faderift | [closed] I have something to say

Entry tags:

{ merrick }

[closed] I have something to say

WHO: Metaari and Merrick
WHAT: There is a Conversation that needs to happen
WHEN: A few days after Merrick wakes up
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Shit's about to get embarrassing and also probably really sad

Metaari has no longer been spending every moment at Merrick's bedside, now that he's been awake. There have been plenty of duties he's been neglecting while the elf was down for the count and it's taking some time to catch up on it all. He still visits every day and stays until Merrick is too exhausted to contend with visitors anymore, but the length of his visits have been getting longer, Merrick's strength is returning to him, and he's looking more and more like he did before.

He pauses just outside for a moment and listens, making sure that there's no one else with Merrick, before he pushes his way inside. There's a heavy cloak draped over his arm and an easy smile is on his face as he lifts his free hand in a small wave. "Hey. I was wondering if you felt up to a little walk? Some fresh air would do you good."

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Merrick is healing...slowly. Now that the poison is out of his system, it's been about rehabilitation and getting his strength back-- frustrating on its own, but now that Merrick knows he's fought off a poison administered by the Crows, he feels much less helpless.

The bed rest has been the most annoying, so when Metaari enters and offers to take him on a walk, he practically springs to his feet. He wobbles a lot, and sits back down to lace his boots up. Embarrassing.

"Creators," he grumbles as he joins Metaari. "I thought I'd never get to go outside." Pel and Cyril are wonderful caretakers, of course, but it gets overbearing.

Metaari laughs as Merrick joins him and he unfurls the cloak so he can settle it around those slight shoulders. He's at least well enough to move around on his own now, even if it might take the wind out of him quicker than he'd like. "Think of it as a reward for being such a good patient."

He grins and moves toward the door, holding an arm out for Merrick to take a hold of. "But don't be afraid to lean on me, alright? It's what I'm here for." Metaari's eyes soften as he tips his head, his smile going crooked and fond.

The cloak isn't one that's made for elves, so it kind of engulfs Merrick; he huddles inside it, not quite ready to be seen just yet. He stays close to Metaari, but doesn't take his arm. He gives him a look that says 'Really?'

"Let's go," he says pointedly, though his eyes glint with mischief.

The look is answered with a shrug and Metaari can't help but laugh again. You couldn't fault the man for trying, Merrick. He shoves open the door and steps out into the hallway, leading Merrick (who he finds looks completely adorable engulfed in that cloak, and it was the smallest one he could find on short notice) outside in to the cold air of Skyhold.

He lifts his arms up over his head as sunlight hits them and he glances down toward his companion, tilting his head. "Where to? Up to the battlements?" Fewer people up there. Down among the crowd would probably be the worst spot.

"Yeah," Merrick replies, and his shoulders release a little bit of the tension they'd been holding.

He really, really didn't want to be around people--even less so than usual--so he feels a surge of gratitude toward Metaari for suggesting they head away from the courtyard.

"Battlements it is." Metaari sets off that way, moving in comfortable silence with Merrick through the crowds of people running around Skyhold. He occasionally steps behind him, ushering the elf in front of him. It's easier for people to see Metaari coming and they cut a path around him a lot faster, and they manage to make it mostly unhindered.

He puts a hand at the small of Merrick's back once they get to the steps, whether Merrick wants his assistance or not. "Easy does it, now."

There's an instinctive response to that hand on his back, the kind that makes Merrick's spine go less rigid as he takes the steps as carefully as he can. Which isn't much.

He wants to bound over parapets and walls, run across roofs and swoop through windows. It's frustrating, almost as much as the 'You couldn't save Zevran' that keeps repeating over and over in his head.

Still, when they get to the top he can close his eyes and take in a deep breath. The wind weaves through his hair, and it just feels so good, such a sharp contrast to the nightmare he'd just emerged from.

Metaari will have to help him out of that state sooner or later. Or, rather, he'll have to with Zevran's assistance. Merrick needs to know it's not his fault, that there's not a lot to be done against a full attack from the Crows. It isn't even easy when you're expecting it, let alone when blindsided.

He moves toward a low bench near a wall and motions for Merrick to come sit next to him. His legs stretch out in front of him and he lifts his arms to rest his hands behind his head as he gazes up. "So how is it to see the sky?"

"I haven't been out of it that long," Merrick replies stubbornly as he curls up next to Metaari, huddled up in his oversized cloak.

"But it's...good." Even just a few hours indoors makes him antsy to go outside. This was a very good idea.

"Good." Metaari glances down to smile at him before he drops his arm back down to his sides. One hand nudges against Merrick's leg and he hesitates a moment, considers pulling it away, before he lets it stay put.

A few silent moments pass where Metaari just lets Merrick suck in as much air as he wants before he finally breaks the peace. "You're looking better. It's good to see."

"Mm," is Merrick's reply as he lies his head on Metaari's shoulder and closes his eyes.

