Hi guys, sorry, I know it's been a while. I did my best. I wanted to write some of Merrill's companion quest, but it felt too rushed, and then it sort of turned into this chapter. Not a lot happens. I'm still working on advancing the story (and the romance) but it doesn't want to be written. SO it's taking a lot longer than I thought. Still fun, though!
Credit to RVOne for the idea to have Hawke sit her mother down for a little talk; she has been enjoying playing the noble Amell again far too much and being too controlling. She has her reasons, though.
Chapter 11
xxx H xxx
...The town looks just as I remember it; simple, rustic country houses nestled together in a sleepy little valley by a calm, quiet river. Trees and bushes dot the rolling hills surrounding the outskirts in a protective half-circle, with the grey raised stones of the Imperial Highway forming a stern defending wall at the edge of town. I sweep my gaze fondly over the idyllic scene below, sitting half upright with my back against the grand old tree on the hilltop high above the town, the Chantry below us and the windmill and the grain fields to the right, my legs stretched out over the cool green grass as Merrill leans against my side. My arm curls about her slender waist, pulling her against me, and I feel the warmth of her even here, in my dream. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember wishing I didn't have to fall asleep; now I wonder why. This is perfect, wonderful. I could stay here forever. But my treacherous consciousness reaches out, drawing me away, leaving me torn between dream and reality and for the first time in my life, I am afraid to leave the dangers of the Fade dream; what if I wake and she's not there? It seems so real; the feel of her against me, but what if this is part of the dream too? The world flickers, the light blinks briefly into darkness...
...and instead of the feel of soft grass beneath me I feel a hard, unyielding mattress; instead of the gentle touch of the sun on my skin I feel the course, rough fibres of a worn cotton blanket. But... I can still feel her beside me, against me, warming me, and it's as real there as it is here. My sleeping mind trembles, wavering between the warm presence in the dream and in truth...
...and then the world suddenly brightens again as Lothering reappears, unbroken, unspoiled; just as I wish to keep it in my memory. I look at Merrill, smiling lovingly as I tighten my arm around her and raise my other hand, pointing to a small house right on the edge of the town, nestled snugly against the Highway wall beside a lush green meadow. Our old house; Mother, Father, Carver, Bethany and me; all squeezed in together in a warm, cosy little cottage, as far from the Chantry and its Templars as possible. The last place I truly thought of as home. Merrill looks up at me, smiling sweetly, and a feeling of pure joy courses through me, suffusing my entire being. She is my home now. Wherever we are. The wavering misty half-light of the Fade curls around us, tiny golden beams of dancing light setting off the forest green of her eyes, and they draw me into their depths, keeping me firmly here on our shared dream path, just a little longer. We have met no danger here tonight, no shades or demons seeking out our sleeping minds. They've left us alone completely. We are stronger together, it seems. I smile at her again, and then lift my head as the landscape suddenly shifts; houses becoming tall, magnificent trees; chickens, dogs and oxen replaced by songbirds, squirrels, and beautiful creatures like white stags, with twisting, curling antlers. Are they... halla? I've never seen one this close before, but they must be. They are utterly lovely; majestic and mystical, with a gleam of intelligence in their dark liquid eyes...
...In another world I am half aware of the rosy dawn light shining through the gaps in the ceiling, small pricks of sunlight shoving their way determinedly beneath my eyelids, compelling me to wake, becoming more and more persistent as I struggle to cling to the dream. Merrill's dream. It's so beautiful. Just as she is. I win the battle, sinking back down, away from the light of day, back to the trees and the birdsong, and...
...Merrill stands and takes my hand, pulling me with her, her fingers intertwining with mine as we walk slowly through the trees. I gaze about in wonder. The Fade offers only a pale reflection of the waking world; the Brecilian Forest must be beautiful indeed, if the truth behind the Fade's echo surpasses the beauty of this dreamscape. The trees tower above us, limbs stretching as though in glorious exaltation toward the blue sky above, leaves dappled green and gold in the bright sunlight. The tiny songbirds that flit between the branches like winged jewels sing joyfully as they dart about us, their music accompanied by a sweet counterpoint from the soft, melodious splashing of a small clear stream. Merrill leads me to the edge of the water, leaping nimbly onto a fallen tree trunk spanning the breadth of the brook, laughing as she beckons me to follow, walking across the log and bounding to the opposite bank with an easy, catlike grace. She seems so sure of herself, so much more at home in this place, even if it is but a dream. I smile, and climb up to cross after her as best I can, though I cannot match her graceful movements. I spent many of my childhood years roaming and playing in the woods surrounding Lothering, but Merrill is elven, a child of the Dalish; I can't begin to compare to the grace and skill of one who grew up wandering barefoot through the forests of Ferelden and the untamed woods of the Korcari Wilds. Merrill takes my hand again as I reach the other side, leading me up a small hill, and then she stops, pointing down into the little tree-filled valley below us. I look down, peering through the trees, wondering what she's trying to show me, and then I blink in awe and amazement as the trees themselves begin to move; gliding across the earth in a slow, graceful dance, twining and twirling elegantly about each other, for all the world like tall, leafy nobles at a Hightown ball. Sylvans! I laugh in child-like wonder, gazing in delight at the scene below us, hearing Merrill's pleased giggle at my exuberant joy. Suddenly I feel my mind pull harder, and know I cannot fight it any longer. I am waking. I turn to Merrill to warn her, but the world dissolves, my hand fading from hers as my spirit flees the Fade...
... and I open my eyes to the morning light, blinking sleepily, my mind slowly readapting to reality as I struggle to clear my sleep fogged thoughts. She was there, in my dreams. She was. Not a reflection, or a memory, or a wish, but her, really her, showing me places and things I've never seen, things that the Fade could never have pulled from my mind. Those memories must have been hers. What happened last night... it was real, it has to be; I won't be able to take it if it was simply another wishful dream.
My eyes open completely, and I gaze around, slowly focusing on my surroundings. Rough wooden walls in a small, sparse room, a slightly sagging clay-tiled roof above, with dawn sunlight shining merrily through the many holes... This is definitely not the estate. I'm... I'm in Merrill's house, in her room. In her bed. With her. I truly am. I feel a slight weight on my chest, and a warm body against my side, in my arms, and I tighten my hold to convince myself that she won't disappear, she won't fade away. I look down hesitantly and see a mussed tangle of short braided hair, the pointed tip of an ear poking adorably through the raven strands. She's there. She's really there, her body pressed to mine, her head still resting on my chest just where it was when I fell asleep; her small hand clutching a fistful of my shirt, over my heart.
