Sorry about not updating for a while, have been distracted by assignments, and job, and ME3 and stuff. Also recently found myself unable to access my account for some reason, which has happened to me before ; { . But I'm finally able to login again, so here's the next instalment. I know it's really long for a non-quest chapter, hope you don't mind. This chapter mostly exists because as much as I like the romance and companion conversation scenes in DA2, they are much too few and short for me, and I miss all the chats you can have with your Origins LI in the camp, whether exchanging cute banter, or sharing dark secrets, just getting to know one another better or whatever. Besides, I bet there's plenty of other stories out there that cover more quests if you want, but that's not really so much what I'm focusing on in this story. There will be a quest in the next chapter, but for now, just relationship stuff. Hope it doesn't bore you, but if it does, I'll make it up to you next time. That, or maybe you should find an adventure focused story to read as well, since I'm really more about expanding the relationship stuff than the stuff you can see playing the game.

To everyone who has been faithfully following this, and those who favourite or story alert or review; a big thank you. Thanks so much for all the kind words (*blush*) and for constructive criticism too. I'm sorry if I haven't replied to a lot of you. I sort of lost track of who I had and hadn't, and then didn't have a lot of time free anymore, and then the whole login frustration thing. I really do appreciate it when you review, though, lets me know people are still interested, which motivates me. If it weren't for you lot, this story wouldn't have gone past chapter three. Instead it just keeps getting bigger, so thank you all very, very much!

xxx M xxx

"Ohhh... Maker, yes..."

Hawke sighs deeply, then leans forward a bit over her knees in the hot water, eyes closed blissfully as I bathe her gently, rubbing the soapy washcloth in little circles over her back. I'm doing quite a good job of it, too, at least, it certainly sounds as though I am.

I smile as she gives another contented sigh. "Does that feel good, then, ma vhenan?"

"Maker's breath, you have no idea..." Hawke's voice trails off dreamily. Well, I sort of do, actually...

"Are you sure you should be invoking the Maker's name in vain right now?" I ask her teasingly, running the cloth over the back of her neck. "What if he hears you?"

"Oh, let him," Hawke says dismissively, her tone light and flippant. "If you believe the Chantry I'm already cursed in his sight what with being a mage and all, and an apostate at that. How much more upset with me could he get? Besides, I doubt he'd pay any attention to me, since he apparently decided to stop listening to us failed creations long ago. Assuming he was ever there at all."

"Maybe that's just what he wants you to think. Maybe he's as clever a trickster as Fen'Harel." I make my voice playfully low and ominous as I dip the washcloth into the water again. Well, as low and ominous as I can actually make my voice go, anyway. "He could be watching us right now..."

Hawke chuckles quietly. "If he is, I'd bet ten sovereigns he's enjoying the show too much to care what I say about him." She glances over her shoulder at me and arches one eyebrow, smiling mischievously. "But if he did suddenly decide to smite me right at this moment, well... not a bad way to go, hmm?"

"I suppose not," I giggle, smiling as I resume my ministrations. Oh, this is so lovely. It's so nice to have a proper bath like this, with hot water and everything; I never knew Hawke had her own private washroom joined to her chambers. And her bathtub is so big and deep, and it's not even made of splintery old wood like mine, either! No, this is made of smooth, polished stone; a great square tub built right into the corner, with its own little pump that draws water from an underground hot spring, all the way up here and straight into the bath! And without using any magic, as well! Hawke says the mansion was probably of dwarven-make, like the Chantry and the Keep, since it's about as old as they are. I think the dwarves must be very clever, then, to make something like this. I've no idea at all how it works, but I like it very much. It certainly makes bathing a lot easier. I haven't had a proper bath in ages, not a hot one, anyway. In the alienage, it takes far too long to fetch enough water, not to mention heating it all. Most mornings I just get a cold basin of water for a standing bath instead, which is quicker, though a lot less pleasant. I much prefer this sort of bath, I think, so deep and full of steamy hot water, fragrant with sweet smelling oils and perfumes... oh, yes, this is much nicer.

And the wet, naked woman in here with me doesn't hurt, either. Not in the slightest.

I scoop up some water in my hands and splash it over Hawke's shoulders, letting it run down her back to wash off all the lather and the little soapy bubbles. The early morning light streams brilliantly through the small, high windows, tiny rays of sunlight glinting radiantly through the darkly shining strands of her hair, gleaming in the little beads of water clinging to her skin, making her whole body seem to sparkle like diamonds and all of a sudden it's just too tempting, she's too tempting, and I can't help it; I hug her tightly from behind and lean down to bury my face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on her throat, tasting the fresh sweetness of her on my lips. I can't get enough of her; I couldn't have stopped myself even if I wanted to. Not that Hawke minds at all of course, not a bit; she just gives a soft, surprised laugh at my touch and lifts her head towards me, beaming happily as she turns her beautiful face to mine. She kisses me softly, and then leans back against me, letting her head rest against my shoulder. I press my lips to her forehead blissfully, feeling my heart swell with happiness.

"Any thoughts on how to spend the day once we're finished here, my love?" she asks, gazing up at me with a lovely little smile, her sweet silver voice full of warmth and tenderness.

My heart flutters wonderfully inside me. I hope I never get used to hearing her call me that, or to hearing that love infusing her every word whenever she speaks to me. "Assuming we make it out alive, you mean?" I say, smiling foolishly as I comb my fingers gently through her wet hair. She makes an appreciative noise deep in her throat, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. I feel my smile grow even wider as I gaze down at her; wider and even more foolish, if that's even possible. "Why are you asking me? I thought for certain you would have had a few adventures lined up for us, already."

Hawke opens her eyes a little wider, apparently thinking about it for a moment. "No, actually," she says, raising her delicate brows in surprise. She sounds quite shocked. "I don't! No manhunts; no rescue missions; no lost hats, pants or finger bones to return to random people in dark corners. Not one person has requested my assistance for today. As far as I know, I am completely free." She gives a soft laugh. "What an odd feeing! About time I had a day off, I suppose."

"Well... maybe we could just stay in here all day, then?" I say, only half joking. She did ask me what I thought, after all.

She laughs again, and I shiver pleasurably as I feel her hand glide gently along my leg beneath the water. "Mm. That is unbelievably tempting..." she purrs, smiling wickedly, then sighs regretfully. "But I'm afraid that if I don't show up at the breakfast table, then either Bodahn or Mother will come looking for me, and then..." she trails off, quirking an eyebrow at me meaningfully.

"Oh. Right." I blush deeply at the thought of anyone walking in on us, right now. Especially Leandra. Creators, wouldn't that be a fine way to tell her about us! Though Hawke did say she knows already, sort of, about our feelings at least, but... I'd still really rather no one saw us just now. Not in such an... intimate moment. She might know that we care for each other, but she doesn't need to see-

No, no, no. Best not to complete that thought, I think.

I bite my lip and look towards the washroom door nervously. "I hope they don't come looking for you, then. That would certainly be very awkward and embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

Hawke laughs again. "Just a bit, yes." She notices the direction of my worried gaze. "Don't worry, it's locked, and so is the bedchamber door. No one can come barging in on us; unless they're really determined to, of course. But if we take long enough then Mother might get slightly worried and ask Bodahn to break the door down or something, and then... well, I'd just really prefer that we were both clothed before we see anyone this morning, wouldn't you?" I nod in fervent agreement, and she reaches up and traces my lips with warm, gentle fingers, making me smile. Her mouth curves into a sweet half-smile of her own as she looks up at me. "Speaking of clothes, why don't we go and stop by your house in the alienage after breakfast? You can pick up a few of your things and bring them back here; some of your tunics and leggings, and such." She tilts her head, a rather cheeky sort of expression coming over her face. She is very cute, sometimes. "Not that I mean for you to need them very often now, but I suppose we will have to get out of bed occasionally," she grins. "I know one thing for certain, though; you aren't going to be needing any night-time things anymore."

I giggle, blushing harder, and her smile grows wider.

I'm going to live with Hawke. I'm going to live here, in her house, with her. I am! I can still hardly believe it! I nod again, happily this time. "Alright, let's do that, then," I say, distracted from my worrisome thoughts by her touch, and her smile. Creators, that lovely smile. I give myself another tiny shake before I lose my train of thought completely, and then hesitate for a moment before I speak again. I'm not sure if I should mention it, really, but... she did say she wanted to help me with the mirror, didn't she?

"And I'd... I'd like to examine the eluvian, while we're there, to see if it is... um, unharmed."

I wait a little apprehensively for her response, but Hawke just makes a small thoughtful noise, nodding a little. "I wouldn't mind taking a closer look at it myself, if you don't mind," she says. "I'd like to do a more thorough examination before we start searching for better ways to work on it, so I know more of what to look for. And you should probably teach me everything you know about it, if I'm going to be of any use to you." She meets my gaze, looking quite serious all of a sudden. "I meant what I said about helping you to fix it, you know. I should never have tried to stop you, I just... I just got a little... overprotective, I suppose."

I raise one of my eyebrows at her, smiling gently. "A little?"

She lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry, Merrill. I never wanted to hurt-"

I place a finger over her lips, stilling her words. I didn't mean to make her feel badly! There's no need to think of all that anymore, it is done with now. She was only trying to protect me. Because she loves me. "Ma vhenan," I say firmly. "Hush. I know. There's no need to apologise again. And I'm pretty sure I forgave you already, so don't think about that anymore, please. I'm not going to."

She lifts her hand and lays it gently against my cheek again in that wonderful gesture of unspoken love. "I have no idea what I did to deserve you," she whispers, gazing at me with such a wondrous, loving look in her shining sapphire eyes.

"Did you call the Maker a dirty name, perhaps?" I enquire, smiling.

Her eyes narrow just a little in exasperation - she doesn't like it when I put myself down, even in jest. But then she smiles, tilting her head at me. "Ah, that must be it. He must like that sort of thing, then, to reward me so," she says, managing to twist my meaning around to flatter me somehow, like always. She's so clever. "Guess the miserable old nug-licker has a sense of humour after all!" she says loudly as she raises her eyes to the ceiling, a cheeky smirk playing over her rosy lips as she gleefully voices one of Varric's favourite curses, and then she sits up and turns around completely in the water as I giggle at her silly behaviour, taking the washcloth gently from my unresisting hands. Wet tendrils of black hair curl softly against her temples, and her eyes smile into mine, stealing my breath away completely.

"My turn," she says firmly, smiling, her tone allowing for absolutely no argument whatsoever. Not that I plan to make any, of course.

She turns me around gently to face away from her and I smile, closing my eyes as she slowly begins to stroke the wet cloth over my skin, sluicing the sweet warm water over my back and shoulders. A contented sigh escapes me as the delicate pressure of her gentle touch sends pleasant shivers down my spine; shivers which grow stronger a moment later when she presses her soft lips against the back of my neck, making me gasp in delight. She pulls away from me for a moment, and I try to turn and look for her, anxious that she might be getting out all of a sudden; I don't want this to be over, not yet! Then her arm suddenly curls firmly about my waist, holding me still as she resettles herself closer behind me, pressing herself against my back. Oh, so that's what she was doing. Well... that's good, then. I lean into her, revelling in the warmth of her, the closeness, the silky touch of skin on skin...

"I'm not finished with you, yet," she murmurs in my ear, as though seeing straight into my mind, reading my thoughts. A foolish, happy giggle escapes me and I'm blushing fiercely, I know it, but I don't mind a bit and neither does she, I'm sure. She gives a sweet little laugh of her own and starts to cover my cheek with gentle kisses, languidly stroking the warm wet cloth along my collarbone, making me shiver as little chill bumps raise along the surface of my skin despite the heat of the water. I watch her movements; my eyes following her hand as she moves it a little lower, gliding the washcloth gently down over my...

I frown, suddenly, and look more closely at her hand. She has... some odd marks all over the back of it and on her fingers too; faint lines and tracks across her skin, like... scars. Very faded, certainly, but they're there. I never noticed those before, but then, I suppose I've never really had the opportunity to look at her hands like this, really, have I? Not even last night, not without being distracted by... other things, anyway. And not up this close, either, in the sunlight and all. I'm not certain they'd be visible if it wasn't so bright. Even now I can hardly see them, they look as though they have faded over a very long period of time, but still... they must have been very nasty at some point.

The question leaves my lips before I can think better of it. "Ma vhenan... what are all these little scars, here, all over your hands? How did you get them?"

