Yielding Ground for Sea
by Cryptographic DeLurk
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AN: One last little Post-Kirkwall fic for day eight of Fenrill Week. If you notice any similarities between the scenario here and some other fics I've done, that's just because it's "canon" that if Hawke doesn't romance either Fenris or Merrill they both end up hooking up with Isabela. Yup, just plain and simple "canon" "facts".
Read & Relax.
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They had been sick for days out of the harbour. The nauseous lurch of Isabela's ship, and the taste of rations already less than fresh. Fenris wasn't used to the hearty flavour of whiskey and rum, compared to the soft, fruity palette of Aggregio Pavali. Merrill could hardly have been used to this much alcohol at all. And when Fenris's symptoms had finally cleared up, hers remained.
"Oh, this is very difficult." She leaned loose-limbed over the side rail. "Do you think it will ever stop?"
"Probably," Fenris said. It had stopped for him. "It will be a memorable trip either way."
Merrill groaned. Fenris looked down, to where she was hypnotised by the sea surf moving in and away from the edge of the ship. He eyed Merrill's crumpled back, and chose a spot on her leather armour to grab if she began to fall.
"There's a reason elves don't live on islands," she said.
"Seheron is an island," Fenris countered. "Maybe it's time to accept not all elves wish to live like you think they should?"
"I do wish to live like this though," Merrill said. "It is what will make Isabela happy. Only it's very puke-y and disgusting and difficult right now."
There was no certainty to it, Fenris knew. Isabela had probably planned to run shipments in and out with Kirkwall as her base, and now it couldn't be so. And he and Merrill did not quite have a place on this ship within Isabela's hierarchy of command. They were no sailors, and Isabela already seemed fearful of how the men under her command would take to two landlubber elvhen lovers of hers tagging along without seafaring talents of their own to contribute. That was why he was here with Merrill, and not in the cabin as Isabela drank her workers under the table and beat them all at cards.
But it at least comforted him that Merrill's vision of what would make Isabela happy, and make herself happy, would probably make him happy too.
Merrill crossed her arms on the rail, and buried her face into them. And Fenris lightly brushed the hair from the nape of her neck.
She turned her head slightly, and one hazel eye peered up at him from under her elbow.
"You're being awfully sweet today," she observed.
"I'm trying to figure out what Isabela sees in you," Fenris said, more critically than he really felt.
"Well if you find anything, let me know." Merrill closed her eye and tucked her head back into the safety of her arms. "I've been trying to figure it out myself for years with no success."
Fenris hummed to himself. She was always like this – putting herself down before anyone else could. It wasn't that hard to see her virtues. She was caring and brave and intelligent, and her hair and vallaslin curled at the end of her heart shaped face just so.
He wondered how many days it had been since he'd been afraid of her? And how many days it had been since he'd stopped counting, stopped reprimanding himself for letting his guard down around a maleficar? And how many days since he'd fled Danarius? How many since he'd received his brands? How many since he'd been born?
Merrill was small, and it was easy to reach an arm across her back and grasp the railing on her other side without touching her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and she squirmed ever so slightly and sighed.
"Do you feel any better?" he asked, as pulled back his head and stood up straight.
"Yes, actually," Merrill said. "But maybe not in the way that you're thinking." She grasped his arm, and pulled it closer to her, so his arm was wrapped flush against her back and his hand hooked at her waist.
It was comfortable, Fenris decided, being like this with her. He leaned into her side, and held her against him until the nausea left.
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