It wasn't a dream. Oh, thank the Maker. A wide, happy smile curves my lips, and I draw my arm from beneath the blanket, lifting my hand gently to her sleeping face, fingertips stroking softly along her cheek as I gaze in awe at her ethereal beauty. She stirs at my touch, giving a tiny sigh, and her eyes open little by little, blinking dreamily as they focus slowly on mine. She gazes at me almost dazedly for a moment, then draws in a deep breath, almost a gasp, and her eyes widen, her lips parted slightly as though in surprise.
"Hello," I say softly, smiling down at her.
"Hawke," she whispers, and then a sweet, glorious smile breaks across her lovely features in return as she lets out a delightful giggle. "It's you, you're... you're here, with me. You really are!" Her eyes sparkle with wonder and joy as she gazes up at me, but then her smile fades suddenly, and she lifts her head to examine my face more closely, a worried expression creeping over her own. "You are, aren't you? I'm not still dreaming, am I?"
She's having as much trouble believing it as I did, it seems. No point in telling her I questioned it myself, though; that would hardly help to convince her. "You're the one who told me this wasn't a dream, remember," I remind her affectionately, sitting up a little and raising my hand to the tiny worried crease between her brows, running the pad of my thumb over it, smoothing it away. "Not reconsidering your position, are you? I'm real, I promise."
Her smile returns, though it's a little more hesitant than before. "I just... I still can't really believe it. You're really here!" Her smile slips a little, and she frowns again anxiously. "Although, if you were a dream, you'd probably tell me you were real and not a dream at all, wouldn't you, because that's what I would want you to say, and so how can I really be sure-"
I lean forward quickly and kiss her, effectively halting her nervous rambling and giving her undeniable proof of my corporeality. She makes a muffled noise as my mouth meets hers, and for a moment I'm half convinced she'll try to keep talking. But she falls silent and accepts the kiss, then surprises me by suddenly returning it more fiercely and taking control, pressing my head back down against the pillow almost forcefully with the strength of her ardour as she leans over me. She pulls back a little, gazing at me wide-eyed, apparently a little surprised at herself, and then closes her eyes and leans down again more slowly, gently brushing her soft lips against mine again and again, sweet little touches that make my heart race just as fast as the passionate kiss she gave me a moment ago. I raise my hand to touch her hair, marvelling at its silky feel, closing my eyes as I return her gentle kisses with all the tenderness I possess.
Finally she leans down again on more time, letting her lips linger, drawing out the contact, the feel of her mouth on mine so sweet and wonderful I have to remind myself to breathe. I stroke my fingers along the rim of her ear, then let my fingertips run lightly over the skin of her slender neck, just below the junction of throat and delicate earlobe. She trembles against me as I do so, an involuntary little shiver of pleasure running through her body, and she breaks the kiss with a small, delightful gasp. I smile to myself; it seems I've discovered a sensitive place. How very interesting. I must remember that.
"Convinced?" I ask, gazing up into her sweet face as her eyes slowly flicker open.
"Yes," Merrill breathes, her voice hushed with quiet wonder, then she sits up slowly on the bed, her eyes locked on mine, as though afraid to look away from me in case I disappear. It seems a little further reassurance is in order. I rise as well, throwing the blanket aside and wrapping my arms lightly around her waist, causing her to giggle happily and twist a little, moving closer to me so she can throw her arms about my neck and plant another tender kiss on my lips. Well. She's certainly grown bolder since last night, that's for certain. She tilts her head a little, cupping her hand against the back of my head and pressing me into her, and I feel the darting tip of her tongue across my lips as her mouth opens ever so slightly. My heart skips in thrilled surprise. Bolder, indeed. I respond to her wordless suggestion and allow her greater access, letting her deepen the kiss at her own pace. I moved too quickly last night and let myself get carried away; I won't scare her like that again. Whatever happens between us; every step will be her choice. I will make certain of that this time. I let my fingers find that little place on her throat again, stroking gently, and she hums with pleasure as another little tremor runs through her. I smile into her kiss, filled with fascination and delight that my touch elicits such a response from her.
Eventually she draws back, and I have to suppress a petulant whimper, reluctant to let her lips leave mine. I slowly open my eyes to find her gazing at me with a slightly apprehensive look, and suddenly a small knot of anxiety starts to form in my stomach at her expression. I watch her nervously. What's wrong? I didn't think that was too fast, was I mistaken?
Fortunately, I don't have long to fret.
"Did I do that right?" she asks in a small voice, revealing the source of her concern as her eyes searching mine worriedly.
So that's what's bothering her. It's not anything that I've done, thank the Maker. I sigh inwardly with relief, though my heart clenches a little at the fearful look in her eyes. She's bolder, but somehow still so doubtful, so uncertain. Well, I'll just have to do my best to fix that, won't I?
I tighten my arms about her waist, nodding slowly as I hold her gaze. "Oh, yes," I say fervently, my voice low and intense with the strength of my conviction. "Absolutely."
She giggles, and looks down, suddenly shy, a burning blush covering her cheeks and spreading all the way to the pointed tips of her ears, which I make note of in utter fascination. "Oh, good. I'm glad. I thought I was doing alright, at least, I tried to do what you showed me last night, with that... that thing you did... you know... with your tongue."
I make a sound of appreciation deep in my throat, smiling widely. "Mmm. I noticed." I cock my head to the side, regarding her in mock-thoughtfulness. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" I tease gently.
She shakes her head slightly; worry clear in her eyes, and opens her mouth, probably to tell me in an adorably rambling flow of hurried words that she really hasn't; that she was telling the truth, she was, really! I give my head a mental shake; she still has a tendency to take my words far too literally, I keep forgetting that. I hold up a finger quickly, touching it gently to her lips before she can speak.
"Because that was perfect," I tell her seriously. Or at least, in as serious a tone as I can currently manage. I find it's hard to sound serious whilst wearing a foolish, giddy smile from ear-to ear, like I am right now. "Just... wonderful."
She giggles again, blushing, and smiles back at me before leaning forward a little, pressing her forehead against mine, gazing into my eyes. "I'm pleased you liked it."
I smile even wider if possible, nuzzling her nose affectionately as I gaze back at her, losing myself in those beautiful deep green pools of light. "Oh, I did indeed. Very much."
We stay like that for a few moments, marvelling at seeing our own blissful expressions mirrored in each others' eyes, and then Merrill pulls away, sitting up straighter as her face grows worried again. Maker, how can she go through so many mood changes so quickly? It's making me dizzy, not to mention a little anxious. She rubs her hand through her hair, the way she does when she's nervous. Or when she wants to ask me a charmingly awkward question. Or both. I loosen my hold on her a little so I can lean back to watch her face, waiting patiently for her to overcome her shyness.