Her hand stills in its gentle movements, and I feel her body tense a little against me. "Ah," she says after a moment, in a voice that tells me that... that it's something she'd rather not think about, at all... oh, dear. So of course I bring it up, why wouldn't I do that? Elgar'nan! Trust me to go and spoil the moment by reminding her of something like... whatever could have caused such scars.

I twist my head back to look up at her worriedly. "Is it something very bad? I shouldn't have asked, should I? I'm sorry, ma vhenan. You don't have to tell me what happened if you'd rather not, just pretend I never mentioned it-"

She smiles at me gently. "It's alright, Merrill. I suppose I knew you'd ask me sooner or later," she says. Her voice is soft, but there is quiet laughter and affection in her tone, not rebuke, and I instantly feel better. Well... a little better, anyway. The rest of me is still fretting over what could have hurt her so badly. She didn't say it was anything very bad, but... she didn't say that it wasn't, either... I should drop it really; from the way she reacted, I know I should, but... I can't help but feel anxious about it now. What could have happened to her?

I sit up and turn around, watching Hawke apprehensively, my heart clenching anxiously as she looks down at her fingers, the haunted look of a painful memory crossing her features for a moment. She takes a deep, quiet breath and lets it out slowly. "It happened when I was a child," she says, and then bites her lip a little. "When my magic first manifested. There was an... incident, and... my hands were... broken, very badly. Every bone, in fact."

Every... Creators, how? Did she hurt herself somehow, when she first discovered her magic? "But... your father was a healer, wasn't he?" I ask worriedly, and she nods a little.

"He was, and a very good one, too. He did his best, but... there was a lot of damage, in some places bad enough to... tear the skin, as you can see," she says softly, turning the back of her hand toward me, drawing my eyes to the myriad faint scars across her skin. Creators, what happened? I don't speak, I don't want to interrupt her, but I'm starting to feel very worried, now. Hawke sighs quietly. "Maybe it would have helped if he'd gotten to me sooner, but..."

She was alone? "Your father wasn't with you, then? He wasn't there to help you control it?"

She shakes her head. "No. It was just Bethany and me."

I frown at that, feeling more concerned than ever. A child, feeling her magic for the first time without anyone there to tell her what was happening, or how to manage it... Creators. That would just be the most absolutely terrifying experience. Oh, my poor little Hawke!

"Do... do you want to talk about it?" I ask quietly.

After a moment, she nods slowly. "Alright."

She turns me gently to face away from her so she can draw me close against her again, wrapping one arm about my waist and the other around my shoulders, and then she rests her chin gently on top of my shoulder before she starts to speak. I place my one hand over hers where she clutches my shoulder, and lay the other gently on her forearm, stroking my thumbs over her skin in what I hope is a soothing sort of way. I can't see her face at all, with her head on my shoulder like this, but then; maybe she doesn't want me to. Not right now, anyway. Maybe... maybe it's easier for her if I can't.

"It was a long time ago, now, when I was ten years old," Hawke begins softly. "We were living in a little village in the Southron Hills at the time. It wasn't the nicest place, but it was quite remote; well out of the way of templar hunters who might have come looking for Father. We'd moved there a few months before, after a unit came to our last town. Neither Bethany nor I had shown any signs of magic yet, so we had no reason to be cautious around people then." She gives the smallest of laughs. "Apart from making sure not to mention that our father was an escaped circle mage in hiding, of course, but other than that, we could go where we liked without having to worry about Templars or anything." She pauses, just for a moment. "I was out in the fields at the edge of town playing with Bethany, and some of the village children came by. They didn't know us very well yet, so they still tended to treat us like outsiders, picking fights with Carver, or teasing Bethany and me." She gives a small, short sigh, her voice laced with threads of smouldering anger and resentment. "I believe it was a favourite pastime of theirs. Wasn't much else for them to do, I suppose."

That seems... very cruel. Most of my clan mates were often shy of me even when we were children, because I was the First and new to the clan, but I was never made to feel like I didn't belong, never taunted just for not being born amongst them. Is this normal for children in human society? I wouldn't have thought so. I can't see any of my human friends behaving like that as children. Hawke would never have been like that.

I turn my head a little, trying to see some of her expression. I still can't really see her properly, but she looks... very sad. She turns her face towards mine for just a moment before she looks away again, but not before I see a dark shadow in her eyes; a flash of remembered hurt, of old fear that she doesn't want me to see, and I feel a sharp stab of worry in my chest. "What happened then?" I ask her gently.

She strokes my shoulder absently as she starts to tell me what came next. "As soon as they spotted us, they headed straight for us, surrounded us like a pack of mabari pups - very mean spirited mabari pups, mind you - trapping a pair of lost kittens. One of them said something nasty to Bethany - she was the easiest target, you see, the most sensitive - and the others joined in, following the little bastard's lead. I don't know where they learned to trade insults, particularly in such a small town, but some of the things they were saying..." Hawke shakes her head disgustedly. "Well, they wouldn't have been out of place in any seedy Lowtown tavern. Bethany got upset and I, of course, decided to improve our situation by very helpfully making some sort of smart-mouthed comment to the ringleader. And his idea of a witty comeback was to throw a rock at Bethany." She lets out her breath in a sound almost like a growl, and I feel an answering anger on her behalf, and for her poor little sister as well. "It hit her in the head and made her cry, and that's when I... I got furious, and then..." She trails off.

Oh. Of course. Such strong emotions often trigger the first release of magic in a mage child. Not always, but I believe it can very often happen like that. "That's when your magic came," I finish for her.

"Yes," she says hesitantly, her tone growing dark. "And it didn't come quietly," she murmurs in an ominous sort of way, and then falls silent again.

What does she mean by that? Did she... lose control of it, hurt herself? That can happen too... the youngest da'len - probably the Keeper's new First, by now - had something like that happen, just before I left the clan. He created a stone fist by accident when his power manifested, and would have dropped it on his foot in surprise if the Keeper hadn't been there to guide him. Perhaps something like that happened to her, only no one was there to stop her getting hurt? That would have been very nasty. It must be such a painful memory. Oh, why did I ever have to bring it up? I wait for her to continue; I hardly think that was the end of it, but she doesn't say anything more. I suppose it must be very hard to speak of, whatever came next.

"How did it happen?" I ask her eventually, keeping my voice soft. I'm not really sure whether I truly want to hear it if it was that bad, I can't stand the thought of Hawke being hurt, but... I did start this, after all, and she needs to finish it.

"I..." Her own voice is hushed now, too, so faint it is barely a whisper. "I... called lightning. Great, crackling balls of it in both hands; easily as much as I'd be able to handle now, but back then... I didn't mean to call it, and luckily I didn't hurt anyone; I managed to shoot it into a tree nearby instead, somehow, but... I remember being so scared. Bethany was just as frightened as I was, but at least we had both actually seen magic before, from Father. The other children, though..." Hawke sighs. "They were completely terrified. They didn't understand what was happening, and that made them crazy. Terrified, angry and crazy." She draws in a deep breath. "I stepped towards them with my hands held out, which now I know was foolish, since it only scared them more. I just wanted to show them it was alright, but... one of the boys yelled that I was going to hurt them, and... they attacked me, knocked me to the ground. I yelled at Bethany to go home, to get Father, and she ran."

I realise I've been holding my breath, and let it out as quietly as possible; I don't want to interrupt her. At the same time, I... I almost don't want her to keep going, not if it is going to be as bad as it seems, now. But I think I should hear it. I need to. I should know about what happened to her. If it wasn't her magic that hurt her... then...

She raises her hand from the water again and examines it for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is odd. Sort of... blank, detached. Distant, even. Maybe that's how she has to be, to talk of this. "The leader, the one who threw the rock, an older boy... he said I'd try to hurt them again, said they had to 'stop the witch from making the lightning', so... some of them held me down, stretched my arms out, and then..." She pauses, still looking down at her hand, the little scars now showing starkly white against her heat-flushed skin. "The others started... they... they broke my hands, stamped on them, crushed my fingers... Maker, it hurt, but I couldn't move, couldn't get away from them and... once they finally let up, well..." She draws another long, deep breath. "My hands, my fingers... every bone was shattered, my was skin torn, bleeding... Andraste, it was awful..." Her voice tails away.

By all the gods...

I sit in stunned silence in the water. Mythal have mercy... how they do that? How could anyone be capable of such a terrible act of cruelty, especially children? Elgar'nan! No one among the clans would ever do such a thing! All Dalish are taught from birth that magic is a gift, just as useful as the talents of hunters or crafters. I know humans feel differently about mages, of course I do, and I know fear makes people do monstrous things, but... that something like this could have happened to her... and to hear that it was children who committed such a dreadful, horrible act... Oh, Mythal have mercy...

"I... oh, Hawke..." I whisper at last, blinking back tears as I turn to throw my arms about her, heedless of the water I send splashing out over onto the floor as I do so. "I'm... I can't... how could they do that? You were just a child..."

My throat closes and I can't say anything else, but she understands. "Shh, it's alright." She holds me to her and I hug her fiercely, though I think I am far more upset by her story than she is. "They were only children themselves," she says after a moment, rubbing my back gently. "They were scared."

But that is no comfort, and it is just... it is no excuse! "That only makes it worse! How could children do such a thing?"

She sighs quietly. "They were terrified, and confused, with heads full of Chantry propaganda, and Chasind stories about the 'Witch of the Wilds' coming to snatch them away and devour them. That was all they knew of magic. Their reaction was... understandable. And it was a long time ago." Her arms tighten about me, and she lays her hand gently on the nape of my neck soothingly, kissing the top of my head. "I'm fine now. It's alright."

It's not alright. It's not. How could they...?

I take a breath, trying to calm down a bit, and I manage to eventually. A little, anyway. I pull back a bit to look at her. Her eyes are so sad... "What happened then, after they... I mean, they didn't go and get the Templars to take you to the circle..." Well, of course they didn't, did they? She wouldn't be here, if they had.

"No," Hawke says, shaking her head. "They ran away and left me there, after I... blacked out. They would have gone straight to their parents, though. They must have been hysterical, terrified..." She really sounds as though she's... sorry for them. Even after what they did to her, hurting her so badly. Breaking her fingers... crushing them...

I close my eyes. Creators...

"Bethany ran home and brought Father and Carver before anyone came back. I'm just lucky that Father was such an excellent healer or I'd have lost the use of my hands, or at least a few fingers." Hawke raises her hand and flexes her fingers a little, as though to prove to herself that she still can, fighting the memory of having them broken, perhaps. Oh, gods above... "He managed to save them all in the end and I was lucky to come away with only a few scars, but as it is..." She sighs again, spreading her fingers out before her. "They're not exactly pretty, are they?"

Mythal. I know she isn't asking for... for compliments, or reassurance at all, but I can't stand to hear her say such things. She is beautiful, every inch of her, scars or no. I take her hand in mine and bring her fingers to my lips, kissing them gently and hearing her quick intake of breath as I do so. I'm still amazed that I have that effect on her. "I think they are," I say quietly. "Even if you don't think so, I do, Hawke. These are the hands of... of a healer, a protector, a..." I bite my lip, glancing down shyly. "A lover. They are beautiful. Just like the rest of you."

Hawke gives a small, surprised laugh, her fingers squeezing mine affectionately. "You're so sweet, Merrill."

"Not as sweet as you," I tell her fervently, and she chuckles again softly.

"Well, now you're just trying to make me blush," she accuses, smiling at me, her voice warm and loving.

I smile. "Maybe I am, a little. It would be nice if it wasn't just me, for a change." She laughs again, and I trace the marks on her hands gently with my fingertips, trying to find something more positive to say, something to keep us feeling brighter after such a dark tale. "And anyway, the patterns the scars make are... sort of nice, actually. At least, I think so. These curved ones look like a lot of tiny little crescent moons. And there's lightning, here," I tell her, running my thumb over a longer, more jagged scar across the back of her hand. "Like a stormy night sky..." I trail off, blushing as I hear the words. Creators, I must sound so foolish.

Hawke leans back against the side of the bath, pulling me to her again, and I lay my head down on her chest. "I love the way you do that," she murmurs into my ear. "Always seeing the brightness and wonder in everything." She hugs me even closer, and I nestle into her, feeling tingling warmth spreading right through me. And not just on account of all the hot water.

"You can't really see them, anyway, not unless you look right up close," I reassure her softly. "And besides," I say quietly after a moment, not sure whether or not I should bring it up at all; I'm not exactly certain how she will take it. But... it might make her feel better about her own marks, if I remind her of mine. "I'm pretty sure I have a lot more scars on my hands than you do, ma vhenan." I raise my hand for her to see the scars on my palms and all down my arms. She healed all my newest ones almost completely last night, but I still have many older ones; some no more than faded white lines; some deeper, more angry, still red and glaring insolently up at us from the surface of my skin.

