Dress Into Oneself

by Cryptographic DeLurk

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Jean Luc had not stopped screeching since she entered the shop, nearly a half a turn of the dial late, and tracking in mud from the viscount's garden. She'd needed time to think, after leaving Hawke's for the morning, and then she'd gotten terribly lost and passed the same rosebush three times. Humans did not have the same sensible gift for landscaping as the Creators.

She'd apologised and tried to explain, in fewer words that revealed less of her ambivalence. But Jean Luc went on and on about how this was not a dirty stall in Lowtown, not even the public square in Hightown, but his private workshop. And he'd made time in his schedule far too many turns of the hourglass ago and those stains would never be out of the rug, and Merrill started to tune him out.

Sometimes humans just needed an elf to yell at, it seemed. Though Fenris could be like that, too – Merrill thought that made sense, since he was practically a human in some things. Merrill didn't mind if they yelled, but that didn't mean she had to stick around to hear it.

She began examining the wooden beams on the ceiling, the shelves stuffed with thread and scissors and twine and knick-knacks. Most were in the shape of the human saints, but one was simply a bear. It was nice.

Jean Luc eventually caught on to the fact that she was no longer listening and turned to Hawke, looking for solidarity. If he expected much, he was sorely disappointed.

Hawke was slouched over the back of the chair she was straddling, boots firmly planted on each side. She looked nearly as out of place as Merrill did, in thick boar skin hides like a common mercenary. "And you're wasting nearly as much time complaining about it." She raised an eyebrow in a critical arch at Jean Luc . "I'm certainly paying you enough for this. It wasn't so that you wouldn't accommodate my lover's eccentricities."

Jean Luc was much more cooperative after that. He didn't do much more than grumble when Merrill dropped a collection of buttons into his palm. "I'd appreciate if you could work these into the design," she said handily. They were Master Ilen's work, and carved with the patterns of the Creators.

In the end, the man was a professional. He accepted the buttons carefully, and set them carefully on the bench. He brought a wet rag for Merrill's feet, and then instructed her to stand on the platform and undress. Merrill was self conscious, but he was not handsy as he ran the measuring tape over and around her – small, petite, bust nearly as thin as her waist, hips far wider than both.

There was a judgemental tone to his voice, or else a very focussed one, as he recorded the measurements, but he did not leer. Hawke leered enough for the both of them, and Merrill felt herself blush. She had her arms raised up for the measurements, but mimed swatting at Hawke with her palm. Vhenan, she scolded under her breath.

Hawke turned away and giggled into her palm, and it set Merrill's heart aflutter.

Oh, had she made a mistake? — she thought for the thousandth time. She'd thought it for the whole of the climb up to Hawke's estate that night, as if the mistake had already been made. Perhaps it had. Perhaps it had been made the moment she decided to leave her hovel, or the second Hawke had handed her the Arulin'Holm, or the first time she thought Hawke might have flirted with her and she'd inexpertly deflected, or when she'd first followed Hawke to Kirkwall and invited her to visit. I'd like that, Hawke had said, and it had all been over.

Still, it felt like a mistake standing on this pedestal, in this Hightown shop, with two humans examining her in two very different ways. This was going to be her life now, Merrill thought. Pol had run from her. Marethari would rather trust their artefacts to a shem than her.

Merrill had once entertained fantasies of returning to her clan triumphant, Tamlen pulled back from the Black City and in tow, with the Eluvian repaired and free of taint so the People could walk the world as they once did. Everyone would accept her back with tears and embraces and newfound respect.

But could Merrill accept them back – everyone who had doubted her and insulted her and threatened her? It would serve them right, she thought, if she returned in a set of human-made armour with a shem on her arm and first in her heart. Hawke had been more loyal to her. Isabela had been more friend to her.

They were bitter, ugly thoughts. Listening to them felt like a mistake.

Hawke deserved better than that too.

Jean Luc was finished taking measurements and, as Merrill wiggled back into her underclothes, materials were trotted out before them like a banquet. Merrill let Hawke do most of the talking, since she was so good at it.