She drops her hand suddenly, twisting her fingers together in her lap, and then looks up at me timidly. "So... what do we do now?"
I gaze at her silently for a moment, blinking back a look of bewilderment. Is that all? Why was she nervous about asking me that? Unless she was just worried I'd be upset that she's being practical. She needn't worry; I suppose we do have to start thinking about what needs to be done today, after all. One of us has to be sensible. I sigh regretfully. As appealing as it would be to simply stay here with her, the business of the day awaits. And I did promise to go with her to see the Keeper. "We get up, I suppose."
She blinks, looking confused. "We... oh, yes, we probably should do that too, but... that wasn't really what I meant."
It wasn't? I feel a puzzled frown cross my own features, my expression still mirroring hers. "What did you mean, then?"
Merrill bites her lip in consternation, lowering her head as her delicate brows come together in thoughtful concentration, evidently searching for the right words to express herself. "What... what happens now, with us?" she asks after a moment, and rubs nervously at her head again, before she lifts her gaze to my face. "With... with us... courting, I mean? I don't really know what should happen, I've... I've never done this before, not even among my own people, but... oh, but I told you that already, didn't I?" She ducks her head, shaking it slightly before looking back up at me beseechingly. "I'm sorry, it's just... I don't really know what is supposed to happen, now."
Ah. I see. I feel a wide grin spreading across my face at the term she's chosen to refer to our budding relationship. Courting. Maker, she's adorable.
I smooth my features, trying to organise my thoughts enough to give her an answer. This is unfamiliar territory for me too, and I feel the need to move carefully, delicately. What we have is still so new, so fragile. Whatever happens, I don't want to do anything to ruin it. I have to say this right. I look into her eyes, feeling a familiar jolt through my heart as I gaze into their shining emerald depths, and for the second time this morning I find myself unable to remember how to breathe. Perhaps I should take to carrying notes to refer to, just in case; at least when I'm around her.
After a moment I recall how to make my lungs work, and I draw a deep breath, concentrating on the words I want to say to her. I meet her eyes again. "Now, we move forward, as fast or slow as you feel is right for you. This..." I hesitate for a fraction of a second to suppress an amused smile, "...courting... is new for me too, and so... I really have no expectations on what should happen, myself. But I want you to know..."
I pause briefly, and then slowly lean in toward her, very gently pressing my lips to hers in a small, sweet kiss. She closes her eyes, responding eagerly, and I pull back gently after a moment, smiling at her as her eyes slowly open again, meeting mine with unrestrained joy. I hold her gaze seriously, my voice filling with sincerity as I reach over to take her hand. "You never have to worry about me, Merrill. Whatever happens, I want you to feel comfortable and certain. Safe." I press my fingers into her palm, feeling a renewed surge of joy and affection as I look at her; so pure, so beautiful. "Just know that I am wonderfully happy simply to be near you."
She looks at me, eyes shining, and her mouth trembles. "Oh, Hawke..." She leans forward and hugs me, burying her face against my shoulder. "I always feel safe with you, ma vhenan."
I blink at her use of the unfamiliar elven words. I don't think I've heard her say that before, not that particular phrase anyway. Not that I'd really know, of course; the only elven word I know is 'shemlen'. I think I know what that means, or I ought to by now; I hear it often enough from the elves around Kirkwall, even the alienage elves. Aveline told me it was a racial slur for humans; the equivalent of 'knife ear', I suppose. At least whenever some idiot calls them that stupid name, they have something to strike back with.
I shake my head a little at myself; what am I doing getting distracted with thoughts like that when I have Merrill in my arms? I smile at my foolishness and run my hand down her back a little, stroking gently, enjoying her warmth. She's always so warm; warmer than I am, than most humans, come to think of it. At least in my experience. Perhaps elven blood runs hotter than ours? I can't say I've really been this close to either humans or elves enough times to be able to be sure, but if so, I wonder why that could be? It's intriguing. Or perhaps... I let my hand rest gently on the back of her neck, fingers gently caressing her soft, warm skin, and she sighs, pressing her head more firmly against me. Perhaps it's just her.
"We really should get up though," I remind her reluctantly after a few moments. "The sun is quite bright; it must be mid-morning already. Would you still like to go to Sundermount today?"
She sits up slowly to look at me, nodding. That worried look is back in her eyes again. She really is anxious about it. "I don't know if I'd say it's something I'd like to do, exactly, but yes, if we could go and do that, get it out of the way, I would be grateful." She pauses, a thought apparently occurring to her. "I think we might need another person to help us, though. The Keeper is not likely to simply give me the arulin'holm." Her face falls a little, traces of sorrow and resentment suffusing her lilting voice as she shakes her head angrily. "She does not want to help me fix the eluvian, after all, so she'll probably ask me to do a task for her in order to earn it, and she will try her best to make it something impossible, to make certain I can't complete it."
I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling suddenly uneasy. This is starting to sound like it may take longer than I thought. "That seems excessive, not to mention a bit sneaky, really," I comment lightly, trying to disguise my concerns. 'What sort of monumental task are we talking about?"
"I... I don't know, exactly," Merrill says, frowning, a slight note of worry coming into her tone. She looks up at me, and her expression suddenly clears as she smiles into my eyes. "But whatever it is she comes up with, I know we won't fail. We can't. Not if you're there, Hawke." Oh, Merrill. I feel a warm glow in my chest at the earnest faith in her voice. "But still, it would be nice if we had a bit of help," she continues thoughtfully before I can say anything. "Maybe Isabela, or Varric? They won't mind helping me with this, not like Anders or Fenris. And I don't really know that Sebastian fellow very well yet; so far both times I talked to him, he just tried to get me to turn to the light of Andraste and the Maker, so I don't really think he'd be very supportive of doing a favour for a... a 'maleficar', somehow," she says, pronouncing the unfamiliar Imperial word with deliberate care.
I laugh quietly at that. "You're probably right. He seems an alright sort so far, though I've only met with him a couple of times myself. But yes, I don't think he'd be particularly keen. And after all, we wouldn't want him to risk getting his nice shiny armour all dirty, would we?" I pause, considering our remaining options. No one left, really, except Aveline, although I think she's on duty this morning unfortunately, doing important Guard-Captainy things around the city. Which will probably make it somewhat difficult for her to go traipsing up and down mountains with us; meaning she's off the hook, for today at least. It's a shame; Aveline might not truly approve of Merrill's blood magic any more than I do, if I'm honest with myself, but at least she won't give Merrill grief about it. I nod decisively. "Isabela or Varric it is then, or possibly both, if they're available."
