Fools Rush In, Where Wise Men Never Go (Vandesdelca x Diamonds)

[SugarInTheRaw]

But Wise Men Never Fall In Love, So How Are They To Know.....​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Varric hadn't looked up from his writing when Merrill came into his room with an armful of bags, sitting down at the large table with a soft puff of exhaustion. There were always people coming in and out of his room, and the elf girl was never a distraction - well, except to herself.

"Busy day shopping, Daisy?" He mused, dipping his quill back in a well used pot of ink on the table's edge.

"Ar'souveri!" she sighed in response, shifting her position in the chair so she was instead sitting up on her knees. She was accustomed to sitting on the ground, even in her home, so she often tucked herself in such positions regardless of the presence of furniture. "The markets were so crowded today - It was if all of Kirkwall woke up with an itch to spend coin," A small giggle escaped her lips, causing her ears to twitch up as she started sifting through one of the paper bags.

"Well, it is market day" The dwarf replied and grimaced fondly to himself, knowing he should've left the topic alone - he could feel Merrill's wide eyes fix on him - and sure enough when he glanced up, she was staring at him with a hand tucked in the paper bag, as if the comment had frozen her.

"..Are the markets not open every day?" She inquried, tilting her head.

"No, they are - Just people tend to have more coin on this day of the week so the markets are busier. Vendors have discounts, pickpockets make more profits, it's great!"

Silence.

He could see those long ears twitching, trying to process what had been said and weaving more questions by the moment. Merrill had shifted in place again, her lips parting to speak when the dwarf cleared his throat. "So what did you buy, Daisy?"

Merrill smiled brightly and resumed pulling numerous bolts of thread and yarn from the bags, along with beads, paints, flexible thin wooden rods and other assorted crafting pieces that quickly cluttered around the section of the table where she was seated. "Well, Hawke has gotten his new home in Hightown, yes? Well I wanted to get him a present - but I looked for hours and I couldn't think of anything that was right. So I'm going to make something!" She giggled, tapping long fingers togther as she surveyed her own findings. The Dwarf arched a thick eyebrow, looking over the supplies as if they were components to some foreign machine. Varric, like most Dwarves, didn't have an eye for crafts that weren't made from stone - but the elven girl was excited and by the Maker her enthusiasm was like a second hand whiff of ale.

And, as if summoned by the comparison of second hand and the mention of ale, Isabella had swayed her way into the room with a coy smirk on her dark lips. "What's this then, Kitten? Varric you haven't pressured the poor girl into making some Dalish trinkets for you to sell on the black market have you?" She teased, eliciting a playful scowl from the Dwarf and another giggle from the Elf.

"No - Varric wouldn't do that," Merrill laughed, starting to arrange the wooden rods on the table. "I'm making a gift for Hawke!"

Isabella glanced down at the materials with a similairly bewildered expression as Varric had taken - though her issues did not revolve around a lake of stone, but rather a lack of sparkle and expense. Were there such things as gifts that didn't shine? "A gift, hm?" She smiled in return, rounding the table to take a seat beside the elf - prodding a long finger against one of the bolts of thread. "Well if you want this to be a surprise, someone should make sure that Hawke doesn't walk in on you making it.." She said, taking a swig of her ale. Merrill gasped, the thought having never crossed her mind - and suddenly that pale face looked panicked. "But he should be at his new estate, right? Why would he come here? Oh unless he gets tired. Or thirsty. Do you think he'd come here?"

Varric sighed, shutting the large tome with a low thud, setting it back on the table. "Don't worry, I'll go play look out" He chuckled, telling himself that his wrist was hurting from writing anyway. As he left the room, Isabella slipped an arm around Merrill's shoulders.

"Send some ale back here, would you?" She called after him, smirking. When the door was shut, she turned her attention back to Merrill, who had started to bend the flexible smooth rods - tying them with dyed green string to form a large circle.

"So what are you making exactly?"

"Well, it's called Eradathuil - once it's finished, it's mounted over the bed and - "

"Ohh I like it so far"

"Not for that I - " Merrill flushed deeply, chewing at a piece of thread in shyness "They protect you from bad dreams" She finally affirmed, swallowing the flutter of heat in her throat. Isabella was always so quick to jump to the naughtier side of a conversation, and while usually it delighted the young elf girl, when it came to talking about Hawke it made her flush all the more. The former pirate Queen sank back in her chair in slight disappointment, but smiled still.

