#hawrill

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The Ties That Bind

“I don't think… I don’t think Mother likes me anymore.” The words tumble from Hawke’s lips and shatter like glass against the cold silence of the room. Merrill looks up from her sketch, the stick of charcoal jolting uncaringly from her hand. She watches as Hawke pours herself another finger of whisky and carefully sips. “I’m sure that’s not true,” Merrill says, because a proclamation like that can’t be left unaddressed. “She… she seems nice enough. Never home, though.” “Yeah. She’s off with some suitor, so Bodahn says. He can keep her, for all I care.” Hawke empties her glass in a single swallow and pours another. “I just… Everything I do, you know?” she continues. “It’s never enough. Bethy and I worked hard to get everyone into the city, and I even took on more and more jobs to make sure Mother was paid for, but no, that’s just what I was expected to do. Not that I wanted thanks or anything, because I had to do it, there wasn’t a choice, but a little appreciation would have been nice. No, instead she nagged at me, asking why I took Beth with me on jobs. Why she couldn’t be left at home with her, safe and sound.”

Yasuko Hawke and Merrill are just friends. Unfortunately. They're close, warm, and affectionate, but nothing more.

Or so they think.

Time flies by and they grow closer and closer still, bridging the gap between friends and lovers.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Requited Unrequited Love, Fake Dating, Pining, Custom Hawke, Love Confessions, Harassment to Merrill, POV Alternating

CW: Merrill gets harassed twice at the Hanged Man, but Hawke comes and saves the day.

For @sunlian

~:~

Merrill stood uneasily at the bar top, waiting for another round. Corff readied a number of drinks for patrons who were in line before her, which was fine, except that it gave an unknown man at a nearby table time to leer at her. She shifted her weight on her feet, uncomfortable as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, focusing through the existing buzz in her head.

He was a big man, strong looking—a laborer of some sort, maybe, with a job that made use of all his many muscles. He eyed her intently as he drank from his tankard, something hungry in the look. Merrill was not unused to men watching her, thinking her an easy target; but here, in the tavern, she couldn’t just simply cut her hand and boil his blood.

She turned her gaze back to Corff, who was making his way steadily down the bar. The man got up sometime in the time that she had looked away; he loomed over her, blocking her in between the bartop and another patron.

“Hey, little lady,” the man said. His voice was hard, a little rough, and it grated on Merrill’s ears. She did not like him, not at all. “Name’s Kavin. What’s yours, sweetheart? I bet it’s pretty, like you.”

Merrill was tempted to rattle off some phrase in Elvish to make him go away, feigning a language barrier. She had a few choice words for a man who randomly approached women in bars, none of them particularly flattering, but she tempered herself. It wouldn’t be good to cause a stir, especially if he’d already heard her speaking Trade to other patrons.

“I’m just waiting for some drinks for my friends,” she said instead, hoping he’d get the hint. “Including my—my girlfriend.” It was a lie, but harmless enough, Merrill thought. She had girls who were friends, right? It worked.

Read More on AO3!

Thank you for the prompt! Here's some pre-ship Hawke and Merrill goodness!

for @dadrunkwriting

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Merrill is tiny.

Not really--she's formidable in her own right, powerful--but here, asleep in Hawke's arms, she's delicate, though not fragile. Small, though, compared to him.

"Mpfgh," she mumbles against his arm.

Garrett only barely keeps from laughing drunkenly, himself, instead just huffing as he makes for the stairs. The room spins around them, and he has to fight not to tip over and send them both sprawling.

What a horrible way to wake up, he thinks, chuckling lightly.

He looks down at her face. She's so relaxed. He's envious, almost. Everyone else has gone home but she stayed, telling him story after story as the empty wine bottles piled up. She looks...at peace. Light. It fills him with pride to know she feels safe enough to fall asleep at the manor, to fall asleep with him around. There's something to be said for that kind of trust.

Garrett smiles to himself and slowly works themselves up the stairs. Maker, it's so long tonight. Have there always been this many stairs? He should look into that. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe the next day. But soon. He slogs his way to the second floor.

Merrill gives a light snore. It's adorable.

Her breath is warm, giving him goosebumps that run along his skin. He likes the closeness of it, even if it does tickle.

They're almost to the door of her room, now, or at least the room he's grown to consider hers. She's stayed over a thousand times, it feels like, so for it to be her room is an easy thought. Garrett has to shift her in his arms to try for the doorknob. It's awkward, and it's hard, but eventually he does manage to get it open.

It doesn't escape him that he's carrying her bridal-style over the threshold. What kind of marriage customs does her clan have? Garrett lets the thought pass through without much attention. He can ask later, after all. What's important is getting her to the bed, which has become a little difficult, as his arms are getting super tired and the floor is spinning again.

He wobbles, balance flying out the window. Her breath stutters and she shifts, trying to turn over in his arms. Definitely not helping. Garrett gets both feet firmly planted below him and holds fast. Almost to the bed, now. Almost got her where she needs to be.

"Hawke," Merrill says woozily. She blinks slowly up at him like a cat. A goofy smile breaks across her face. "You're sooo nice." She slurs her words into something only mostly intelligible. It's cute.

Garrett crosses the last few feet to the bed and gently deposits her on the covers. She goes easily and smiles, wide and sweet. Her eyes are glassy with drink, and her cheeks wine-flushed.

"You didn't--hic!--have to do that," Merrill says with some difficulty. "I could have--could have walked."

He shakes his head. Garrett regrets it instantly. "It's okay," he says, and his words come out sideways, too. He needs to get to bed, himself. Garrett waves off her drunken protests. "It's okay," he says again. "I'm glad to help. But I'm going to go pass out now."

The distance between their rooms feels like miles. She pats the bed beside her. It's tempting. Too tempting. But his bed is calling his name, so he tells her that, and she laughs.

"Goodnight," she warbles after him when he leaves. He tosses a smile over his shoulder just in time to see her slump back into the pillows, and closes the door.

She's nice and secure, just where he wants her. That's good. That's real good. He has to take a breather just outside the door. It's good. She's here, and safe, and she's good. That's...good.

Garrett laughs to himself. Life is good. For one shining, ordinary moment. He'll take it.

The words tumble from Hawke’s lips and shatter like glass against the cold silence of the room.

Merrill looks up from her sketch, the stick of charcoal jolting uncaringly from her hand. She watches as Hawke pours herself another finger of whisky and carefully sips.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Merrill says, because a proclamation like that can’t be left unaddressed. “She... she seems nice enough. Never home, though.”

“Yeah. She’s off with some suitor, so Bodahn says. He can keep her, for all I care.” Hawke empties her glass in a single swallow and pours another.

short hawrill comic I drew for the Girls! Girls! Girls! zine