"You like chainmail, right?" Hawke asked rhetorically, and chose the brightest sample of ringed steel mesh. It was placed carefully on the bench next to the buttons.

They discussed cut and shape, and at one point Hawke reached up and grazed two fingers over the side of Merrill's neck. Merrill flushed but did not startle. Oh, Hawke was good at this casual intimacy business.

"Does it tickle?" Hawke grinned and, when Merrill bit her lip and shook her head, she turned back to Jean Luc. "A high neckline would be best then."

They were discussing the chestplate next. Jean Luc was suggesting something to fill out Merrill's proportions, Hawke was trying to talk him down and asking questions about the armour's sturdiness. In their line of work, if it could be called such, any suit of armour would be seeing quite the bit of practical wear. They were settling on something with a sturdy core, but with inserts on top for ornamentation – gold was popular, as were gemstones, but Hawke went wide eyed when Jean displayed a clip with mother of pearl inlay.

"You can do this over the whole of the plate?" she asked.

Jean Luc nodded eagerly. "Patterned in triangles. It will gleam like the sun."

"Oh," Merrill fretted. "Ma vhenan? Hawke? Can I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Hawke was attentive. She looked immediately to Merrill, and then pointedly at Jean Luc until he begged off to allow them some privacy.

"Yes, Merrill?" Hawke asked, large fluttering doe eyes blinking down at Merrill.

"Oh…" Merrill felt a little weak in the knees. "It's not that I'm not grateful," she pre-empted, "but is all of this really necessary?"

Please, give me a reason this isn't a mistake, she meant. Give me a reason that all of it isn't a mistake.

"Well, I'm not sure about 'necessary'. But you've been wearing that same set of green and brown for all three years I've known you," Hawke said. "Isn't it about time you got yourself some new clothes and armour?"

Merrill glanced sideways, but all that was there was the clutter of the shop and nowhere to hide from Hawke's gaze. She looked at the chainmail mesh lined on the bench. "It will take an awfully long time to polish."

"I've seen you sit with a hunk of lard and polish the chainmail you already have for hours at a time," Hawke laughed. "I'm sure we can get Sandal to do it, if it's a problem."

Merrill thought about shining steel and mother of pearl. "It will be very shiny," she said, picking up momentum as she followed the train of logic to her next attempt to forestall. "Anders and I spent all that time making fun of Sebastian for how bright and shiny his armour was, but I'll hardly be less conspicuous than him by the time we're done here."

Hawke raised a gloved hand and rubbed circles into Merrill's shoulder with well worn leather. "I wouldn't worry about that," she soothed. "I'm sure Sebastian won't give you a hard time about it, Merrill. He's not a mean-spirited, petty sort."

It went without saying that Anders was, and that he wouldn't hesitate to insult her for it.

"It's going to cost a fortune too," Merrill said. She didn't precisely know how much everything was worth or how much the coin could otherwise be used for, but at the very least- "Aren't you in need of new armour yourself?" Merrill asked. "You have to admit you don't quite, erm, fit in Hightown in those hides." She looked Hawke up and down.

"Are you… calling me frumpy?!" Hawke gasped, and placed an offended hand at her chest.

A few minutes were lost to the ensuing dramatics.

(My girlfriend-?! Calling me out on my complete lack of fashion sense? Calling me dingy and dull?!)

(No, please, vhenan! You're beautiful! So beautiful. You're so lovely and gorgeous and clever- And foolish! Stop pretending to swoon!)

And Hawke was laughing and Merrill was leaning into her shoulder, jostling her arm and losing herself. Before she had nothing left but to plead.

"Everyone will be able to see me in that armour, vhenan," she said, begging Hawke to understand. "Everyone will know me." And everyone would know what Merrill had chosen, and what she'd left behind.

Hawke looked down to the floor, almost bashfully. It was a new look on her. "You're right, I'm probably overdue for a change in armour myself, as soon as funds allow. And I suppose I pushed a little too hard," Hawke allowed, with a little hum of dissatisfaction. "But you standing out was rather the point."

