fic: a tiny, perfect thing
Nov. 27th, 2017 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunspotTitle: A Tiny, Perfect Thing
Fandom: Dragon Age (Origins/II/Inquisition mix'n'match)
Relationship(s)/Character(s): Alistair/Merrill, Lace Harding, Dagna, Original Characters
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 6552
Content Notes: violence, injuries, kidnapping
Summary: Merrill joins the Inquisition after the events at Adamant Fortress and immediately gets sent to the furthest reaches of Thedas to do some research with the most ragtag group of souls Inquisitor Adaar could find. That's what Varric says, anyway. Merrill quite likes a few of them...
Author's Notes: Written for Black Emporium Exchange 2017. Originally posted at AO3.
"So, who was it that you pissed off to end up here?"
The question startles Merrill for a second, mostly because she thought she was alone. It's Lace Harding, the always-smiling dwarf leader of their odd little group. She's stretching by the water's edge, digging her toes into the sandy dirt.
"No one, I hope. I volunteered when the Inquisitor asked if I knew anything about elvhen ruins."
"Aww, and who can say no to his big, beautiful eyes?" Lace says with a chuckle. "I volunteered, too. This place is just so… Weird. I love it."
Merrill looks around, still crouched by the river, washing out her socks. "It's really beautiful here," she agrees. The Arbor Wilds is about the last place Merrill thought she'd find herself after agreeing to help the Inquisition, but despite the humidity and the eerie quiet that descends so frequently, she's kind of enjoying herself.
"We should get back, Rodney said porridge would be ready in a few."
There are eight of them in the Arbor Wilds at the Inquisitor's behest, scoping out the widely uninhabited land and trying to establish where to build a strategic forward camp. There's been rumours flying in from all sides for weeks that something big is out here in the jungle, and that Corypheus wants it, badly.
They've found nothing that could fit that description yet, just weird plants, huge, flying insects, and the most incredible ruins Merrill's ever seen. She's spent a lot of time in them, even though not everyone in the party thinks it's a good use of their time. She and Dagna, the dwarven arcanist, pass hours inside the ruins of old buildings, poring over everything they can find.
They come across a building that must have been some kind of auction house. After picking through the remains of a caved-in roof, they find a raised platform with scratches in the stone where a podium may have stood, even a few stone tokens.
"Could these have been like coins?" Dagna asks, nudging one with the edge of a fingertip. There's a tremor in her voice that absolutely echoes what Merrill is feeling. She didn't imagine she'd find anyone as interested in all these things as she was, let alone a dwarf. It only took coming to the end of the world, the most bizarre place she's ever been, to find a friend with the same interests.
"Maker's ass! Will you two hurry up? I don't think Corypheus wants to buy cattle from some elvhen farmer who's been dead ten thousand years!"
"Bill," Lace calls from somewhere out of sight, "shut it. You're here in case there's someone to hit. They're here to look at the old stuff and tell us what we're looking for. Let them work."
Bill, standing guard with his hand on his sword hilt, sighs dramatically. "But you're getting tired too? It's not just me sick of standing here, overheating and feeding all the bugs in the whole damn jungle?"
Their Warden companion, Alistair, shrugs. "I'm not saying anything."
"Good man," Lace says from her hidden vantage point.
Dagna and Merrill agree to hurry up, if not because Bill will complain for the next fortnight, then at least because he's right, it's getting oppressively hot as it reaches midday. They say they reached a natural stopping point though, because they don't want Bill feeling vindicated.
They make it back to the remains of last night's camp just as the rest of their party returns from the stream, shaking water from hair and wringing it from beards. Merrill's jealous they got a chance to cool off, but she's also excited to continue on. Every new discovery in the jungle is more incredible than the last.
"Where to next, boss?" Rodney asks Lace. Lace just shrugs and turns to Merrill and Dagna.
"Ladies?"
"Still north, I think," Dagna says and Merrill nods, trying not to look too excited. "We're definitely heading towards a old settlement.
They hoist various packs and tools and head north, breaking trail as they go, and fighting the jungle for every foot. Sturdy Lace and Dagna and tiny, nimble Muddy go ahead to scout the way and find the easiest path through, followed by Rodney and Bill, cutting down the heaviest vegetation with their swords drawn. They can't complain so much when they’re out of breath from hacking at tree limbs and the crawling vines that appear everywhere. Merrill is in the middle of the line up, getting the easiest job but carrying the extra pack to make up for it. Alistair and the stoic Orlesian, Marcel, follow up behind her, keeping an eye on their backs and covering their tracks as best as possible.
Rodney and Bill are in the middle of some convoluted conversation about a man Bill used to know in the army and they must forget that Merrill's still behind them. Rodney lets go of the branch he's holding and it flies back and smacks Merrill square in the face. He doesn't even look back.
"Oh, no, are you alright?" Alistair is at her elbow, turning her around to face him. "Look, you're bleeding."
It's not the first time Merrill's scraped herself up on a branch or a rock and it's really not that bad, but she's tearing up anyways. No one's fussed over her since she and Hawke took a trip up Sundermount and Merrill lost her footing and nearly broke a finger catching herself on a rock.
"Rodney, you idiot," Alistair calls to the retreating backs barely visible in amongst the undergrowth.
"Scorpions in his beer tonight," Marcel promises, winking at Merrill and swinging his pack down from his shoulder. Alistair takes the little bundle wrapped in cloth that Marcel hands him and starts to unfold the first aid supplies.
"Oh, I'm fine really, only a couple scratches," Merrill says, wiping the wetness from her eyes. "Just startled me, is all."
"Maybe," says Alistair, tilting her head up with warm fingers under her chin and staring at her face with a furrowed brow. "Not sure what kind of plants these are. Could have Maker knows what on them. We'll clean you up."
She winces when he dabs at the little scratches on her cheekbone. "Sorry," he murmurs, before he blows gently on the wound, chasing the sting out. Merrill blinks up at him, basically towering over her, and marvels for a second how he can be so gentle.
"Um," Marcel says, shattering the strange moment. "Do you hear?"
There's definitely something going on up ahead. Merrill loosens her staff and Alistair already has his sword drawn when they hear the distinct sound of metal on metal and an angry, wordless shout.
Merrill glances back at Marcel, whom she knows is uncomfortable with magic, but he just nods grimly. She lets fly a bolt of green light and the branches blocking their path basically melt away. There's Venatori surrounding the rest of their team, but Merrill can't see Lace. She prays to the Creators that's because she's hiding out, waiting for her moment to spring out in a hail of arrows, and not because she's gone down.
At least Rodney and Bill already had their swords out, and it looks like at least one Venatori is dead or nearly there. Merrill can smell blood in the humid air, and Rodney looks to be hurt. She flings another bolt of energy into the fray, narrowly missing Alistair. He's charging in with little regard for anything else going on around him, but Merrill's been around the Hawkes and Isabela and Fenris enough to know how to avoid too much 'friendly' fire.
The Venatori probably mistook them for a group of naive, green scouts. They are not that, even though they look a little ragtag. The ambush is done and dusted in only a few moments, the eight of them (including Lace, who swung out of a tree and knocked a Venatori to the ground for Alistair to dispatch) taking out all thirteen Venatori.
Rodney has a big gash on his arm, and Dagna has a nice black eye blooming on her cheekbone, but they’re okay on the whole. They switch up their course, deciding to veer way west before hitting the point they’re aiming for. Merrill and Muddy follow everyone else at the back, Merrill using what she remembers of the nature-calling magic from Keeper Marethari ('gardening tricks,' she used to say) to coax the vines and leaves to grow back over their path, and Muddy helping out when her energy wanes. Alistair stays with them, tension radiating off him like a guard dog on high alert.
Thankfully, there are no more incidents and Lace reports nothing out of the ordinary when they stop to make camp. She doesn't think they're still being tracked and has seen no sign of anyone else traveling their path.
"Maybe that group was their forwards scouts, and we don't have to worry any more?" Dagna says, cracking her ration bar in half and passing part of it to Merrill. It's not very satisfying, but if they're staying low profile, it's as good as they'll get for a while.
