After the business trip from hell (I really enjoyed the 16 hours I spent in the airport, truly) and the broken tooth I am half a moment from ripping out myself with a rusty set of needle nose pliers, I have not been in the writing mood. However, I feel slightly guilty letting so much time elapse between updates.

I apologize for the delay. I also apologize if this chapter blows flying donkey dick. Pain medication is not conducive to my muse.

As always, please review. It makes me happy and junk.

"Oh, Merrill," Isabella sighed, unwrapping the makeshift bandage Hawke had bound around the elf's forearm. "What have you done with yourself?"

She's calling me Merrill instead of Kitten because she's disappointed in me, just like Hawke, Merrill thought dismally. The Keeper did something similar whenever she was displeased with her First. Usually, the Keeper would affectionately call her da'len, but when she was especially cross, she would call her Merrill in that clipped way that made her heart drop into her stomach and her knees turn to jelly.

When Merrill did not answer, Isabela sighed and prodded at the edges of the cut with her fingers. "Andraste's tits. You stay put, I am going to need more than rag to deal with this." The pirate stood and gave her thigh a reassuring pat, smiled. "Don't worry, Kitten, we'll have you frolicking through the viscount's garden again in no time."

Merrill again did not respond, even as Isabela left. She couldn't think of the words, couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid. She felt numb, her whole body. She didn't even feel the cut on her arm, which had reopened and begun to seep blood again. Not a great deal of blood, just a little, that beaded and ran down her arm and dripped onto her bed like tears.

She had messed up. Again. She was always messing up. She never could do anything right. She could not fix the Eluvian. She could not even make her friends see how important the Eluvian was, not just to her, but to her people. She couldn't make Hawke see her for anything other than a bumbling fool. Perhaps she was just a bumbling fool; she had not done a good job of demonstrating otherwise. Failing at blood magic only to be discovered unconscious in front of the mirror by the one person she wanted to prove herself to. Well, that wasn't true. She wanted to prove herself to the Keeper as well, but for different reasons entirely.

But why did she even bother anymore? It was clear that Hawke did not trust her, would never trust her. Tears sprang into her eyes again. The alternative was to not try, and the notion that Hawke would never see her as anything but a friend, a child needing her protection, was too unbearable to consider. The Eluvian was important, and Merrill could fix it, she knew she could. She would! And then she would show the Keeper, her clan, Hawke that she wasn't chasing a fool's errand. She had done something important, and Hawke would see it, see her.

The pirate returned quickly and slung a bundle from her shoulder onto the bed. Quickly, she produced an earthenware bottle and uncorked it, taking a heavy swig. "Drink this." Isabela instructed, thrusting the bottle into Merrill's uninjured hand.

Sniffing it, she quickly jerked away from the bottle. "Oh, Isabela… you know I don't hold my liquor well. Do you really think this is the best time for me to be drinking? I've already messed things up terribly. Creators know how badly I'll mess things up if I drink."

Isabela laughed that smooth, honeyed laugh of hers and pushed the bottle back towards her. "Oh, Kitten, you're so cute I wish I could keep you all to myself." She produced a long, wicked needle from the bundle and a spool of thread. "I have to stitch your cut, or it will keep opening and bleeding. The drunker you are, the less you'll feel. Which is something I learned a long time ago," She winked at Merrill, as if sharing a deep, treasured secret.

She paled at the sight of the needle, but nodded, trusting Isabela implicitly. The pirate would never do anything to hurt her, and always made her feel safe. Smiling shakily, she drank from the bottle. It was bitter, acrid, burning her mouth and throat and the inside of her nostrils. Isabela could always make her smile, could always make everything seem okay, even if it wasn't. She took another long sip to avoid looking at Isabela threading the needle. If anyone knew what she should do about Hawke, Isabela would.

"Hawke hates me," Merrill said softly, turning her head on the pillow so she would not have to see what Isabela was about to do.

Snorting, Isabela reached for the bottle and took another long pull before returning it to Merrill. "Drink more. I still have to clean it before I can stitch it properly, and you're not drunk enough yet. And Hawke doesn't hate you. She could never hate you. The stick that's lodged up her ass is unfortunately almost as big as our Big Girl's is."