I stand and stretch, hearing the oddly satisfying little cracks of tautening muscle and tendon as I raise my arms, my fingers almost brushing against a particularly saggy place in Merrill's ceiling. Maybe I should hire someone to come here and fix up her place a bit; and some of the other buildings in the alienage too if anyone wants it. Maker knows I've coin enough. Although, perhaps I should ask Merrill if she thinks that would be a good idea first; I don't want to injure anyone's pride. I look over at Merrill and abruptly lose my train of thought completely as I find her bending over to make her bed, affording me a very pleasant view in the process. I stand still, watching appreciatively as she leans over further to tuck her blanket in against the wall, and then feel a fierce blush creep over my cheeks as she suddenly turns her head to look at me. Caught. She blinks in surprise, and then gives me a bashful but slightly pleased little smile, and straightens, a little slower than strictly necessary. I rub at my neck, somewhat embarrassed that she caught me staring at her like that. Although she didn't seem to mind...
Alright, snap out of it. Things to do. Yes. Busy day. Busy, busy day.
I cast about for something to say to alleviate my mortification a little and look down, abruptly noticing the unfortunate state of my clothing; the fabric hopelessly crushed and creased after spending the night being slept in. I sigh regretfully. "I'd better go home and freshen up," I say, pulling uncomfortably at my wrinkled shirt. "And let Mother know I'm alive too, I suppose. She'll probably have a fit if she sees me with my clothes in this state." I sigh again as I picture her reaction if she sees me walking through Hightown like this. What a scandal it would be if the neighbours saw me in such a state of disarray.
I blink suddenly in confusion as I register the thought. Where did that come from? Since when do I care for their opinions? Personally, I think anyone who decides whether or not they should pretend to like you based on your fashion choices is a waste of clean air, so why in the Maker's name am I suddenly so worried about what they think now? I shake my head slightly in annoyance. It must be Mother's influence. I'm finding it difficult to reconcile the memory of the modest village woman who was perfectly comfortable going about her simple business wearing homespun dresses and sensible shoes with this noble matron who wears purple Orlesian silk and sequined slippers, and who becomes anxious about what the neighbours will think if a single hair is out of place, be it on her head or mine. She never wanted that sort of life back before we were forced to come here to Kirkwall, or at least she always seemed to be content with what we had. Surely she can't have been like this as a girl?
I pause, thinking. Maybe she is simply becoming absorbed in her new life as a way to fill the void left by everything she's lost these past few years. I feel a sad frown cross my features at that thought; she's lost so much. I understand her behaviour in this light, but I have suffered the same losses and I can't live the way she's trying to get me to. I could never be happy in that kind of life. I think it's time I had a proper talk with her.
I notice Merrill gazing at me with a worried expression, and I shake myself out of my serious thoughts to smile at her reassuringly. I will worry about it another time. I move over to sit by the fireplace, picking up my boots from the floor where I left them last night. She follows me into the room, and I look up at her as I pull them on. "Shall I meet you back at the Hanged Man?"
She nods, although her expression hasn't changed much. She seems a little absent, in fact. I can't account for this most recent odd change in mood, but it has me a little worried. Is she truly this worried about speaking to Marethari again? I frown in concern, tilting my head as I watch her.
"Merrill? Is something wrong?"
She blinks, startled, and looks at me with her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Oh... it's nothing, really, Hawke, only... did you mean it, what you said last night?"
I smile wryly before I can help myself; I think I might need just a little than that to go on in order to answer her question, somehow. "You may have to narrow it down a little. I said quite a few things."
She looks down for a moment, brushing a hand through her hair, and then meets my gaze hesitantly, taking a deep breath. "Do you... do you really think I'm... beautiful?"
I sit perfectly still for a moment, wondering at the disbelief and incredulity in her voice. Maker, how can she doubt it? I'm finding it a little hard to process. "Of course I do," I say quietly. "Why would I say it, if it wasn't true?" She shrugs a little, looking down, and I feel my heart constrict, watching her downcast expression. She... she really doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe I could find her beautiful, I just don't understand that. How can she not see just what she's worth, how could anyone not? I study her silently, taking in her compassionate leaf-green eyes, her delicate alabaster skin, feeling my pulse quicken as I let my gaze linger on her sweet, rosebud mouth, and then I rise slowly, walking back over to her and taking her hands in mine, searching out her eyes and holding them, determined to say this right and put her mind at ease.
"Merrill," I begin softly, making sure I own her complete attention. She clearly needs to hear this as much as I need to say it to her. "You are without question the most beautiful woman I've ever known, inside and out. Just looking at you makes my heart... well, feel." I lift her hand and place it on my chest just inside the open collar of my shirt, letting her feel how fast it's beating, watching delightedly as a fierce blush spreads over her porcelain skin, accentuating her high cheekbones. "You're not only utterly captivating, you're also good, and compassionate, and kind; even to people who show you nothing but scorn and derision." Like Fenris, or Anders. Not to mention your own clan. "You're brave, and sweet, and you always place the well being of others far above your own, even people you've never even met. I'd love to spend some more time telling you just how wonderful you are, but... well, I'm not sure that words could ever be sufficient." I take her gently into my arms, my eyes not leaving hers, willing her to believe it, to believe me. "To put it simply; yes. You are beautiful, Merrill, more than anyone I've ever had the privilege to know. So please..." I lower my head, capturing her lips with mine in a soft, tender kiss. "Don't ever doubt that."
Merrill smiles at me with joy and gratitude, and her eyes are shining again, as though with unshed tears. She rests her head against my chest with a muffled, almost tearful laugh. "Ma vhenan," she whispers again softly, pressing her palm more firmly against me where it still rests over my heart. Those words again. I wrap my arms more tightly around her and hold her close, wondering what it means. I have half a mind to ask her, but I don't really want to spoil the moment. I'm sure it means something nice in elven, and that's good enough for me right now. I frown slightly, recalling again the disbelieving expression I saw in her eyes. I thought I noticed the same look there last night; the first time I told her how beautiful she is. I just can't fathom it. Why would I have said it if I didn't feel it myself? That she has no concept of her own beauty is just yet another aspect of her charm, I know, and yet... I can't help but be surprised by the strength of her reaction, her disbelief. I can see I will have to dedicate some time to making her see it for herself. I smile to myself at that thought, my mind already filling with delightful thoughts on all the different ways I can show her just how I feel. No harm in starting now.
I kiss the top of her head gently, stroking my hand lightly over her back. "Feel better?"
She nods without lifting her head, not letting go of me. If anything she clings tighter. "Yes," she whispers. "You always make me feel better, Hawke."
I smile at that. "Glad to hear it. I try." I hold her for a few moments more, and then gently pull away, conscious of the morning rapidly slipping away from us. "We'd better get a move on if we're going to get this tool of yours from the Keeper today."
