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Carver Hawke has grown a lot in confidence over the years—being a Grey Warden and doing your bit to save the world does that to you—but when it comes to Merrill, he’s still just as lost and tongue-tied and flustered around her as a nineteen-year-old who’d met her for the first time.
It makes no sense: he’s faced down darkspawn and slain mighty ogres, he’s charged into battle armed with nothing but bravery and his broadsword, slicing through the hordes with a grace and speed one wouldn’t expect of a big bloke like him—he prides himself on his skill thoughtfully applied—yet this tiny adorable elf girl who loves flowers and butterflies, who innocently wonders if the Qunari would laugh if she tickled them, just slays him. He feels so big and awkward and clumsy and oafish next to her little figure—she’s so tiny against his bulk—and yet he knows that if he faced her in a fight, she’s probably the one who’d take him down with her magic before he could even blink.
(And that’s before you even get to the blood magic, of course. He’s changed his mind on that over the years: despite the Wardens allowing him specialised templar training to hone his battle skills, he’s the furthest you can get from a templar in mindset. Blood magic is a necessary weapon for his mage colleagues to deal with darkspawn—he’s seen how sometimes it’s the only way to deal with blighted creatures—and he wonders if he’d have changed his stance on blood magic if he’d stayed behind in Kirkwall.)
Right now she’s leaning into him, giggling, reminding him of bubbles in the champagne they’d drunk together in the Hanged Man; and after the evening they’d spent he couldn’t possibly let Merrill walk home on her own in her inebriated state. If she was sober, she’d be able to look after herself, but… she is very much not sober, and Carver has no idea if Varric paid off the Lowtown thugs tonight to leave her alone.
“It’s so nice of you to stop by and visit me!” Merrill coos happily, her cheeks flushed and her lilting accent slurring lightly on each word. Her short dark hair is a mess, braids sticking out every which way, big green eyes gazing up at him, and Carver can’t help thinking she’s the cutest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “I really enjoy hearing all about your Grey-Warden-ing, and I don’t get to hear it often enough! Will you be stopping by and seeing Hawke this time, do you think?”
Carver ignores the impulse to wince at her question—things are… complicated regarding Serafina, and he’s had such a nice evening he doesn’t want to explain at length what might (or might not) be going on with his older sister. “I don’t think I’ll get time, Merrill,” he settles on saying. “Mother doesn’t even know I’m in town.”
“Oh!” Merrill considers this awhile; the hiccups have started and she’s swaying on the spot, but it amuses him all the same seeing her brows knit as she tries—drunkenly—to concentrate on that thought. “But that’s what you said last time you visited,” she says, “and then you slept in my living room, which must have been so uncomfortable for you! I just thought you might like a comfortable bed to sleep in—I still don’t have one, I’m so sorry about that, but even if I did I’m sure the Hawke Estate’s beds would be more comfy.”
“Merrill, it’s fine. I came to see you. Besides, as a Warden, we make camp anywhere—your living room floor is fine.”
He’s telling the truth—it really is fine; he just wants to see her, and spend time with her. Besides, her bedroom is the only room in her place with a bed—her bed—and that mirror next to it creeps him out, though he doesn’t have the heart to tell her when she babbles on happily about it like it’s her most prized possession.
She giggles again, then, and slides her arm around his waist and draws him closer to her. “I like it when you come to see me,” she declares. “I like your letters too, of course. But having you here in person is so much more fun.”
Carver looks down at the top of her head, brain trying not to short-circuit at the feeling of her arm around him—but with every visit, it gets harder. They’re good friends; they somehow became close after he joined the Wardens—she wrote to him with her relief the moment Hawke confirmed Carver was alive—but right now, they occupy the space of not-quite-in-a-relationship-but-almost, and he doesn’t know if that’s even what she wants. He never wants to do anything she doesn’t want—but it gets harder with every visit making him realising how much he wants her.
They finally get to the alienage, to her home. Merrill stumbles through the door; Carver reaches out to grab her arm and steady her, and Merrill fully collapses into him. It’s happened before: there’s nothing for it than for him to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, making sure she’s settled before he himself settles down for the night in the other room.
Merrill’s eyes are half-lidded and she’s smiling at him, not quite dozing, but somewhat aware of what he’s doing as he lays her down, carefully, tenderly, on the bed. “You’re always so good to me,” she murmurs, as he gently releases her arms from his neck. “Your girlfriend must be the luckiest woman in the world.”
Carver swallows. How can he tell her? Should he tell her? …but then, she is quite drunk. Who even knows if she’d welcome him admitting his feelings, especially once she’s sobered up. “I—I don’t have a girlfriend,” he stammers. “It’s hard in the Wardens—hard to be in a relationship, that is. There’s—well, there’s the whole Taint thing, and we travel a lot.”
From where she’s lying on the bed, Merrill looks disappointed. “So… you don’t want one?”
“It’s not that. It’s…” how can he say this, “well. Would anyone want me? I can’t—I can’t give them a normal life.”
She turns over and closes her eyes. “I can’t think who wouldn’t want you, Carver Hawke.”
Carver stares at her, stunned. He’s not sure what to say… but then he hears a little snore, and then there’s nothing to say—for Merrill has finally passed out, intoxicated, and fallen asleep.
Despite himself, Carver smiles. He pushes himself up off her bed, up from where he was leaning over her, and walks slowly to the living room.
They will need to talk about this in the morning—no doubt over a headache remedy he’ll brew for her—but Carver settles down for the night with a heart lighter than it has been for a long time.