The warmth from the alcohol began to spread from Merrill's throat to her chest to her head as she drank more. She felt Isabela wipe her forearm with a damp cloth that was pleasantly cool against her skin. Her brow knit together in confusion. "What stick? Is that something dirty?"

Chuckling, Isabela shook her head. "You are precious, you know? It isn't something dirty. It's an expression. You know how Lady Man-Hands is so… proper and uptight? Hawke is like that, in a different way."

"Oh,"

"And it doesn't mean she hates you. It just means she wants to protect you, in the way she thinks is best. She adores you, Kitten, she is just awful at showing it. How are you feeling? Is the room spinning yet?"

Merrill shook her head, then regretted it as she began to feel the effects of the cheap alcohol. "I feel warm, is it too warm in here? My fire burned out ages ago and I haven't lit a new one. My whole body feels as if it's wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. That's the rum, isn't it? Oh, it must be. I'll stop talking now."

Isabela placed a hand on Merrill's brow and smoothed her bangs from her face; the elf leaned into the touch. The pirate's hand felt cool, comforting. It felt good to be touched. Yes, she was beginning to feel the effects of the rum. "I'm going to start now. You'll feel a pinch, but if the Maker has any mercy, the rum should numb you to most of it."

The hand was withdrawn, and Merrill closed her eyes, wincing as she felt the pinch that Isabela warned her about. It did not hurt too bad, no worse than any of the dozens of cuts she had inflicted on herself to fix the Eluvian. "I love Hawke." She said without thinking

She felt rather than saw the pirate stiffen at the admission, but she quickly relaxed and continued stitching the cut. "Of course you do, Kitten. Everyone loves Hawke. She has that solemn, smoldering sexiness that seeps out of every poor. And an ass that could make the Reverend Mother lift her robes. And the way she picks a lock," Isabela said dreamily, as if losing herself to her own words. "those slender fingers nimbly testing it, exploring every angle until they find exactly the right spot…"

Merrill lost herself in the image Isabela painted of Hawke's fingers and coughed hard when she tried to take another sip of rum to settle her thoughts. It was definitely too warm in the hovel. "Sorry, Kitten," Isabela said sheepishly. "But, like I said, everyone loves Hawke. She's good to the core. What isn't to love?"

"No, Isabela. I love Hawke. I want her to love me. I love her in that way that makes my insides go to mush whenever she looks at me or talks to me or says my name or even if I just hear her name. She makes my heart beat like the thundering hooves of the halla. I get all dizzy and lightheaded when she's around. I always want to be close to her, in battle or even just talking. She makes me feel like when she smiles at me, that there is nothing left in the world but her and me and everything else just falls away. She is so beautiful and clever and good…" Merrill was rambling and did not care. "And she just thinks I'm a rambling fool, and I am. I could never be good enough for her." It felt good, to finally admit how she felt about Hawke to another person. She felt lighter.

Dark fingers delicately took Merrill's chin, turned her face towards the pirate, whose expression was uncharacteristically serious. "Kitten, if anyone deserves Hawke, if anyone is good enough for her, it's you."

Merrill met the pirate's amber gaze and wondered why her voice sounded so funny. It sounded like Isabela was sad, but that couldn't be it. Isabela was never sad. It must be the rum. The room was beginning to blissfully spin. Yes, the rum. Merrill would hate it if she had said anything that made Isabela sad.

Sleep had been restless and illusive at best. Despite the physical toll of the day, despite the numbness that seemed to slip its icy fingers into her mind, Hawke had not slept well. She knew that Isabela would take care of Merrill with the same dedication and tenderness Hawke herself would. If there was one person in the world that Isabela loved, despite her vocal protests that feelings were a messy, dangerous thing, it was the Dalish elf. It might not be romantic love, but it still fettered Isabela to another person in a way that Hawke doubted the pirate was comfortable with.

But Isabela could still never deny Merrill, which was probably best at the moment. Hawke was not what Merrill needed at the moment.

Shoving the thoughts, and the tickle of anger that still lingered in her throat, to the side, Hawke focused instead on her mindless morning routine. She washed, tousled her short raven hair in such a way that it perpetually fell into her eyes, ate a light breakfast of fruit, and dressed while mentally running through the list of tasks for the day.