Merrill nods again, her eyes growing a little wider. "Oh... y-yes. You're right, of course. We should go."
The anxious little tremor in her voice does not escape my notice, and I smile reassuringly at her, reaching out a hand to sweep an errant lock of hair out of her face. "Don't be nervous. I'll be with you, remember? It'll be alright, you'll see."
She leans into my hand, beaming at me. "Thank you, Hawke," she says gratefully, and then gives a little sigh and steps back, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her room. "I'd best get ready then, I suppose."
I nod, lowering my hand with extreme reluctance, and take a couple of slow steps backwards towards the door, wishing I could just stay a little longer. I really don't want to leave her. "Alright," I agree, my unwillingness clearly showing in my voice."I'll meet you at the Hanged Man later, then."
I smile at her as she gives me a shy little wave, biting her lip with a reluctant expression of her own, and then she disappears slowly down the hall to her small washroom to freshen up. I have to force myself to step outside, closing her door softly behind me and ignoring the stares of the elves as I walk through the square, not caring what it must look like to them as I leave Merrill's house in the same clothes I wore last night. I mount the steps out of the alienage, and start tracing a lonely path back to Hightown, planning my next moves out in my mind as I pace briskly along. The sooner I get myself cleaned up, the sooner I can get back to Merrill. If I'm quick and clever enough, maybe I can even get myself inside without attracting Mother's notice and avoid another well intentioned motherly lecture of the dangers of being out at night on my own. Not to mention the fuss she'll make over my appearance. I sigh as I picture that unpleasant scene. Such a confrontation would undoubtedly provide me with the perfect opportunity to instigate the talk I plan to have with Mother, but I would prefer it if it didn't happen this morning; Maker only knows how long such a conversation might go for, and I'd much rather help Merrill with her task first. The sooner we start out for Sundermount, the better. I shield my eyes, squinting against the harsh morning sun as I gaze up towards the shining walls of Hightown, fighting a sudden urge to drag my feet as I reach the base of the stairway and reluctantly begin to climb. Well, let's just hope the Maker has decided to look kindly on all his creations this morning, even apostates who defiantly mock his godly law by daring to want freedom. I could certainly use a bit of divine favour, for once.
No such bloody luck.
"Ah, it's good to see you this morning, Messere! Have you been out all night? My boy and I were quite worried about you!"
I groan inwardly as Bodahn's voice echoes loudly through the estate. The Maker has a sense of humour, it seems. Bloody flames, but I wish this place had a back door. Maybe I should have gone through the old Darktown entrance, although it's all safely shut up now. Which is why it didn't occur to me earlier, I suppose. I wish I'd taken up Isabela's offer to teach me how to pick locks; then maybe I'd have considered it as an option before this. Much too late now, unfortunately.
"Bodahn, is that my daughter?" Mother's voice rings through the stone walled hall of the entranceway, and I cringe slightly at her the mix of worry, relief, and reprove in her tone.
"Yes, Mistress Amell, she's in the entrance hall. Only just came home, it seems!"
An audible sigh escapes me this time and I rub at my forehead, suppressing my annoyance. He didn't mean any harm, after all. Just doing his self-imposed duty. "Thank you, Bodahn; that will be all." He smiles his good-natured smile and bows deeply. I wish he wouldn't do that; it makes me very uncomfortable. My dog suddenly appears in the doorway, his stubby tail wagging furiously as he sees me and rushes over, jumping around me as he lets out a series of loud, happy barks. I smile and lean down to scratch him behind his ear before straightening, nodding absently to Bodahn as I move over to the open doorway. I step through into the parlour hesitantly and see Mother rising from her chair by the fire as my faithful hound trots happily over to her, curling up on the rug with a contented canine sigh. Mother steps delicately around him and strides over to me quickly, the chilling look of anger on her face completely at odds with her actions as she folds me into a crushing hug, holding me tightly.
"Oh, thank the Maker. I was so worried! Where have you been? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mother," I reply, patting her back in reassurance, nimbly sidestepping her first question by answering the second; the one with the less awkward answer. I return her fierce hug, trying to reassure her, though I do feel a little annoyed. It was only one night after all, and it isn't like I can't take care of myself. There's no need for her to be so worried. I laugh at myself a little as I hear my own thoughts. Maker, I sound like Carver. I suppose he must have felt the same way about being mothered like this. Oh, dear brother, I think I understand you a little better now.
She steps out of the hug and leans back, her hands gripping my shoulders as she looks me up and down, a disapproving frown forming on her face. I sigh under my breath. Here we go... "By the Maker, look at the state of you! Just look at your hair! You look as though you slept in a barn." Her frown deepens, and she plucks disdainfully at my shirt. "And what are you wearing? What happened to the clothes you wore to meet with the Viscount?"
I blink in startled surprise, realising I have absolutely no idea. "Uh..."
Perhaps I left them in Isabela's rooms at the Hanged Man? I doubt if I'll ever see them again, if so; she could hardly have failed to recognise their value, and she would freely interpret my leaving them there as a sign that she could have them. Not that I would mind in the least if she got rid of those pretentious rags for me. I hope she gets some good coin out of it.
Mother shakes her head at my reticent silence. "I suppose you got into some sort of trouble with your friends again, got yourself covered in blood and ruined them, is that it?"
"Um... yes." That excuse works well enough. I meet her eyes, resisting the urge to hang my head in contrition and scuff my foot ruefully against the floor, like a youngster scolded for playing in the dirt. "I'm sorry, Mother." Maker, how can she still make me feel like an unruly child?
She sighs, shaking her head a little. "It doesn't matter, love. As long as you're alright. We can always order another set from Jean-Luc, he has your measurements, after all. But I do wish you hadn't come in the front door looking like that. What if someone saw you? The Arenbergs are dreadful gossips. Just think of the damage to your reputation!"
This time I barely manage to suppress a frustrated groan. To the Void with my Maker damned 'reputation'. "I'm certain no one saw me, don't worry."
"Good," she says firmly, and abruptly takes my arm in hers, guiding me over to the stairs up the bedchamber wing. I stumble a little before I manage to match her brisk pace. "Now, I think we'd better get you freshened up, and dressed in something a little more respectable. Come along, and I'll help you pick something out before we draw you a bath. You do remember we have a garden party at the Compte de Launcet's mansion to attend this afternoon, don't you?"
My heart sinks; I had completely forgotten. Or perhaps blocked it out. I feel my resolve strengthen; I've had about enough of these ridiculous parties. As much as I wished to avoid it earlier, I am afraid it might be time to have that talk now. "Actually, Mother, I-"
But she doesn't hear me; she keeps talking right over the top of my protests. "I hear Lady Harimann will be there, as well as both of her sons. I haven't met either of them, but I'm sure you'd get along. The Harimanns are a highly respected noble family, you know. One of the oldest in Kirkwall, in fact."