She doesn't say anything for a little while, not a word, not a sound. A little ball of anxiety starts to burn apprehensively within me. Oh, no... maybe I shouldn't have said anything. What if all I did was remind her of my blood magic, and the arulin'holm, and everything I told her not to think about, anymore? I might have just made her feel worse, and that isn't what I meant to do at all, not a bit! I feel myself getting steadily more nervous as the silence draws out almost unbearably... but then, all at once her soft silver laughter suddenly breaks the awful silence and she catches my hand in her own again and brings my palm to her lips, gently kissing the raised and broken lines carved across it with sweet tenderness.

"Yes, I suppose you do. You win," Hawke says, laughing again. "You always do, in the end," she whispers, and places a gentle kiss on my forehead, still holding onto my hand tightly.

I'm not really sure what she means by that, but it doesn't matter. I'm just glad I made her laugh. "I am sorry that happened to you, though, Hawke." I tell her. "It's terrible that such a thing could happen to a child, not to mention that your first experience of your magic was such an awful one. And it must have been very hard for your sister, as well! She would have been quite shaken by what happened to you."

"She was," Hawke agrees sadly, her voice quiet again.

"I remember... I think you told me once that Bethany was always a bit scared of her own magic," I ask hesitantly. I hate to ask, but somehow... I just have to. It's something I've always wondered about, considering the way Hawke embraces her magic as the gift that it is... and since we're talking about it already... "So... is that... is that why she was so afraid, then, of being a mage, I mean? Because of what happened to you?"

"Yes, I think it was," Hawke says softly. "One of the reasons, at least. She never said as much to me, but I knew her well enough to see it." She sighs deeply. "It didn't do my relationship with Carver any favours, either. Before that day, we'd only ever had to leave a town when Father thought that someone was getting suspicious of him, and we always had time to prepare properly before we left. No one ever knew for certain he was a mage. This time, of course, it was different; we had to run and leave everything behind, before the Templars came looking for me. Carver was just a little boy; he didn't really understand why we had to go and leave everything behind, including all his belongings. But he knew it was because of me. I don't think he ever really forgave me for that. And Bethany... when her magic manifested at last, a couple of years later... she was terrified. She saw the way the other children reacted to seeing my magic, and..." she lifts her arm, holding her fingers up in front of us as the rivulets of water highlight the path of her scars "...what they did to me because of it. She was always so afraid of her own magic, all because of that day." She lowers her hand back beneath the water, curling it about my waist again. "Petrified of her gift, because I lost control of mine."

Oh, no. No. I'll be having none of that. I sit up a little before she can tighten her hold, and press my hand gently to her cheek to make her look at me."You were only a child, Hawke. You can't blame yourself for that," I tell her firmly.

She looks at me expressionlessly for a moment as I hold her gaze determinedly, but then at last she smiles, though it's a little bit crooked. "I know. I just... I wish it had never happened, I suppose." Her smile fades slowly, and a familiar sad, troubled look creeps into her eyes. "If she hadn't been so afraid, if she'd been more eager to learn, she could have been more prepared when the blight came and... maybe she wouldn't have... she might still be-"

I sit up completely. "Ma vhenan," I interrupt her before she can take it any further, burden herself with even more irrational guilt than she already carries. She is not responsible for her sister's death, any more than for Carver's loss. She isn't. I look into her eyes, making sure I have her complete attention. "I want you to stop doing that, please."

She blinks in surprise, and then tilts her head at me questioningly as she sits forward a little. "What do you mean?"

I frown at her a little. "Thinking everything is your fault, all the time. Always blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control. You're not allowed to do it, anymore," I inform her, trying to sound as serious as I can manage. "I won't have it."

Her eyes search mine briefly, and then she arches one of her brows at me a little. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. I mean it.

A wide smile spreads across her face, and she inclines her head a little; the way Aveline's guards do whenever she gives them an order. "Very well, then. As you wish," she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth and laughter.

I study her carefully, and then nod, satisfied. She certainly sounds sincere enough, anyway. "Good. Because if you do it again, I'm afraid I am going to get very cross with you."

Hawke chuckles quietly. "Well, I don't want that," she says, a trace of fond laughter in her lovely, melodic voice. "Any other rules that I should know about, while we're on the topic?"

I think for a moment. There's nothing that occurs to me right now, although I might think of something else later, of course. "Oh, no, not really. Not yet, anyway. I'll tell you if I think of something," I tell her. "Do you have any for me?"

"Oh, not yet. I'll tell you if I think of something," she mimics me cheekily, smiling as I scowl at her with pretend ferocity, and then she tightens her arms about me and pulls me into her lap, making me giggle. "There is something I'd like to ask you, though," she says, cuddling me close. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, Hawke, don't be silly," I chide her very gently. She can ask me whatever she likes, now, it's only fair. "You can ask me anything. What do you want to know?"

She cocks her head at me curiously, gazing into my eyes. "Could you tell me how it happened for you?" she asks. "When you first learned you were a mage, I mean. You were four, weren't you? That's very young. Do you even remember?"

"I do," I tell her, nodding a little. Well, that's easy enough, I think. "Not everything, but... I certainly remember that."

I don't have many memories from when I was that small, only flashes, fragments, mostly little more than a blur, now. Shards of memories from a life I once had, so far away that it's almost like a dream. But the day the magic came... that memory is as sharp and clear as though it were only yesterday.

I look down for a moment, watching the shimmering rainbow patterns forming where the sunlight touches the scented oils in the water as I think about how to start. Not that it's a particularly difficult tale to tell; it certainly isn't anything like what happened to Hawke, nothing violent or painful. I was fortunate in that, but it isn't very exciting at all, either. My life story is about as fascinating as a stale, dry biscuit. Better just keep it short and simple, then, I don't want to bore Hawke to tears.

"It happened very suddenly." I begin eventually. "I was watching my mother weave an intricate reed basket, something nice to trade with the shemlens, I suppose - I remember her fingers weaving the stalks in and out and around, so clever and nimble."

I can see it in my mind as I speak, remember the awe and fascination I felt watching my mother creating something so pretty and delicate from nothing but a handful of dried reeds, wishing I could make something so lovely with my clumsy little fingers, and then...

"I reached out to touch her work... and suddenly out of nowhere, I... I accidentally set fire to it, somehow, and the flames consumed it, and then started spreading... The clan managed to keep the fire from destroying anything else until the Keeper came and took care of it, but..." I frown as the old, faded memory of it suddenly reawakens;

...the sudden flare of light and heat sparking from my little fingertips... Mamae dropping her half-finished basket and snatching me up out of reach of the magical flames that devoured her creation hungrily, then began creeping impossibly along the barren earth of the camp ground in search of more food, like a ravenous beast of living flame... the panicked, confused shouts the clan as they hurried to move aravels and crates out of the way of the fire's consuming path... my tears of shock and terror, and my mother trying to calm me...

...Hush, Merrill, emma da'vhenan. Ma reth, numin'din...

"What caused your magic to surface?" Hawke asks gently, her soft words breaking through the half forgotten memory of my mother's comforting voice.

I blink as I lift my head and glance at her, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know. I have no idea what could have triggered it, I wasn't angry, or upset, or anything like that, when it happened. If anything, it was just the opposite; I was feeling safe and loved, and, well... completely happy. Maybe that feeling was strong enough in itself to provoke my magic into coming out somehow. I couldn't say, really. Not for certain."

"Must have been frightening for you, though," Hawke comments softly.

I nod. "Oh, yes. It was. Partly because I was afraid my mother would be cross with me for ruining her weaving. But also because I didn't know what was happening, and there was a fire and everyone was panicking, so... I was very scared, yes. But the Keeper came quickly - not Marethari, the Keeper of the Alerion, I mean - and he got rid of the fire and told me not to be frightened, helped me get my mana under control so I didn't hurt anyone, or myself, either. I don't remember much more than that. The Arlathvhen was held soon after that, and then I was sent to the Sabrae to study under Marethari. That's about it, really." I feel an indignant frown form on my lips as I look into her eyes, feeling my anger building as I think of her own first experience. "No one was angry or fearful, though, when it happened. The Dalish would never do anything to hurt a mage child, like what happened to you." I shift myself a little so that I can lay my head against her chest, cuddling into her, needing to be close to her. "Magic is a gift; it is nothing to be feared. All the People know this."

"I always knew the elves were much cleverer than humans," she says, a smile in her voice, and she shifts a little to accommodate me as I resettle myself, letting me curl against her body, holding me close.

I laugh softly at her playful words, closing my eyes as the rhythmic thudding of her strong, brave heart draws me into a sort of blissful calm, lulled by the soothing heat of the water, and the warmth of Hawke's embrace. I very nearly drift off, but Hawke speaks suddenly, and her gentle voice brings me back to myself.

"Do you have many memories of them? Your mother, your father?"

"I have... a few, yes," I answer, my voice soft. "Not much, though. Just a few images, sounds..."

I hesitate, reluctant. I don't like to think about my parents very much - it tends to make me sad when I do - but... it must have brought back such terrible memories for her, telling me about her hands, yet she was so open about it, and brave. So trusting. Should she expect anything less from me, especially when my memories can't be anything close to as painful as hers? I think for a moment, trying to give her as detail much as I can remember. I forgot how much it can hurt, sometimes, to try and remember them, but... it's good, too. I shouldn't forget them.

"I remember watching a man - my father - remember running toward him. He seemed so tall. I can't... can't remember what he looked like very well, not really... but I remember his smile, and that he would lift me up and twirl about me in the air, and I remember shrieking with laughter because it felt like flying. And I remember the musical sound of my mother's voice, when she would tell me stories of griffons, or Arlathan, and sing me to sleep at night in our aravel." I glance down at my reflection in the surface of the water, just beneath my chin. I can see Hawke's face too, looking down at me with a slightly worried expression. Do I sound very sad? "I can see her face in my mind, sometimes, when I try really hard to remember. It isn't always clear anymore, but... her eyes are just like mine..."

Another memory resurfaces. A man's voice, a strong, caring voice...

...All Dalish have a duty to help one another. Be brave, Merrill, my little one...

And a softer, melodic voice, filled with warmth, and comfort, and love, but trembling on the edge of tears...

... we will always love you, da'vhenan... you must be brave, now...

...pale emerald eyes, wet with tears as a stranger, a woman with hair like snow and golden vallaslin and kind green eyes that are not my mother's lifts me gently from my mother's arms and carries me away to where an unfamiliar group of aravels stand waiting, surrounded by a sea of unknown faces. Mamae? I watch over the woman's shoulder as my father pulls my mother into his strong arms... she begins to sob brokenly into his chest as he presses his lips to her hair, his eyes squeezing tightly shut in sorrow... The woman taking me away from them climbs into an aravel and I twist in her arms as it begins to move, eyes searching desperately, staring out of the open window, watching through rapidly blurring vision as my mother and father become smaller, fading into the distance, farther and farther away from me until I can't see them anymore... I can't see them... they're gone...

"You must miss them," Hawke says quietly. She lifts a hand to cradle my head, stroking my hair gently. Her eyes, reflected in the water, are full of sorrow and compassion and love.

I blink hard to dispel the old memory, and press my cheek more firmly into her chest, seeking comfort from her warmth and her heartbeat. "Sometimes, yes..." I manage to say, forcing my voice not to shake. There's no reason to be upset, still. It was a long time ago, and I have a new life... and a love that I would not trade for anything, one which I would never have had, otherwise. I should tell her that, too; I don't want her to be sad for me. "But, Hawke... if I hadn't been given to the Sabrae, then I never would have come to Sundermount, and then... I never would have met you. And I can't imagine being without you, ma vhenan, not ever."

Hawke strokes my cheek gently with the backs of her fingers. "Then I promise you will never have to be, not if I can help it," she says fervently, and I smile as my arms tighten about her. I feel a lot better, now.

"Good."

The faint sound of clanging pots and pans suddenly reaches my ears, and I cock my head to listen, sitting up again.

"What is it?" Hawke asks curiously.

"There's someone up and about, I think," I tell her. "In the kitchen, maybe? I can hear pots being banged about downstairs."

"Oh, that must be Bodahn getting breakfast started," she says. "I'll have to take your word for it, though. I can't hear anything." She takes the tip of my ear between her fingers and gives it a playful tug, making me giggle. "Guess it's that sharp elfy hearing of yours."

