#Emjee like the initials M.G.

[sulky-valkyrie]

ok. potential merrill prompt. merrihawke after leandra's death? specifically, a conversation around merrill's use of blood magic. hopefully with a supportive hawke (still) but! feel free to run with it however. i shall brainstorm some more as well >:)

Angst and also Isabela joined the party. #sorrynotsorry for @dadrunkwriting ~~~

Everything was too hard.  Lighting a fire was too much work, so the room was chilly.  Pulling the curtains open was too complicated, so the room was too dark.  Everything was too quiet or too loud, from the beating of their heart to the people in the streets below.  Didn’t all those damn idiots down there understand that their mother was dead?  That they should be shut up in their bedrooms wishing they could weep just like Emjee was?

Isabela sat down on the bed and tugged at their blankets.  “Hawke, babe, you should eat.”

They rolled over.  It hurt enough to grieve alone, but seeing the worry on their friends and lovers’ faces was just another too much.  “Not hungry, Bels.”

“I know, but you still need to eat something.”  Her hands were warm and soft, nothing like their mother’s in those last moments when she was already gone but hadn’t quite stopped.  “Kitten tried to bake something for you.”

Thinking about Merrill made Emjee’s heart sink.  The poor thing had been nearly as devastated when they’d found everything Quentin had been up to as Emjee had.  They both knew the perils of blood magic, but to see it used like that, carved up flesh stitched together for -

They bolted from the bed and barely made it to the bucket.  Sad, wheezing dry heaves wracked Emjee’s body as Bels slid down to the floor next to them.  “Let it out, honey.”  She stroked their back gently, hands still warm, so warm, reminding them that there were people who were alive who cared for them far more than - No, we’re not going down that road.  She loved me, she was shit at saying it, but she loved me.

“There’s nothing left to let out,” they whispered, still hanging over the bucket.  It was a lie.  They still hadn’t cried.  Crying just . . . felt useless.  And they hadn’t been able to anyway.  Maybe all those tears had dried up after Bethany.

“Lethallen?”  Merrill’s voice called quietly from the hallway.  “I heard you vom - moving around, do you need me to change the bucket again?”  Emjee shook their head.  Had they even talked to her since Anders had helped Varric put them to bed?  The past day or three was a blur of too fast and too slow and too much and too little and never enough and their mother was dead and they were supposed to just . . . keep going? 

Bels pulled them into her arms.  “Down here, Kitten.”

The door creaked open and the elf padded around the bed with a tray of muffins.  “I baked.”  She smiled shakily.  “Not these though, mine were - well, not even the dog wanted them, so Orana did the same recipe, but . . .”  she trailed off and bit her lip as she sat down on the floor, not quite within arm’s reach.  “I’m these muffins’ godmother.”

Andraste’s flaming ass, they had missed her and her nonsense that always made perfect sense.  She and Bels just fit together, and Emjee didn’t know how they’d ended up part of it too, but they thanked the Maker every day for two women as devoted to them as each other.  They tugged the tray out of the way and scooted out of Bels’ arms to lie with their head in Merrill’s lap.  “I’m sorry,” they whispered, burying their face in her belly.”

“Whatever for?”  Merrill asked.

“I said all those awful things about blood magic when -” 

Merrill put a gentle hand over their mouth.  “Lethallen, everything you said was true.  Not just true, but likely.”  She paused.  “It’s why I only ever use my own blood.  If I’m not willing to pay the price, how can I expect someone else to?”

“Could you have done it?”  They regretted the question immediately, but now that it was out there, the only way through was forward.  “Not that you would, but . . . could you?”

Merrill stroked their hair tenderly.  “Probably.”

“But you won’t.”  It wasn’t a question.  It wasn’t a demand, either.  It was an observation.

“Never.”  Her voice was firm.

“Not even to fix the mirror?”  Why were they pushing so hard?

Merrill tugged Emjee up to her chest.  “A demon could manifest tomorrow and tell me I would have full access to the Eluvian if I killed Meredith and used her blood, and I still wouldn’t do it.  Not because she doesn’t deserve to die, but because I wouldn’t use her like that.”  She leaned down and kissed their forehead, politely ignoring how pitiful and unwashed they no doubt smelled.  “Nothing is worth stealing another’s life for it.  Quentin said he did it for love, but he did it for arrogance.  He did it because he thought he was more important than the rest of Thedas.  Blood magic was his tool, but it was Quentin who wielded it.”  The elf’s words eased something in their chest that had been strung tighter than Bianca since the white lilies had arrived.  They yawned, suddenly feeling sleepy instead of just exhausted beyond reason, and closed their eyes.

Bels scooted over to Emjee’s other side.  “There’s a perfectly serviceable bed right behind us, you know.”

“Too tired,” they protested.  “Sleep here.”

Bels slipped her arms under them.  “C’mon, I’ll pick you up, all you have to do is eat a godmuffin.”

It wasn’t really worth the fight, not when Emjee was so tired.  “Fine.”  Bels scooped them up and dumped them on the bed as Merrill picked up the muffin tray and crawled in after them.  They ate muffins until Emjee’s eyes couldn’t stay open, then Bels took the tray downstairs.  As they settled into the middle of the covers, head tucked into Merrill’s shoulder, they reached up to tilt her to look at them.  “Mer?  Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, lethallen.”

They took a deep breath.  “Will you teach me?”