"We can't really take that chance, not until we know we've got reinforcements close by," Lace says. "So no fire, no tracks, no noise," she warns.
They chat a little longer while Marcel stitches Rodney's arm and Lace uses the rest of the dying light to dash off a letter for Leliana. Lace rattles off the watch rotation when she's done writing, ending with Merrill, but Merrill's head is drooping on Dagna's shoulder, exhausted from so much draining magic.
"If Bill switches with me, I'll take hers, make mine a double," Alistair says.
"You don't have to," Merrill says quickly. "If I'm last, I should be able to sleep enough to–," she interrupts herself with a mighty yawn.
"Really? That's fascinating," Alistair says, standing and holding out a hand to her. "Come on. Bed. Now."
She lets herself be nearly dragged to her feet. She feels boneless and dizzy. The bone-deep weariness of using too much magic all at once, coupled with the buzzing in her blood from battle wearing off, nearly did her in when she finally sat down. Alistair walks her the ten or so feet to the tent she's sharing with Lace and Dagna and gently pushes her down on the closest bedroll.
"Alright now?"
"Mmhm," she says. She plans to thank him for his caring, or at least for taking her watch, but she's drifting in sleepy fog before she can even get the thoughts in line, and then he's gone.
"And here I thought Lace was our mum." Merrill hears Rodney's laughing voice.
Lace's voice shoots back, as direct as her arrows. "I am, and every day I'm wounded by having such an idiot for a son. Now bed, all of you."
Merrill doesn't hear anything else until morning.
Merrill emerges from her tent with her dwarf companions, Dagna promising to pack up if the other two want to start on washing up in the creek nearby. Her black eye has bloomed spectacularly into shades of purple, blue, and red.
"I love it," Dagna jokes when she joins them in the creek. She leans over and investigates it in her reflection on the water. "I've never had a black eye before. Given a few, but never had one. I feel so tough."
"You kicked ass in that fight," Lace assures her, dipping cupped hands in the water and splashing it over her face.
Merrill follows suit, even though it's cold as anything. It chases the last of the cobwebs from her mind and gets her ready for another full day of covering their tracks with plants and tree cover.
"Hope you don't mind that we're crashing, but -- Oh! I'm sorry, shit, I didn't..." Alistair and Marcel are coming through the bush to meet them, but Alistair is stumbling over his words, his feet, and Marcel trying to get back into the cover of bushes.
"Lace is the only naked one," Dagna assures them. "And she still has smallclothes on."
"No shame on the road," Lace says cheerfully. "They're just breasts. Who doesn't like breasts?"
"I like them," Marcel says, from somewhere behind Alistair, who's still flushing a spectacular shade of red. He's looking straight up, like he's waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him down.
"Me too!" Dagna says with a nod. "Tits are great."
Lace throws her head back and laughs, long and hard. "You're spending too much time with your girlfriend. 'Tits'? So vulgar."
"Sorry," Dagna says, not sounding sorry. "Bosoms? Is that better? I bet I can think of more."
"Tétons?" suggest Marcel.
Merrill's blushing just hearing them. She slips her boots back on and leaves them to it, hiking the little ways back to camp. Alistair catches up to her before she's out of sight.
"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to intrude," he says.
"Not at all. They're just being silly, I'm sure if it's fine if you join them."
"I might blush myself to an early grave," he confesses.
Merrill nods along with him. "Me too. You'd think spending so much time with Hawke, I'd be able to listen to that sort of thing without blinking, and yet here I am, the same colour as these leaves."
Alistair stops dead in his tracks. "Oh, that's right."
"What's right?"
"You know Varric, that's why you came to Skyhold. And Hawke… I'm so sorry."
Merrill's now cried about Hawke twice since they reached the edge of the wilds and the terrain started taking up an inordinate amount of her attention and care.
"It's okay," Merrill says, even though she's chewing the inside of her lip raw again trying to hold back the tears. "That's… Hawke. Varric and the Inquisitor told me what happened. That's just Hawke. It's how she would have wanted to go." Merrill even manages to choke out a laugh. The story had a dragon, unexplainable Fade nonsense, blood magic, and the chance to sacrifice for her friends. It could only be more of a Hawke story if someone's genitals had been accidentally exposed, or she'd had a chance to take a shot of something eye-stingingly alcoholic before she jumped at the Nightmare.
"Maybe," Alistair allows, but he doesn't look convinced – brows still furrowed, head tilted towards her, tight lips. "She was an incredible woman. We had the chance to exchange a few letters. I admired her very much."
Merrill just nods. He surprises her by offering a hug, and she surprises herself a little by taking it. Alistair is incredibly tall compared to her. It's kind of like hugging Aveline, or a brick wall. His leather armour is not the most pleasant thing to have her face pressed against, and he, like the rest of them, could use a thorough bath with some strong soap. Merrill finds she doesn't care about any of that when he's rubbing small circles on her back and his breath is ruffling her hair.
"Hello!" Dagna says, pushing some leaves back to join them suddenly. "Is it a group thing, or should I wait my turn? Aww, Merrill, you okay?"
"We were just thinking about nugs," Alistair says, straightening up and letting her go. "They're too cute, Merrill couldn't cope."
"Those little ears," Merrill says, wiping her eyes and smiling gratefully at him. She knows Dagna isn't going to buy it, but Dagna has enough tact to not push.
"I sometimes forget you knew our Leliana long before any of us, then you say something like that," she says, tapping Alistair on the arm with a closed fist. "Now come on, the others were right behind me.
Everything is going great with no signs of trouble, Venatori or otherwise. Merrill and Muddy are covering their tracks again, with Alistair and Dagna as their eyes so they can focus. The others are slightly ahead, but still within sight through the foliage.
"There's something over there," Alistair says, nudging Merrill with his elbow.
"Animal, or person?"
"Hard to say."
Unfortunately, it wasn't hard to say for long. Four dragonlings burst through the undergrowth, launching themselves at the group with almost no warning. There's a jet of fire, a scream, and someone goes down ahead of them. Muddy mutters a curse word under his breath and grimaces, fingers digging into Merrill's wrist just for a second before he loosens his grip and there's a cloud of shimmering vapour.
"Muddy's a bear!" Dagna says. Merrill's a little surprised too, once the vapour clears. But bear-Muddy grabs one of the dragonlings by it's throat and slams it on the ground in a spray of blood and disgusting noise.
Dagna and Alistair hack with blades weaving at the other one near them when it wails and sets loose a stream of flame. They both dodge it, but it catches the tree above their heads. Merrill flings water on it, calling up an old spell she barely remembers out of panic. It works, thank the Creators, but now they're all dripping wet. There's sodden hair in her eyes she can't see through, so when another dragonling reaches them, she hears it a split second too late and it catches her with a claw in her calf.
Merrill falls, twisting as she does and walloping it across the head with her staff before sending a bolt of energy through it's skull. The point of Alistair's sword comes through it's throat from the backside before it collapses on her and they both hit the ground, Merrill hitting her back painfully on a tree root, and the dead creature leaking ichor and blood all down her front.
"Merrill!"
"I'm fine, go," she calls, heaving the corpse off her chest even as her back screamed at her to stay still for a moment.
Dagna tears off after the shapeshifted Muddy as he charges towards Lace and the others. Alistair helps Merrill to her feet, swinging her up like she's made of feathers. "You're okay?" he asks, looking her up and down. She only has time to nod before there's more shouting from up ahead.
Alistair is about to go charging ahead when Merrill sees a glimpse of steel through the undergrowth and grabs his arm to point, so he'll see it too.
There's another pained shout; maybe a woman? Merrill's stomach drops out, heart thundering in her chest.
"Venatori," Alistair whispers, dropping low and making to crawl deeper into the jungle, away from the dead dragonlings and all the tramped down vegetation. Merrill's stock-still, still trying to figure out if Dagna or Lace could be hurt. Alistair picks her up, fully off the ground and carries her into the jungle with him. She struggles for a moment, but it's entirely useless, unless she plans to really injure him or electrocute him with a bolt from her staff.