"I'm sure he'll love it..but why don't I take you out shopping again after your finished and we'll find another gift? Something that will make sure he has better dreams..."

"Like tea?"

"No, kitten. Not like tea. But it will certainly make him hot..."

 

[Vandesdelca]

Garret Hawke had been quite the man about town ever since he had acquired the Amell Estate following the chaos of the Deep Roads Expedition. Not everything had been sunshine and ale and ridiculously tall stacks of money that he most certainly didn't sleep on no matter what the rumors (that mostly came out of Varric Tethras' lying dwarven mouth) said. Nope, no truth to that matter at all.

Suspiciously specific denial aside, things were not all going swimmingly. Carver was dead, Bethany had been taken by the Circle, and tensions were starting to pick up in the city. Sometimes it was all Aveline or Mother could talk about. It was hard to ignore the darkness that clawed at the edges of Kirkwall, picking at threads and seams that might send everything spilling out at once...

It was times like this that Hawke decided to go see his favorite girl.

"HAWKE!" the Hanged Man as a whole chorused as he swaggered (there was no other word for it, really) through the open doors, ajar as they were on every Market Day. He was a sight in sleek black and silver, bright steel blades on his back as obvious as they ever were (Fiddle and Second Fiddle, respectively). He was a common sight about the place and it was with a devil-may-care grin and a salute that he greeted the residents of the Hanged Man.

"'Lo, good folk! Only come to see my favorite girl, and her name is amber!" Hawke said, approaching the barman with a spring in his step, ordering up a pint of their finest amber ale as he was wont to do. He'd scarcely had a sip of it before he became aware of a particularly stumpy interloper at his left elbow. "Afternoon, Varric."

"Aw, Chuckles. How d'you always manage to know it's me?" Varric asked as he pulled up a stool next to Hawke's, washing away the soreness in his arm with a pint to complement Hawke's. A second was ordered and sent back into the bowels of the tavern, just as the pirate had requested.

"It's your cologne, Varric. Eau de Lowtown is a fetching scent but the peculiar mix of the Blooming Rose's finest along with your chest hair wax... well, I just have to follow my nose and the trail of dead plants and fainting women to find you," Hawke said.

"So long as they're not dead women and fainting plants," Varric said.

"Nah, that's Fenris."

Varric snorted into his mug.

"So, what's been going on as of late? Any juicy tales of gossip? Of demons or dragons or Darkspawn? Or, be still my beating heart, demonic dragon Darkspawn?" Hawke asked with a grin. If only he knew what Archdemons were.

"Ah -- remind me to tell you about Denerim sometime. Nothing around here I'm afraid. Things've been pretty quiet. I'd almost call it boring if the last time things got exciting didn't end with my brother going crazy and trying to kill me," Varric said. The dwarf ruminated a long moment, amber gold milling about the bottom of his cup. "... though."

"Though?" Hawke asked.

"Oh, nothing. 'Scuse me," Varric said as he pushed the mug away. He stood, heading back off to the opulent room that he oftened at the Hanged Man.

He slipped in as unobtrusively as he ever did, turning a shining eye onto Merrill and Isabella. "Speak of the devil. He's out in the main room."

"Devil? You told me you hadn't heard anything like that. Where is it? I could do with a scuffle," Hawke said, peeking around the edge of the door he had cracked open in Varric's wake.

 

[SugarInTheRaw]

Isabella sat quietly for a moment, observing the young elf girl's nimble fingers working diligently to craft the gift she had spent days planning. The former pirate captain seemed genuinely impressed, considering her crafting skills were primarily based upon quick make-shift escape tools or tying knots that weren't necessarily restricted to sailing purposes.

"So is this a common gift for the Dalish?" She inquired, waving off the barmaid whom had entered the room to serve their drinks. Merrill's ear tips twitched slightly as a pint of ale was pushed in her direction, however her eyes remained fixed on securing the twine around the now shaped pieces of wood.

"No - I wouldn't imagine so...We learn to make these as children, so I would imagine it would be a bit insulting really to give one as a gift. It would imply the receiver lacked the crafting skills of a child..."

A few beats of silence passed as the elf unwound a length of dyed green and silver string, then suddenly she jolted as if a bolt of lightning had struck her spine, her large eyes widening as she looked up to the pirate with a desperately distraught expression.

"Oh no that's not what I want to say! That's not what I'm trying to say - I," The rising panic attack was quickly silenced as Isabella leaned over, waving her hand in front of the elven girl's face which significantly distracted her attention.