"You really can't hear anything? He's making an awful lot of noise, down there." She just shakes her head. "Does he always make breakfast for you?" I ask curiously.

"Only when he manages to beat me to it," Hawke says wryly, her arms closing about me, pulling me against her again as she leans back in the water. "I much prefer to make my own."

I twist my head to glance up at her in astonishment. "You like to cook?" I didn't know that! She is full of surprises. It's going to be so wonderful, discovering all of them. I giggle, picturing her bustling about in the kitchen, making cakes and pies and things, and a delighted smile breaks across my face at the image. "Oh, that is very cute, Hawke."

Hawke blushes a little, a bashful half smile on her face as she looks down at me. "Alas, my darkest secret is revealed. You won't tell anyone, will you? It would ruin my fearsome reputation."

I bite my lip thoughtfully, pretending to think about it for a moment. "I suppose I could keep it to myself, if you'll make me something extra special for breakfast. Tomorrow, I suppose, since it's too late now."

Her smile widens. "Anything in particular in mind?"

"Can you make muffins? Or maybe a cake?"

Hawke laughs. "I certainly can. But somehow, I think Bodahn will be beating me to the kitchen tomorrow as well, I'm afraid. And a lot more often, from now on," she quips with a cheeky, adorable grin, raising an eyebrow meaningfully at me. "Not that I mind, of course. Not in the least."

I giggle again. "But you didn't really mind it before, did you? I mean, isn't he supposed to do things for you? I thought he was your..." I pause, trying to remember the proper term. "Manservant? Is that the word?"

Hawke nods. "Mm-hm. But he's more of a self-appointed one," she says, sounding amused. "And very well paid, I might add. He was just so determined to repay me for finding Sandal, I couldn't say no. Or rather, he wouldn't take 'no, really, I'm fine,' for an answer. I suppose I don't mind all that much, but I still find the whole concept of having someone trying to do everything for me more than a little uncomfortable. I really just prefer to do things for myself; so much so that the start of every day now begins with what can only be described as a desperate race to the kitchen, to see who can get breakfast started first."

"I suppose he wins this morning, then?" I say, listening idly to the clattering coming from downstairs. It's getting louder.

She grins, lowering her head to nuzzle my nose. "Mm-hm. But I got the prize."

I laugh. "You are being silly."

"But you love it when I'm silly," she protests as another lovely grin breaks across her face. "I know you do, admit it."

"Yes," I admit, smiling happily. "I do. But... couldn't you just tell Bodahn he doesn't have to do that, then? I bet he'd let you make everyone's breakfast if you told him that you like cooking."

"I tried, Maker knows I keep trying, but he just says, 'Oh, it's no trouble, messere!' and waves me off." She laughs lightly. "It's become sort of an ongoing daily war between us. Good natured, of course, but a war nonetheless. Not just over breakfast, either."

She starts stroking her fingers through my hair as she speaks, combing out the wet, tangled mess of my braids. It feels very nice. I close my eyes blissfully, resting my head against her again, nuzzling into the hollow of her throat. "Why? What other sorts of things does he try to do for you?" I ask absently, thoroughly enjoying her attentions.

She gives a mildly frustrated groan. "Everything. Patch my clothes, shine my boots, rekindle my lamps and hearth fire in the mornings..."

My eyes snap open and I lift my head to look at her worriedly. What? But... Creators, the fire was blazing already, when I awoke in Hawke's arms, in her bed, both of us... naked, together. Under the covers, of course, but still... very much naked. He didn't... surely Hawke wouldn't have let him...?

Hawke notices my expression and gives a little chuckle. "I lit the fire myself before you woke, love, don't fret. I'd hardly have let him in this morning, now, would I? Besides, the door was locked, remember?"

I breathe a silent sigh of relief, lowering my head and shaking it a little, feeling foolish. Of course it was. And of course she wouldn't have let anyone inside this morning. "Oh, yes. Right. Good." She always seems to know just what I'm thinking, somehow. "It was silly of me to think you would have, anyway. Let him into your room, I mean."

Hawke smiles as she lifts my chin gently with her fingers, raising my face towards hers. "It's your room now too, Merrill. Our room," she corrects me gently, lowering her mouth to mine, and I curl my fingers in her hair, pressing myself against her to meet her kiss, the words echoing wonderfully in my mind. Our room.

Exuberant, happy barking suddenly sounds throughout the house, along with several very loud cries of "Doggie!"

Hawke lifts her head with a sigh, apparently hearing the racket this time, glancing towards the washroom door and smiling. "That'll be Sandal, feeding the dog downstairs. If Mother wasn't up already, she will be now, after all that noise." She looks back at me. "Want to join her for breakfast?"

I bite the inside of my cheek as my insides suddenly roil with nerves. I try desperately not to let it show, but I very much doubt I manage it. "I-I... "

Mythal, I'm being foolish. It really shouldn't worry me so much, should it? Leandra is lovely and kind, just like Hawke, and she's always been so nice to me, but... I'm still so unbelievably nervous about her what reaction will be to me living here, in Hawke's house. With me and Hawke together. I shake my head at myself in annoyance. Stop being ridiculous about it! There's nothing to be afraid of, not if Hawke says it's alright. And Leandra is hardly going to bite me, is she? At least, I hope not...

Creators, there's an image...

Hawke tilts her head a little, smiling as she looks into my eyes, seeing my anxiety in them as though all my thoughts and fears are written on my soul for her to read at will. "Oh, Merrill. There's nothing to worry about. It will be fine. Mother already thinks you're just wonderful."

I blink up at her, sitting up and turning so I can look at her properly this time. "She... she does? Really?"

Hawke loosens her arms about me a little as I sit up, but doesn't let go. "Really," she says firmly, nodding. "And she already knows I'm in love with you." A wide smile spreads across my face at hearing her say those words. "She even figured it out on her own without me telling her, and she was delighted," Hawke continues with an answering grin of her own. "She told me to invite you to dine with us; practically ordered me, in fact. She'll be absolutely thrilled to bits that you're here. I can promise you that."

Well... that is very good to know. Hawke's mother has never been anything but nice to me, but... I was still worried she might have thought I was a bit of an idiot, after all those times I said something stupid in her hearing, or fell over my own feet in front of her, or something just as foolish and embarrassing. Like that time I accidentally managed to lock myself in the airing cupboard, somehow. Although, she did seem more amused than cross about it, when she found me. She even said she was quite impressed, actually, since the airing cupboard doesn't actually have a lock on it... I still haven't worked out how I managed that one. I am very glad she likes me, despite all of that. It's still going to be... very awkward, though. I mean, with me living here, and all, and... and Hawke and me... being with each other... that is, no one was around to see us last night, and Hawke's... no, our room is quite far away from anyone else's, and the walls are quite thick, so... I don't think anyone heard us, Creators, I hope not, but still... to know that Hawke's mother will know that we're going to be... making love... Mythal, it's embarrassing to even think about it! But then, Leandra is a grown woman, and of course she already knows about... that sort of thing, she's had three children, after all, hasn't she? She isn't going to let it bother her, certainly, she's too sensible, worldly, unlike me. I will... I will just have to get over it, and try not to be so silly and bashful.

And anyway... I certainly don't intend to let anything stop us from doing it again. Making love, I mean. Frequently. And soon.

Oh, yes, I really wish we could do that again, very soon...

I nod, keeping my eyes on Hawke's beautiful blue ones. "Alright, then." I lift a finger and tap her gently on the nose, making her blink. "But I will hold you to that promise, ma vhenan," I tell her, trying to keep my expression as serious as I can manage. "And if you're wrong, it will be you who has to sort it out with your mother."

"As you wish," Hawke smiles, resting her hand against the back of my neck and leaning forward to give me another slow kiss, deeper this time, and I close my eyes, tilting my head a little as her lips ravenously capture mine, the tip of her tongue gliding over my parted lips and then venturing deeper...

... Mythal'enaste...

"So...then... um..." I manage to say once we come up for air at last, and I convince my heart to slow back down to a normal sort of rhythm, or almost, anyway. "I suppose, maybe... we should... we should probably get dressed and go downstairs soon, then? Before anyone starts wondering where you are?" I could kick myself for trying to be sensible right now, but well... we should, really... best not to get carried away, and anyway, it's starting to sound like Bodahn will be finished soon, with whatever he's doing. At least, there's a lot less clashing and clanging coming from the kitchens, now.

Hawke sighs regretfully. "Mm. I suppose so." She sounds very reluctant, though. So am I, but we can't stay in here forever, anyway, not without someone coming to find us, like Hawke said, and... I really don't want that. I start to get up, to leave the water, but Hawke tightens her arms about me suddenly, stopping me from rising, and I glance at her in confusion. She just gives me a wicked sort of smile before taking my shoulders in her hands and turning me gently back around, then she slips her arms about my waist, drawing me firmly against her again.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she whispers in my ear, and I shiver pleasantly, leaning into her.

"Aren't we... aren't we going down... to breakfast?" I ask, my voice faltering a little as she lowers her head and kisses my throat gently, in that place, that wondrous place... Oh, Creators... "Won't... ah... won't someone come... come looking for you, soon?"

"Soon, yes... but not right this minute. We have a little time. Besides," she murmurs huskily in my ear, pulling me even more closely to her, and my breath hitches as her hands glide silkily down my body beneath the water. "I'm still not finished with you, yet..."

Well, then... it seems... it seems that I... I may get my wish much sooner than I...

Oh... Mythal'enaste!

xxx H xxx

"Would you like some eggs, messere Hawke?" Bodahn says happily as he reappears suddenly from the kitchen, presenting the plate for my inspection with a small flourish.

"Thank you, Bodahn," I say somewhat resignedly, accepting the offering of yet another well-laden food dish and placing it on the table. With all the others. As fond of him as I am, his over-exuberance and near-slavish desire to please does wear on me a bit from time to time. Like right now, for instance; especially considering that the table is currently loaded with enough food to feed all of Kirkwall for a month, at the very least. Well, I suppose I should have expected this, really. He was already in high spirits from managing to start breakfast before I got the chance, and when he saw I had a guest this morning, he became nothing short of ecstatic to have someone else to fuss over. I would be surprised if he didn't cook everything in the kitchen in his excitement. I'm not about to take him to task for it, since he's so excited, and all. I may still be uncomfortable with having servants, but it seems to make him happy, at least.

Bodahn bows, smiling widely. "No trouble, messere, no trouble at all. Only just cooked them up, I did, so they're nice and hot!" He turns to Merrill. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Merrill? Anything at all, just say the word!"

"Oh, thank you, Bodahn, but I'm quite alright, really," Merrill says, smiling sweetly at him. She gestures at the over-burdened plateful of sliced bread, ham and fruit he placed before her already, probably more than she could manage in a week. "You've given me plenty of food already, don't worry."

He gives her another wide smile and bobs his head. "Very well, miss. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here this morning. Messere Hawke has never had company this early, before!" He frowns. "It is very odd that I didn't hear you at the door, though."

Merrill blushes fiercely, glancing up at me, and I smile, winking at her as Bodahn continues obliviously; "I offer my most sincere apologies, Miss Merrill. I do hope you were not left waiting too long. I was quite busy making breakfast for Messere Hawke and Mistress Amell, you see, and-"

"There's really no need to apologise, Bodahn," I cut him off kindly. He'll go on forever like this if I let him. I glance at Merrill, offering her another surreptitious smile as her blush deepens, her mouth curving sweetly in answer. "I took good care of her myself."

"Ah, of course you did, messere," Bodahn says merrily. "So kind and thoughtful, you are! It's such an honour to serve you. May I just say again that Sandal and I are very grateful for everything you've done for us." A sudden smashing noise that sounds suspiciously like rather a lot of china plates all breaking at once rings loudly throughout the house, and Bodahn's head swivels tellingly in the direction of the kitchen. "Uh, s-speaking of my boy, I think I'd best be getting back to him," he stammers nervously, then glances at Merrill apologetically. "Don't like to leave him by himself in the kitchens too long you see, Miss Merrill, or he'll get himself into a right mess in short order. Likes to try and help, he does!" he chuckles, his voice full of affection, though he still looks rather anxious. He nods at the doorway into the hall as he heads towards the door opposite leading back into the kitchen. "Mistress Amell should be along any moment, I believe."

"Thank you, Bodahn," I say, smiling at him, and he bows again, withdrawing hurriedly to the kitchen as another deafening smashing sound comes from within, followed by a mournful cry of 'Not enchantment...' I think that was the garishly ostentatious Orlesian crystal goblets that the de Launcets graciously pawned off on us at their last Feastday celebration. That last smashing sound did sound rather more fancy, I think. I'll have to tell Sandal not to be too upset for breaking that lot, he's done me quite a favour.

