I think I succeeded more with this chapter than the last one. But what do I know, really. I'm working on finishing this so I can start working on an original fic. But there is still so much to do before we even get to the Last Straw.
Danger, intrigue, love, betrayal, profit... and all that. Thanks everyone for their feedback. It makes my metaphorical author-cock hard. Leave me some reviews so I have something to distract me from at work!
"I don't know how you talk me into these things, Hawke." Merrill worried her lower lip with her teeth and quickened her pace to keep up with her lover. It was early evening in Hightown, the sun had just dipped below the roofs of the taller buildings, and a whispering breeze chased away the unbearable heat of the day. It always smelled so nice in Hightown in the summer, like fresh grass and sumptuous flowers, the perfume of the ripe green plants the nobles kept in their gardens. It was different than the forest, sweeter, but more comforting than the way the rest of Kirkwall smelled during the hottest part of the year.
It was a perfect evening, if the elf was honest with herself. She held close to her lover, their arms linked with waning rays of sunshine at their back and the lush breeze on their faces. People moved out of their way as they walked past; nobles veered to give the Champion the right of way. Servants hurrying to the houses of their masters and mistresses stopped altogether and offered them a bow of their heads or tip of their hat. Hawke seemed to pay them little attention, or notice them at all really, but somehow, she still managed to acknowledge each one with a thin smile or nod of her head.
That was the magic of the Champion. It was a magic Merrill could not ever hope to ever possess, but Hawke had been surely borne to it the same way Merrill was to hers. There was a natural grace in her step, warmth in her smile. She could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the world with one glance, one hint of those piercing blue eyes. It turned Merrill's bones to jelly just thinking about it. Like the princely heroes of the stories, she was an untouchable legend. But at the same time, she managed to make herself accessible to everyone, a real person that even the orphans and elves of Lowtowns could talk to.
And while the deference was obviously aimed at the Champion and not her elven lover, it still caused a lump of pride to form in her throat and she could not help but beam up at Hawke, who gazed back and graced her with a special, broad grin that she reserved just for Merrill and placed a kiss on the crown of her head.
It was a brilliant summer evening, alive with the frenetic energy of possibility, when it seemed there was no other moment in their lives that could possibly matter more.
But Merrill felt her smile fade as she remembered where they were headed. "How did you manage to talk me into this?" She repeated, feeling her face flush red at the mere thought of it.
"I didn't talk you into anything," Hawke replied quietly, but pulled Merrill a little closer. "I asked you to come, and you agreed."
Merrill scoffed and resisted the urge to bury her face in Hawke's shoulder and hide. "I can't say no to you. It would be like saying no to a baby kitten. Or a baby griffin. All you have to do is tilt your head to the side and look adorable, and I go all wobbly at the knees."
"You could have said no."
"And then I would feel terribly guilty when it is clearly you who has lost her mind."
"It's a ball. Hightown nobles love a good party; they have them all the time." Hawke steered Merrill down an intersecting street. It was true. Every noble that had a ball or wedding or party invited the Champion, so much so that she turned down most invitations and still attended at least one event each week. Diplomacy, Hawke called it. She couldn't outright refuse the nobility without losing their support, she said, and Kirkwall may one day count on the Champion holding its people together. But she never seemed to truly enjoy the parties, which was odd, Merrill thought. Although humans did have some odd notions of fun, but Hawke always came home at the end of the night look tired and harried.
"I know. And you've been to dozens. Why make me come to this one?" Hawke had bought Merrill a dress for the occasion, in true human noble style. The fabric was soft and so delicately woven if felt cool against her bare skin. But the skirt was too long, reaching her ankles, and the elf had to step very carefully so as not to trip over it. It was the color of fresh cream, with a neckline that dipped uncomfortably low and trimmed in green and dark crimson thread. It was pretty, if Merrill was honest with herself. She enjoyed standing in front of the mirror admiring how the fabric hung off her slight frame, the long skirt making her seem much taller. Yet, is was dreadfully uncomfortable, and she felt that she could not have been more self-conscious if she had been wearing a burlap sack.
"I didn't make you!" Hawke smiled and stopped in the street, twirling Merrill to face her and taking each of her hands in her own. "You're beautiful."