She opens her mouth when he sets her down, but he clamps a hand over it, turning her around to watch the way they just came. It's darker here, behind a thick knot of trees, heavy canopy of growth above them. It seems to block out more sound with the light as well. There's murmurs that turn to snatches of words if Merrill really strains to hear. 'Won't be happy,' 'no Inquisitor,' and 'thought there were a few more,' reach her ears.
Alistair finally releases her and they together in the dim light, waiting for the Venatori to find them or pass them by, and waiting to see what's become of their friends. Merrill knows her breathing is uneven, that she's still hurting, maybe bleeding from her leg, and probably shaking like a leaf from fear and adrenalin. Alistair is a much firmer presence beside her. He stares straight ahead to where the Venatori noise was coming from, eyes narrowed and knuckles white on his sword.
Gradually, the noises of the jungle start up again, the bird calls and the insects and the chattering noise of some kind of rodent that no one's actually been able to spot yet. Alistair lets out an explosive sigh and drops out of his crouch to sit on the ground, knees cracking alarmingly.
"Fuck," he says feelingly.
Merrill's still shaking, though it's increasingly anger and less fear.
"That little biter got you, didn't he? Let me see," Alistair says, motioning to where the dragonling clawed her.
Merrill uses her staff to stand up, and once she's up, she raps him sharply in his outstretched legs with the end. "You left them there!" she exclaims, not shouting exactly, but nearly.
"Ow! That – ow! Hey!" She hits him a second time. "Up, now!"
She hauls him back to where the dead dragonlings lay, but other than a dead Venatori and another puddle of sticky, red blood, there's no sign of the rest of their group.
"Taken alive then, that's good," Alistair says brightly and just narrowly dodges another swipe from Merrill's staff. "I just meant now we can find them and save them. That's good, isn't it?"
The Venatori destroyed their packs, but Alistair suggests they look at that as a good thing – they can travel light. "No heavy water skins or extra healing poultices to slow us down."
"This is what I do," he explains with a grin after catching another heated glare from Merrill. "I deflect panic with humour. Coping mechanism, I'm told. Just like you seem to be coping by not saying much and hitting me a lot."
Merrill huffs her exasperation. "Let's go."
The Venatori are nowhere near concerned with covering their tracks like Merrill and Muddy have been. It's as easy as following Isabela and Hawke through Kirkwall after The Hanged Man.
Merrill's getting upset again, thinking of losing more friends, especially when she could have helped, but was dragged away into the jungle when they needed her.
"Hey," Alistair says, stopping her with his hand on her elbow. The traces of humour are gone from his face, eyes alight with concern. Up close, Merrill sees the stress etched deeply into his features and feels horrible for thinking he wasn't concerned. "Hey now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I panicked. I panicked bad. I thought… I don't know."
Not how Merrill imagined the conversation going when he stopped her. She thought he was going to be reassuring her again, but she can tell now how rattled he is.
"They're going to be okay. They're only an hour ahead of us or so. We'll get to them," she says.
He flexes his shoulders, working out some tension. "Right," he says firmly, for which Merrill is immensely grateful – she barely believed it herself as it was coming out of her mouth. "Of course you're right.
She's biting the inside of her lip and willing the wetness to stay in her eyes this time. "We're probably right behind them. It's going to be okay."
"Stop that, you're going to bite through," he chides. "They're fine. I'm sure Lace and the others aren't making it easy on them."
"Are you going to keep making the jokes?"
"If I do, will you keep hitting me with the staff?"
"Sorry," she mutters, feeling a bit like an ass about it all over again.
"No, I meant please keep hitting me. It's good for me. Builds character. And I know it puts a smile on your face."
In spite of everything, that brings a twitch of smile to Merrill's lips. She swats at him, barely making contact, and he breaks into a chuckle. With the tension dissipated, they can go after their friends.
Two hours later, it's nearly pitch black and they've all but lost the trail. Moonlight doesn't filter down through the canopy like sunlight does.
"We have to stop," Merrill says. Her heart is breaking and her stomach is churning, but her head is pounding from squinting into the darkness and clenching her jaw, her back is tense and bruised, and the wound on her calf is throbbing enough to make her whole leg weak. If they push on, she'll end up dead or worse.
"Yeah," Alistair says, his voice cracking a little.
Merrill doesn't think it's fair to call it 'making camp' when all they do is find a fallen tree and sit near it, but it's as good as it's getting. They've got nothing but their clothes, armour, and weapons. "Light?" she offers.
"I don't think fire's a good idea," he says with a sigh. "It would be nice, but if we're as close as I hope we are… Oh, maybe you better. We should check for snakes and spiders."
Merrill casts her hand over the leaf litter beneath them until she finds a little pebble that will work fine. She summons the light from the well of magic inside her, down past the exhaustion and worry.
"Wow," he says. "I always wished I could do things like that. Can't think of how many times it would have come in handy."
"No snakes," she says. When she turns to Alistair to confirm he saw none either, he's still looking at the glowing pebble.
"Do you want to hold it?" she asks, offering it to him it.
He takes it, closing his hand around it and then opening it a few times. "We talk about about the threat that mages pose, the demons and the abominations and everything else, and then this… This is magic too. This… tiny, perfect thing."
Merrill knows he's been around long enough to see quite a few of the awful things magic can do, but he must have seen the good too? "Of course, Alistair. Magic is more than just destruction," she says, hoping it sounds like gentle reassurance and not condescension.
"No, I know, it's… I'm very tired," he says, glancing back up at her as he trails off. The reverential tone and wide eyes are gone, replaced again by the panic-deflecting black humour mode.
"Sleep then, I'll take the first watch," she says.
"You're hurt," he says. Then, "oh, Merrill, you should have said something. I forgot entirely. Let me see it." Alistair shifts position and holds the glowing rock closer to her leg so he can see. In the changing of the light, Merrill spots something over his shoulder.
"Look," she says, making to rise. His hand clasps down on her shoulder and forces her back down as he turns, sword half-drawn.
"Ruins," Merrill says with a sigh. "Just ruins."
He lets go of her arm and sniffs. "Can't be too careful."
"Pushing me down was going to protect us how? You have to wait until they walk right up to you so you can stick them. I've got the staff. If anything, I should be protecting you."
He clutches his chest. "Ooh, my fragile ego. You do know how to hurt me." She taps him with the end of her staff again and he laughs. "You really want to check out ruins in this much dark?"
"It's some shelter," she says, but really, yes, of course she does.
The throbbing in her leg is annoying and painful, but not unbearable, and not so much that she needs to lean on him, even though he's hovering by her elbow anyway. "It's a temple," she breathes. "Look, Alistair, a temple."
"I can definitely tell it's a temple," he says, sarcasm dripping.
"You can, if you just look here," she pushes his wrist holding the light closer to the ground. "This pattern is at the entrance to every temple, regardless of the god or goddess it's for. This temple
is for Sylaise, I think. Hearthkeeper. That's a good omen, I think, if we want to stay here tonight."
"I suppose I can see a pattern. I wouldn't have seen that though."
Merrill grins at him. "That's why they sent me."
"Why do you think they sent me?" Alistair asks, testing a fallen log with his foot before he steps on it. He offers her a hand to steady herself as she steps over.
They find a sturdy wall that gives them somewhere to put their backs. There's even almost a corner. It's as secure as they'll get until they're back at Skyhold.
"We're going to find them," Merrill says, looking for confirmation, reassurance, or at least an echo while he prods at her leg.
"It only barely got you," he says. "I wish we had something to put on it, it's already looking red. When we find the others in the morning, Dagna will know which one of these plants will help."
It's a good enough echo to put her mind at ease for the next few hours. She lets go of the light in the stone, letting it fade back into darkness in Alistair's hand.
"Thank you for everything," he says quietly. "If I was alone today, I would have… It wouldn't have been good. I've done alone before. It's not pretty."
"The Blight. Must have been…"
"Bad? You can say it. It was bad."
"I'm sorry. And thank you."
"Oh no, no no, don't start with that. Let's talk about something else entirely. What's your favourite food?" He pauses for a second. "No, skip that too. How about you get some sleep? I won't be able to sleep tonight anyways. I'll wake if you if we're about to be murdered."