Merrill glances anxiously towards the hallway entrance, shrinking in her seat a little and twisting her fingers nervously together in her lap beneath the table. I reach out and place my hand over hers, halting her anxious fidgeting. "It's alright. Stop worrying," I tell her, trying to be reassuring, though I'm not entirely certain how exactly this conversation with Mother is going to go. I've never been in this situation before, after all; this is as new to me as it is to Merrill. There's no doubt in my mind that Mother will be happy about Merrill coming to live here, though; I just wish I knew how to convince Merrill of that. I smile at her lovingly. "She already knows how I feel about you, remember? And it isn't like you haven't met before. She already likes you; no problems there. Nothing to fret about."

"I-I know," Merrill says, but then promptly betrays herself by worrying anxiously at her lower lip. "It's just... Won't she think it's... strange, about my being here so early, I mean? Won't it just make things sort of... uncomfortable? You know, for her to know that... that we...last night..."

Ah, so that's what's bothering her so much. Well, I can't say I'm particularly comfortable myself, knowing my mother will be soon aware of our... new level of intimacy. Who would be? But I don't think we have to worry too much about it this morning. Who's to say it needs to come up at all? No one was awake last night to hear either of us come in, or... anything else, after all, and while inevitably we will end up being subject to endless jokes at our expense - mostly from a certain nosy pirate and a dwarf with a storyteller's ear for salacious gossip, no doubt - there's no reason to assume there will be too much awkwardness about it just yet. I'm certain Mother will be the soul of graceful discretion about the whole thing.

Hopefully that isn't merely wishful thinking.

I squeeze Merrill's hand soothingly. "We're just having breakfast, that's all. She already knows we're together, so we shouldn't have to worry on that account," I say, as much to reassure myself as her. "As for last night, well, there's no reason for that to come up. Mother will likely draw the same conclusion that Bodahn did; that you arrived for breakfast, and I let you in myself. I don't foresee our impending meal together being too unbearably awkward." I smile wryly. "Unless I happen to blurt out any spicy details about last night by mistake, of course."

Merrill's eyes snap to mine worriedly. "That's not really something you'd do, is it? Telling your mother about... about..."

"Oh, sweet Maker, never!" I exclaim, horror filling me at the mere thought. "Could you see yourself casually chatting to the Keeper about the finer points of lovemaking?"

She blushes fiercely, shaking her head forcefully. "Mythal, no! I think I'd rather turn myself in to the Templars than to...to..." She breaks off with a shudder. "Uhh, no! Definitely not! Ever!"

I chuckle. "Well, that's about how I feel about it. So as long as neither of us brings it up at all, I don't see that it will be a problem. My biggest concern is how to tell her that you're coming to live here. Not that she won't be thrilled about that too, but I just don't really know how to broach a topic like that."

Merrill's eyes widen. "Oh, but... wouldn't... wouldn't it be better for you to talk to her about that alone?"

"It will be fine, Merrill," I repeat firmly, and give her another gentle smile. "She will be pleased, I promise. Ecstatic, in fact; I bet you anything. You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. Trust me."

She breathes out, trying unsuccessfully to return my smile. I can feel her hands shaking beneath mine. Maker, she really is nervous. "Alright, then. I do trust you, I just..." she begins, but then her eyes go wide and she cuts herself off abruptly as Mother suddenly sweeps gracefully into the room.

Well, here we go, then...

"Morning, Mother," I say brightly to catch her attention and keep it on me, trying to give Merrill a moment to calm herself. "It's a serve-yourself breakfast today. Bodahn had to run back to the kitchens to mind Sandal." I assume a mock sorrowful expression. "I fear the Orlesian wineglasses have met an untimely and rather dramatically violent end."

Mother smiles fondly at me."Which suits you just fine, I'm sure. Never mind," she says as she comes towards the table. "Good morning, darling. Goodness, he certainly made enough food, didn't he? What could have gotten into him?" She puts up her hand to cover a delicate yawn as she approaches, then pauses abruptly, suddenly noticing the tiny, trembly little bundle of nerves in the chair right beside me; the little bundle whose slender fingers begin quivering even harder in my grasp as Mother's piercing blue gaze lights upon her. Mother's eyes widen slightly in recognition and she blinks in obvious surprise. She recovers quickly enough, however, and gives Merrill a warm smile. "Ah. I think I see what has him so excited. Good morning, Merrill, my dear. What a delightful surprise! How lovely to see you. You are well, I hope?"

"Oh yes, thank you, I am, Mistress Hawke- I-I mean, Mistress Amell? I'm not sure which you like better, sorry..." Merrill stammers timidly.

Mother gives a gentle laugh, holding out a reassuring hand to Merrill as she settles herself daintily in the dining chair opposite her. "It's alright, sweetheart. Either is fine, but please; you can just call me Leandra."

"I... al-alright," Merrill says, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her hands stop trembling beneath mine. "Thank you... Leandra."

Mother smiles back at her, and then turns to me. "You didn't tell me that Merrill would be joining us this morning, darling!" she says, a faintly accusatory but very obviously pleased note in her voice.

"Uh... well, I would have, of course, only it wasn't exactly planned," I say carefully. "Not until last night."

Mother gives a long-suffering sigh. "My dear, have I taught you nothing? It's considered quite discourteous to extend an invitation to dine without giving both your household and the recipient at least a few days notice."

"It was... sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Well, I suppose I can forgive you," Mother smiles. "Though you could have mentioned it to me... oh, but then, I didn't see you at all before I retired for the evening. You must have gotten home awfully late. I do wish you would be more careful of the time, dear. You do make me worry!"

"My most sincere apologies, Mother," I tell her, resisting a sudden compelling urge to roll my eyes in fond exasperation at her mothering. "I'll try my very hardest never to let it happen again."

"Oh, that was very convincing," Mother laughs. "You almost made me believe you." Her gaze wanders between me and Merrill. "I thought perhaps you might have found a bed elsewhere for the night again..." she says with a small smirk, her meaning clear.

I force myself not to blush at the playfully suggestive note in her tone. "No, I came home to sleep," I tell her carefully. Well, it's the truth.

"Alright then, darling. I believe you." Mother smiles at Merrill, who has been quietly watching our exchange with big, round eyes. "It really is a pleasure to see you, Merrill, dear," she says, reaching for the water pitcher in the centre of the table and pouring out a goblet. "I understand you and my daughter have become quite close?"

I lift a brow at her in surprise. Right, straight to the point, then; no delicate dancing around the subject first? How very refreshing!

Merrill glances at me, and I smile at her encouragingly. "Yes," Merrill says quietly, smiling back as she looks up at me. "Um... more than close, actually." She looks back to Mother, meeting her gaze steadily. "I love her," she says simply, her lilting musical voice soft, but clear and unwavering. My heart begins to perform some very impressive acrobatic leaps within me at the sweet, honest conviction of her words.

A delighted smile appears on Mother's lips as she looks warmly at Merrill. "I'm glad to hear it," she says affectionately. "And I know she feels she same way about you. Do try to keep her out of too much trouble, won't you?"

"Oh, well, I'll certainly try," Merrill says, her smile now at odds with the small worried frown creasing her brow slightly. "But I don't know that I'll manage very well. Trouble seems to like Hawke almost as much as I do, since it follows her everywhere, and I will have to sleep sometimes." Mother laughs, and Merrill's face lights up joyfully at the sound.

I press her hand again, and she glances at me, relief shining clearly in her gold-flecked emerald eyes. "See?" I whisper, smiling, my voice alive with warmth and love. "Told you."

Perfectly innocuous words, or so I would have thought; but perhaps there was some other sort of telling current of emotion in my voice, or some subtle shift in the air that only those with noble upbringing are trained to detect, because Mother immediately turns her head towards me at my words and begins scrutinising me closely, her eyes sharp and focused as though puzzling out a particularly intriguing riddle. She turns her gaze on Merrill next, glancing down to where our hands are clasped tightly together in her lap, and gasps quietly as though in sudden understanding. Her lips quirk in amusement, and I feel a surge of apprehension. Does she... no. She couldn't have figured that out already, just by looking at us?

Surely not...

Mother meets my eyes deliberately, pausing for the briefest moment as a small, knowing smile dances over her lips, and then slowly raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow; a simple, seemingly innocuous movement, but to me it speaks volumes, and I find myself suddenly swamped by a wave of deep embarrassment.

Sweet Maker, she knows! She... she actually figured it out, just by looking at us? How did she... how does she know that we...

Oh, bloody Void...

I press my lips together in chagrin at my own foolish thoughts. I should have expected this, after all, shouldn't I? She's so damn perceptive, she figured out how I felt about Merrill with nothing more than a couple of foolish smiles and a few careless words from me. Of course she would notice this too. If anything, I ought to be surprised she didn't realise what happened between us the instant she walked in and saw us together. And it's a ridiculous thing to be embarrassed about, anyway, isn't it? She is fully aware I'm no longer a child, after all, and I'm sure she must know I've hardly remained... let's say, innocent... she must know... but still... she's my mother, and she knows, and I know that she knows, and now she knows that I know that she knows, and it's just... so... bloody... awkward! And that smug look on her face...

Oh, Maker, strike me now. Come on, don't be shy.

Mother's satisfied smirk deepens momentarily as she watches me squirm in discomfort beneath her amused gaze, and then she looks back over to Merrill and a gentle, completely genuine smile lights up her whole countenance. She plucks a scone from a basket on the table, still smiling encouragingly at her. "I must say again; it really is wonderful to see you this morning, Merrill. I hardly expected you to be here this early," she says, cutting her scone in two before reaching gracefully for the butter dish. She spreads a little on one half, and then pauses with deliberate, impeccable timing, throwing another amused glance in my direction. "Or perhaps this late," she adds in a low voice clearly meant for my ears alone, looking at me with a knowing twinkle in her eye and one brow arched ever-so-slightly.

I feel a blush spread hotly over my cheeks, and I rub my neck in that Maker-damned nervous habit before I can stop myself, still rendered speechless. Mother drops me a mischievous wink at my incredibly obvious tell, and suddenly I am strongly and very uncomfortably reminded of Isabela. Maker, could this possibly get any more uncomfortable?

Merrill glances up at the pale blue sky through the window. "Well, the sun isn't very high, yet. So it can't be very late, can it?" she says nervously, sounding a little confused, apparently having heard Mother's quiet aside but missing her meaning entirely.

Mother glances at her, looking slightly taken aback, having failed to take Merrill's sensitive hearing into consideration. "You're quite right," she says after a moment, smiling. "Silly me."

Merrill bites her lip. "I hope you're not bothered that I'm here so early," she says, gazing at Mother with wide, worried eyes. "You're not, are you?"

"Of course not, Merrill, dear," Mother says, her tone soothing. "I'm very happy to see you." She gives me a surreptitious smile. "And I'm quite certain my daughter enjoyed having you here."

The pause between 'enjoyed' and 'having' is so slight I'm hardly even certain it was there, much less intentional. Maker, I hope not. I really, really hope that wasn't an attempt at dirty humour. I think I can say with confidence that I am now more uncomfortable than I have ever been in my life. And that includes the time that Carver put rashvine nettle leaves under my bedclothes.

Really, Maker? Is this because I called you a nug-licker? You miserable old bastard, I thought you had a sense of humour. Or is this your divine idea of a joke?

"I did," I manage after a moment, giving Merrill's hand a squeeze. Merrill gives a bashful smile, glancing up at me shyly.

"There you are then, sweetheart," Mother says with a small but rather fiendish grin. "I daresay she would enjoy having you more often."

Oh, for... Maker's sagging balls! You're not a merciful god, are you?

"I'd like that very much," Merrill says ingenuously, and Mother gives a delighted laugh. Merrill gives her a small smile, not knowing whether or not she should laugh too, and she glances at me uncertainly, clearly unsure of what exactly Mother finds so amusing. I think I'd best put an end to this now, before she starts making any more attempts at crude humour. Perhaps I shouldn't invite Isabela over to dine with us quite so often anymore, or at least stop leaving Mother alone with her. Clearly, the Queen of the Eastern Seas is a terrible influence on otherwise proper and polite noblewomen. Noblewomen who generally do not make dirty jokes based on an inappropriate interpretation of the word 'having'.

I take Merrill's hand again, and she looks up at me curiously, as though hoping for an explanation of what must have been an extremely baffling conversation for her thus far. My eyes flick meaningfully at Mother before I look back at Merrill. "She knows," I tell her softly.

