Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Dragon Age or any of the characters. I just happened to design Ivy Hawke as she appears, that is it. Any characters/rights go tooooo: Bioware!
Cold permeated throughout the small, dilapidated room that Merrill found herself living in, now that her clan had banished her and Lowtown had become her new home. Lowtown was not what she expected of a shemlen utopia; in fact, the word utopia was a far cry from the shabby, decidedly unfriendly place she resided in. The alienage she had been thrust into was cold and dark and Merrill was always frightened to leave her tiny place after dark. Tales of guards and cutthroats assaulting elves in the night whispered amongst the elf population, and everybody was terrified. These city elves were far removed from the Dalish as to be unrecognizable.
But, the shoddy lodgings the kind-hearted Dalish dealt with was not the reason for the ice encasing her heart. No, a certain someone was on her mind, hurting both the heart and the mind. You see, Merrill had fallen madly, truly, and deeply in love with the unofficially official leader of the group, Ivy Hawke. Out of all the mismatched companions, Ivy alone stood at the forefront of Merrill's life. Isabela and Varric were nice to her, and Aveline as well, and Anders, Hawke and Sebastian tolerated her…but none of them treated her quite like Hawke. Ivy Hawke was a champion amongst men; she stood taller and straighter than them all. Ivy stood a good inch and a half taller than the young elf, and was well-muscled from all the hours she spent swinging a sword on her family's farm in Lothering. Her skin had a nice tan spread evenly over her smooth skin from aforementioned hours, and her cheeks possessed a healthy pink tinge. Ivy had short hair the color of new-fallen snow, and her eyes were a cross between the sea and ice. When she smiled, her teeth were as straight and perfect as a new sword and the exact shade of her hair, and her voice was a low, seductive purr reminiscent of Isabela's.
Hawke was incredibly sarcastic and at times could be quite lewd, but she had a quick and clever tongue and a heart of pure gold. A brilliant fighter and strategist, Hawke had led the group to many victories, the most evident being when she single-handedly took on the Arishok, leader of the Qunari. She had done it all to save Isabela, when she could have just let the saucy pirate burn. But, instead, Hawke bravely faced the feared leader and won, barely escaping the fight with her life. Merrill had been absolutely terrified during the battle, but her love grew just a little more for the courageous warrior. The numerous wounds had healed thanks to Anders; Hawke's sister Bethany would have been just as good, but she was traveling with the Grey Wardens now and had no inkling of the events that had transpired. Ivy's mother was unaware too as she had been ignoring her eldest daughter due to blaming Ivy for both Carver's death and Bethany being forced into becoming a Grey Warden. Ivy had never gotten over that.
Yes, Ivy Hawke had soared them into stardom as everybody wanted them as hirelings. The defeat of the Arishok only propelled them even further to the point of no return. No longer were they nobodies; they were famous, well, as famous as you could get in a city like Kirkwall. Ivy and her had become fast friends through it all and the young elf had vehemently wished for it to become more…but then it happened…through a series of horrific events, her former Keeper Marethari had become an abomination. Marethari had done her best to kill them all, and Ivy, against her wishes, had to put the Keeper down. The clan had been absolutely furious at Marethari's death, and they very nearly attacked the group. Ivy had to blame Merrill herself for the untimely death, effectively escaping the clan with their lives and crushing Merrill's heart all in one go. Hawke had profusely apologized, but Merrill could not wipe the words from her mind. The Eluvian had brought her nothing but misery and harm; all the initial hope the discovery had instilled in her had shattered when her transformed Keeper tried to murder her and the secret love of her life had slandered her.
In a fury of confusing emotions, the lithe elf had thrown one of her daggers at the mirror, smashing it into a thousand shards. Ivy had done her best to comfort the estranged elf, but Merrill had coldly dismissed the Champion from her sight. Ivy had fluttered around unsurely, clearly discontent with the dismissal, but at another outburst she had quietly departed, sadness encompassing her eyes. That had been several hours ago; Merrill had time to think and calm down in the time that had elapsed and realized she had been a fool. Ivy had not blamed Merrill to be cruel, but rather acted like it so they would not have to kill her remaining clanmates. The woman had only be trying to protect both Merrill, the other Dalish, and their companions, but of course Merrill had botched that up too. Now that Merrill had so callously sent Hawke away, she would probably never talk to her again. Tears filled large forest-green eyes at the thought of never seeing those gorgeous blue eyes ever again.
Merrill had contemplated seeking out Hawke, but it would be a foolhardy thing to do at so late a time at night. Somebody like Ivy would be alright, but a young, naïve Dalish elf? She was good as dead as soon as she set foot outside the door. So, heart laden with grief and misery, the pitiable elf had slunk over to her bed, crawling in under the moth-eaten covers. The thin sheets did nothing to assuage the cold covering either her heart or her body. Shivering, she tried her best to let sleep take her away on swift wings. She prayed for the salvation it would bring from her poisonous thoughts. Merrill was about an inch away from sleep when a soft knocking at the old oaken door roused her from her half-sleep. She slowly stood on shaking legs, gripping her dagger in hand. She glided painstakingly slowly to the door, afraid at who she would find. Gathering her psyche that was currently in shambles at her feet, Merrill pulled open the door.
Eyes the color of the very place she was born in opened wide in surprise, and her mouth soon joined in. Standing before her, icy-oceanic blues burning with determination and a somewhat sheepish smile set across her strong jaw, was Ivy Hawke. Her armor and profile stood out in stark contrast against the sad background of the alienage; she just did not factor in the equation. White hair was in casual disarray, as if she had either been asleep (or trying to) before coming over, or she had run. A shy smile flittered against her strong cheekbones, prominent nose jutting out. Hope echoed out in her actions, and laced her words. "Hullo, Merrill. I, er, I am sorry if I woke you up. But I could not go to sleep with this between us. Can I…am I welcome to come in?" Those eyes proved to be her undoing. "Y-yes, come in, come in please." Merrill hastily moved to the side, making room for the tall warrior to step through. As she made her way over the threshold, Merrill took time to admire the dashing figure Ivy made in her silver armor.