"Mother-"
"And Dulci de Launcet hinted that Saemus Dumar, the Viscount's boy, might even make an appearance," she continues, the excitement clear in her refined, gentle voice. "Now, wouldn't that be something! You've met him before, haven't you? You rescued him from kidnappers on the Wounded Coast a few years ago, if I remember correctly?"
I blink, momentarily distracted by this apparent change in topic. "That's debateable. I'm not certain he was ever in any real danger."
She pats my arm as we start up the stairs. "Still, it makes for quite a connection between you both. I'm certain he's grateful to you, even a little enamoured, I believe, or so goes the gossip in the Viscount's court. We could work with that, you know." I bite my tongue against the irritated growl that threatens to burst from my lips. Not so off-topic after all, then. "He seems a fine young man, does he not? So handsome. And to think," Mother muses as she leads me past her room, "one day, he will be Viscount. Imagine; my daughter, the Viscountess of Kirkwall..."
This is going too far. I stop walking abruptly, halting at the top of the landing by the door to my bedroom. "Mother, please! Stop this. I am not interested in marrying any nobleman's son, no matter how nice or handsome or... or well connected you think he might be."
She looks at me calmly at my outburst, the patient, loving look on her face not making this any easier. "I know you don't like me meddling in your affairs, sweetheart, but trust me. I can help you to make a respectable marriage. You're of a good age for it now, after all, you really should be thinking about it. I want to see you happily settled; with security and a family." She turns and walks into my bedroom, opening the door to my wardrobe and perusing the contents with a critical eye, looking for something decently noble. I haven't the heart to tell her it's a pointless search.
I follow after her, determined not to be put off. "But that isn't the kind of family or happiness I want. It isn't the kind of life I want."
"You deserve a good match," she says over her shoulder as she picks out a blue silk tunic from the clothing rack inside the closet door. She peers at it thoughtfully for a moment, lips pursed in contemplation, and then shakes her head abruptly and puts it back. "And I am determined to give you all that you are due as the scion of the Amells."
"I'm a Hawke," I remind her, my voice a little harder then I intended. "And proud of it."
She waves a hand dismissively. "You are as much an Amell as you are a Hawke; even more so in the eyes of the nobility here. You're beautiful, intelligent and capable; any young nobleman in Kirkwall would be fortunate indeed to call himself your husband."
I sigh in exasperation. "What if I don't want a husband? Mother, I've seen all the so called 'noblemen' in this town, and I can hardly see how most of them are in any way deserving of the title. It's a contradiction in terms when applied to the majority of them; and to be fair, that goes for the noble ladies too. You can't seriously believe I could ever love any of them, can you?"
Mother glances back at me, giving me a measured look. "Love isn't necessarily the most essential aspect of a good marriage," she says quietly after a minute.
I gape at her incredulously. What? I never thought I'd hear something like that from her, of all people. I shake my head slowly, still staring at her in utter disbelief. "How can you say that? You always said love is more important than money, more important than anything! What about you and Father?"
She pauses in her examination of a black silk shirt, and stands completely still, the moments dragging out slowly as she remains silent and unmoving, and then she suddenly gives a deep, sad sigh. "I loved your father dearly. And I was happy enough with the life he provided for us. But when he... when he died, and you had to take responsibility for the family..." She looks at me briefly and then away, a pained expression on her face. "Oh, sweetheart, I know how hard it was for you to take care of us all; especially when we had to come here and Gamlen sold you into servitude under that dreadful mercenary thug. I know you had to do such terrible things, working for him."
My eyes widen, and my mouth drops open a little; I had thought I had kept her from hearing the worst of all that sordid business with the Red Iron mercenaries. Evidently I wasn't careful enough. I shudder involuntarily, thinking back to my first meeting with their vulgar leader, Meeran; remembering the leering look on his face as he ran his eyes appreciatively up and down my body. I had a bad feeling about working with him from the start after that, but Aveline and Carver seemed more comfortable with him than with the elven smuggler, if only marginally. Then... then, when the lecherous cretin let slip that Gamlen, bloody Gamlen, had actually told him that I was a mage... What could I do, standing there in the Gallows with the entire stock of Templars within easy bellowing distance? I had to accept. And from that day on Meeran was always very quick to remind me of how he was 'protecting' me from the notice of the Templars, never failing to add how easily that could change if I displeased him, or... tried to avoid him running his groping hands all over me whenever he caught me alone. I feel my features twist in disgust as my mind suddenly showers me with unwelcome memories, accompanied by ghosting sensations. The touch of calloused fingers dragging along the back of my neck as I sit on a crate in a dismal back alley, waiting for orders. The same filthy digits grasping at my hip as I pass him on my way to some foul job or another. I shiver abruptly and turn away from Mother, trying to hide my expression from her. She can't know, she mustn't; she'll feel terrible if she ever knows. I don't want her to know. I can't let her know, not ever. I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat as the memories get worse, almost feeling my back pressed up against a rough stone wall in a dark alley corner as he stands right in front of me, close, too close, hot, fetid breath in my face, burning my nose, stinking of cheap whiskey and the magebane potion he was always careful to have on hand around me. A rough hand slipping beneath my shirt, pawing at my breast, while the other runs over and down my back before dipping lower and squeezing, grasping. The sound of the gravelly voice in my ear; "Not a word, now, little mage, that's a good girl. Be a right shame to see such a fine specimen locked away in the Gallows, wouldn't it? And what would that do to your family, eh? Little brother would get himself killed in five minutes without his apostate sister looking out for him, now wouldn't he?" My fists clench in helpless rage, unable to do anything but lower my head in resignation at the truth of his words, and he grins, coarse fingers finding their way beneath my waistband, roaming, stroking, touching. "That's a good girl."
I take a deep, calming breath, and let it out slowly. Damn Gamlen to the Void for giving a man like that such leverage over me. I'm sure the only thing that kept him from taking advantage of it as often as he wanted was Carver. My brother, though initially somewhat... impressed by Meeran, still never fully trusted that rotten piece of work, and while I never told him, couldn't tell him, about Meeran's... attentions... he seemed to know something wasn't right, and he never left me alone for a moment longer than he had to, the whole year we worked for the Red Iron. Carver would have killed the bastard in a heartbeat if he knew Meeran hurt me, and Meeran knew it. It wouldn't have mattered to the bastard if the Red Iron or the Templars caught up with us after that; vengeance means nothing to a dead man. But Carver couldn't always be there. He had to go where Meeran sent him, and Meeran always seemed to come up with contracts that kept my brother in the field, and me... within easy reach...