Merrill's eyes suddenly open wider than I thought was possible. "Oh...you mean..." she whispers, "... you mean she knows that... that we..."

I nod, and she blushes a deep, burning crimson that reaches right to the tips of her pointed ears. "Oh..."

I shoot Mother another dark look across the table. "Very amusing, Mother, but Merrill isn't used to playing such games. Perhaps we could engage in a bit of plain-spoken conversation for a moment? I'm certain I would feel more comfortable." I give her my best reproving glare. "Not to mention it would be far more courteous to our guest."

"You're perfectly right," Mother says, having the grace to look chastened for a moment. She turns to Merrill. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she says, her tone plainly remorseful. "Please forgive me. I haven't yet had the opportunity to tease my daughter in such a situation; I'm afraid I simply couldn't resist! I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, however. I do apologise."

"Oh, no, it's alright, I don't mind," Merrill reassures her, smiling. "Although I'm not really sure what you're sorry for; I wasn't uncomfortable. And when were you teasing Hawke? Was it very clever? I'm so sorry, I think I missed it, I was a bit... distracted... well, anxious, really, so I wasn't really concentrating. Sorry," she says, growing remorseful for a moment before abruptly brightening again in the next."But I can certainly see where your daughter gets it from, though, saying such quick and clever things all the time, I mean. She always does that."

Mother laughs in delight. "And I can certainly see why she adores you so." She smiles at me. "I hope you plan to ask this darling girl to grace our table with her presence again, and soon."

Alright. Alright, well, that didn't end too badly, then. I suppose I can forgive her for having a little harmless fun. Besides, she's just given me an opening I really shouldn't ignore, not even to take her to task for her teasing. Better not waste it.

"I think I can arrange that," I grin back. "In fact, I was thinking that we could have the pleasure of her company at dinner this evening as well." I pause briefly. "And supper. And breakfast tomorrow, too." I hold her gaze, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. "And every meal, every day, from now on."

Mother sits perfectly still for a moment, blinking as she takes in the meaning of my words, and then she smiles widely, laughing as she rises and rushes around the table to us, completely abandoning all elegance and decorum. She happily kisses a visibly bewildered Merrill on the cheek before leaning down to envelop us both in a warm hug, made slightly awkward by the fact that we are both still seated and more or less trapped in our high-backed dining chairs.

"Oh, my darling, I'm so happy for you! For both of you," she says, smiling fondly first at me and then at Merrill. "This is just wonderful!"

"You really think so?" Merrill asks tentatively, looking worriedly at Mother, who merely smiles at her.

"Of course I do, my little sweetheart," she answers fondly. "You are an absolute pleasure to be around. And I've seen the way my daughter smiles when she speaks of you, and the way she looks at you now. I haven't seen her so happy in a very long time. Just look at her; so full of joy and light, and unfeigned laughter. All because of you." She cups Merrill's chin gently in her hand. "My sweet, dear girl; thank you. Welcome to our little family."

Merrill's eyes shine a little wetly, and she smiles up at Mother, suddenly unable to speak. Mother smiles back at her, reaching out to smooth a gentle hand over Merrill's hair before placing an affectionate kiss on her forehead, and then she abruptly rises and is back around the table and in her chair again almost before either of us even has time to blink. Alright, then. Emotional display done with, respectable etiquette and proper noble behaviour resumed once more.

Well, as long as there are no more uncomfortably suggestive jokes forthcoming, that is just fine by me.

"So, if I may ask; what are your plans for today, you two?" she asks, reaching for a small pot of blackberry preserves.

I shrug a little, absently spearing an apple quarter with a fork and taking a bite. "Not much. We're heading to Lowtown after this to start getting a few of Merrill's things together, so we can bring them back here."

"Don't speak with your mouth full, dear, it's most unbecoming." Mother says automatically, then smiles at us. "That sounds like an excellent plan. Don't waste any more time, then, hurry up and finish your breakfast, girls. The sooner you get started moving Merrill in, the better."

She spreads a little of the sweet berry jam on a piece of scone, and then looks up at me as though suddenly reminded of something. "You know, I was thinking of taking a short trip," she says.

I blink in confusion for a moment, unable to comprehend the reason for her sudden unexpected announcement. It seems somewhat unrelated to our previous topic. "Oh?" I say eventually. "Feeling adventurous, are you?"

She laughs. "Perhaps a little. I'd wager that's your influence, darling," she says, still smiling. "Actually, a letter arrived the other day from an old acquaintance of mine, asking me to stay with her for a few weeks."

"An old acquaintance?" I ask curiously, cutting a bite of ham. "Who?"

"Gisele de Soliere," Mother answers, taking Merrill's goblet and pouring water for her, smiling gently at her stammered thanks. "No one you know. She grew up here in Kirkwall, and we were very good friends as girls before she married a minor noble and moved to his family estate in Ostwick. Apparently it's quite lovely there this time of year." She takes a sip of water. "Gisele even offered to send a carriage for me, and to arrange accommodations at reputable inns along the way. I thought I might take her up on it."

I feel my brows lift in surprise. It seems a bit odd for her to mention this all of a sudden, not to mention she hasn't travelled outside of Kirkwall in years. "You want to go to Ostwick? Now?"

"And why not?" Mother enquires, lifting one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "The last thing you need right now is your mother watching over your shoulder every time you come home. Personally, I think the timing couldn't be better. It will give you two a little time alone together." She smiles between Merrill and me, and then lifts an eyebrow, her smile becoming slightly cunning. "Perhaps I could even develop a sudden desperate need for Bodahn and Sandal's service on the road," she says thoughtfully. "Think of it. You'll have the entire house to yourselves."

That is... incredibly appealing, to be honest. And doesn't she just know it. What a wonderful gesture. I watch her quietly for a moment, feeling grateful and blessed. "Thank you, Mother."

She raises her eyebrows at me, still smiling. "What for, darling?" she enquires.

"For being so supportive of all this. Of everything..."

"Of course, love. Why wouldn't I be? The more you and Merrill are together, the more I get to see you like this; so utterly happy. You should see yourself, it's just wonderful." Mother smiles kindly at Merrill, and then leans toward me. "I think she's very good for you, don't you agree?" she says in a loud stage whisper. "And quite beautiful, too. Such lovely eyes." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Merrill blush deeply at her words.

"Well, of course I agree," I say quietly. "Just... thank you."

She smiles gently. "Eat up, then, come now," she says, motioning to my plate, and turning to do the same to Merrill. "You especially, sweetheart, before you waste away to nothing. Look at you, skin and bone. When was the last time you had a decent meal? You will need your strength to carry your things up all those dreadful stairs, you know. Perhaps you two should enlist some help? I'd wager Bodahn would be happy to assist you."

Well, that's certainly a safe bet.

"Oh, no, we'll be fine! We can manage, I'm sure," Merrill assures her brightly. "And I haven't got that much to bring, anyway, not really, just clothes. And not many of those, either."

A sudden glint of excitement appears in Mother's eye at Merrill's words. "No?"she asks, her voice deceptively casual. Oh, no. "Well, then I shall just have to take you shopping, then, shan't I?" Mother declares, and I groan inwardly. Oh, here we go... "I'm sure we can find you some lovely things in the Hightown market." She pauses momentarily, the corners of her mouth turning downwards slightly in a delicate frown. "Although I'm not certain whether they will have very much clothing made to fit elves there, apart from servants' uniforms and such, and that certainly won't do. But perhaps we can visit Jean Luc," she says, brightening again. "He is an excellent tailor."

"Oh, yes, I've heard of him," Merrill nods. "Hawke said he made her those nice clothes, the fancy ones she wore the other day to see the Viscount."

"Yes, the ones that mysteriously disappeared later that same day, as I recall," Mother says dryly, glancing at me. I merely shrug unapologetically in response.

"I liked those clothes, very much," Merrill says dreamily, a shy smile on her face. "I thought she looked very grand in them, and beautiful." She looks at me then, biting her lip a little. "And very... heroic, too."

She... thought I looked heroic? Really? Well... now it's my turn to blush.

Mother quirks an eyebrow, smiling. "Well, when you and I go to see Jean Luc, we can commission him to make her some more, and you can encourage her to wear them more often," she says with a sly gleam in her eye. "I'm sure she would, if you asked her to."

Damn it. I would, too. All she would have to do is look at me pleadingly with those huge eyes and I'd be helpless to resist; a fact which has apparently not escaped Mother. I'm certain her mind is already racing with all the ways she can use it to her advantage, all the things she can try to convince Merrill to get me to do now, like grow my hair out, host tea parties, wear dresses...

Ugh, Maker.

"Come on," Mother encourages suddenly in a gentle but uncompromising tone, gesturing gracefully at the food in front of us. "I don't want to see a scrap of food left in front of either of you."

I shake my head a little, smiling wryly. Oh, yes, she's well into her element now. Two unruly children to mother and fuss over instead of just one; she must be in absolute heaven.

"But I'll never manage to eat all this," Merrill says in a small, worried voice, her expression almost fretful as she looks up at me.

Mother overhears her. "Just eat what you can, dear," she laughs. "I didn't mean it quite that literally. As long as I'm sure you've had a decent breakfast, I'll be happy. It's the most important meal of the day, you know. But don't worry; Bodahn may have gotten a little overexcited today, but generally our usual table spread is rather more modest than this."

"Alright, then," Merrill smiles, relieved, glancing down at her overladen plate. "I hardly know where to start!" She looks across the table, her gaze settling on the little jar of reddish purple preserves beside Mother's plate, and draws in a short, sharp breath, her eyes widening. "Is that... blackberry?" she all but whispers.

Mother follows her gaze and nods. "Yes, blackberry preserve. I found a supplier in the market. He imports it from Ferelden, since the fruit doesn't grow in these parts, at least not well." She holds the pot out to Merrill. "Would you like some?"

"Ohh..." Merrill sighs happily, reaching eagerly for the jar. "Yes, thank you! I haven't had blackberries in ages, not since we left Ferelden. They were always my favourite; they're so sweet!"

Just like you. "Try some with a scone," I suggest, savouring her joyful delight. I had no idea she loved blackberries so much. I must make a note of that.

"Scone," Merrill repeats carefully, still gleefully clutching the jar of preserves in both hands. She looks at the one on Mother's plate, and then at the little basket on the table."That's... one of those little doughy bread things, right? I think Varric brought me some of those, once, though he didn't tell me what they were called. I suppose he assumed I would know already."

I smile. "So, the Dalish make muffins and cakes, but not scones?"

Merrill shakes her head a little. "No, not really," she says, then pauses thoughtfully. "Although we do have something that's a bit like it, I suppose. Little round balls of a sort of very light journey-bread that you bake over hot coals," she replies, taking a scone from the basket and breaking in two with her hands. She spreads some of the preserves on a piece and immediately bites into it, closing her eyes as the sweet jam touches her tongue, chewing quickly and swallowing as she nods. "Mmm. Yes, I think this is much the same thing, though these a bit sweeter. And more... crumbly. Mahariel used to make things like this all the time, but these are a little nicer than hers, I think. Although I'd never tell her I said so." She takes another bite and gives a quiet sound of blissful satisfaction. Not unlike some of the sounds she made last night, in fact...

"Who is Mahariel?" Mother asks curiously. "The name sounds familiar, somehow, but I can't place it."

I suppress a smile, sensing an opportunity for a little gentle teasing of my own. "Oh, she's one of Merrill's former clan mates," I answer casually before Merrill can finish her mouthful. "She and Merrill grew up together, back in Ferelden." I raise my cup and take a sip of water. "Before she became a Grey Warden, that is," I add offhandedly.

"A Grey Warden?" Mother repeats in surprise. "Really? I wasn't aware there were any Dalish Wardens."

I grin, watching as Mother takes a bite of her own scone. I want to get the timing just right.

"Well, there's at least one," I tell her, watching as she chews delicately. "Though her background isn't made as much of as it should be. She's quite famous, though. You will have heard of her."

Mother looks at me questioningly, her mouth still to full to speak. Perfect.

"But most people just know her by her title," I continue, suppressing a grin of anticipation. "The Hero of Ferelden."

I like to have my fun, too.

I bite back a smile of satisfaction as Mother's face assumes an utterly priceless expression of shocked astonishment and her jaw drops in a very unseemly manner, completing the effect brilliantly as she briefly reveals a very unladylike mouthful of half chewed scone. "The Hero of-?" she starts to say around her mouthful.