Ivy took in the surroundings she had become accustomed to this past year, pain stabbing her heart at the poor home her dear elf lived in. Sweet Merrill should not be living in this…this…atrocity! She deserved a fine home, a home like Hawke herself found herself in. Not for the first time, the thought of inviting the Dalish to move in with her swirled in her mind, but this was most definitely not the time to spring that on the elf. She had been through enough today. The warrior turned towards the elf, taking in the sight of the woman she had often found herself thinking of. "Merrill…I-what can I say? So much happened today, none of it good. I am not proud of-of how I handled the clan. If there was any other way, I-" "No. No, Hawke…none of this is your fault. If I had never messed with that mirror…things would have been different. I should have known this would happen; two elves from my clan died because of that…that thing long ago. If anyone should apologize, it should be me. I treated you horribly, blaming you and holding you accountable...when in reality, I was just hurt that you said those things to my clan and chose to keep the dagger Marethari gave you, keeping it away from me. I-I am so sorry, Hawke…so, so sorry!"
At this point, the poor elf had tears streaming down her pale face, tattoos standing out stark against her skin. Alarmed and in full-on protective mode, Ivy rushed to Merrill, wrapping the small elf in her strong arms. Merrill burrowed her head against the tanned neck underneath her face, inhaling her delicious scent. The Champion burned like a furnace, driving away the chill from the Dalish's bones. Hawke, likewise, took in the natural earthy scent emanating from the elf; nature, it seemed, resided in Merrill as much as it was a part of her. The two women stood there, holding each other silently and appreciating the presence of the other. Merrill finally lifted her head off the swordswoman, looking up at her face. Her vivid blue eyes were bright with an indescribable emotion, and the sweetest smile bloomed on the chiseled features. "Merrill…" The whisper caressed Merrill's face, causing the innocent elf to nearly swoon. Her own green orbs brimmed with pure love, and both pairs of lips tingled with electricity. The air crackled with unresolved sexual tension, and Ivy just could not take it any longer.
"Sweetheart…I…Oh, Merrill…" Ivy could not contain her urges a minute longer. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the snowy-haired Champion slid forward, lips looming ever closer to those of her beloved elf. Merrill completely froze, anticipation surging through her veins. All the elf saw was a pair of the softest pink lips getting closer and closer, and the most intense blue eyes drowning her, pulling her in. Putting the Dalish woman out of her misery, Ivy closed the small gap remaining between their mouths and fused the two together. Merrill let out a whimper as Ivy's mouth slid against her own, coaxing the sweetest sounds from her virgin mouth. Thin hands wrapped themselves in the silky white strands of her lover, pulling gently in desperation. Muscled arms slid around her waist, fitting her body snugly against the toned musculature before her.
Hawke's eyes had closed immediately after that first meeting, and had remained closed throughout the foray into the feelings that had plagued the women. Holding the lithe elf in her arms had fulfilled her biggest desire since first seeing Merrill. Ivy knew Merrill was special the very first time they had met. The innocence in forest-green eyes and the unsure manner in which she spoke had endeared herself in the stoic warrior's eyes. Many had believed her better suited with Isabela on account of their similar personalities, but Ivy had never once thought of the sultry pirate as being anything more than a friend and trusted companion. It did not matter what others thought; Merrill was it for her and that was all that mattered.
A slick tongue prodded the seam of Merrill's lips, begging for entrance. Merrill shyly complied, letting her fighter take control of her mouth as surely as she had taken over her heart. The kiss deepened, transforming from slow and soft to hot and sensual in the span of a second. This time the whimper came from the champion, wrangled as surely from her throat as a wild nug in the halls of Orzammar. The kiss had far escalated from its origins, taking a spicy turn as Ivy gently moved them towards Merrill's tidy bed. The women never parted, barely shuffling along as they quickly continued to lose themselves in the feeling of love in its purest, rawest form. As the white-haired warrior laid the beautiful elf down against the formerly cream-colored sheets, the only thing that swirled through her mind was how incredibly lucky she was.
All through the night they made love, unabashedly pouring out their feelings in the most physical way; the dance as old as time. Backs arched, straining heavenward with breaths coming in panting exhalations, sweat coagulating on heated skin. Whimpers, moans, and sounds that would make a lay sister blush echoed throughout the small holding, sweet music to sensitized ears. Hours flew by with the women unaware. Afterwards, with the sun shining high overhead, Ivy and Merrill lay entangled together amongst the remnants of the once well-made bed. The Champion of Kirkwall was on her back, the little Dalish elf snuggled up to the strong body, thin arms slung across the broad chest. Deft fingers drew patterns on the smooth skin, brushing against the outline of a faded scar that took residence there. Ivy purred in the back of her throat, contentment shining out of her eyes. They had darkened to cobalt during the lovemaking session, but had now lightened to the original color, plus the added lightness of her happier mood. A calloused hand smoothed the unblemished skin of Merrill's back, committing the silky epidermis to memory.
Ivy knew as she reclined on the bed in the worst part of Lowtown, cuddling with the elf that had so easily stolen her heart, that she would never tire of performing this, of holding one of the last things in her life she genuinely cared for. She may have made mistakes, might have lost basically all of her family to the whims of the Maker, but here with Merrill she had gained something from all of the pain and suffering she had withstood. Ivy Hawke, revered fighter and the champion to all Kirkwallers, had finally found love.