Touch

A short, fluffy oneshot set in Act I of Dragon Age II. Mild f!Hawke/Merrill.

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all its characters are the property of Dragon Age.

The last of the Darkspawn fell at Sylvia Hawke's feet, reeking of burnt flesh and blood. Having a fireball launched at its face probably played a part in that. She allowed herself to bask in the victory for only a moment, before she glanced around at her companions. Aveline cleaned her sword of the tainted blood; out of all her companions it was always she that wound up covered in the most blood. That just left Varric and Merrill, who were conspicuously absent from the battlefield. "Hawke! Daisy's hurt." She turned around in time to see Varric waving her over, Merrill lay propped up against a rock, nursing her wounds.

"I'm fine, really!" Merrill smiled brightly at Hawke. "Nothing but a graze, I've suffered worse."

"Merrill, you're bleeding through your armour," she said as she knelt beside her. Her gaze met Merrill's briefly, and she grinned. "You're cute when you act tough, but you have to be careful with Darkspawn blood." Maker, as if she didn't know that all too well. She heard Aveline stir behind her, no doubt thinking the same thing. The elf bit her lower lip, eyebrows furrowing as she cast the wound an almost fretful look. Like she was resigning herself to a terrible fate already. "But I'm sure you'll be fine," Hawke added hastily, before her ideas became too vivid. "I can heal most anything."

Truth be told, Anders was better suited for this, but seeing as he had buggered off to his clinic, it was up to the mage who threw fireballs first and asked questions later. Not that Merrill had to know that, she didn't want to see the fear in her eyes.

"Hawke, I'm going ahead to see if there are any stragglers," Aveline said. There was the sound of her sword scraping against its scabbard, the blade clean and ready to slaughter more Darkspawn.

"Good idea. Varric, would you go with her?" When no immediate answer came, Hawke looked at him squarely. "I'll buy you a drink at the Hanged Man."

He smirked. "Make it two drinks, and you've got a deal." The dwarf looked towards Merrill next, expression softening as he said, "You're in good hands, Daisy. Keep safe while we're gone."

She smiled at him, waving her hand dismissively. "I'll be fine. Have fun battling the horde!" As the two walked away, she placed her hand across the red patch of her chainmail. "I apologise for worrying everyone. I've fought Darkspawn before, but never with so many people around."

"That just means there are more people to hide behind." Hawke chuckled. She set aside her staff and began to remove the chainmail around the wound. "If you need help, call for Aveline. That's what you do if you want to keep your internal organs." She began to giggle, but her laughter was short-lived. The chainmail had been peeled back, exposing her raw flesh to the world. Merrill gasped. Her fists clenched into balls, but she made no protests beyond the occasional whimper as Hawke set to work. "I take it that hurts?" she teased, which her companion was no doubt coming to realise was her default response.

"I'm a blood mage, I'm used t—ow!" Merrill yelped, hands flying to the sore.

"You were saying?"

"Maybe it stings a little," she conceded, blushing.

Hawke chuckled and shook her head. They both fell silent as Hawke worked, no sound but the distant crashing of waves and the low hum of her magic. Healing had never been her strong point. Controlling the elements took pure force, there wasn't any room for hesitation. Not like spirit healing. It always left her drained, weaker, as if she had given her life force to the victim. Before Lothering she had only learned enough to keep herself and her family alive, now she was beginning to realise she had a few other lives to worry about, now.

Maybe if she had bothered to learn before, Bethany would still be alive. That was the wound that cut the deepest, the one she couldn't magic away. She remembered when Bethany would trip and scrape her knee, and Hawke would sit her down and heal it. And when she was done, she would lean down and kiss her forehead to make it better. Funny how much simpler things seemed when she was a child.

The open wound on Merrill's leg began to recede; Hawke swore she could feel the muscles grow healthy again beneath her fingers. Finally, nothing remained but a jagged pink scar. "That ought to do it," she said, "I hope you don't mind the scar."

"I think I can say I have grown used to those, lethallan." The little scars and nicks that ran up her arms said as much.

Hawke winced, though she said nothing. It was embarrassing how often she forgot Merrill was a blood mage. Of all the misfits she had collected over the past few months, Merrill was undeniably the sweetest, and yet… Everything she had ever learned, everything her father, in all his wisdom, had taught her, she remembered what he told her about blood mages more than anything. They would use anyone and anything to survive, and there was no telling what lurked beneath a human face. Abomination.

She had to wonder what he would think of Merrill.

"Hawke?"

Her gaze snapped up to look her in the eyes. Maker, were they big. Not that she was complaining, it made them easier to appreciate. "Mm?"

"… Thank you."

"I'm hardly going to leave you to bleed to death in the wilderness. It's not exactly heroic."

"No, it's not only that." Merrill rubbed the new scar. "You've been so kind to me, and I've done nothing to deserve it."

"Everybody deserves kindness," said Hawke. For once her tone had no sardonic edge, she took the elf's hand and smiled at her. "There's nothing to thank me for, because one of these days I'll be the one who needs you. Besides, it's been nice having someone who knows how to smile, especially when it's as pretty as yours."

Merrill's face split into a wide grin. "How do you always know what to say?" she asked, giggling despite her efforts to keep making puppy-eyes.

"I generally keep talking until I say something right." Carver would have disagreed on the effectiveness of that tactic, but it worked on her, at the very least. "Are you fit to walk?"

"I believe so."

"Come then, we should catch up before they worry." Without thinking, Hawke leaned over and brushed her lips against Merrill's forehead. She pulled back to a bewildered elf staring up at her. Before she had a chance to apologise, Merrill kissed her right back. "I…" Sylvia Hawke was rarely at a loss for words, but she had managed it.

Not that she seemed aware; she jumped to her feet with a bright smile and pink cheeks. "Is that customary for humans? How exciting!" She waved at some distant figure, no doubt Varric returning to check in on them.

"I'd recommend using it sparingly." Hawke pushed herself off the ground. Images of her trying it on Varric or Anders or, Maker forbid, Fenris. Hopefully she was too wise to try that, at least. "It's only to be used between good friends."

Merrill took her hand and squeezed it lightly. "I shall only use it for special occasions. Ma nuvenin, lethallan."

I hope you enjoyed it! There is not nearly enough f!Hawke/Merrill in the world, which is unfortunate. Critiques and comments would be appreciated! This was written with little editing, so there's bound to be things wrong with it.