asked, Merrill, do you like me?, it would be easy to tell them, Yes, of course I like you!, though expecting someone like Fenris or Anders to ask her such questions is just plain silly.
Isabela, however… It wouldn't be so easy to tell her the same thing, as if the words have a different meaning when it comes to the pirate.
Isabela's voice brings her back to reality. „I don't know how you can walk barefoot. I should get you a nice pair of shoes."
Merrill gasps, almost forgetting about her blushing. "Oh, can you get me pirate boots like yours?"
"Sure," Isabela laughs. "And a hat if you want."
"I don't think I'd look good in a hat," Merrill wonders. She's not sure if elves wear hats. Something tells her that Keeper Marethari wouldn't approve.
Isabela, on the other hand, looks great in a hat. She looks great in everything.
Merrill looks up at Isabela who's still holding her even though they're standing right next to a chair. For some reason it's difficult to let go.
"I'm sorry," the elf says in a quiet voice. Sometimes she feels like she's always apologising.
"Don't worry, Kitten. I don't mind at all."
When Isabela smiles something tells Merrill she's telling the truth.