Merrill pinches his the skin of his wrist, the only part of him she can reach that isn't armoured and he chuckles.
"See, this delicate balance, it's working for us. Here, lean on me. Sleeping hunched like that is only going to make it worse in the morning."
Alistair is easy to lean on, she thinks, already feeling sleep creeping around her like a blanket settling on her shoulders. He feels safe, feels familiar almost, even though she can't place why. His armour isn't the softest, of course, but overall she's okay with it. It's like cuddling up to a big, friendly tree.
"A tree? Thanks, I think."
"Didn't mean to say it out loud," she mumbles.
"Go to sleep, squirrel. This old tree needs some quiet." He tucks his arm around her and just as she's drifting off, she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head. Merrill squeezes his leg where her hand is resting and feels the rumble of his laugh in his chest. That's nice too.
Merrill wakes up just as the little snatches of sky she can see through the leaves above them are turning lavender with the dawn sun. He seems to be sleeping, but the moment she shifts, Alistair's eyes pop open. "Good morning, sleepy squirrel. How's your leg?"
"Good," she says, even as she flexes her legs and winces.
Alistair sighs. "Liar. Do you think you can walk on it?"
Merrill shrugs the question off, not sure of the answer herself. "Oh, I've got my staff, I'll be alright." She tries to distract him with a smile.
It half works, because he's so busy beaming back at her and standing and stretching that he doesn't fuss when she stands and tests the leg herself.
He makes a little concerned noise when she winces again, but once the pins and needles feeling is chased out, she doesn't feel that bad and tells him so.
"Good. Because we're going to have an interesting day," he warns. "Wouldn't want it to be made more interesting by my carrying you over my shoulder everywhere." They head out of the temple, Merrill stealing one last glance around, trying to commit as many details to memory as possible. She's hoping Alistair can remember where this place is so she can bring Dagna back to look at what's left of the floor mosaics.
"Once we've caught up with the others, you can carry me however you like. I promise," she says, half distracted by the faded old colours at her feet.
He splutters and Merrill turns to see him staring at her, lips parted, flush rising in his cheeks. "Are you flirting with me?"
Merrill blushes right back when she replays her words in her head. "You started it."
"I absolutely did not. This way, here, that's where we were sitting last night." Alistair reorients her by a small angle and follows her deeper into the lush jungle.
"You did, you kissed me."
"You called me a tree!" he says.
It's Merrill's turn to stop and stare. "So?"
"Well, that's… That's a thing, is it not?"
It's most decidedly not a 'thing', not a 'thing' Merrill's ever heard about, not even a 'thing' Isabela's joked about, and she's joked about every 'thing' from one end of the Waking Sea to the other. "I don't think it's a thing," Merrill tells him. She takes an experimental step towards him and watches his eyes go wide.
"It is," he insists, but his voice is trailing off.
"We might die," she says.
He grimaces. "Wow. Not where I thought this was going."
"Shush, I'm just explaining why I've stopped walking."
"Are you going to have to talk through a rationalization every time you want to kiss me now?" he asks, blush returning to his face, bringing a devilish smirk with it.
"Yes. No. We'll see."
"You can hit me, if that makes it easier."
Merrill raps the end of her staff against his ankle before she kisses him. She's got to stand on her toes, which makes her a little unsteady on her injured leg. She's about to break it off, but he wraps an arm around her waist instead and that's better, frankly.
"Good," she says finally, breaking away. "Now that's out of the way, we can get the others and report back to Skyhold."
"Excellent, yes, a plan. Just what we needed."
They walk side by side now, instead of one after the other. It's a good adjustment, easier to fight back the brush with four hands instead of two, Merrill decides.
Soon, there's a rustling in the leaves and they dive for cover. Alistair mutters something under his breath while he loosens his sword. He places a lightning-fast kiss on Merrill's cheek. "We'll handle it," he promises. She nods back, fingers flexing on her staff.
"So, the kissing. Is it a group thing, or should I wait for my turn?" Dagna asks, emerging from behind a tree nearby.
"Who's kissing? Are they kissing? Oh Maker, seriously?"
Lace appears too, swinging down from some unseen perch. "Rodney, can you stow it? We're having a moment here."
"Oh Maker," says Alistair, scrubbing his hands over his reddening face. "We were coming to rescue you, you know."
"Just stopped for a little light smooching, I get it." Dagna says.
"We could have died," Merrill says, immediately regretting engaging the moment the words were out of her mouth. It's like getting in the middle of Varric and Isabela's conversations all over again. They'll bowl you right over if you're not careful.
"That just makes the smooching hotter," Lace agrees.
"Now that can't be a thing," Alistair says, standing up and offering a hand to Merrill.
Lace looks at him like he's sprouted another head. "No, it's definitely a thing, why wouldn't it be a thing?"
"It's the thing that got me and Sera together," Dagna says.
Alistair interrupts, probably seeing, as Merrill does, that this could go on until the sun set again. "So, what all happened to you, anyway?"
"Ahh, taken prisoner," Lace says, leading them back into the jungle. "You know, standard stuff."
"And they let you go?" Merrill asks. Alistair's still holding her hand. She's not sure if it's intentional, or if he's just forgotten to let go.
Dagna laughs. "Muddy's a bear, remember?"
Muddy grins from the front of the column with the rest of the group. Everyone looks a little roughed up, but alive, and happy to see them. Merrill feels a lightness inside her she hasn't felt in weeks.
"We're waiting on back up before we do much more," Lace says. "So let's head somewhere we can be semi-fortified and wait, yeah? We can spend a week or two resting up and just… enjoying each other's company." She gives a glance to Alistair and Merrill's entwined hands that lingers a second too long. Everyone snickers.
Merrill feels her face heating up, but Alistair doesn't drop her hand. She risks a peek up at him and sees he's beet red too. At least they're going to be on equal footing for the next few weeks…
Before they left to find Merrill and Alistair, Lace and the rest had been able to lift all the supplies they could carry from the Venatori, including a few tiny, portable tents. And of course, the others insist Merrill and Alistair share one, 'if they want.'
Alistair crawls onto the blanket next to Merrill and gets comfortable on his back. "At least this way, I don't have to listen to Marcel snore all night."
Merrill snickers and stretches out, and if she casually bumps into him with the back of her hand, it's not her fault. The tent is really very small. He casually bumps her back while he readjusts his left arm, and then Merrill realizes she's not comfortable on her back, so she has to roll over. And of course, given the lack of space in the tent, she ends up pressing into his side, right up under his arm.
"Not so bad, right?" she asks.
"No, not at all. It's kind of weird."
"Sorry," she says automatically. But as she pulls away, Alistair's slides his other hand across her hip and holds her there.
"I meant, what's weird is, that given everything that's happened in the last few days, and everything that's happening with the Inquisition, with the Wardens and the Venatori, and all that… I'm having a fairly nice evening."
She sighs and relaxes again. She's been grappling with a similar feeling. Guilt, anger, and grief, tangled up inside with the giddy feelings when she and Dagna find something fascinating in the ruins nearby, or the frisson of thrill she gets when Alistair touches her hand. Even laughing at one of Rodney's terrible jokes gets confused inside her head sometimes.
"We have to take the little, nice things as they come," he tells her, almost whispering the words into her hair. "You may be surprised how little goodness can balance out so much of the bad."
"Maybe," she whispers back. She breathes in the smell of him, thankful, so, so thankful that Dagna thought to steal soap from the Venatori encampment. Probably not what he meant about a little goodness to balance out the bad, she thought, but it fit with the letter, if not the spirit.
"What do you mean, 'maybe'? I lived through the Blight, I'm old and wise."
Merrill laughs, giggling even harder when he presses a smiling kiss to her forehead.
"Now you're just laughing at me," he says, mock-hurt.
Merrill tells him, through shaking laughs, about the little goodness of soap and he laughs along with her. She slides against him again, letting her limbs fall gracelessly while she makes herself comfortable. "Goodnight, tree," she whispers.