There was not much. Perhaps they could have an "off" day. With Merrill decidedly not up to running about the Free Marches, and Isabela tending to her, she would be forced to take either Fenris or Anders (or worse, both) on any potential undertakings. As much as she liked Fenris, his brooding intolerance of mages would likely grate on her nerves that day. His polar opposite, Anders, wasn't much better. She agreed with the former Grey Warden in principle, but not his practice.

Yes. That's what they all needed, Hawke decided. A day free of bandits and Qunari and politics and blood mages and Templars. And even if the rest of her companions did not need it, she certainly did. Aveline had returned from her honeymoon in Orlais; this would be a good time to visit her best friend. Hawke finished lacing her boots and checked herself one final time in the mirror.

It was not out of vanity that the rogue always gave herself a final once over every time she left the estate. It was practicality; ever the perfectionist, she checked every buckle, every lacing of her armor, examined potential weak spots where a blade might be able to penetrate the leather. Checking her blades, she ensured they were clean and sharp, free of rust or nicks. She had not survived years in Kirkwall by being careless.

Satisfied, she bade farewell to her mother and Bodahn and Sandal. The elf servant that she had rescued from Hadriana shuffled her feet nervously and called her mistress again; Hawke opened her mouth to correct her, but thought better of it. One of these days, she would convince her that she was no longer a slave, but it probably wasn't today.

She found Aveline where she usually was, behind her desk, fingers stained with ink from the sheaves of paperwork that demanded the guard captain's attention. She barely glanced up when Hawke entered and shut the door behind her. Patiently, Hawke waited until her friend was finished and ready to acknowledge her.

Despite her complaints to the contrary, Aveline loved being captain of Kirkwall's guard. Of course it was a lot of paperwork and mind-numbing bureaucracy, but Hawke felt that Aveline had truly found her niche. It suited her. Her guards were her family, her children that she shepherded and commanded with sternness and affection in equal measure. She was like a mountain cat with her cubs. Beyond that, she had purpose. Things always seemed so clear to Aveline: protect Kirkwall and its citizens, all else was secondary. Whatever she had done before the Blight, Hawke could not imagine it fit Aveline as well as the mantle of guard captain.

Finally, Aveline sighed and set her quill down. "What do you need, Hawke?"

"Can't I come by and see after my friend without needing something?" Hawke asked, quirking a brow.

Sighing again, more heavily this time, the tall guard captain stood and rounded to the opposite side of her desk, leaning against the edge of it. "Of course, sorry. I sometimes forget that you aren't one of my guards."

Hawke smirked and cocked her head to the side. "All business, Aveline?" She shrugged, dismissing the matter as unimportant. "In all truth, I am one of your guards. I have handled enough city guard business. I like to think of myself as an independent contractor."

At that, Aveline laughed softly. "True enough, you have been helpful. But you still don't work for me. I can't imagine you working for anyone. So, what can I do for you, Hawke?"

"I wanted to see how you were settling into married life." Hawke leaned against one of the office's massive bookcases. As spartan as the office was, one would think Aveline would at least have a few chairs. "You never said how your honeymoon in Orlais went?"

"You're right," Aveline smiled broadly, in a way that illuminated her whole countenance. "I didn't."

"That good?"

"Donnic is a good man, and I love him." Aveline shrugged her massive shoulders. "I should have realized it was as simple as that instead of complicating matters with all these ridiculous plans of courting him. Don't tell her I said this, but Isabela might have been right for once."

Hawke shook her head vehemently, imagining the pirate's reaction to Aveline's admission. "No. I'd never tell her. She would never let you hear the end of it."

"Good woman." Aveline cocked her head to the side and studied Hawke for a moment. "What's on your mind, Hawke? Not that I don't think you would drop by just to check on how Donnic and I are doing, but I've known you before today. Something is bothering you."

It was a statement, not a question. Aveline knew her better than anyone else, except perhaps Bethany. That was partly why she had come to the guard captain; she wanted to speak to her about Merrill, gain her perspective of the situation. Aveline was her best friend, someone who she trusted with more than just her life, but with her thoughts and feelings. There wasn't anyone in Kirkwall who she respected or admired more than the guard captain. Despite her being a little uptight, Aveline was trustworthy, loyal, and decent to her very core.