Merrill narrowed her eyes and tried not to smile back and failed. "You're crazy."
Leaning down, Hawke nuzzled into her neck and kissed her ear lightly, causing a shiver to race down Merrill's spine. "You are beautiful. And it is about time everyone in Kirkwall realized that." She whispered and slowly withdrew, leading her towards the towering, gaudy façade of one of the Hightown estates. Why did humans seem to like all the ornate, nonsensical carvings of swirls and loops on every defenseless piece of stone and wood used to erect their homes? It was ugly, to Merrill, patterns without meaning or story.
"I'm an elf," Merrill dropped her voice to a whisper as they were ushered into the home by a stuffily dressed servant, who wasn't even an elf.
He bowed obsequiously low to Hawke, and when he announced their arrival, he sounded as if he were talking with cotton in his cheeks. "The Champion of Kirkwall, Messere Marian Hawke. And her companion."
It was like being shoved into glaring afternoon sunlight after being sequestered in utter darkness for a week. There were so many people. Dozens. Perhaps even a hundred, all human nobility with haughty expressions and scrutinizing, disdainful eyes. Everything was so bright, as if they used every lamp and lantern in Kirkwall to light the enormous room. Two spiraling staircases that led to a mezzanine overlooking the room were draped in bright blue and gold fabrics. The floor was stone, but so brightly polished and smooth that Merrill was certain she could see her reflection in it. And everyone was looking at them.
"Creators, you're crazy. You've brought an elf to Hightown. To a ball. With no rats in it." Merrill slunk closer to Hawke and felt her head spin. It was disorienting. It was easy to lose herself in Kirkwall. No one paid much attention to just another elf scuttling the streets. No one paid her much attention unless she got in the way or accidently upset a merchant's cart, and she had long since learned to ignore the indignant cries and grunts of "knife-ears" or "out of the way, elf." This was different. She couldn't hide here. And she desperately wanted to hide. She felt dizzy, as if there was no one detail or person in the crowded, over-decorated room she could focus on.
"It's alright, Merrill." Hawke said quietly. "It doesn't matter that you're an elf." Still nodding and smiling graciously at everyone they passed, she led Merrill through the crowd. "Because you have one thing that they can never have, and they all desperately want."
"Pointy-ears?" Merrill could not hedge the sarcasm from her words. Even still, stress shaved years off her voice, making it no more than a squeak.
Hawke grinned down at her. "No. Me."
"Your eyes are like two eggs, sizzling and fried sunny-side up, brightening the morning. Your lips, like two cherries kissing together, your voice like the smooth sweetness of molassess—"
Isabela cut off the aspiring poet with an abrupt chop of her hand and rolled her eyes. "Do yourself a favor, mate, and find something to eat." She gratefully accepted the two steins Corff had refilled, and shook her head at the poor, gaping-mouthed idiot. "Because this banquet is closed." She almost felt sorry for the boy. At least he had been creative with his wooing, at least more than most. But his chin barely held a faint fuzz of a beard, his skin a bit too soft. He was a might too tender for the sort of fun that the pirate was in the mood for.
So she left him at the bar and returned to the table she had been sharing with Varric. The dwarf smirked as she placed the full stein in front of him. "The pirate queen breaks yet another heart. What was wrong with that one, Rivaini?"
Isabela sat and glimpsed over her shoulder. "Did you hear his poetry? I'm no scholar but someone needs to feed the boy some new lines. Or just feed him. Eyes like eggs, sunny-side up?" She snorted into her stein. "Even I could do better than that."
"Please don't try. I don't think my heart could take it." Varric shuffled a deck of cards in his massive hands.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" She leaned in closer as he dealt the cards. Years ago, they would have occupied one of the larger tables, and it would have been surrounded by the other companions. It was a nightly affair at the Hanged Man, a way of venting all the stress of the days' adventures. But now Guard Captain Aveline was too bound by duty and marriage to spare much time for jaunts at the tavern. Anders and Fenris had both taken brooding to competitive heights. Bethany was locked away in that dreary Circle. At least Merrill and Hawke still sometimes joined them, but tonight they were off cavorting at some Hightown affair.