"Oh, Mother, don't speak with your mouth full!" I tease delightedly. "Most unbecoming indeed!"

Her hand flies to her mouth in the next instant as a deep blush stains her cheeks, and she shoots me a look; half mortified annoyance, half wry amusement. If I were still in pinafores, I could expect to spend the rest of the morning sitting in a corner for that. I have no doubt she'll find some other more... subtle revenge, but I don't care. Whatever she comes up with, it was worth it.

Once sufficiently recovered from her minor embarrassment, Mother immediately begins peppering Merrill with excited questions, only a few of which Merrill actually has an answer for. How long has she known the Hero? What was she like as a child? Is she as brave and beautiful as all the stories say? Does she really sleep in a bed made from the bones of the Archdemon itself? And is it true that she had a passionate but short-lived love affair with the red-haired, foul-mouthed dwarven warrior who accompanied her during the blight? I very nearly choke on a piece of bread trying to stifle my laughter when she voices that last question. I think I may have to remind her not to believe everything in Varric's stories the next time he is invited to dinner. Or perhaps have him explain to her his tendency to sacrifice historical truth and accuracy in favour of dramatic - or comedic - effect.

Merrill tries to answer her as best she can with what little she knows of her lost clan mate, though she seems quite torn over how she could best please Mother; by replying to each and every one of her ceaseless barrage of questions, or by following her earlier orders to eat a proper breakfast, or both at once? I just watch them and listen, eating quietly and reflecting happily on how well our little discussion went this morning, at least once Mother managed to rein herself in. Naturally, it could have been better, but... it also could have gone far worse. Her gentle teasing was largely restricted to myself, for which I am grateful, and the way she treated Merrill, so affectionate and caring... I've never been so aware of just how lucky I am to have a mother like her; understanding, kind, accepting, loving. Our relationship may not have always been without its conflicts, but ultimately, given the choice... I don't think I would change a single thing about her.

As if obeying some sort of silent ironic cue, Mother's voice abruptly disrupts my pleasant reverie. She's moved on to another topic now...

"...while you two are in Lowtown today, I think I will pay a visit to Jean Luc after all, and see if I can't book a fitting and have him design a fine new wardrobe for you, sweetheart," Mother is saying to a very bewildered Merrill, who simply nods dazedly at her words, looking very overwhelmed by Mother's exuberance. She'll get used to it eventually, just as I did. I sigh heavily under my breath as Mother's eyes flash in excitement. "Plenty of greens and earth-tones, of course. You do seem to like them so, and they suit you very well, of course, but perhaps... something new, for variety? You would look utterly resplendent in white, my dear. Ah! And I can order some more good clothes for my daughter as well, while I'm there. Something new, something different. Royal blue silk to bring out her eyes, I think, with silver embroidery. Perhaps even a couple of dresses, in blue and purple silks. Oh, and floral patterns! Ah, yes. Marvellous..."

Ugh, no. Maker's breath.

Alright, well, maybe I might change a few things. Just a few.

The streets are already bustling with an almost frantic level of activity when we finally make it down the long run of stairs to Lowtown, the twisting lanes and alleyways becoming all the more crowded the closer we get to the busy market square. Merrill glances at a clothing display in a Lowtown tailor's stall as we make our way along the lane, biting her lip a little as her delicate eyebrows draw together worriedly. I smile, watching her, and wait for her to voice whatever anxious thought the innocuous sight of the tailor's humble wares put into her mind.

"Do you think Leandra will really have the tailor make me white clothes?" Merrill asks worriedly as we pass by his stall and walk down the short flight of steps into the marketplace. "It's just... I mean, white is very nice, and all, and I am very grateful, of course I am, but... we get into so much trouble all the time, you know, always getting covered in dirt, and muck, and blood, and how would I ever keep them clean?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I tell her, slipping my arm about her slender waist as we wander through the teeming square in the vague direction of the alienage. She leans into me as we walk, and I glance down at her beautiful profile, enjoying her sweet warmth against my side. "She'll just go right out and buy you some more, never fear. In fact, she'd probably be well pleased; it would simply give her an excuse to order new fabrics, and patterns and styles, and whatnot. Perhaps I should suggest she offer Jean-Luc her services as a clothing designer, I think she'd like that." I pause for a moment and catch her eye as our current topic recalls me to something she said at breakfast. "You really think those extravagant clothes made me look... heroic, do you?"

She lets out a soft, delightful giggle, ducking her head a little as her ears turn a faint adorable pink. "You always look heroic, Hawke, because you are," she says, resting her head against my shoulder as we make our way slowly through the busy throng. "You don't need fancy things for that. But... you did look lovely in them. Even more lovely than usual, I mean."

I tighten my arm about her waist affectionately, feeling my cheeks heat at the earnest sincerity in her voice. "Well, then, perhaps I won't mind wearing clothes like that more often. As long as you have some just as fine to match," I tease gently, watching the path ahead of us out of the corner of my eye as I keep my gaze on her. My sweet, beautiful little elf. "I bet Mother is arranging a fitting for you as we speak."

Merrill wrinkles her nose a little. "I'm not so sure I like the sound of that, now."

"I'll make you something nice to make it up to both of us," I smile at her. "What do you fancy? Muffins? A cake?"

She lifts her head and tilts it to one side thoughtfully, considering. "I really liked those scone things. Can we have more of those?"

"Of course." Easy enough. "Whatever you wish. Mine are even better than Bodahn's, if I do say so myself," I grin, taking the opportunity to press closer against her as we sidestep a stall displaying rows of rings and other little trinkets. "You said Mahariel used to make something like them?"

She nods, and a dwarven vendor with a booming voice suddenly chooses this moment to yell loud and very boastful endorsements of the quality of his weapons at me. I ignore him. What use would a sword be to me, anyway? Or daggers, for that matter? I suppose I must look like a rogue or a warrior to some people. I lean down to hear Merrill better over his obnoxious racket as we pass him by. "She used to call it 'tu'shem'," Merrill says. "Very useful for long journeys, since the dough keeps well if you wrap it in elfroot leaves. The meaning is something like 'made quickly', because of how fast the bread rises, although I think she might have made it up herself. I never heard anyone else call it that."

I prick up my ears at the information, fascinated as always by the elven words. "Shem? Like shemlen?" I ask her eagerly. "I thought that meant 'human'."

Merrill's voice takes on an instructive tone. "Well, it does refer to humans. It was the name that our ancestors gave to humanity, because the lives of humans were so short compared to theirs," she tells me. "But it actually means 'quick children'. Like 'durgen'len', for the dwarves. Stone children, you see."

"Ah," I say, thinking it over for a moment. "So calling someone a 'shemlen' isn't really much of an insult."

"No, not really," Merrill says, and then laughs a little. "Not unless you put 'dirty' or 'smelly' in front of it, of course."

"Well, I think I can safely say that I am neither," I smile. "Certainly not after this morning."

Merrill giggles. "I'm pretty sure the city elves use it as an insult, though, but..." She turns her head to glance at a passing elven labourer, likely heading towards the docks to look for work, and her face suddenly falls a little. "They have lost even more than the Dalish. I don't think they remember what it means anymore."

I frown a little, thinking fast for a way to lighten her mood again. "That, or they just think that being human is enough of an insult in itself," I joke after a moment, and she gives a small laugh and glances back at me again, shaking her head a little.

I smile at her, glad my distraction was successful, and keen to resume our discussion. "So what is 'da'len'? That's what the Keeper always calls you, isn't it?"

Merrill nods. "It means 'little child'," she replies softly. "It's an endearment."

"So 'len' must be children or child, then, and 'shem' is 'quick', 'durgen' is stone... and 'da' is 'little'?" I ask curiously, warming to the subject.

"Yes," she says, looking up at me with a surprised smile."That was clever of you to work all that out, Hawke."

"Yes, well, I'm quite... ah, shem, aren't I?" I joke. Maker, that was weak. So much for clever.

She giggles despite the poor jest, nodding. "Don't forget silly."

I chuckle in agreement, and give her slender waist another affectionate squeeze. "Can you teach me more?" I ask her hopefully.

Merrill looks at me in surprise. "You want to learn elven?"

I nod enthusiastically. "Yes, please. I'm interested. And who knows? Maybe it will be useful for working on the eluvian." I'd honestly love to learn more, and not just for the sake of the mirror. The elven language is so beautiful, what there is of it, and it's so much a part of who Merrill is. I'd love to be able to share it with her. "If it would be appropriate, that is."

"I... I think that would be wonderful," Merrill says, her eyes lighting up as she smiles at me. "I'd love to teach you what I know, ma vhenan. Just give me a little time to think about where to start."

"I look forward to it, my heart," I tell her, and place a gentle kiss on her rosy cheek, earning myself another soft sweet giggle and a contented sigh into the bargain.

We walk on in comfortable, blissful silence, weaving our way through the crowded stalls and up the stairs in front of the Hanged Man; the halfway point between the Hightown steps and the alienage. Then Merrill abruptly stops in her tracks, raising her head and staring into the distance at a point down the street to the right.

"Oh, look, Hawke, look!" she says, pointing. "Isn't that Isabela, over there? It's very early for her to only just be getting in, isn't it? Where has she been, do you suppose?"

I look in the direction she is gazing, and sure enough, there she is; the Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas, swaggering nonchalantly up the steps at the very end of the street. I watch her as she draws nearer, taking in the mussed, jet black hair beneath the slightly skewed blue headscarf, the tell-tale wrinkles in her clothing, and her extremely self-satisfied expression. "If I were to make an educated guess, I'd say either the Blooming Rose, or Ander's clinic," I decide, and then smile wryly. "Or perhaps both; one after the other, to save time."

Merrill gives a soft laugh. "Well, that sounds about right."

Isabela's swaying strut suddenly quickens noticeably, and a wide grin spreads over her face as she finally spots us. Her golden eyes twinkle merrily as she comes sauntering over. "Well, well, look who we have here," she drawls, her tone pleased.

"Nice to see you, Isabela," I grin back. "Had a good night, have you?"

She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow suggestively as she looks us both up and down slowly.

"Looks like you both did, too, unless I'm very much mistaken," she says meaningfully. "I take it you've... made up, then?"

My eyes widen involuntarily. Maker's breath! What, is it written on my face, or something? I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and sigh inwardly. Well, now it is. Isabela smiles in gleeful satisfaction as she watches me, her suspicions confirmed.

"Made up? After the fight we had, over the eluvian, you mean?" Merrill asks ingenuously. "Oh yes, we have, definitely."

Isabela chuckles fondly. "Well, that's certainly good to hear, kitten, but it isn't quite what I meant. I was in fact referring to you and our fearless leader here getting naked last night," she states, completely matter-of-factly. And in quite a loud voice. "You did, didn't you?"

Merrill stares, and her cheeks abruptly tinge a deep red. I guess we match each other again, now. "How... how did you know?" she asks, her eyes as big as saucers.

"I have a seasoned eye. I can tell just by looking at you," Isabela says, still grinning."You've both got that glorious glow only worn by people who've just spent the whole night having absolutely amazing sex."Merrill's ears are now as crimson as her cheeks, and Isabela winks at her, clearly thoroughly enjoying herself. "And about bloody time, too. I'm glad you two have sorted out your differences at last. I'm especially happy for you, kitten," she smiles at Merrill. Then she flicks her golden gaze to me, and her eyes narrow slightly. "But Hawke..." Isabela says in a low, dangerous tone as she steps in close to me, leaning in so that her lips practically brush my ear. "Hurt her like that again, and I won't be so forgiving next time," she breathes somewhat menacingly, keeping her voice as quiet as possible so as to avoid letting Merrill overhear her whispered warning.

I simply nod, accepting the sisterly threat without comment. She doesn't have to tell me twice; I certainly don't intend to do so ever again. If I did, I daresay I'd be grateful if she made good on her promise.

She steps back, abruptly resuming her cheerful demeanour, pretending not to note Merrill's concerned and slightly suspicious expression as she glances between us.

"What did you say, Isabela? I couldn't quite hear you."

Isabela winks at her. "Nothing to be concerned about, kitten. I was just telling Hawke how happy I am for the two of you, finally... how did you put it... 'being together romantically' with each other."

I notice Merrill rub at her head in apparent embarrassment, and I give Isabela an inquisitive glance. When did she call it that? "This was during one of your little chats, I assume? Just what exactly do you two talk about during all these secret conversations of yours?"

Isabela grins. "Oh, you know, this and that," she shrugs indifferently, in a very unconvincing manner. "Sailing, mostly."