If anyone could help sort through her feelings, it would be her.

So Hawke told her. Everything. How she felt about Merrill, about walking into find Merrill unconscious in a puddle of her own blood, about losing her temper, what the Dalish elf had said to her, about fetching Isabela after Merrill had thrown her out.

When she finished, Aveline's expression had not changed. Hawke wondered how much of her own stoicism had been influenced by the guard captain, but then dismissed the thought. She had been stone-faced even as a child, so much so that her father had often joked that his eldest daughter had the perfect expression for Wicked Grace. "As loathe as I am to ask, what does Isabela have to say about this?"

Hawke felt her mouth dry with the question she had not anticipated. "Isabela has made it clear that there is only one thing she is interested in from me."

Aveline did not appear convinced. "It's never just the one thing, no matter how much both parties claim it is." She held up her hand to silence Hawke's protest. "I'm not judging; I just don't want to see you hurt, Hawke. But you came to me for help about Merrill, which why is beyond me. You saw how I botched it all up with Donnic."

"I don't need help with courting… If my mother hints one more time that she wants to see me married… What I need help with is…" Hawke frowned to herself, puzzling out exactly why she had come to Aveline. Certainly not for love advice. "I don't know what to do with Merrill."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"After last night? I want to thrash some sense into her." The ugly head of anger reared white hot within her again.

The guard captain stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Merrill isn't a child, Hawke."

"She is acting like one!" Hawke exclaimed and pushed off from the bookcase, pacing again. "I'm half-tempted to treat her like one."

"No you're not. That is just your anger speaking." Aveline raised both brows, the only indication that she was surprised by the outburst from her usually unperturbedly calm friend.

Hawke sighed and stopped pacing. "You're right. She is not a child. I know she seems foolish and naïve, but she isn't. She is actually incredibly intelligent, underneath all the… social awkwardness and timidity. That is why it is so frustrating that she chooses to engage in blood magic."

"I know she has to be intelligent. You're not in the habit of surrounding yourself with stupid people." The guard captain went to the bookcase behind her desk, opened a cabinet concealed to make look like just another row of books. She produced two small glasses and a canter of amber brown liquor. "Of course, not the most emotionally adjusted individuals. For all they hate one another, Fenris and Anders are consumed by the same hateful vengeance. The only romantic relationship Varric seems to allow himself is with his crossbow. Isabela is a lying, cheating, thieving whore, and Merrill trifles with blood magic to restore a broken mirror that does not even reflect anything. And I, a grown woman, can't even manage to court a man without the help of her best friend. But we are all reasonably intelligent."

"You make us all sound like a mess." Hawke grumbled and accepted the small glass of whiskey Aveline poured for her. It surprised her that the usually stuffy guard captain kept alcohol in her office, but realized it shouldn't. Everyone needed to decompress, even Aveline.

Aveline took a small sip from her own glass. "We are. My point is, everyone is a mess. We all have our own emotional messes. But also know you wouldn't fall for someone stupid. Merrill is just awkward. I believe in my heart that she thinks she is doing the right thing trying to restore her people's history."

"It will destroy her. The ends don't justify the means, Aveline. We both agree on that." Hawke sipped the whiskey, relishing the pleasant burn of her throat as she swallowed. This was definitely better stuff than the Hanged Man ever served, meant to be savored rather than swilled.

"But we disagree on blood magic. I believe it's inherently evil. No matter how hard one tries to use it for good, it turns out evil."

Hawke shook her head. "I don't think it can be inherently evil. It was the first type of magic there was, after all. Magic isn't an evil, but I think there is something in the nature of blood magic that…" She frowned and took another sip. "consumes the user. It causes such a driving obsession that it drives the user to madness, to destruction."

"Then we get drawn into Ander's debate." Aveline smiled wryly. "Do good mages turn bad because of how they are oppressed? Or is it already in their nature? And the oppression comes because of their nature?"

"Having to listen to Anders is bad enough. Must I hear it from you as well?" Hawke was not in the mood to discuss the ever-constant issue of Mage against Templar. It was bad enough to see the manifestations of the debate regularly in the tasks they undertook, or listen to it from Anders and Fenris all the time. "I thought I was asking you about Merrill?"