He's not sleepy anymore, not really. His thoughts keep wandering to what Cyril had said, about how Metaari had hurried to see him. How long had he stayed in the room with him, as well? It makes Merrick feel strangely vulnerable.

There's a moment's surprise as Merrick leans against him but the shock fades into a faint, warm smile. He wraps his arm around Merrick's body and pulls him in closer, tucks him up against his side--for added warmth, of course.

He's quiet again, staring out over the wall across from them to the landscape that he can see and he sucks in a slow breath. "I was afraid I was going to lose you," he finally says, his voice low, barely audible above the noise of the wind and the people below.

Merrick looks up at Metaari's face and frowns. He has nothing but vague memories of the time he'd been in the poison's thrall, but they're there, and he realizes he feels similarly-- so many of his nightmares had been about the steady, strong presence at his side suddenly ripped away, leaving him with so many things unsaid.

"I'm not dying that way," he says stubbornly, resolutely.

Edited 2016-02-17 07:14 (UTC)

He wants to be able to just smile and agree, to say Yeah, I know, but there's always uncertainty, isn't there? No one knows what's going to be the thing to do them in. Metaari could trip down the stairs on their way back and break his neck in the fall. It isn't so simple.

So instead he finds himself staring resolutely across the walkway still, his hold on Merrick unconsciously tightening by a few degrees. "You responded. I don't know if the others have mentioned it yet. But while I was there--it was little things. Your hand would tighten on mine. The furrow of your brow would ease..." Metaari lets out a breath and finally turns his gaze to Merrick. "My being there meant something."

It makes Merrick truly uncomfortable in general to think about his body doing things while his mind wasn't there-- but this? His brow furrows and his eyes lock with Metaari's.

"I really did that?" His voice is small, cautious, like dipping a toe in water before jumping in.

Metaari nods a little, his gaze still serious, until he takes a moment to crack a tiny, small smile. "Cyril noticed it first. I left the room to get a chair and some supplies and apparently, while I was gone, you were... frowning."

He lifts his free hand and presses a finger to Merrick's brow. "Just like you are now."

Merrick rolls his eyes and bats Metaari's hand away like an agitated kitten, his cheeks darkening. It's very embarrassing, but Metaari doesn't seem to be teasing him about it; in fact, he seems quite serious, which makes Merrick's heartbeat quicken for some reason.

"I don't remember," he sighs, squirming a bit.

"Merrick, I--"

Metaari stops and shakes his head. No, maybe words won't do it. He brings his hand back up again and takes a gentle hold of Merrick's chin before he leans down in order to lightly brush their lips together.

"Aneth ara."

There's a faint smile against Metaari's lips that lingers once they pull away. Merrick can't express what it means to him to be spoken to in Elvhen, even if he almost never speaks it himself.

"Idiot," he murmurs. "Your pronunciation sucks."

He tugs his legs up then, his expression turning pensive. "So I take it that it wasn't bad that I did those things?"

That smile is mirrored on Metaari's own lips, though his is a bit more crooked, and he lifts a shoulder in a light shrug. "I'm out of practice and I've no one to teach me." Once upon a time he was actively trying to become proficient at it. Years of not practicing has a tendency to sneak up on you.

"Why would it have been? Now, granted, I don't think Cyril appreciated it not being him you reacted to, but... the movements gave us hope. They told us you were still fighting." He brings his hand up and lightly runs his fingertips down Merrick's jaw.

Something in him tightens and his ability for tact dries up in an instant. "I care for you, Merrick. The deepest I have cared for anyone in a long time. I--" His voice catches and he swallows thickly, fighting back the mist gathering in his eyes. "I couldn't lose you, too. Not before I could tell you."

Merrick grabs that hand and holds it against his face while Metaari speaks-- and is so present for every word, as close as he can to catching them and holding them forever. As always, his emotions are as pure and raw as a child's, written clear as day in the blue of his eyes and the gentle fluttering of his throat.

He doesn't know what to say, because he can't use words to express how he feels and he gave up trying a long time ago. So once Metaari is finished speaking Merrick opts to simply climb onto the qunari's huge body, arms flying up to clutch him around the neck and hold on with his entire weight.

Metaari isn't sure how to react at first. He's been held by Merrick like this before--wait. No. That isn't entirely true. It's similar, but not the same. In situations before it was clinging for Merrick to ground himself, to stay planted. But this time Metaari feels it, feels the raw unexpressed emotion behind it all, and it breaks something inside of him in the purest, most beautiful way.

His arms envelop Merrick, so small and so precious against him, and he drops his head to carefully bury his face against Merrick's neck. He sucks in a deep, shuddering breath as he squeezes his eyes shut. Days of staring at Merrick's unconscious face, waiting for the chance to tell him, finally take their toll now that he's gotten his chance and a few stray tears drop from him, wetting Merrick's neck and shoulder.