If he replies, calls her a squirrel again, she doesn't hear, because she's asleep and drifting happily in thoughts of small, good things.
Fandom: Dragon Age (Origins/II/Inquisition mix'n'match)
Relationship(s)/Character(s): Alistair/Merrill, Lace Harding, Dagna, Original Characters
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 6552
Content Notes: violence, injuries, kidnapping
Summary: Merrill joins the Inquisition after the events at Adamant Fortress and immediately gets sent to the furthest reaches of Thedas to do some research with the most ragtag group of souls Inquisitor Adaar could find. That's what Varric says, anyway. Merrill quite likes a few of them...
Author's Notes: Written for Black Emporium Exchange 2017. Originally posted at AO3.
"So, who was it that you pissed off to end up here?"
The question startles Merrill for a second, mostly because she thought she was alone. It's Lace Harding, the always-smiling dwarf leader of their odd little group. She's stretching by the water's edge, digging her toes into the sandy dirt.
"No one, I hope. I volunteered when the Inquisitor asked if I knew anything about elvhen ruins."
"Aww, and who can say no to his big, beautiful eyes?" Lace says with a chuckle. "I volunteered, too. This place is just so… Weird. I love it."
Merrill looks around, still crouched by the river, washing out her socks. "It's really beautiful here," she agrees. The Arbor Wilds is about the last place Merrill thought she'd find herself after agreeing to help the Inquisition, but despite the humidity and the eerie quiet that descends so frequently, she's kind of enjoying herself.
"We should get back, Rodney said porridge would be ready in a few."
There are eight of them in the Arbor Wilds at the Inquisitor's behest, scoping out the widely uninhabited land and trying to establish where to build a strategic forward camp. There's been rumours flying in from all sides for weeks that something big is out here in the jungle, and that Corypheus wants it, badly.
They've found nothing that could fit that description yet, just weird plants, huge, flying insects, and the most incredible ruins Merrill's ever seen. She's spent a lot of time in them, even though not everyone in the party thinks it's a good use of their time. She and Dagna, the dwarven arcanist, pass hours inside the ruins of old buildings, poring over everything they can find.
They come across a building that must have been some kind of auction house. After picking through the remains of a caved-in roof, they find a raised platform with scratches in the stone where a podium may have stood, even a few stone tokens.
"Could these have been like coins?" Dagna asks, nudging one with the edge of a fingertip. There's a tremor in her voice that absolutely echoes what Merrill is feeling. She didn't imagine she'd find anyone as interested in all these things as she was, let alone a dwarf. It only took coming to the end of the world, the most bizarre place she's ever been, to find a friend with the same interests.
"Maker's ass! Will you two hurry up? I don't think Corypheus wants to buy cattle from some elvhen farmer who's been dead ten thousand years!"
"Bill," Lace calls from somewhere out of sight, "shut it. You're here in case there's someone to hit. They're here to look at the old stuff and tell us what we're looking for. Let them work."
Bill, standing guard with his hand on his sword hilt, sighs dramatically. "But you're getting tired too? It's not just me sick of standing here, overheating and feeding all the bugs in the whole damn jungle?"
Their Warden companion, Alistair, shrugs. "I'm not saying anything."
"Good man," Lace says from her hidden vantage point.
Dagna and Merrill agree to hurry up, if not because Bill will complain for the next fortnight, then at least because he's right, it's getting oppressively hot as it reaches midday. They say they reached a natural stopping point though, because they don't want Bill feeling vindicated.
They make it back to the remains of last night's camp just as the rest of their party returns from the stream, shaking water from hair and wringing it from beards. Merrill's jealous they got a chance to cool off, but she's also excited to continue on. Every new discovery in the jungle is more incredible than the last.
"Where to next, boss?" Rodney asks Lace. Lace just shrugs and turns to Merrill and Dagna.
"Ladies?"
"Still north, I think," Dagna says and Merrill nods, trying not to look too excited. "We're definitely heading towards a old settlement.
They hoist various packs and tools and head north, breaking trail as they go, and fighting the jungle for every foot. Sturdy Lace and Dagna and tiny, nimble Muddy go ahead to scout the way and find the easiest path through, followed by Rodney and Bill, cutting down the heaviest vegetation with their swords drawn. They can't complain so much when they’re out of breath from hacking at tree limbs and the crawling vines that appear everywhere. Merrill is in the middle of the line up, getting the easiest job but carrying the extra pack to make up for it. Alistair and the stoic Orlesian, Marcel, follow up behind her, keeping an eye on their backs and covering their tracks as best as possible.
Rodney and Bill are in the middle of some convoluted conversation about a man Bill used to know in the army and they must forget that Merrill's still behind them. Rodney lets go of the branch he's holding and it flies back and smacks Merrill square in the face. He doesn't even look back.
"Oh, no, are you alright?" Alistair is at her elbow, turning her around to face him. "Look, you're bleeding."
It's not the first time Merrill's scraped herself up on a branch or a rock and it's really not that bad, but she's tearing up anyways. No one's fussed over her since she and Hawke took a trip up Sundermount and Merrill lost her footing and nearly broke a finger catching herself on a rock.
"Rodney, you idiot," Alistair calls to the retreating backs barely visible in amongst the undergrowth.
"Scorpions in his beer tonight," Marcel promises, winking at Merrill and swinging his pack down from his shoulder. Alistair takes the little bundle wrapped in cloth that Marcel hands him and starts to unfold the first aid supplies.
"Oh, I'm fine really, only a couple scratches," Merrill says, wiping the wetness from her eyes. "Just startled me, is all."
"Maybe," says Alistair, tilting her head up with warm fingers under her chin and staring at her face with a furrowed brow. "Not sure what kind of plants these are. Could have Maker knows what on them. We'll clean you up."
She winces when he dabs at the little scratches on her cheekbone. "Sorry," he murmurs, before he blows gently on the wound, chasing the sting out. Merrill blinks up at him, basically towering over her, and marvels for a second how he can be so gentle.
"Um," Marcel says, shattering the strange moment. "Do you hear?"
There's definitely something going on up ahead. Merrill loosens her staff and Alistair already has his sword drawn when they hear the distinct sound of metal on metal and an angry, wordless shout.
Merrill glances back at Marcel, whom she knows is uncomfortable with magic, but he just nods grimly. She lets fly a bolt of green light and the branches blocking their path basically melt away. There's Venatori surrounding the rest of their team, but Merrill can't see Lace. She prays to the Creators that's because she's hiding out, waiting for her moment to spring out in a hail of arrows, and not because she's gone down.
At least Rodney and Bill already had their swords out, and it looks like at least one Venatori is dead or nearly there. Merrill can smell blood in the humid air, and Rodney looks to be hurt. She flings another bolt of energy into the fray, narrowly missing Alistair. He's charging in with little regard for anything else going on around him, but Merrill's been around the Hawkes and Isabela and Fenris enough to know how to avoid too much 'friendly' fire.
The Venatori probably mistook them for a group of naive, green scouts. They are not that, even though they look a little ragtag. The ambush is done and dusted in only a few moments, the eight of them (including Lace, who swung out of a tree and knocked a Venatori to the ground for Alistair to dispatch) taking out all thirteen Venatori.
Rodney has a big gash on his arm, and Dagna has a nice black eye blooming on her cheekbone, but they’re okay on the whole. They switch up their course, deciding to veer way west before hitting the point they’re aiming for. Merrill and Muddy follow everyone else at the back, Merrill using what she remembers of the nature-calling magic from Keeper Marethari ('gardening tricks,' she used to say) to coax the vines and leaves to grow back over their path, and Muddy helping out when her energy wanes. Alistair stays with them, tension radiating off him like a guard dog on high alert.
Thankfully, there are no more incidents and Lace reports nothing out of the ordinary when they stop to make camp. She doesn't think they're still being tracked and has seen no sign of anyone else traveling their path.
"Maybe that group was their forwards scouts, and we don't have to worry any more?" Dagna says, cracking her ration bar in half and passing part of it to Merrill. It's not very satisfying, but if they're staying low profile, it's as good as they'll get for a while.
