A/N: The loooooonnng awaited sequel/companion piece to Phoenix (or Broken, as it was originally titled). This has sat rough and half-finished on my drive for almost a year. Sorry it took so long to complete, but I hope you enjoy a little fluffy Merrill/Fenris!

petrichor (noun) – the scent of rain on dry earth

"Rain's coming," Merrill said quietly, studying Fenris surreptitiously. His green eyes were mottled in the firelight, like foliage dappled in the sun. "I can smell it."

At first she wasn't even sure he had heard her, but then she heard his gravelly voice from across the fire, calm and deep: "I smell it too." A shiver ran through her that had little to do with the chill in the air.

As if to prove them right, thunder rumbled in the distance. Without discussion, Merrill and Fenris got to their feet and began breaking camp. Merrill wrapped up their belongings while Fenris doused the fire and stamped out the embers. They worked with the fluid efficiency of two people who had gotten used to living around each other, their movements complementing each other but never interfering. It was safe, comfortable – easy. Merrill wondered, not for the first time, what the two of them were to each other, what they had become. Were they traveling companions? Friends? Something else? She thought he had not changed at all, but now she was starting to think he had. Or maybe it was she that had changed.

The rain held off for most of the morning and early afternoon, or perhaps they were merely able to stay ahead of it. They were still close enough to Kirkwall that their own faces stared back at them from the wanted posters that plastered the walls of every tavern. Safer to stay out of the towns, though both elves badly craved a hot meal and a real bed. Merrill felt a bit sorry for Fenris. Being Dalish meant living immersed in nature, so attuned to the world around her it was a part of her. Living in Kirkwall had been stifling; her elvhen senses had been dulled from life in the city. Merrill finally felt like she could breathe again, like a long-lost piece of her soul had been returned.

"It must be hard for you," she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Being outside, I mean. Well, not outside, but . . . not in the city."

Fenris made a noncommittal noise and picked his way over a cluster of moss-coated rocks. Merrill noted his remarkable balance. She scrambled over the same rocks with the aid of her staff and none of Fenris' grace.

"Look for shelter," he said, ignoring her comment. "I'd rather not be rained upon if I can help it."

Merrill did as she was bidden, using her keen Dalish eyes to scan the landscape before them. "There," she said, pointing to a rocky outcropping nestled on the bluffs bordering the river. "That ledge."

Fenris nodded once. They would have to descend to the nadir of the ravine and climb up the other side. "It will be a hard climb," he said, "but we have little choice."

Slowly they began to work their way down the steep ravine. A shallow stream coursed over boulders through the bottom, sending up spray and white foam.

The Keeper had told her once how valleys like these were formed. Before the Creators, giants had walked the land, molding the earth like clay under their feet as they went about their lives. But they had cared nothing for the land. One giant, Surtur, had carried a massive flail. Some stories said it was forged of molten gold, wreathed in flame. Others claimed it was pure, cold ice. But its weight was too great for the giant to bear, so he dragged it behind him wherever he went, gouging the earth. When the Creators came, they banished the giants for their crimes against the world, and Elgar'nan the All-Father remade the world after his father the sun had burned everything to ash. So went the cycle of life.

Merrill's feet wandered as freely as her thoughts. The first drops of rain had begun to fall, making the mossy stones scattered through the ravine even slicker. Merrill lost her footing, wobbling on one foot as she tried to keep her balance. She twisted around as she fell. There was a small pop and she shrieked as she slid down the rocky slope. When Merrill finally came to a stop, she was fifteen feet further down than Fenris, her ankle throbbing fiercely.

Fenris picked his way down to her, unsmiling. Merrill could already see his displeasure in his frown - of course, Fenris was always frowning, but there was an extra edge to it when he was particularly irritated that was not present now. The furrow of his brow was tempered too, which spoke more of concern than anger.

"Are you injured?" That was Fenris, Merrill thought. He only spoke as many words as necessary, no more, no fewer. He would fit well among the Dalish. Much better than she ever had, in that respect.

"I'm alright," she said. She grimaced, but tried to hide it from Fenris' keen eyes. Merrill waited until he had turned his eyes away and pulled herself to her feet. Sharp pain seared up her leg, and her knees buckled.

In an instant, Fenris was by her side. He looped his arm under hers, circling the narrow expanse of her back and hoisting her up.

"My ankle," she said, struggling to stand. She gasped and slumped into Fenris' shoulder. His arm tightened around her. It had been awhile since Merrill had felt so wretched. She shivered and reached back to pull her cloak more tightly around her, but her hand came up empty.

Merrill looked over her shoulder. "Oh dear." Her cloak had been shredded to ribbons in the fall and the lining was caked with mud and humus. Merrill felt the wet fabric slither off her shoulders and realized Fenris had released the catch around her throat with his free hand.

"Give me your pack and staff," he said, and Merrill blinked up at him, confused. Was he going to strip her of her only defense and supplies and leave her here alone? He wouldn't do that, not now - would he?

Some sliver of fear must have shown in her eyes, because his lips tightened in impatience. "I cannot carry you while you are still wearing it."

