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As soon as the baby starts wailing, they all wake up. Hawke keeps her eyes closed for a breath, two, three, four, waiting for the bed to shift, for a signal that one of the others is going to deal with her. She is comfortable, with Fenris’ arm slung over her and Merrill nestled close to her side, and has no desire to detangle herself.
No one moves.
Fenris withdraws his arm from Hawke’s waist and rolls over. “Lea’s crying,” he says, gruff voice muffled against his pillow.
Hawke finally opens her eyes, staring up through the blackness. The curtains are drawn, and the room is completely dark but for whatever tenacious bits of moonlight have forced their way in. Only outlines and vague shapes are visible. With a wave of her hand, she could light one of the bedside candles, or a torch on the wall, but Fenris and Merrill will take that to mean she is getting up. Lea is three weeks old—young enough that none of them are willing to let her cry herself back to sleep, old enough that they are all thoroughly nostalgic for sleeping through the night.
“Thanks for the heads up,” she says. “I thought it was Ham barking.” Fenris grunts, swatting blindly in her general direction as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.
Merrill snuggles closer to Hawke, and her arm replaces Fenris’. “No need to be cross with one another.” Her voice is soft with clinging sleep, and her lips tickle Hawke’s shoulder as she speaks. “We’re all exhausted.” The end of her sentence fades into a rising yawn, though it is barely audible over Lea’s shrieking.
Hawke gives each of them a stern look, even though Fenris’ face is hidden, and she’s not sure if Merrill’s eyes are open. “I got up for her last time,” she says. “Unless you trust Ham to change her diaper, it’s one of your turns.”
“We’ve each gotten up once tonight,” Merrill says. “It’s anyone’s turn.”
“Not mine,” says Fenris.
Merrill props herself up on one elbow and peers at him. “Why not? She’s as much your child as she is ours.”
Her tone is genuinely curious, but Hawke knows Fenris will hear nothing but an accusation. Her girlfriend is astoundingly good at saying things that are sure to piss off her boyfriend while being completely, blithely unaware that she’s doing so. As soon as Hawke sits up to try to placate him, his tattoos glow bright blue for a fraction of a second, illuminating the bedroom like eerie lightning. Everything is thrown into sharp relief. Merrill’s eyes, blinking in surprise, Fenris’ furrowed eyebrows, the scuffed wood ceiling beams of the small, old Ferelden house, the bassinet across the room where Lea is still howling. By now, it’s probably more due to of sheer rage at being ignored by not one, but three parents, rather than because she’s hungry or stewing in a dirty diaper or suddenly awake and frightened of the dark.
Just as soon as the light comes and goes, Fenris’ arm lances out behind Hawke’s back to snatch Merrill’s pillow, which he yanks down over his head.
Hawke groans, rolls her eyes, and throws herself back onto the mattress. He has gotten less explosive, at least, when Merrill says things without thinking. They get along much better after all these years, but when they do fall back to bickering, it is still easy enough to tune out, after so much practice. Still, she hates when they fight at night, glaring at one another with those creepy reflective eyes.
“Fenris!” Merrill yelps.
His response is unintelligible.
“Fenris.” She half climbs over Hawke, trying to get her pillow back, but Hawke’s squirming and protests (“Merrill, you’re jabbing me in the tit!”) send her back to her spot in the bed, apologizing.
After Hawke has wrenched the pillow away from Fenris and handed it back to Merrill, Fenris sits up. “Fasta vass… Well now that I’m up,” he growls as he rolls out of bed. Hawke flicks her fingers and a candle flares to life on the nightstand. Fenris does not take it with him, the tiny light is enough to illuminate the entire room for his eyes. For Hawke, the edges of the room outside of the ring of light plunge into even deeper blackness, though she can see Fenris as he leans down to scoop up Lea. The light casts a dim orange light on the sharp planes of his face.
He makes soft shushing noises, bouncing her with gentle motions as he cradles her to his chest. “I’m here, little one. What’s wrong? Not your diaper… You’ve eaten recently…” His voice is a low murmur, scarcely loud enough to hear.
Merrill sits up, eyes fixed on Lea. She hovers in indecision, eyes bright, lips parted, one hand splayed open on the mattress and one hovering near her chest. Then her fingers curl and she swings her white legs over the side of the bed. “Do you think she wakes up so much because she’s scared of the dark?” she says, in a whisper not much quieter than her normal tone. “Maybe if Hawke or I magic up a little light for her, or—ooh! Fenris! Can you make your tattoos glow even while you sleep, do you think?” She crosses the room and bends down to coo at Lea. If Fenris is annoyed by her question, or by the fact that she didn’t just get up in the first place, he does not say so. Instead, he continues to rock Lea in his arms, eyes locked on her scrunched, squalling face. Merrill presses one finger against Lea’s waving hands, and Lea's tiny fists reflexively open to grasp it. “Don’t worry, da’len, the night won’t go on forever.”
For a moment, despite her exhaustion, Hawke is struck by how much she loves them, all three of them, and her heart feels buoyant. Unbidden, a smile unfurls across her face. It startles her, sometimes, that she’s capable of these moments of sheer wonder and delight, when not so many years ago, she’d convinced herself that there was nothing joyous left in the world, not for her.
She sinks into her pillow, snuggling under the blanket as she waits for Fenris and Merrill to return to bed. Lea’s wailing tapers off, and Hawke drifts, stirring only when she feels the mattress shift to her left, then to her right. Merrill’s body is warm against her side, and Fenris’ arm drapes over her again.
“You know this means it’ll be your turn next, Hawke,” he says into her ear. Hawke feels Merrill’s head move, and she assumes it’s a nod.
“That’s the least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me,” Hawke groans, but she’s half asleep and cannot bring herself to truly mind. The sun will rise soon, and she cannot help but think that Fenris’ steady arms and Merrill’s loving reassurance are more than enough to get Lea through the night, no matter how long and dark and deep.
After all, Maker knows how many times they’ve gotten her through.