Sailing. Right. "Is that some sort of euphemism?" I smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she says with a grin, which I take as an affirmative. "Anyway, like you said, it's a secret. And I'd be a poor excuse for a thief and a pirate if I couldn't keep certain little treasures to myself now and then, now wouldn't I?" She ruffles Merrill's hair affectionately, and then punches me in the shoulder in what I choose to assume is also a display of affection. "I really am happy for you two, you know. In fact, I think I'll go and have a drink to celebrate."

I give a soft but somewhat indelicate snort, rubbing my stinging arm. "Isn't a celebration supposed to be something special, not something you do every five minutes?"

"I'll make it special. I'll ask Corff for some of the really expensive whisky flavoured with rat droppings." Isabela jerks a thumb at the door of the tavern behind her invitingly. "Want to join me?"

"As tempting as you made it sound just now, and setting aside the fact that it isn't yet mid-morning, I'm afraid we have to decline," I comment dryly, grinning. "Thanks anyway, but we're heading to Merrill's place."

Isabela quirks an amused eyebrow at us. "I see," she drawls. "I don't suppose you want... company?"

"Oh, that's all right, Isabela. We're going to look at the eluvian, I'm sure it wouldn't really be very interesting for you," Merrill says, her tone deceptively oblivious since she seems to be trying to hide an amused smile. "Maybe we could come and give you some company later, though?" She blinks and then hurries to clarify as Isabela grins at her. "Oh, not... not like you mean, of course... but maybe you can give me the lesson you mentioned, when you came to see me after... um, the other day."

After Sundermount, she means. I feel a jolt of deep guilt at the unpleasant reminder, which fortunately soon fades away as I belatedly process the rest of Merrill's words. A lesson in what, exactly? Counting cards in diamondback? Flirting lessons? 'Sailing' lessons? The benefits of pantslessness? Perhaps I wouldn't mind if it were one of those last three so much, as long as they don't entail any practical demonstrations. I raise an eyebrow at Isabela, though my question is for Merrill. "What sort of lesson?"

Isabela gives a warning cough, which unfortunately for her is entirely lost on Merrill, who looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Isabela said the next time I went to the Hanged Man, she would teach me to do something called..." She pauses, furrowing her delicate brows adorably in concentration, clearly determined to get the word right, whatever it is. "Body shots?" she says at last, her tone questioning as she looks to Isabela for confirmation.

I bite my cheek hard to keep from bursting out laughing, in case it makes Merrill think she said it wrong, but I can't keep the grin from my face as I turn my gaze on Isabela. "Oh, did she, now?"

Isabela folds her arms defiantly, though a smirk plays across her full lips. "You take care of her your way; I'll take care of her mine. The offer still stands, if you're interested; I'm all too happy to extend it to you too, Hawke," she says, her voice now sultry and teasing.

I laugh."Thank you, but I am already familiar with the concept. I think we'll pass. If Merrill really wants to learn, then I'll make it my responsibility to show her at home." Isabela opens her mouth to speak and I hastily cut her off. "Without supervision, thank you very much."

"Spoilsport," Isabela says, grinning. "I'll let you get on with it, then." She leans in towards Merrill, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "But before you go, kitten, I'd like an answer to the question I asked you earlier, since you're in a better position to answer it now." Isabela's eyes flick to me and a wicked smirk lights her face. "How was she, kitten? Did she... curl your toes? Explore your Deep Roads? Dampen your Divine?"

My eyes widen as my face grows hot with embarrassment, but Merrill merely tilts her head, unusually unfazed by Isabela's suggestive teasing.

"Yes," she says, gazing up at Isabela unflinchingly, challengingly almost, yet still in a sweetly innocent sort of way as she smiles up at the suddenly nonplussed pirate. "She did. You were right, Isabela. She was wonderful." She giggles a little, and her ears go red again but she doesn't drop her gaze. Her next words nearly knock me off my feet. "She made my fingers clench and my eyes roll too, just like you promised she would."

My mouth falls open and I stare at her in a mix of incredulity and amazement, feeling my cheeks burn darker than ever. Maker's balls... that's what they talk about? Merrill holds Isabela's stunned gaze easily, and I close my mouth as I begin to smile instead, suddenly feeling an odd but very strong sense of pride in Merrill as she stares up at the gaping pirate with wide eyes, and that cheeky little smile. Who would have thought it; our lustily irrepressible pirate captain, completely thrown by Merrill of all people, her innocent little kitten? Wonders will never cease.

Isabela suddenly laughs loudly in delighted surprise, recovering her balance quickly, as usual. "Well... that's good, kitten. Or perhaps I ought to call you 'tiger', now?" she says, lifting a suggestive eyebrow at Merrill, smirking. "Wish I had a slip of parchment on me, this is absolute gold."

"Parchment? What on earth for?" I ask in puzzlement, but she merely laughs in reply.

"For her, um... 'friend fiction', most likely," Merrill says, giving Isabela a slightly irritated glance. "She said she wants to write a story about us... being together... and sell it to Varric for one of his serials."

"What?" I yelp, staring at Isabela incredulously. Maker's blood, but that's just what I need all over town, isn't it? Great. "Tell me you're joking."

"I never joke about friend fiction, Hawke. Oh, don't look so shocked," Isabela says, grinning. "Once word about you two gets out, Varric would likely write one of his own anyway, and what does he know about girly fun? At least if I do it, I can get all the delicious little details exactly right... every last toe-curling, finger-clenching, eye-rolling little detail..."

"Isabela!" Merrill says warningly, frowning at her crossly.

Isabela laughs. "Ooh, look at that fierce little scowl. Sorry, girls, but I am a firm believer in freedom of artistic expression, and all that rot. Besides, I only do it out of love."

I give an exasperated sigh under my breath but decide to let it go, since I doubt she will give up on it. "Whatever you say, Isabela. Just, please at least try to make it somewhat tasteful? For my sake? And no names."

Isabela grins. "You have pretty eyes." I sigh again, louder, shaking my head in weary amusement, and she grins more wickedly than ever first at me, and then at Merrill as she leans in towards her. "You left out the bit about your thighs, though, sweetness," she purrs in a sultry whisper to Merrill, who holds her gaze determinedly, though her blush deepens. "Might as well do the thing properly. Did she make you... quiver...?"

Did I make her...? Right, well, I think that's quite enough of that. I raise an eyebrow at Isabela with a warning look. A very pointed warning look.

Isabela notes my stare with a smirk and takes the hint, though she rolls her eyes a little, very clearly mouthing 'spoilsport' at me before suddenly cocking her head to one side as though listening to something. "What's that, Varric?" she says loudly. "I'll be right there." She grins at Merrill. "We'll finish this conversation later, kitten. I've got enough to work with for now, I think. Tell you what, I'll let you read the first draft, and you can help me out with all the little details, you know; the kissing, the touching, the sighs and moans, the positions... oh, I think I'd better go get started on it right now. I feel inspired. I have such glorious images in my head..."

She winks at Merrill again, and then swaggers briskly through the door into the Hanged Man, pausing for a brief moment to throw a roguish look back over her shoulder, before vanishing into the dim, musty tavern.

Merrill watches her go with wide, worried eyes. "She was only joking about writing that about us, wasn't she? I'm sure she wouldn't really be that descriptive, surely," she says a little anxiously, and then suddenly giggles, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. "That was so much fun though! Did you see the look on her face when I... I almost can't believe I could say such things. But I did, didn't I?"

I grin at her in amusement. "You certainly did," I remark wryly, and she looks up at me, suddenly anxious again.

"You didn't mind, did you?"

I smile reassuringly. "Of course not. If anything, I'm proud of you. It's not every day someone manages to render Isabela speechless with astonishment."

Merrill bites her lip a little, unable to restrain a bashful smile as she gazes up at me, and I brush my lips lightly against her temple in a sudden rush of affection. Doubtless now that Isabela figured out what we've been up to, everyone else will hear about it too, in short order. Likely well before midday, courtesy of her wagging tongue, and in enough embellished detail to rival Varric's most ridiculously exaggerated story. And anyone she doesn't tell will probably end up reading about it, apparently. Well, I suppose that takes care of that, doesn't it? Everyone will know, now, one way or another. Fine. Good. No need to be shy, then, is there?

I lift Merrill's head with a gentle finger beneath her chin, and she beams happily up at me, wrapping her slender arms about my neck as I rest my hands against her the gentle curves of her hips, pulling her gently against me as she gives a small but thrilled little gasp. I let a slow smile spread across my face as I gaze down into her beautiful emerald eyes, which flutter shut as I lower my head down towards hers, her sweet giggle filling me with breathless delight, her slender fingers tangling through my hair as I press my mouth to her soft, warm lips in a tender but utterly rapturous kiss. She makes a wonderful, mewling sound of pleasure as I let my hands drift down a little further, and I smile into her kiss as it grows deeper, more insistent.

Eventually, though, I have to force myself to draw back before I forget where we are. Merrill makes a small noise of protest as my lips leave hers, and I smile at her as she opens her eyes, looking up at me plaintively.

"Sorry, but we're not exactly alone." I whisper, flicking my eyes pointedly at a pair of openly staring elven labourers loitering outside the tavern, both of them practically drooling and looking as though Feastday has come early. "I'll make it up to you later, I promise. We'd best get going, anyway, before I let myself get too carried away. We don't want to end up making a scene not unlike the one Isabela was involved in a few months back."

"Oh!" Merrill exclaims, and then giggles. "When she got caught doing things with that Chantry initiate, you mean... in the Grand Cleric's bedchamber?"

I grin, remembering Isabela's shameless laughter as she recounted the tale of their discovery by none other than the very shocked and appalled Hand of the Divine herself, when she retired to her chamber for an afternoon nap. Wish I could have seen the look on old Elthina's face for myself. "Right. Only much more public, if somewhat less sacrilegious." My amused grin widens. "And with fewer holy sisters watching through a crack in the wardrobe door."

"No. We've only got the one, over there in the corner," Merrill says brightly, nodding to a young, red-haired woman in the sun-emblazoned robes of a Chantry sister standing in the shadows, watching us with an oddly intense, interested sort of expression. Her eyes widen in surprise as she notices our regard and she turns away immediately, walking quickly down the stairs towards the market with a pointedly straight and dignified posture, though I'm almost certain I see her glance back at us just before she sweeps out of sight around the corner. She seemed... vaguely familiar, somehow, as though I've seen her somewhere before... although I daresay she could have been there on one of the rare occasions I've had reason to venture into the Chantry. But there was something slightly odd about the way she walked, too; moving with a sort of stalking, catlike grace, like the near perfect balance of a well trained dancer... or fighter. And the way she stared at us... quite interesting behaviour from a woman of the cloth... why was she watching us?

I dismiss it from my mind. I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about. Maybe she's just graceful. And as for the staring, well... I don't suppose they get a lot of people kissing in the cloisters. She was probably just... curious, like the wardrobe sisters. I can now add 'corruption of a holy sister' to my list ever-growing of sins against the Maker too, I suppose. Ah, well. He hasn't seen fit to strike me with any divine retribution yet, so I shan't let it concern me in the slightest.

"Come on," I say, smiling down at Merrill and twining my fingers with hers as we resume our interrupted progress towards the alienage. We still have to get her packed, and take a look at the mirror, and all that, after all. "Let's just get to your house and get started before the morning is completely gone. We still have a lot to do. And of course," I lower my head down to speak softly into her ear. "The sooner we get it all done..." I whisper breathily as she giggles sweetly, "then the sooner I can see about making you quiver again..."

Note: Just wanted to add a translation of the elvish I used, since I sort of pieced some words together from what I found on the dragon age wikia page on elven language. (I can't post the url here, the site won't let you post any non-fanfiction urls, but a search for 'dragon age elven language' should bring it up if you're interested.)

I figure in the Dalish camps, clans try to speak as much elvish as possible so they don't lose it, and get their children to do the same. The first two words/phrases are right for sure;

Mamae - Mother

emma da'vhenan - my little heart

The last two I had to guess how to say them. I highly doubt if what I put together is perfect, but just to give an idea of what I was trying to say:

Ma reth - you're safe

Numin'din - don't cry

...

Also, I should have mentioned that credit for the breakfast scene goes to Lycanthrope232, whose expression of interest in a charmingly awkward dinner scene between Hawke & Merrill & Leandra promtped this scene, which I wouldn't have put in otherwise, but I'm glad I did! So thanks, Lyncanthrope! That was for you, glad you liked it. And thanks to Purple Biscuit for seconding the suggestion.

Another chapter coming up as soon as I can manage, complete with a quest (of sorts)!