It was funny. She never remembered being board before the whole Qunari mess, before she left. There was always something to do, it seemed. And if there wasn't, she had certainly been too drunk to remember being bored and restless. The nights now seemed so droll and… bloody pointless when she wasn't joining Hawke and the others on one of their missions.
She'd tried visiting the Rose one night when she first returned to Kirkwall. But when Madam Lusine had informed her that Tara had been killed in the chaos of the Qunari uprising, Isabela had left and not returned.
"Balls. Has it always been this boring?" Isabela lamented and deftly spread her cards between her fingers.
"You did kill a dragon two weeks ago, didn't you?" Varric arched a brow.
"I didn't. Hawke did. I was just there."
"Blood Mages and Templars making you long for the days of an old-fashioned Qunari coup?"
"Maker, no!" The pirate tried not to wince at that. If there was one thing she did not miss about the "old days," it was those horned-goat-bastard-giants. She could not have known that the stupid relic would lead to such a mess, but the memories of it all still managed to burn brightly in her gut. Absently, she touched the length of cloth tied about her upper arm, a gesture that was not lost on the dwarf. "It just seems… different now… boring."
"Well," Varric lifted his stein and gestured vaguely to his right. "There's a new serving girl that has been making eyes at you for the past week. I'm sure she might have some suggestions on how to…" He grinned wolfishly. "entertain you."
Following his pointed gaze, Isabela settled on the newest addition to the staff of the Hanged Man. She was pretty, in that Lowtown sort of way. Ashen blond hair cropped chin-length, simple dress that left her shoulders bare and her impressive assets displayed. Nothing special. Isabela looked away and shrugged. "Looks the type that'll fuck with her stockings still on. Do I look that desperate?"
"Hardly. You've been as selective as I've ever seen you, Rivaini," Varric said slyly, exchanging two of his cards for two from the deck. "Since you've come back to us."
His smooth-tongued insinuations and thinly-veiled questions were easy to play off or parry. Varric was curious by nature, but rarely pried into other people's business, at least directly. "I'm saving myself for you, if you must know." Isabela countered easily, slipping her marked card back into the deck while Varric's view was obscured by his upturned stein. "I stay up late every night thinking about it, you know. That thick thatch of manly, dwarven chest hair."
"I know." He sighed, following her lead and not pushing the issue. "It's a burden to be this handsome, but Bianca is the jealous-type. It can never be, Rivaini."
"Then I shall wait, and pine for you until you relent."
The two played their cards in silence for several moments, the only sounds from their table were the slick of the cards being drawn from the deck, the clunk of heavy earthenware steins against the thick wooden table.
Varric was the one to break the silence, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "When—"
"Varric." Her amber eyes cut as quickly as her daggers, stopping the question before it could start, before it was voiced and made real. "Don't."
The pirate queen had not known what to expect when she returned to Kirkwall. She only knew that for the first time, she was not running anymore. And now that she was back, she found herself almost liberated by her circumstance. Intentional or not, the Qunari rebellion had been her fault. Lives had been wrecked, a city nearly destroyed. Hawke nearly died defending her. There were scars all over the city, marks where the stone had been gouged, blackened walls where the fires had scorched. Lines of knitted white flesh where the Arishok's blade had cut.
This was her penance for that, though she'd never admit it to anyone. She barely admitted it to herself and never in those terms. This was her lot now, and she had promised herself she would never do harm like that again. Especially not to Hawke. Or Merrill. She wouldn't interfere, and the misery of spending almost every night playing Wicked Grace or Diamondback at the Hanged Man until she or Varric ran out of coin, was comforting. A small, secret part of herself believed this is what she deserved.
But another part of her could always find an excuse. The Rose was lacking in its staff lately. None of the brawls she used to instigate were any sort of challenge anymore. That sailor was too young or too old or too stupid to bed. That girl was too plain, too jaded, too eager. She did not have time for the frivolities anymore.
And so this night would end like any of the others, although tonight she'd lose the last of her coin to Varric, cutting out any chance of whores or additional booze. When she finally crawled into her bed, she freed her hair from her bandana and turned down the lamp. But it was a long time before sleep finally claimed her.