"This is about Merrill." Evidently tired of standing, Aveline sat back behind her desk, holding her glass of whiskey in both hands. "You say you don't believe blood magic is intrinsically evil, yet you believe it will destroy her. So you've tried to… keep her from using it."

"Nothing I've done seems to work." Hawke muttered bitterly. She had denied Merrill the arulin'holm, tried to make it clear at every turn that she did not support blood magic, in fact, she had actively condemned the practice. What else could she do?

"Does she know how you feel? About her? She knows how you feel about blood magic, obviously."

"I've never told her, nor have I made it a secret."

"Hawke." Aveline rolled her eyes pointedly. "Everything you feel is a secret. You're about as obvious as Isabela is discreet."

Opening her mouth, Hawke realized she did not have a reply. She had never given real thought to acting on her feelings before; she was too preoccupied with trying to keep the Dalish elf safe, with protecting with her, usually in ways that made Merrill angry with her.

Did Merrill have feelings for her? Or was she too angry, too bitter towards Hawke for meddling in her efforts with the Eluvian, sabotaging her work? If Hawke confessed her feelings, would Merrill reciprocate them, would she stop using blood magic, would it change anything at all? Or would Merrill simply laugh at her, mock her for thinking that the love of a human could ever change her aspirations for her people? Or even worse, and more likely, would Merrill pity her?

No, it had always been enough for Hawke simply to protect the elf, from the outside world, from Fenris, from herself. But now Aveline had given her doubts.

"Do you think I should tell her?"

"It would have saved me a lot of trouble and humiliation if I would have just told Donnic." Aveline shrugged and poured a little more whiskey into her glass. "Only you can decide what is right, but I think if you made your feelings known, it might help clear things up for the two of you. And if nothing else, you should know if you're wasting your time on someone who cannot return your affections."

"You're right." Hawke threw back the last sips of her whiskey in one large sip that stung the back of her eyes. "Thank you, Aveline. For the talk… and the whiskey. I never knew you had such fine taste in liquor."

Snorting, the guard captain took Hawke's glass. "You should know that because I never drink any of that swill they serve at the Hanged Man."

Hawke felt lighter than she had in ages. Aveline had not so much as given her advice, as guided her through her feelings and led her to a conclusion. That was why she liked Aveline; she didn't simply give the answers, she talked things out, counseled Hawke to reach her own decisions.

Though, Hawke knew that even if Merrill did not return her feelings, even if nothing came of Hawke's admission, that she would not stop trying to protect the elf. Her feelings were not contingent on Merrill returning them. There was nothing she would not give, nothing she would not do to keep her safe, even if that meant Merrill hated her, even if the elf could not, would not love her. Hawke would always do what was right by her.

Voices could be heard from inside the estate even before Hawke pushed open the door. Sandal was happily clapping at something, "Enchantment!" He cried ecstatically. "Enchantment" was his standard exclamation of pleasure for when anything made him happy or pleased him, regardless of whether or not it was actually an enchantment.

"No, Leandra," Uncle Gamlen's voice was frustrated. "Le-an-dra!"

Hawke smiled at her uncle's exasperation and was tempted to linger in the foyer while he attempted to communicate with Sandal. Taking pity on the poor man, she entered the high-ceilinged hall where Gamlen and Sandal spoke circles around one another.

"What's wrong, Uncle?"

"There you are!" Gamlen seemed relieved to see Hawke, even more relieved to not have to try to speak with Sandal any longer. "Where is your mother? Is she feeling alright?"

"I'm sure she is fine," Hawke assured him, wondering if he had visited the Hanged Man before stopping by the estate. "Why wouldn't she be?"

[cue dramatic music]

I really hope to get this tooth taken care of soon because I want to be able to devote as much clear-headed attention as I can to this. Again, I apologize if this sucks. I lack any ability to make responsible decisions at this point. And I truly hate it when people blame their shitty writing on alcohol/drugs, but in this instance, I'm not getting smashed for funsies and then inflicting my horrible writing on the rest of the world. I have a legitimate reason for using the meds, but perhaps I shouldn't write until I'm off of them...

Anygay, please review. Pretty please. It only takes a second. And for every review you leave, a kitten is saved by flying monkeys.