"You're worrying too much. I highly doubt he would come to that conclusion, kitten," she smiled, tapping a finger onto Merrill's nose. The pirate leaned back against her chair again, swirling the contents of her ale around in its mug, "Besides, even if he did for whatever reason - he'd likely agree with the implications. It's not like we're a collection of artsy craftsman here. Hawke lacks the focus for such tasks, I lack the patience, Aveline lacks the feminine touch, Varric's a dwarf so he would have no interest - and between Fenris and Anders, the thing would just catch on fire before it even took shape," Mused by her own thoughts, Isabella took a long swig from her ale, and was pleased to find Merrill more relaxed when she looked back over her mug.

"I just..I just hope he likes it..." She spoke softly, clutching the frame against her chest - those slender finger curling delicately around the smooth wood as a bashful smile turned at her lips. So lost in her own thoughts, Merrill hadn't heard the approaching footsteps and voices coming towards the door - by Andraste's grace however, Isabella was keen to her surroundings even four pints of ale into the night, and was on her feet by the threshold when Varric stepped inside.

The pirate quickly moved into the wedge of the door, blocking Hawke's point of view somewhat to give a now alert Merrill enough time to quickly re-bag the assortment of items on the table.

"Well well well, look who's stepped out of Hightown to drink with the common folk again," Isabella teased, fully aware that Hawke was nothing like the upturned noses that populated most of the upperclass districts of Kirkwall, "How long have you had that fancy estate of yours now? And you can't even invite your friends over? I bet you have a private cellar and everything, you bastard"

Stuffing the last of the ribbons inside one of the large cloth bags, Merrill hastily pushed the bag underneath the table and instead grabbed her untouched mug of ale with both hands - taking a hearty swig that immediately spilled down the wrong pipe. She coughed meakly, as one would imagine a rabbit, and covered her lips with one hand before looking up towards the door.

"Hullo Hawke,"

 

[Vandesdelca]

There were a lot of things less pleasant to be blocked by than the sudden appearance of a scantily clad pirate, and Hawke found his slumped, surreptitious sneaking on the room to be interrupted by Isabela's chest. Very slowly, very deliberately, Hawke straightened up and looked over Isabela's shoulder into the rest of the room. "See, there's the problem! We do have a private cellar, only it's a little too corpsey for polite company. We never did get a chance to move those slavers out after our fight so when we finally moved in..."

Hawke paused and wrinkled his nose.

"Cleaning's ongoing! Speaking of which, need some help in here?" he asked, catching sight of Merrill as she straightened up from the edge of the bed.

He worked his way around Isaela, approaching Merrill with a wide grin. "Here you go," he said as he reached out to grab the base of her mug, tugging it slightly down. "I'm not sure the heavy brown ale is the sort for you, anyway. I think you'd be better off with a glass of sweet Dalish wine, don't you? I could see about taking you to get a bit of that, yeah?" Hawke asked His smile was sweet, borderline charming, and as he lowered the glass of ale away from her lips he reached out to set it off to the side, meaning she no longer had a shield to hold between the two of them.

 

[SugarInTheRaw]

As Hawke approached, Merrill could feel the tips of her ears begin to flush and twitch - coinciding with the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat. Since moving to Kirkwall, she had felt her emotions become increasingly more inbalanced than they had been before - perhaps it was the influence of the city, of all the races who bustled about with full awareness of what they felt. People in Kirkwall scowled when they were upset, yelled when they were angry, cried with joy or sorrow, loved openly...they held nothing in, it seemed.

Everything with the Dalish was complex - structured, firmly rooted in the traditions they clung to keep together.

Even courtship was a serious endeavour, bound by rules and manners. The love her people shared was by no means less profound, but it was certainly more..complicated to pursue.

How could she even begin to express to Hawke how she felt? She had practiced what she would say to her pillows, to her shadow on the wall - and at one time a stray cat that's reddish fur and confident stroll had reminded her of the Ferelden man with the charming smile -but whenever he was present and she parted her lips to speak, her mind felt frazzled and the words never surfaced.

Wide eyes shyly glanced aside as Hawke's fingers barely brushed against hers. The weight of the mug was removed from her hands, and for a brief moment, her pale fingers were extended in the air as if she were still clasping around it. She tucked her hands between her knees, squeezing against them slightly before returning her gaze towards the man.

"Do they have Dalish wine here? I asked for a glass once and the man at the bar laughed so much he had to step outside..."