officialvarrictethras said: Merrill likes to go swimming! :D
Merrill used to splash about in rivers, whenever she got the chance, but the open sea was quite another matter. She wondered if she could still swim.
Treading carefully, she waded out til the water was waist-height. Nasty-looking stones dotted the sand below, and she leaned forward into a dog-paddle.
Encouraged by her clumsy success, she opened her arms and legs and swept them in a wide arc, scything through the water like a, um… scythe. Not that Merrill had much to do with scythes - she’d only seen them in picture books about death. Like a kingfisher, then. Much nicer.
Getting out to deeper water, she let herself relax, cycling her arms and legs to stay warm and afloat. She wondered why they called it the Wounded Coast. It didn’t look wounded. It was quite pretty, really. The water was so clear. Dipping her head, she floated face-down, eyes open in the hope of seeing a starfish or anemone.
She had been floating like this for some time when she heard a tumultuous splashing. Hands grabbed her, clutching under her arms and dragging her brutally towards the shore. Templars? Bandits? She panicked, flailed her little fists, tried to let out a mind blast but was too disoriented and stressed to work up a really big one. Her assailants shouted and threw her on the sand.
"What-" she sputtered before a big hand pinched her nose and someone clamped their mouth to hers. "Mmmmm! MMMMMM!!!!" This time her mind blast worked.
She sat up to see Aveline and Isabela sprawled on the sand, legs in the air and seaweed in every crevice. “What are you doing?” she cried.
"We thought you were drowning!" yelled Isabela.
"Don’t ever do that to us again!" yelled Aveline.
Next time, Merrill vowed, she would only swim when out with Anders and Fenris. At least that way, no-one would try to “rescue” her.
Fenbela: Lending Library
You know what, I’m going to stop apologising writing Fenbela because they’re just far too much fun. Some smutty jokes, fluffy feels and general fenbela goodness.
When they’d first learned of his predicament (with some amusement, Fenris suspected, at least on Varric and Isabela’s behalfs), Varric had suggested starting him off with reading children’s tales. But Fenris was not - as he’d reminded them quite pointedly (while at the same time wondering just how drunk Isabela must have gotten Hawke to wheedle the gossip of his illiteracy from the Champion) stupid, nor was he too young to make sense of close-written script or long words; he simply did not know how to link each letter with its associated sound, was not aware of spellings or how to hold a pen.
When he had demonstrated (with painstaking embarrassment) that he could indeed handle books written for adults, it had taken all of three seconds, one spilled drink and a transferal of Isabela’s hips from Varric’s lap to Fenris’s for her to offer to teach him to read from her… personal collection.
Cannibalise Legalis, chapter 3
Inevitably, Carver got an earful about Merrill from his police contacts.
Fenris worked on the fringes of the force – an informant and unofficial standover man for the trafficking division, a heavy hitter whom it was good to be on the right side of. Carver respected him immensely – his pursuit of slavers was relentless and deadly – but it would perhaps be exaggerating to call his company pleasant. Strangely, given his deep-seated and genuine disapproval of drugs (which never stopped him pulling out his “happy pills” in the middle of the Hanged Man to skull them down with a glass of pinot), he was a friend of Garrett’s, and avoided shopping him to the authorities.
“Garrett tells me you’re seeing the Professor,” he said, lining up the triangle precisely. Carver rubbed a bit of chalk on the end of his cue.
“The Professor? I mean, she’s a scientist, but I don’t think she’s a professor of anything… You wanna break?”