"We can't really take that chance, not until we know we've got reinforcements close by," Lace says. "So no fire, no tracks, no noise," she warns.
They chat a little longer while Marcel stitches Rodney's arm and Lace uses the rest of the dying light to dash off a letter for Leliana. Lace rattles off the watch rotation when she's done writing, ending with Merrill, but Merrill's head is drooping on Dagna's shoulder, exhausted from so much draining magic.
"If Bill switches with me, I'll take hers, make mine a double," Alistair says.
"You don't have to," Merrill says quickly. "If I'm last, I should be able to sleep enough to–," she interrupts herself with a mighty yawn.
"Really? That's fascinating," Alistair says, standing and holding out a hand to her. "Come on. Bed. Now."
She lets herself be nearly dragged to her feet. She feels boneless and dizzy. The bone-deep weariness of using too much magic all at once, coupled with the buzzing in her blood from battle wearing off, nearly did her in when she finally sat down. Alistair walks her the ten or so feet to the tent she's sharing with Lace and Dagna and gently pushes her down on the closest bedroll.
"Alright now?"
"Mmhm," she says. She plans to thank him for his caring, or at least for taking her watch, but she's drifting in sleepy fog before she can even get the thoughts in line, and then he's gone.
"And here I thought Lace was our mum." Merrill hears Rodney's laughing voice.
Lace's voice shoots back, as direct as her arrows. "I am, and every day I'm wounded by having such an idiot for a son. Now bed, all of you."
Merrill doesn't hear anything else until morning.
Merrill emerges from her tent with her dwarf companions, Dagna promising to pack up if the other two want to start on washing up in the creek nearby. Her black eye has bloomed spectacularly into shades of purple, blue, and red.
"I love it," Dagna jokes when she joins them in the creek. She leans over and investigates it in her reflection on the water. "I've never had a black eye before. Given a few, but never had one. I feel so tough."
"You kicked ass in that fight," Lace assures her, dipping cupped hands in the water and splashing it over her face.
Merrill follows suit, even though it's cold as anything. It chases the last of the cobwebs from her mind and gets her ready for another full day of covering their tracks with plants and tree cover.
"Hope you don't mind that we're crashing, but -- Oh! I'm sorry, shit, I didn't..." Alistair and Marcel are coming through the bush to meet them, but Alistair is stumbling over his words, his feet, and Marcel trying to get back into the cover of bushes.
"Lace is the only naked one," Dagna assures them. "And she still has smallclothes on."
"No shame on the road," Lace says cheerfully. "They're just breasts. Who doesn't like breasts?"
"I like them," Marcel says, from somewhere behind Alistair, who's still flushing a spectacular shade of red. He's looking straight up, like he's waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him down.
"Me too!" Dagna says with a nod. "Tits are great."
Lace throws her head back and laughs, long and hard. "You're spending too much time with your girlfriend. 'Tits'? So vulgar."
"Sorry," Dagna says, not sounding sorry. "Bosoms? Is that better? I bet I can think of more."
"Tétons?" suggest Marcel.
Merrill's blushing just hearing them. She slips her boots back on and leaves them to it, hiking the little ways back to camp. Alistair catches up to her before she's out of sight.
"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to intrude," he says.
"Not at all. They're just being silly, I'm sure if it's fine if you join them."
"I might blush myself to an early grave," he confesses.
Merrill nods along with him. "Me too. You'd think spending so much time with Hawke, I'd be able to listen to that sort of thing without blinking, and yet here I am, the same colour as these leaves."
Alistair stops dead in his tracks. "Oh, that's right."
"What's right?"
"You know Varric, that's why you came to Skyhold. And Hawke… I'm so sorry."
Merrill's now cried about Hawke twice since they reached the edge of the wilds and the terrain started taking up an inordinate amount of her attention and care.
"It's okay," Merrill says, even though she's chewing the inside of her lip raw again trying to hold back the tears. "That's… Hawke. Varric and the Inquisitor told me what happened. That's just Hawke. It's how she would have wanted to go." Merrill even manages to choke out a laugh. The story had a dragon, unexplainable Fade nonsense, blood magic, and the chance to sacrifice for her friends. It could only be more of a Hawke story if someone's genitals had been accidentally exposed, or she'd had a chance to take a shot of something eye-stingingly alcoholic before she jumped at the Nightmare.
"Maybe," Alistair allows, but he doesn't look convinced – brows still furrowed, head tilted towards her, tight lips. "She was an incredible woman. We had the chance to exchange a few letters. I admired her very much."
Merrill just nods. He surprises her by offering a hug, and she surprises herself a little by taking it. Alistair is incredibly tall compared to her. It's kind of like hugging Aveline, or a brick wall. His leather armour is not the most pleasant thing to have her face pressed against, and he, like the rest of them, could use a thorough bath with some strong soap. Merrill finds she doesn't care about any of that when he's rubbing small circles on her back and his breath is ruffling her hair.
"Hello!" Dagna says, pushing some leaves back to join them suddenly. "Is it a group thing, or should I wait my turn? Aww, Merrill, you okay?"
"We were just thinking about nugs," Alistair says, straightening up and letting her go. "They're too cute, Merrill couldn't cope."
"Those little ears," Merrill says, wiping her eyes and smiling gratefully at him. She knows Dagna isn't going to buy it, but Dagna has enough tact to not push.
"I sometimes forget you knew our Leliana long before any of us, then you say something like that," she says, tapping Alistair on the arm with a closed fist. "Now come on, the others were right behind me.
Everything is going great with no signs of trouble, Venatori or otherwise. Merrill and Muddy are covering their tracks again, with Alistair and Dagna as their eyes so they can focus. The others are slightly ahead, but still within sight through the foliage.
"There's something over there," Alistair says, nudging Merrill with his elbow.
"Animal, or person?"
"Hard to say."
Unfortunately, it wasn't hard to say for long. Four dragonlings burst through the undergrowth, launching themselves at the group with almost no warning. There's a jet of fire, a scream, and someone goes down ahead of them. Muddy mutters a curse word under his breath and grimaces, fingers digging into Merrill's wrist just for a second before he loosens his grip and there's a cloud of shimmering vapour.
"Muddy's a bear!" Dagna says. Merrill's a little surprised too, once the vapour clears. But bear-Muddy grabs one of the dragonlings by it's throat and slams it on the ground in a spray of blood and disgusting noise.
Dagna and Alistair hack with blades weaving at the other one near them when it wails and sets loose a stream of flame. They both dodge it, but it catches the tree above their heads. Merrill flings water on it, calling up an old spell she barely remembers out of panic. It works, thank the Creators, but now they're all dripping wet. There's sodden hair in her eyes she can't see through, so when another dragonling reaches them, she hears it a split second too late and it catches her with a claw in her calf.
Merrill falls, twisting as she does and walloping it across the head with her staff before sending a bolt of energy through it's skull. The point of Alistair's sword comes through it's throat from the backside before it collapses on her and they both hit the ground, Merrill hitting her back painfully on a tree root, and the dead creature leaking ichor and blood all down her front.
"Merrill!"
"I'm fine, go," she calls, heaving the corpse off her chest even as her back screamed at her to stay still for a moment.
Dagna tears off after the shapeshifted Muddy as he charges towards Lace and the others. Alistair helps Merrill to her feet, swinging her up like she's made of feathers. "You're okay?" he asks, looking her up and down. She only has time to nod before there's more shouting from up ahead.
Alistair is about to go charging ahead when Merrill sees a glimpse of steel through the undergrowth and grabs his arm to point, so he'll see it too.
There's another pained shout; maybe a woman? Merrill's stomach drops out, heart thundering in her chest.
"Venatori," Alistair whispers, dropping low and making to crawl deeper into the jungle, away from the dead dragonlings and all the tramped down vegetation. Merrill's stock-still, still trying to figure out if Dagna or Lace could be hurt. Alistair picks her up, fully off the ground and carries her into the jungle with him. She struggles for a moment, but it's entirely useless, unless she plans to really injure him or electrocute him with a bolt from her staff.