I shake my head, a little too forcefully, pushing the dark memories away, and look up to find Mother watching me sadly. An anxious knot forms in the pit of my stomach at the expression in her eyes. She couldn't have known about him, could she? How could she know, nobody knew, not even Carver. She must simply mean the contract killings Carver and I had to perform, surely. Those were terrible enough, but I don't think I could stand her knowing just how awful that vile man was. I tried so hard to keep it all from her.
"I don't want you to have to live that way again, love," she says softly. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, having to... to kill people on command like that. Especially for you." So that's all she meant, after all. I hold in a profound sigh of relief, silently thanking the Maker; I couldn't stand her knowing the whole of what I went through to protect her and Carver, and to keep myself out of the Templars hands. "It wasn't so difficult for Carver, my little soldier, but you... you were always so sweet, so gentle," Mother continues, and then blinks rapidly, her face crumpling."Just like Bethany..."
I feel a deep twinge of grief in my chest, answered by the shining wetness that fills her eyes as she looks back up at me, her mouth trembling slightly. She takes a deep breath, attempting to regain her control. "A suitable marriage will ensure that you will always be fed, and comfortable. And safe," she says, gazing at me, her pale blue eyes swimming with love and unshed tears. "That's all I want for you, darling."
That's... that's why she's so determined to do this. I stare at her, trying to speak but unable to make my throat work. I... I think I understand, but... oh, Mother, this isn't what I want. Can't you see? She turns fully to face me and smiles gently, lifting a hand to cup my cheek lovingly. Andraste's pyre, she's making this so hard! "Above all else, I want you safe. Sweetheart, I'm only trying to do what's best for you." She strokes my cheek gently with the backs of her fingers, smiling kindly, sadly, and then turns back to her hopeless hunt for something respectable amongst my clothes.
Maker. I... I'm beginning to see her reasoning now, skewed as it may be. I know she's acting out of love and concern, and she only wants what's best for me, but... I rub at my forehead in consternation. I appreciate what she's trying to do, on some level at least. But this isn't what is best for me at all. How can I make her see? I think frantically for a moment, before my mind helpfully seizes upon the greatest logical flaw in her thinking. Of course. I suppress a grim smile. If this doesn't force her to realise the futility of her plans for me, then nothing will. It has to work.
It will work better if I lead her to the same conclusion, however, rather than just coming right out and saying it. I move to sit on my bed, watching her look through my modest wardrobe for a few moments before I finally manage to speak.
"Mother, why did you leave Kirkwall?"
She stops in her examination and turns to me, a puzzled look on her face at my sudden, somewhat incongruous question. "Because I met your father," she answers after a moment. She frowns a little as she looks at me in consternation. "You know that, darling."
"But why didn't you just stay here?" I ask persistently. "Why leave your family?"
Her frown deepens. "What is the point of these questions? I've answered them all before." I stay silent, watching her, and she sighs, apparently deciding to indulge me. "We had to leave Kirkwall because my family did not approve of your father. They would not have allowed Malcolm and I to marry."
"And why was that?" I prod her, even though I know the answer.
"Because he was a mage, of course..." She trails off, looking up at me suddenly as she grasps my point at last.
I smile a little sadly as I finish for her, holding her gaze pointedly: "And in marrying him, you were bringing more magic into the Amell line, not less, which is just what I would bring into such a marriage, isn't it? I'm a mage, Mother. An illegal mage. You can't have forgotten that. And I hardly think that any noble will want an apostate for a wife, do you?"
"You wouldn't have to tell him," she says, apparently without thinking.
Oh, Mother. I close my eyes briefly at her words, then look at her reproachfully. She gasps suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth, and then she lowers her head with a look of mortified shame.
"Maker, love, I'm so sorry! I... I don't know what's come over me. You could never live like that; hiding who you are. Neither could Malcolm." She looks up at me apologetically, her expression horrified. "I didn't realise I had become like this. I'm... Andraste forgive me, I'm acting just like my own mother! I'm sorry, it's just... you're all I have left, love." She gestures helplessly, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. "You're my baby, and... I just want to see you happy."
Her voice breaks a little, a single tear escaping to roll slowly down her cheek, and I rise abruptly and hug her, my concern for her at odds with my palpable relief. This is much more like the mother I remember. "I know, Mother. It's alright. Don't be upset, please."
She sniffs a little, clutching me to her fiercely. "I've been foolish. I of all people shouldn't be pushing you to marry into nobility for the sake of a title, or money. Forgive me, please." She gives a strained little laugh, wiping at her eyes. "I must have been possessed by the spirit of your grandmother, living here again. I'm sorry. You deserve to be happy." She cups my chin in her hand lovingly. "I want you to find someone who can give you as much love and happiness as I had with your father."
Her words instantly fill my mind with thoughts of Merrill, and a wide smile curves my lips. Mother looks at me questioningly, not failing to notice my expression, and I hesitate for a moment, considering whether or not to explain the reason for the sudden, moronically happy grin crossing my features. I'll have to tell Mother about her sooner or later. Might as well be now, I suppose, since we're being so open with each other. Now is as good a time as any. I bite my bottom lip for a moment, trying to get my expression under control, then meet her eyes; a little shyly, if I'm honest. I'm not entirely certain as to how she's going to react, after all; particularly considering the nature of our conversation thus far. "Well... you don't have to worry about that, Mother. I... I already have. Found someone, I mean."
Mother blinks in surprise, her mouth dropping open in a very unladylike manner. "But... When? I... I had no idea!" she stutters at last, grasping my hands excitedly. "Oh, my darling! That's... that's wonderful!" She winces slightly, shaking her head at herself reprovingly. "And here I was, throwing suitor after suitor at you; you must have been so vexed with me. Why didn't you say anything?" She pauses, and suddenly gives me a mock-stern look, though I can see she is trying to suppress a smile. "Is that why you were out so late, young lady?"
I feel a blush spread hotly over my cheeks. Uncomfortable. So very uncomfortable. "Well... yes, in a way, but not for the reason you think. Not exactly." My hand creeps to the back of my neck, and I make a conscious effort to lower it. "We weren't... I mean, we didn't... do anything." I cringe a little at hearing my own foolish words, feeling nothing so much like an awkward adolescent. Ugh, Maker, this is embarrassing. "It's all very new. We're going slowly."
"Who is it?" Mother presses insistently, evidently unwilling to accept my elusive reply. "One of those companions you spend so much time with?"
