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Hawke insisted on walking Merrill home from the Hanged Man, despite her protests that she'd made the walk many times on her own. He insisted too that they link arms, claiming he worried she'd wander off. Merrill hadn't protested at that -- she had simply ducked her head in an attempt to hide her blush, then tentatively slipped her arm through his so that her hand rested on his bicep. She tried not to think about the solid feel of his muscle under her fingers, tried not to wonder if Hawke was strong enough to carry her. She tried to focus on the moment, on the path home, on the proximity of Hawke and the easy smile he had given her before they left.
"Thank you," she said, trying to keep her mind from wandering. "I do appreciate you walking me home."
"Of course," Hawke replied, flashing her a smile. "I'm happy to walk you home anytime."
Merrill hummed softly, a noise that sounded distinctly content. "Maybe you should wall me home more often then," she said, heat rushing go her cheeks even as she spoke. "Not that I need to be walked home, it's just nice to have the company. Oh, I'm babbling. It's kind of you to do this, lethallin." If Hawke noticed the redness in her face, he didn't mention it. He smiled at her again, his eyes soft and kind. His patience and understanding had always been the things Merrill found sweetest about him, though she doubted she could ever express it.
"You call me that a lot," Hawke commented. "Lethallin. What does it mean?" Hearing Hawke say an Elven word made her heart ache in the most delicious way. She wanted to feel that every day, and never again. It was confusing and contradictory: like most of her feelings about Hawke.
"No one has ever asked me about that before," Merrill said quietly. "I guess most people aren't interested in knowing my language. Well, that and I don't call a lot of people lethallin. And I still haven't answered your question." She squeezed his arm, hoping he understood the unspoken apology. "It's not a word that translates well. It's something you call a friend. But it doesn't mean friend." Hawke hummed thoughtfully as they started down the stairs to the alienage. "It's a term of endearment," Merrill continued. "It's casual, but usually reserved for friends. Does that make sense?"
"It does." Hawke came to a halt under the tree in the middle of the alienage, only a dozen or so paces from her front door. Merrill stopped with him, her hand still planted firmly on his arm. "I've heard the phrase 'ma serannas' used. From context I assume it means thank you?"
"Yes," Merrill replied, smiling up at him. "I didn't know you were paying attention." Hawke grinned, his eyes glowing in the moonlight.
"I've had good reason to pay attention, Merrill," he said. Before she could puzzle over his words, he was removing her hand from his arm. She flushed, embarrassed she had left it there so long in the first place. She opened her mouth, ready to ramble out an apology, but Hawke spoke first. "Ma serannas, lethallin. For allowing me to walk you home." The aching sensation was back in her chest, this time rendering Merrill speechless. Then she did the only thing she could think of doing: flung her arms around Hawke's neck and hugged him. His arms wrapped around her waist, and in the circle of his arms the ache turned to a pleasant warmth.
"Vhenas," Merrill whispered, her breath warm against Hawke's ear. "Home."