"Oh," she said, ashamed at the turn her thoughts had taken. "Right, of course." She wriggled out of the harness that kept her staff buckled against her back, snug against her pack and bedroll. Fenris shouldered her burden as well, and scooped her into his arms with hardly a grunt. Not for the first time, Merrill marveled at his strength. She admired the corded muscle of his neck from her vantage point as Fenris craned his head up toward the rocky outcropping they had pinpointed as their intended destination. He tossed his head to one side to get his hair out of his eyes, but the drizzle had plastered it to his forehead.

"We will need to find an alternate route," Fenris said. He was right - the face of the ravine was too steep for him to climb while carrying her, and there was no way she could make the ascent herself with an injured ankle.

Without her weight upon it, the throbbing in her ankle had subsided to a dull ache, though her boot felt uncomfortably tight. Merrill felt a bit light-headed as well, perhaps she'd hit her head in the fall . . . Despite the discomfort of her injury and the rain, Merrill felt safe in Fenris' arms, and it wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep.

When Merrill woke, she was before a small, strong fire, with a cloak draped over her. Groggily, she looked around. Her staff was by her right hand, and her pack leaned against a rock a few meters away. The rain continued to fall around her, but the outcropping gave some measure of shelter from the storm. The lithe silhouette of Fenris sat across the fire from her. His fingers curled around the neck of a bottle made of amber glass. As she watched, he brought the bottle to his lips. The liquid inside was a dark burgundy, almost black. It was wine, no doubt.

But Fenris did not drink wine anymore.

"You're drinking wine," she said dumbly. "But you don't - you haven't, not since Danarius captured you when you were drunk -"

"Your observations are as astute as ever," Fenris said drily.

Merrill gaped at him. "But why? Why now?"

Fenris shrugged and took another long swig. Merrill watched his throat bob as he swallowed. "Danarius is dead. I am free. It seemed as good a time as any." He held the bottle out to her.

Merrill stared at it for a moment before she slid around to sit beside him, took the bottle, and drank deeply. It warmed her all the way down. They split the rest of the bottle between them, and it didn't take long before she was feeling woolly behind the eyes and the tips of her fingers, toes, and ears had gone numb. Even the pain in her ankle seemed to lessen in her current state. Merrill hiccoughed, which earned her a smirk from Fenris. She giggled and leaned against him. To her surprise, he didn't pull away.

Merrill looked up to find him staring at her, and her breath hitched in her throat. She had never seen him (or anyone else, for that matter) look at her that way before. There was a hushed feeling around them, like the world itself had slowed in passing to see what was going to happen next. Merrill likened it to the anticipation in the air before a thunderstorm, when the clouds were low and heavy with rain. Fenris' face was so close to hers their breath mingled. He growled, low in his throat, like brontide, and Merrill's heart thudded against the cage of her ribs.

She smelled woodsmoke and petrichor, sweat and oiled leather, with an undertone of the curious crispness that clung to hair and skin when one came in out of the cold, and some faint, spicy musk that was purely Fenris. She inhaled deeply, losing herself in it. Merrill closed her eyes and sighed softly as their lips met. She felt infinite. His lips were thin and firm, but softer than she thought they'd be, with the sour aftertaste of wine on his tongue.

And then the moment was over, as quickly as it had begun. He stiffened and jerked away, as if he'd only just realized the folly of his actions and thought better of them. But Merrill still felt the weight of his hand, steady on her shoulder. Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating their faces for a split second before a thunderclap shook the ledge they sheltered on. Merrill thought she saw something flicker in Fenris' eyes before their emerald depths were as impenetrable as always. His hand slid from her shoulder.

"Thank you," Merrill said, and winced. The words sounded harsh in the awkward silence. As if taking pity on her, the rain started up again, and the wind howled to soften her voice.

"What for," Fenris asked, though it didn't necessarily sound like a question. He suddenly seemed weary - of her or the journey, Merrill didn't know.

"For carrying me, of course," Merrill said. "It can't have been easy - not that I'm fat or not that you're weak, no! You're very strong. I simply mean . . . I'm injured. I'm a hindrance to you. You could have left me there." She paused and lowered her gaze to her feet. "For a minute there, I thought you might."

"We are both fugitives. I've been pursued by those who wish me harm for far longer than you, and you've proven yourself a worthy ally. It is wiser for us to travel together. Four eyes will sense danger before two eyes will."

"But doesn't it bother you I'm a mage?"

Fenris scowled. "In the past I found traveling with you . . . distasteful," he said, "but in recent months, less so." He regarded her with a scrutiny that stripped her bare, yet warmed her. "You've changed."

Merrill shrugged. "So have you."

"I -" Fenris prepared to disagree, then stopped. He looked down at the whorls that twined over the back of his hand, a shadow of their former selves. "I suppose I have."

They fell into a companionable silence as Merrill set to caring for her injured ankle and Fenris stoked the fire. They didn't talk about the kiss. Fenris sat a short distance away with his back to her, shoulders hunched against the rain that plastered his raven hair to his head. The night swallowed him up as if welcoming home its own kin.

Merrill welcomed the rain on her face, as gentle as a kiss. It reminded her of Fenris.