As the evening and the ball wore on, Merrill felt less and less like hiding. No one was outright rude to her, and some were even quite nice, asking her about the Alienage and the Dalish and the Champion of course. What Hawke had said helped too of course. Once she realized that she had the one thing that all these nobles wanted, she felt richer than every single one of them. They could never hope to have what she had with Hawke, and Hawke loved her. Hawke didn't even like many of the nobles.
The party was different from what she had suspected it would be as well, and she and Hawke made many jokes at the expense of their fellow guests about it. There were no fights for one, not a single heated argument. Not like the Hanged Man where brawls were so frequent that Corff refused to buy anything but cheaply made chairs since they were so frequently broken over the heads and backs of his patrons. There were no card games, no singing…
It was just a bunch of fancily dressed people standing in clusters, sipping from crystal glasses and speaking quietly amongst themselves.
The only interesting part of the ball was the dancing. A small knot of musicians constantly played music from one corner of the hall, and at any single point, at least a dozen people danced in the center of the room. Most were well-rehearsed dances with specific steps, each person knowing his or her own part and working in unison with the group. But some were more improvised, and she and Hawke danced in several of those.
At first, Merrill had been mortified when Hawke had dragged her onto the dance floor, but that was soon forgotten as they began twirling and spinning, laughing and always coming together in one another's arms.
After one of these dances, breathless and laughing, they hobbled from the dance floor. Hawke's face was flushed red with merriment and exertion, and she grinned. "Not so bad, then?"
"I think we've made fools of ourselves. But if you don't care…" Merrill stood on her toes to kiss her lover's cheek. "Then neither do I."
Hawke nodded, then quickly sobered as a young man approached with an equally young woman on his arm. They were both blond, thin and hawk-faced and close enough in appearance to be close relations, siblings. "Our host for the ball, and his sister." Hawke explained hastily as she straightened her shirt and waistcoat. "They're determined that one of them will marry me."
The abrupt pronouncement stirred up a clot of questions, but Merrill didn't have time to ask a single one as their two hosts were upon them. Hawke bowed her head respectfully in greeting, and the two blond siblings mirrored the gesture. The man was dressed similarly to Hawke in tight breeches and stiff riding boots, but under his waistcoat he wore a stiff shirt with a high collar all the way up to his chin. As if Hawke would ever marry such a silly looking man.
And the sister wasn't much better. She looked like a shrew, her eyes too close together and her nose too pointed. And she wore enough gold jewelry to keep a dragon happy. Certainly not Hawke's type either.
It wasn't surprising that other people found Hawke beautiful and clever and amazing. She remembered what she had asked Isabela, so many years ago. How could anyone not love her? But this was different. These two nobles were haughty, Orlesian, and not right for Hawke at all. How could they want to marry her? Hawke had never mentioned them before, she was certain. They couldn't know her, not the way Merrill did, not the way Isabela or Varric or Aveline or even Anders knew her.
"Lord Edmund Carrac and his sister Lady Theodora," Hawke introduced formally, using the voice she usually reserved for the Knight Commander. "May I present Merrill, First of the Sabrae clan."
"A pleasure, I'm sure." Merrill gave a curt nod, wanting desperately to slink behind Hawke again. She didn't like the way Theodora looked at her, like a vulture circling, waiting.
"A Dalish, here in Kirkwall? Maker, you do keep odd company. Is this the elf they say travels with you, Champion?" Edmund swept his eyes over Merrill with indifferent appraisal, as if he looking over a horse he was debating on purchasing. "You could hardly tell her apart from one of the elves we keep here in the city."
"Oh, city elves don't have vallaslin," Merrill chimed in quickly and touched a finger lightly to the tattoos marking her face, feeling more than a little indignant at being compared to a city elf. He was an idiot, she decided, if he couldn't tell the difference. "Only the Dalish mark themselves when they come of age. It's a rite of passage for us, to mark our connection to our ways and the Creators."
"How positively intriguing." Theodora said flatly, and the tips of Merrill's ears burned. The noblewoman averted her attention back to Hawke, her smile a little sweeter. "First you slay a dragon, and now you have your very own Dalish elf. Messere Hawke, you certainly liven up any party. Next thing you know, you'll be bringing nugs to the winter solstice ball."