"I... yes, actually, but..." I hesitate, not entirely sure of how to tell her, suddenly regretting having said anything. It's not that I don't think she'll be supportive, at least, now that I've made her see how crazy her marriage plans for me were, but... I've never had this sort of talk before. I've never had anyone to tell her about. This is... awkward. And I'm certain it would probably take more time than I can afford to spare, right now. The walk to the Dalish camp is long enough; I need to hurry before the morning is completely gone.
"Would you mind if we discussed it later?" I ask, a little pleadingly, feeling like a coward as I hear the sightly whinging tone in my voice. But it's just so awkward! "Right now, I need to get washed and changed. I don't think I'll be making it to the de Launcet's party, I'm afraid. I have to go out again."
She frowns in disappointment, though whether her displeasure stems from my reluctance to discuss my personal affairs with her or my refusal to attend the Compte's garden party, I don't know. Probably both. "But you only just got in!" she protests. "Where are you off to this time?"
"Sundermount."
She blinks at me in confusion for a moment. "What on earth could you possibly need to go there for?" Mother asks incredulously, her brow creased in puzzlement.
I hesitate, wondering what to tell her. I'm hardly about to explain the full details of Merrill's request, after all. In the end I settle for vague. "Ah... Merrill needs my help with something."
Mother smiles then, an affectionate smile that lights her whole face. I feel my heart lift hopefully at her favourable reaction to the mention of Merrill's name. Well, that's encouraging. "Oh, of course. Merrill. A kind, sweet girl, that one. She often reminds me of Bethany, in a way," she says, her voice warm.
I grimace a little at that however, feeling highly uncomfortable at Mother drawing a comparison between the object of my affections and my little sister. Understandably, I think. I don't really see anything of my sister in Merrill, thankfully, and I certainly don't want to start. It's just too... no, I don't even want to think about it. My odd response to Mother's words does not escape her notice and she blinks at my expression, then gives me a measured, thoughtful sort of look. I suppose she's trying to decipher my reaction; it must have seemed rather strange to her, after all.
"She's such a dear little thing," Mother continues after a heavily weighted moment of silence, studying my face closely. "Although she always seems so slight and pale. I'm concerned she doesn't eat enough. You really out to bring her here more frequently for dinner, you know."
"I was already planning to bring her over, a lot more often, in fact," I say without thinking, and she smiles.
"Good. Why don't you bring her here tonight, then, after you get back from Sundermount?" she says decisively, and I can tell from her tone that it isn't a suggestion. "Mind you be careful out there, love, whatever you're helping Merrill with today. See that you take good care of her."
I smile again, I can't help it. "I intend to."
Mother smiles again too, suddenly, this time with a look of... satisfaction?
I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, which has become rather intense, knowing, even. "What?"
"It's Merrill, isn't it?" Mother looks at me, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "She's the one you meant. You're in love with her, aren't you?"
How did she... Maker, am I so transparent? My eyes widen involuntarily, and I stutter something unintelligible; whether a half-hearted and thoroughly unconvincing involuntary protest, or an exclamation of surprise, I honestly have no idea. It hardly matters, really. Whatever I managed to say, if anything, Mother has her answer now. I fall silent, gazing at her a little apprehensively, still reeling in astonishment. How did she know?
"I know love when I see it, or I ought to. And I certainly see it now," Mother says in answer to my unspoken question. "Although, I must say, you were remarkably easy to read. You smiled like a simpleton every time I mentioned her, just now. I really should have realised it sooner. I believe I would have, if I hadn't been behaving so blindly." I blush, speechless, and her smile widens. "Oh, sweetheart, you could have just told me, you know." She pauses, considering, and then shakes her head ruefully. "Although... the way I've been behaving... no, I suppose you wouldn't have thought you could. I'm happy for you, darling; I really am. You know I like Merrill. She's a wonderful girl."
I grin widely then, and without reservation. "She really is." I'm so glad she sees it too. And I'm so glad she's not upset with me over the whole 'make a good noble marriage' thing. I hesitate a moment as a thought occurs to me, and then tilt my head to the side a little, catching her gaze. "You... you do realise this means no grandchildren, right?" I point out, somewhat reluctantly.
She smiles a little, though there is a hint of sadness in her eyes that sends a small, painful jolt through my chest. "I am aware of that, love," she says quietly. "And I won't lie; another reason I wanted you to marry so desperately was to hear these halls filled with children's laughter again." I lower my eyes, and she reaches out suddenly, raising my head with her fingers firmly beneath my chin, meeting my eyes with her own kind, loving gaze. "But I meant what I said. I want you to be happy. And if Merrill makes you happy..."
"She does." This time, I feel the blissful smile that takes over my face. "Completely."
Mother smiles in answer. "Then that's all I need to know."
I hug her fiercely, suddenly overwhelmed, and she laughs gently, rubbing my back. "I love you, Mother. Thank you," I whisper, not trusting my voice enough to speak louder.
Her arms tighten about me. "I love you too, darling." She kisses my cheek gently, and then pulls back, patting my arm. "You'd better start getting ready to go, hadn't you?" she says briskly, suddenly all business again. "Hurry up and pick out something suitable for going trudging about on a mountain, and I'll have a bath ready for you in a few minutes. Mind you pick something nice as well as practical, sweetheart. And perhaps... something green? You look lovely in green. And..." she lowers her voice a little, glancing at me meaningfully. "If I'm not mistaken, Merrill rather likes that particular colour."
I give a surprised laugh at that, and nod, smiling at her gratefully, unable to speak. She smiles back gently and pats my arm again before turning to leave, gliding gracefully over to the door to my bedroom. I watch her go, a warm, happy feeling filling my heart. This talk went better than I could have imagined. And to know she approves of Merrill... I should have known Mother would guess, eventually; she always had a knack for reading my emotions, even if she isn't always correct about their source. I've never been so grateful for her easy ability to read me, when she has a mind to.
Mother pauses suddenly just before she steps through into the hallway, turning back slightly to regard me thoughtfully. "Just one thought, darling. About you, and Merrill..." she says after a brief moment, an almost mischievous glint in her eye.
I survey her carefully, suddenly feeling somewhat cautious at her teasing tone. "Yes, Mother?" I answer, a little warily, wondering what could possibly be going through her mind.
"I know it's probably far too soon, but..."
Oh, no, what? From the amusement in her voice, it's going to be something embarrassing, and probably very personal. She's been doing that more and more frequently of late. A mother's prerogative, I suppose; although sometimes I could swear she's been taking lessons from Isabela in creating comments designed to make me squirm. I wait in dreadful anticipation, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Mother quirks an eyebrow delicately at me, her lips curved in a pleasant, slightly impish smile.
"You could always adopt, you know."
Oh, Mother...