She opens her mouth when he sets her down, but he clamps a hand over it, turning her around to watch the way they just came. It's darker here, behind a thick knot of trees, heavy canopy of growth above them. It seems to block out more sound with the light as well. There's murmurs that turn to snatches of words if Merrill really strains to hear. 'Won't be happy,' 'no Inquisitor,' and 'thought there were a few more,' reach her ears.
Alistair finally releases her and they together in the dim light, waiting for the Venatori to find them or pass them by, and waiting to see what's become of their friends. Merrill knows her breathing is uneven, that she's still hurting, maybe bleeding from her leg, and probably shaking like a leaf from fear and adrenalin. Alistair is a much firmer presence beside her. He stares straight ahead to where the Venatori noise was coming from, eyes narrowed and knuckles white on his sword.
Gradually, the noises of the jungle start up again, the bird calls and the insects and the chattering noise of some kind of rodent that no one's actually been able to spot yet. Alistair lets out an explosive sigh and drops out of his crouch to sit on the ground, knees cracking alarmingly.
"Fuck," he says feelingly.
Merrill's still shaking, though it's increasingly anger and less fear.
"That little biter got you, didn't he? Let me see," Alistair says, motioning to where the dragonling clawed her.
Merrill uses her staff to stand up, and once she's up, she raps him sharply in his outstretched legs with the end. "You left them there!" she exclaims, not shouting exactly, but nearly.
"Ow! That – ow! Hey!" She hits him a second time. "Up, now!"
She hauls him back to where the dead dragonlings lay, but other than a dead Venatori and another puddle of sticky, red blood, there's no sign of the rest of their group.
"Taken alive then, that's good," Alistair says brightly and just narrowly dodges another swipe from Merrill's staff. "I just meant now we can find them and save them. That's good, isn't it?"
The Venatori destroyed their packs, but Alistair suggests they look at that as a good thing – they can travel light. "No heavy water skins or extra healing poultices to slow us down."
"This is what I do," he explains with a grin after catching another heated glare from Merrill. "I deflect panic with humour. Coping mechanism, I'm told. Just like you seem to be coping by not saying much and hitting me a lot."
Merrill huffs her exasperation. "Let's go."
The Venatori are nowhere near concerned with covering their tracks like Merrill and Muddy have been. It's as easy as following Isabela and Hawke through Kirkwall after The Hanged Man.
Merrill's getting upset again, thinking of losing more friends, especially when she could have helped, but was dragged away into the jungle when they needed her.
"Hey," Alistair says, stopping her with his hand on her elbow. The traces of humour are gone from his face, eyes alight with concern. Up close, Merrill sees the stress etched deeply into his features and feels horrible for thinking he wasn't concerned. "Hey now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I panicked. I panicked bad. I thought… I don't know."
Not how Merrill imagined the conversation going when he stopped her. She thought he was going to be reassuring her again, but she can tell now how rattled he is.
"They're going to be okay. They're only an hour ahead of us or so. We'll get to them," she says.
He flexes his shoulders, working out some tension. "Right," he says firmly, for which Merrill is immensely grateful – she barely believed it herself as it was coming out of her mouth. "Of course you're right.
She's biting the inside of her lip and willing the wetness to stay in her eyes this time. "We're probably right behind them. It's going to be okay."
"Stop that, you're going to bite through," he chides. "They're fine. I'm sure Lace and the others aren't making it easy on them."
"Are you going to keep making the jokes?"
"If I do, will you keep hitting me with the staff?"
"Sorry," she mutters, feeling a bit like an ass about it all over again.
"No, I meant please keep hitting me. It's good for me. Builds character. And I know it puts a smile on your face."
In spite of everything, that brings a twitch of smile to Merrill's lips. She swats at him, barely making contact, and he breaks into a chuckle. With the tension dissipated, they can go after their friends.
Two hours later, it's nearly pitch black and they've all but lost the trail. Moonlight doesn't filter down through the canopy like sunlight does.
"We have to stop," Merrill says. Her heart is breaking and her stomach is churning, but her head is pounding from squinting into the darkness and clenching her jaw, her back is tense and bruised, and the wound on her calf is throbbing enough to make her whole leg weak. If they push on, she'll end up dead or worse.
"Yeah," Alistair says, his voice cracking a little.
Merrill doesn't think it's fair to call it 'making camp' when all they do is find a fallen tree and sit near it, but it's as good as it's getting. They've got nothing but their clothes, armour, and weapons. "Light?" she offers.
"I don't think fire's a good idea," he says with a sigh. "It would be nice, but if we're as close as I hope we are… Oh, maybe you better. We should check for snakes and spiders."
Merrill casts her hand over the leaf litter beneath them until she finds a little pebble that will work fine. She summons the light from the well of magic inside her, down past the exhaustion and worry.
"Wow," he says. "I always wished I could do things like that. Can't think of how many times it would have come in handy."
"No snakes," she says. When she turns to Alistair to confirm he saw none either, he's still looking at the glowing pebble.
"Do you want to hold it?" she asks, offering it to him it.
He takes it, closing his hand around it and then opening it a few times. "We talk about about the threat that mages pose, the demons and the abominations and everything else, and then this… This is magic too. This… tiny, perfect thing."
Merrill knows he's been around long enough to see quite a few of the awful things magic can do, but he must have seen the good too? "Of course, Alistair. Magic is more than just destruction," she says, hoping it sounds like gentle reassurance and not condescension.
"No, I know, it's… I'm very tired," he says, glancing back up at her as he trails off. The reverential tone and wide eyes are gone, replaced again by the panic-deflecting black humour mode.
"Sleep then, I'll take the first watch," she says.
"You're hurt," he says. Then, "oh, Merrill, you should have said something. I forgot entirely. Let me see it." Alistair shifts position and holds the glowing rock closer to her leg so he can see. In the changing of the light, Merrill spots something over his shoulder.
"Look," she says, making to rise. His hand clasps down on her shoulder and forces her back down as he turns, sword half-drawn.
"Ruins," Merrill says with a sigh. "Just ruins."
He lets go of her arm and sniffs. "Can't be too careful."
"Pushing me down was going to protect us how? You have to wait until they walk right up to you so you can stick them. I've got the staff. If anything, I should be protecting you."
He clutches his chest. "Ooh, my fragile ego. You do know how to hurt me." She taps him with the end of her staff again and he laughs. "You really want to check out ruins in this much dark?"
"It's some shelter," she says, but really, yes, of course she does.
The throbbing in her leg is annoying and painful, but not unbearable, and not so much that she needs to lean on him, even though he's hovering by her elbow anyway. "It's a temple," she breathes. "Look, Alistair, a temple."
"I can definitely tell it's a temple," he says, sarcasm dripping.
"You can, if you just look here," she pushes his wrist holding the light closer to the ground. "This pattern is at the entrance to every temple, regardless of the god or goddess it's for. This temple
is for Sylaise, I think. Hearthkeeper. That's a good omen, I think, if we want to stay here tonight."
"I suppose I can see a pattern. I wouldn't have seen that though."
Merrill grins at him. "That's why they sent me."
"Why do you think they sent me?" Alistair asks, testing a fallen log with his foot before he steps on it. He offers her a hand to steady herself as she steps over.
They find a sturdy wall that gives them somewhere to put their backs. There's even almost a corner. It's as secure as they'll get until they're back at Skyhold.
"We're going to find them," Merrill says, looking for confirmation, reassurance, or at least an echo while he prods at her leg.
"It only barely got you," he says. "I wish we had something to put on it, it's already looking red. When we find the others in the morning, Dagna will know which one of these plants will help."
It's a good enough echo to put her mind at ease for the next few hours. She lets go of the light in the stone, letting it fade back into darkness in Alistair's hand.
"Thank you for everything," he says quietly. "If I was alone today, I would have… It wouldn't have been good. I've done alone before. It's not pretty."
"The Blight. Must have been…"
"Bad? You can say it. It was bad."
"I'm sorry. And thank you."
"Oh no, no no, don't start with that. Let's talk about something else entirely. What's your favourite food?" He pauses for a second. "No, skip that too. How about you get some sleep? I won't be able to sleep tonight anyways. I'll wake if you if we're about to be murdered."
