He was going to do it. For a week now Carver had been telling himself that he should, then followed by a small nagging voice that it would be better to stay home than make a fool of himself. That voice always sounded like Garrett, somehow, and it made him scowl.

But Merrill had smiled at him last night in the Hanged Man when all of them met for drinks and even the memory of it made his stomach feel strange. He couldn't have responded then, not with Varric and Isabela and Garrett watching him from the corners of their eyes, but today he could.

Today he was going to do it.

His hands shook slightly and he clutched the rude clay plot. Still dirty from his trip out to the Wounded Coast early that morning, he wanted to deliver his gift before he lost his nerve. Inside the pot was a yellow flower, similar but not quite like the ones that Varric liked to give Merrill to on occasion. These were ones the mage had pointed our herself, saying how lovely they were.

A gust of wind picked up then, from the direction of the docks, bringing with it the salt of the sea and blowing some of the sandy soil of the pot into Carver's face. He winced and closed his eyes quickly, turning his head away and spitting to get the sand out of his mouth.

"Of course it would be windy today," he muttered, but focused his attention back on the street.

He had been to the Alienage enough times with his brother to visit Merrill that they gave him no strange glances now. That was a relief, of sorts, and as he headed to Merrill's house at the far end, the urge to run began to well up in him. "No," he said, "I'm not going this far only to turn back now."

Carver made it all the way to her door, and was about to knock when he heard voices on the other side. She had guests? He pressed his ear to the door, the pot underneath his arm.

"I just wanted to see how you're settling in." His stomach sank at hearing his brother's voice. "It's been over a month now."

"Has it really been that long?" she asked, and he heard her giggle a little nervously. "It seems like only yesterday that I left-"

"What are you doing?" The low voice was on his side of the door, not Merrill's.

Carver started, dropping the clay pot. It broke, the soil splayed on the ground and the flower drooping forlornly in the wreckage. He looked up and saw Fenris watching him, his harms crossed.

"I was, well, what are you doing?" he asked, feeling slightly pathetic as he did so.

Fenris studied him for a moment, looking down to the pot and then back up to Carver's face. "Your brother asked me to meet him this afternoon for help with a job. I believe he wanted her," now he paused to look at Merrill's door, "to come along as well. He made no mention of you."

"No, he wouldn't, would he," Carver said, gritting his teeth. It had been like that, more than he liked, ever since they helped Fenris with the Tevinter slavers. More than he'd like, Garrett would ask Fenris along. Or Aveline.

Or Merrill.

"I'll see you later," he said, walking quickly away from Merrill's house as the door opened. He thought he heard her say "what's this?" but it could have been his imagination.

.

He didn't see her grab a large wooden bowl from her cupboard and carefully put the flower in it, and scoop in some of the dirt. He didn't see her look in his direction, didn't see her smile, and take it into the house.

Comments and criticisms appreciated. Thanks for reading!