Merrill blinked in surprise. And she knew that Hawke had given her a way out, but curiosity always got the better of her.

"Ma vhenan?" she prompted.

"Well, I really wanted to show you off," Hawke said. "I may have gotten a bit too excited and carried away, but I really wanted to dress you up in finery and trot you around on my arm so everyone could see you're mine and we're together and, well- See you! The proud, smart, beautiful woman you don't seem to think you are."

Merrill bit her lip and blinked back tears.

"It's silly," Hawke was waving off. "Possessive of me, even. You don't have to-"

"No," Merrill cut her off. And she grabbed Hawke's hand and pulled her down to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

Because this was not Pol who had run from her. Or Marethari that spread poisonous words about her. Or any of them that had cast her out, unwanted. This was Hawke. And Hawke was proud of her. Wanted to brag and crow and strut about with her. Wanted everyone to know that they were a people.

"I'll do it. I'll do it," Merrill was saying fiercely between kisses. She pulled herself up Hawke's muscular arms, braced herself against Hawke's chest. And in a way Hawke had answered all her silent prayers. Merrill had wanted a reason this wasn't a mistake, and now she had it.

"You know…" Hawke was saying, panting heavy as she came up for air. "You're still half naked," she pointed out, eyeing up Merrill's black corset. "And what you're saying… It's pretty distracting. If you're not careful, the two of us are going to end up thoroughly debauching Jean Luc's private workshop."

Hawke had a point. Merrill giggled and pushed her away by the shoulders. "Go on, then. Tell him to bring out the rest of the materials."

Hawke looked back hesitantly, even as Merrill turned her and steered her to the back room. "Are you sure? You really don't have to-?"

"I'm sure," Merrill said, before she could overthink it again. "Let's see what he has to show us next."

Hawke opened the door and called for him and, after a moment, Jean Luc reappeared looking quite miffed.

"If you two are finished," he said peevishly. "I've brought some fabics for you to sample."

Merrill took a greater interest in which samples were chosen now – a bright red, an emerald green.

Jean Luc groaned at the choices.

"These really do not match at all," he said, as they were added to the bench with the other chosen materials.

"I'm sure you'll find some way to string them together," Hawke said dismissively. "A couple highlights of colour can't hurt here and there, as an accent. Anyhow- it's at the lady's request."

Jean Luc grumbled, but returned to the storeroom for another batch.

Merrill wondered why he brought out so many samples of fabric, if he was only going to complain about whichever ones they chose. He could have simply withheld the ones he thought a poor match, but he didn't. Merrill wondered if he enjoyed the frustration, the challenge. But Jean Luc returned before she could make up her mind, and she was immediately distracted.

Her eyes caught onto a weave of teal silk, with silver thread embroidered over the top.

"Oh goodness, is that griffins woven over the fabric?" Merrill effused, lunging forward to grab it in both hands. "And little birds and foxes!"

Jean Luc threw his hands up in frustration, but Hawke gave him an unimpressed look.

"I told you she would like that one," she said in a very haughty sort of way, before turning to Merrill. "I knew you would like that one."

Merrill crooned, warm in the knowledge that Hawke had listened and paid attention when she talked about the things she liked.

"And I told you it was yet another odd colour, with a very busy pattern besides," Jean Luc said, as Merrill added the samite to the pile of chosen materials personally. "You wish me to find a way to make something of this hodgepodge? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Hawke said.

And so he had.

And, when the completed set of robes and armour were delivered to the Amell Estate, Merrill donned them. She wore them proudly.

..

Fin.

AN:

True story: I was looking up Merrill's armour upgrades, samite lining specifically, and when I googled the term and looked through for something in silver, the first result I found was a pattern with griffins, circa thirteenth century Syria. (You should be able to find the image if you google 'silver samite griffins syria'.) Naturally it had make it into the fic afterwards.

Thank you for reading!