The muscles in Hawke's jaw bunched, and Merrill felt a small thrill of triumph that Hawke found their hosts as dreadful as she did. Yet always the diplomat, Hawke forced a faint smile. "You flatter me, as always, Theodora, but Merrill is actually my lifemate. Surely you've heard she lives with me?"
Seeing Theodora's smile falter was enough to make Merrill positively swell with pride, and the smile she offered the two siblings was genuine. Lifemate, Hawke had called her. "Of course," Edmund covered for his sister. "But you know how rumors are in the city. One never knows what to believe."
"Exactly, why, for years the story has been you dueled the Arishok for that pirate out of love." Theodora shook her pretty blond hair and laughed haughtily, and Merrill wanted to slap her again.
But then she felt Hawke's arm around her waist, and smiled instead. "It was a pleasure meeting both of you."
As bows were once again exchanged, and the nobles retreated to another cluster of party-goers, Merrill released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. "Hawke! They were dreadful! Why would they want to marry you? How could they think you'd ever marry someone like… like… them! They're awful and silly and neither of them have the brains to fill a tea cup."
Her lover chuckled quietly, under her breath. "They are idiots, but powerful idiots." She snagged two crystal glasses from a passing servant's tray and offered one to the elf. "And I can't outright refuse anyone without offending them and potentially losing their support."
Merrill sipped from the glass and licked her lips. The drink was tart and fizzy, not at all like the drinks served at the Hanged Man. It was like biting into a ripe fruit, sweet and refreshing. "But they don't know you at all. Why would they want to marry you? Not that I don't want to marry you. Not that you aren't worth marrying. Not that… oh, Merrill, stop babbling." She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply.
Hawke did not smile, but her eyes did. "They have no interest in me. Well, they might, but that's not what motivates them. They want the power and standing that a marriage with the Champion would give them."
Finishing her drink in two quick gulps, Merrill shook her head and let Hawke take the empty glass from her. "Humans are so silly. Then why bring me here and tell them I was your lifemate? Isn't that telling them that you refuse them?"
"That's precisely why I wanted you to come." Hawke left their glasses on a nearby table and took Merrill by the arm, leading her through the crowd once again. "I can't say no because then they would get all huffy. And I'm tired of stalling and evading every damn noble and his son when they proposition me why my heart belongs to another."
Merrill noticed Edmund and Theodora as they approached the exit, and the knot of nobles, all turned to stare. Not at Hawke, which was unusual, but at Merrill. Some of the faces were like Theodora's, predatory and hostile, but others seemed… wistful almost, even admiring. She ducked her head as they passed, trying not to feel the burn of their gazes.
"But by bringing you and publically declaring I already have a suitor, a lifemate," Hawke was still talking as they left the estate and stepped into the warm night air. "I have told them all "no" in a way they can't outwardly be offended by. And by tomorrow, all of Kirkwall will know that I am pledged to you, and you alone. You deserve that recognition. And it's time that people start respecting you the same way they respect me. I'm not a bonded mercenary living in Lowtown anymore. I'm Champion, noble of my own right, which means they need to get used to seeing you as my beloved, because wherever I am, I want you at my side."
Threading her fingers through the rogue's, Merrill could not help but smile. "I'm just me, Hawke. I don't need the recognition, but I am glad I helped you tell the nobility no. And it was fun. Not just telling Theodora and Edmund no, but the other parts. The dancing, especially. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and not as awful as Isabela said it would be."
"I love you, Merrill." Hawke stopped short, just outside the door of her estate and swept Merrill off of her feet and into her arms, much like she had the first time she carried the elf back to the estate. "I want all of Kirkwall to know it."
Her arms looped around her lover's neck, Merrill stole a quick kiss. "I know, Hawke, and I love you. I always have, and I always will."
"Let's go to bed. I'm sure the messages that are no doubt stacked on my desk can wait until morning."
"But I'm not tired."
Hawke kissed the tip of Merrill's ear in the way that made her heart flutter and her stomach turn over in flips. "Neither am I." She admitted and opened the door with her foot, holding Merrill gingerly in her arms.
Aww... fluffy-kins. A deviation from the main-story to give everyone a lovely little break from the tension... sort of. Plus, there is so much tension and drama going on, I wanted to show more of these two all mushy and junk.
Next chapter, shit gets real again. Please feed my review addiction!