Chapter Text
In the Hanged Man pub, there was a click of the latch and soft footfalls that came to a halt. Merrill stood at the very edge of the pool of orange light cast by the lit hearth. Anders was too busy rearranging the cards in his hand to notice.
“I guess they’ll let anyone in this place, huh?” Varric asked. He shuffled the cards as he chuckled. “Only kidding, Daisy. There’s still time to be dealt in, if you’re interested.”
Merrill said nothing for a long moment, lips parted. She shuffled the rose stems in her hands, their ruby-red petals rustling softly.
“What’s wrong, Merrill?” Hawke asked, lowering her cards. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Fenris had glanced up when the other elf entered, but now he was obstinately ignoring her.
Isabella eyed the flowers in her hands. “Did you buy that bouquet, Kitten? Is it for someone special?”
“I didn’t buy it,” Merrill said, hoarsely. “I found it. On my kitchen table. But… the doors were still locked.”
Immediately, the atmosphere changed.
Hawke dropped the cards and stood in one fluid movement. She swung over the back of the coach and took Merrill by the shoulders. The Champion’s face was suddenly serious. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Merrill insisted. “Just a little shaken up.”
“Hold on. What’s going on?” Fenris asked, ears flicking up.
“Did you see anyone, Merrill?” Hawke asked. “Has anyone been following you? Threatened you?”
“No, no,” Merrill said. “I would have said something. I’m fine, really.”
“But how could it be a copycat?” Aveline asked. “Most of the details of the White Lily Murders weren’t released to the public. Even within the guards, those files are restricted.”
“That just means there are fewer suspects,” Isabella cut through. “Someone wants to threaten Hawke’s companions by mimicking her mother’s killer. I almost can’t believe someone has the balls to do that, but it isn’t like you don’t have enemies, Hawke.”
“Wait,” Fenris interjected. “Aren’t we jumping to conclusions here?”
“I’m not waiting around for Merrill to get hurt!” Hawke snapped. “I’m not taking any more chances. Merrill, you aren’t going home tonight — you’re staying at my estate, you won’t be left alone for a moment. Anders, you’re going to accompany her everywhere until this matter is sorted.”
“You can count on me,” Anders said, puffing out his chest.
“Hawke, I can look after myself…” Merrill objected. She shuffled her roses in her hands. “If I have to have a bodyguard, can’t it be Fenris?”
Fenris pulled a complicated expression—pleased and upset all at once. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Hawke, but are we sure this is all necessary? It might not be a killer. Roses are not white lilies, after all.”
“Give me a break!” Hawke crossed her arms. “Why else would someone break into Merrill’s home and leave a bunch of flowers on her kitchen table?”
“Well…” Fenris took a thin breath. He had his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “Maybe because… if I left them on the doorstep, the flowers would have gotten dirty. Or stolen. And maybe, admittedly, I didn’t think it all the way through.”
A hush fell across the group.
Anders stared at Fenris in total shock, as if he’d grown a second head. Varric cleared his throat and Aveline’s eyebrows shot up. Isabella smiled, but covered her smile discretely with her hand, turning away.
“Oh,” Hawke said. “Right. Sorry, Fenris.”
Fenris accepted the belated apology with a shake of his head. “It’s fine. I understand where you were coming from.”
Merrill looked between Fenris and Hawke, and then looked around the rest of the group. A rose petal dislodged from her bouquet and drifted to the floor. It was so red it seemed to glow on the floorboards. Fenris’ eyes followed it and watched it settle.
“But I still don’t understand,” Merrill spoke up. “Why would Fenris put a bunch of flowers in my house while I was out? Oh dear… Did it seem really dull and lifeless last time you visited? Is that why?”
Fenris grimaced.
The former slave crept forward, head still bowed, and reached out. With uncharacteristic meekness, Fenris gathered up the rose stems and gently took them from Merrill’s hands. He held them close to his chest as he retreated.
“Fenris?” Merrill called after him. She turned to watch him leave. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? They were very pretty, Fenris!”
Fenris left the pub, closing the door neatly behind him. A quiet lingered amongst the gathered allies.
Anders cursed, breaking the silence. “By the Maker, he is such a prick! Can you believe him?”
“Not now, Anders,” Hawke chastised.
“He’s unbelievable!” Anders said. “All these years, he’s been up on his high horse about Mages, but now he wants to shag Merrill just because she’s a pretty girl! After all his grand arguments, he doesn’t actually believe a thing!”
“I said not now, Anders,” Hawke snapped, a flinty edge entering her voice. “Not every situation is an opportunity to score points off Fenris.”
Anders’ shoulder rose like hackles. “But—”
One glare from Hawke stopped him in his tracks. Anders finally relented, tossing his head like a bridled horse.
“Fenris was…?” Merrill looked down at the singular rose petal that had fallen on the floorboards. It was as soft and delicate as a drop of liquid silk. “Now I remember. Roses. Humans use those in courting don’t they? Oh, my… you don’t think he was very serious about it, do you?”
Isabella let out a bewildered laugh. “Of course he was serious, Kitten. You’re a catch.”
“Fenris is serious about everything,” Aveline admitted. “I don’t think it was a joke. Let’s just hope the dent to his ego wasn’t fatal. He might be the type to take it quite hard…”
“Not that that’s your fault,” Varric assured Merrill.
“We’re going to be very gentle about this,” Hawke said, loudly and authoritatively (although it was only Anders and Isabella she was glaring at). “Fenris has made a big step towards independence and openness. This stuff is very hard for him. We are NOT going to tease him about any of this… or you’ll have ME to answer to.”
“But I have so much good material…” Isabella looked gutted. “But alright, if it pleases my darling Champion, then I’ll do my best.”
Anders looked sullen. Finally, he muttered under his breath: “I won’t coddle him. But I won’t bring it up —unless he does first.”
Hawke sighed. "Good enough, I suppose."
Meanwhile, Merrill had crouched on the floor and peeled the rose petal off the wood. It rested on her palm like a drop of bright red blood. She considered it carefully. "Hmm."