Merrill pinches his the skin of his wrist, the only part of him she can reach that isn't armoured and he chuckles.
"See, this delicate balance, it's working for us. Here, lean on me. Sleeping hunched like that is only going to make it worse in the morning."
Alistair is easy to lean on, she thinks, already feeling sleep creeping around her like a blanket settling on her shoulders. He feels safe, feels familiar almost, even though she can't place why. His armour isn't the softest, of course, but overall she's okay with it. It's like cuddling up to a big, friendly tree.
"A tree? Thanks, I think."
"Didn't mean to say it out loud," she mumbles.
"Go to sleep, squirrel. This old tree needs some quiet." He tucks his arm around her and just as she's drifting off, she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head. Merrill squeezes his leg where her hand is resting and feels the rumble of his laugh in his chest. That's nice too.
Merrill wakes up just as the little snatches of sky she can see through the leaves above them are turning lavender with the dawn sun. He seems to be sleeping, but the moment she shifts, Alistair's eyes pop open. "Good morning, sleepy squirrel. How's your leg?"
"Good," she says, even as she flexes her legs and winces.
Alistair sighs. "Liar. Do you think you can walk on it?"
Merrill shrugs the question off, not sure of the answer herself. "Oh, I've got my staff, I'll be alright." She tries to distract him with a smile.
It half works, because he's so busy beaming back at her and standing and stretching that he doesn't fuss when she stands and tests the leg herself.
He makes a little concerned noise when she winces again, but once the pins and needles feeling is chased out, she doesn't feel that bad and tells him so.
"Good. Because we're going to have an interesting day," he warns. "Wouldn't want it to be made more interesting by my carrying you over my shoulder everywhere." They head out of the temple, Merrill stealing one last glance around, trying to commit as many details to memory as possible. She's hoping Alistair can remember where this place is so she can bring Dagna back to look at what's left of the floor mosaics.
"Once we've caught up with the others, you can carry me however you like. I promise," she says, half distracted by the faded old colours at her feet.
He splutters and Merrill turns to see him staring at her, lips parted, flush rising in his cheeks. "Are you flirting with me?"
Merrill blushes right back when she replays her words in her head. "You started it."
"I absolutely did not. This way, here, that's where we were sitting last night." Alistair reorients her by a small angle and follows her deeper into the lush jungle.
"You did, you kissed me."
"You called me a tree!" he says.
It's Merrill's turn to stop and stare. "So?"
"Well, that's… That's a thing, is it not?"
It's most decidedly not a 'thing', not a 'thing' Merrill's ever heard about, not even a 'thing' Isabela's joked about, and she's joked about every 'thing' from one end of the Waking Sea to the other. "I don't think it's a thing," Merrill tells him. She takes an experimental step towards him and watches his eyes go wide.
"It is," he insists, but his voice is trailing off.
"We might die," she says.
He grimaces. "Wow. Not where I thought this was going."
"Shush, I'm just explaining why I've stopped walking."
"Are you going to have to talk through a rationalization every time you want to kiss me now?" he asks, blush returning to his face, bringing a devilish smirk with it.
"Yes. No. We'll see."
"You can hit me, if that makes it easier."
Merrill raps the end of her staff against his ankle before she kisses him. She's got to stand on her toes, which makes her a little unsteady on her injured leg. She's about to break it off, but he wraps an arm around her waist instead and that's better, frankly.
"Good," she says finally, breaking away. "Now that's out of the way, we can get the others and report back to Skyhold."
"Excellent, yes, a plan. Just what we needed."
They walk side by side now, instead of one after the other. It's a good adjustment, easier to fight back the brush with four hands instead of two, Merrill decides.
Soon, there's a rustling in the leaves and they dive for cover. Alistair mutters something under his breath while he loosens his sword. He places a lightning-fast kiss on Merrill's cheek. "We'll handle it," he promises. She nods back, fingers flexing on her staff.
"So, the kissing. Is it a group thing, or should I wait for my turn?" Dagna asks, emerging from behind a tree nearby.
"Who's kissing? Are they kissing? Oh Maker, seriously?"
Lace appears too, swinging down from some unseen perch. "Rodney, can you stow it? We're having a moment here."
"Oh Maker," says Alistair, scrubbing his hands over his reddening face. "We were coming to rescue you, you know."
"Just stopped for a little light smooching, I get it." Dagna says.
"We could have died," Merrill says, immediately regretting engaging the moment the words were out of her mouth. It's like getting in the middle of Varric and Isabela's conversations all over again. They'll bowl you right over if you're not careful.
"That just makes the smooching hotter," Lace agrees.
"Now that can't be a thing," Alistair says, standing up and offering a hand to Merrill.
Lace looks at him like he's sprouted another head. "No, it's definitely a thing, why wouldn't it be a thing?"
"It's the thing that got me and Sera together," Dagna says.
Alistair interrupts, probably seeing, as Merrill does, that this could go on until the sun set again. "So, what all happened to you, anyway?"
"Ahh, taken prisoner," Lace says, leading them back into the jungle. "You know, standard stuff."
"And they let you go?" Merrill asks. Alistair's still holding her hand. She's not sure if it's intentional, or if he's just forgotten to let go.
Dagna laughs. "Muddy's a bear, remember?"
Muddy grins from the front of the column with the rest of the group. Everyone looks a little roughed up, but alive, and happy to see them. Merrill feels a lightness inside her she hasn't felt in weeks.
"We're waiting on back up before we do much more," Lace says. "So let's head somewhere we can be semi-fortified and wait, yeah? We can spend a week or two resting up and just… enjoying each other's company." She gives a glance to Alistair and Merrill's entwined hands that lingers a second too long. Everyone snickers.
Merrill feels her face heating up, but Alistair doesn't drop her hand. She risks a peek up at him and sees he's beet red too. At least they're going to be on equal footing for the next few weeks…
Before they left to find Merrill and Alistair, Lace and the rest had been able to lift all the supplies they could carry from the Venatori, including a few tiny, portable tents. And of course, the others insist Merrill and Alistair share one, 'if they want.'
Alistair crawls onto the blanket next to Merrill and gets comfortable on his back. "At least this way, I don't have to listen to Marcel snore all night."
Merrill snickers and stretches out, and if she casually bumps into him with the back of her hand, it's not her fault. The tent is really very small. He casually bumps her back while he readjusts his left arm, and then Merrill realizes she's not comfortable on her back, so she has to roll over. And of course, given the lack of space in the tent, she ends up pressing into his side, right up under his arm.
"Not so bad, right?" she asks.
"No, not at all. It's kind of weird."
"Sorry," she says automatically. But as she pulls away, Alistair's slides his other hand across her hip and holds her there.
"I meant, what's weird is, that given everything that's happened in the last few days, and everything that's happening with the Inquisition, with the Wardens and the Venatori, and all that… I'm having a fairly nice evening."
She sighs and relaxes again. She's been grappling with a similar feeling. Guilt, anger, and grief, tangled up inside with the giddy feelings when she and Dagna find something fascinating in the ruins nearby, or the frisson of thrill she gets when Alistair touches her hand. Even laughing at one of Rodney's terrible jokes gets confused inside her head sometimes.
"We have to take the little, nice things as they come," he tells her, almost whispering the words into her hair. "You may be surprised how little goodness can balance out so much of the bad."
"Maybe," she whispers back. She breathes in the smell of him, thankful, so, so thankful that Dagna thought to steal soap from the Venatori encampment. Probably not what he meant about a little goodness to balance out the bad, she thought, but it fit with the letter, if not the spirit.
"What do you mean, 'maybe'? I lived through the Blight, I'm old and wise."
Merrill laughs, giggling even harder when he presses a smiling kiss to her forehead.
"Now you're just laughing at me," he says, mock-hurt.
Merrill tells him, through shaking laughs, about the little goodness of soap and he laughs along with her. She slides against him again, letting her limbs fall gracelessly while she makes herself comfortable. "Goodnight, tree," she whispers.
If he replies, calls her a squirrel again, she doesn't hear, because she's asleep and drifting happily in thoughts of small, good things.