It's as much of an answer that Merrick can give right now, and he hopes it's enough. He stays there, gripping Metaari, his body now supported by the qunari's arms. It's safe here, he thinks. He's always thought that for some reason.

The sudden wetness against his neck startles him. He pulls back a little, confusion on his face.

"Don't," he says softly.

Metaari pulls his head back with a small laugh, quickly passing his hand across his eyes. "Sorry. I don't--it was a very long couple of days, and I still haven't slept properly. I'm fine. Well... better, anyway."

It's still a moment before he gathers himself enough to look at Merrick again and when he does it's with a faint smile. His arm comes back down again and back around Merrick's body, holding him comfortably, and he lets out a breath, the puff of air visible in the cold. "You make me better."

Merrick holds onto Metaari easily, his hand moving to the back of his neck to rub his thumb in a slow, soothing motion over the skin. He's--overwhelmed. What he feels right now is unprecedented; he's always been tucked away in the safe circle of his clan, able to explore everything with people he's been with his whole life. This, jumping intp something new, with someone who doesn't know...

He pulls back, hands on Metaari's shoulders. He trembles slightly.

"So are you saying that--that you want to be with me?" He feels terror for a minute. What if he misinterpreted Metaari's words somehow? What if he scares him away by being too forward? Why does he care about these things all of a sudden?

The touch against his neck is a comfort, as soothing as it is reassuring. Metaari hasn't made Merrick flee from him, hasn't scared him off. This is already better than he could have hoped for, the potential for maybe there being something there in turn.

He misses the touch when Merrick's hands move and he brings up one of his own to cover one on his shoulder, engulfing it. He never wants this touch to leave him. Metaari likes Merrick's hands, how small and delicate looking they are, but how deadly, and he doesn't know what he would do if he were denied them.

"That's the long and short of it, yes. This is just something that feels... right."

Merrick suddenly finds himself inexplicably frustrated, which is what usually happens when he can't figure out how he feels. He just knows that he feels so much, and it's all confusing and he's still exhausted and reeling from the poison and--and sometimes he feels like his body is far too small to contain the constant maelstrom of emotions.

"But." He tries to make words work. "I'm-- I'm not..."

His fingers curl on Metaari's shoulders and he hangs his head. "I'm not normal. I'm...messed up."

Metaari can almost feel Merrick reeling in on himself, coiling away. So he puts on a reassuring smile, soft, and he brings his hands up to cup either side of Merrick's face. He lifts it so that they're looking at each other again and he swipes his thumbs across his cheekbones. It's almost amazing, how easily his face fits in his hands.

"If I wanted 'normal' I'd go find a Ferelden with a dog."

He sucks in a slow breath, letting it out in a faint puff.

"You're beautiful, Merrick."

No. It's too good. It's too good and warm and healthy, and it's making Merrick start to panic. This kind of thing isn't for him, it's for--for whole people, the ones that aren't crumbled up inside, who have beautiful brains that work--

Fuck. Why is this happening now? He was fine a minute ago. He was talking normally, he wasn't shaking.

"I'm not," he grits out, desperately, (why is he arguing?) "I'm not."

The tables turn, instantly, and now it's Merrick being hauled in and held. Metaari wraps his arms around him, puts a hand at the back of Merrick's head to soothingly stroke at his hair. It's like holding a child, comforting one from a nightmare.

"You are." His hold tightens a little, as though his arms would be enough to stop the the trembling. "I look at you and I see the forest. You are the sunlight that breaks through the trees to illuminate ground. You are the wind that rustles the leaves. What could possibly be more beautiful?"

He turns his head in a little, presses his lips to Merrick's temple. "I want to be those things for you, if you will let me.

It's in the circle of those arms, so tight around him, that Merrick finds his refuge. He'd felt that way even when they'd first met, strangers in the woods, crossing paths completely by chance. Metaari's arms are so strong, restraining him in the most gentle of ways, reining him in. He melts into them, breathing against the skin of Metaari's neck until he can pull away slightly at the touch of those lips.

He gulps in air, chasing away the panic before it can settle in and make him wild. He's getting better at it. You make me better.

There's a pause, and he wonders if he's capable of such a thing, wonders if he should wait or hold back or restrain, but as usual his emotions break through thoughts like a flood rending a dam to splinters.

"Okay," he says, and it comes out small but steady, certain.

It's little by little that Metaari can feel the tremors lessen, until Merrick is as steady in his arms as he's ever been. Metaari keeps his hold on him until he finally leans back a little and he turns his head to the side at that one simple word. It makes him smile, warm and so full of his genuine care for this tiny elf wrapped up in his arms.

He brings a hand up and traces the backs of his fingers down Merrick's jaw before nodding slightly. "Okay."

Merrick exhales, eyes closing slowly. He's exhausted. His head falls against Metaari again, this time resting in the crook of his neck, in danger of falling asleep as the sun gently wraps them in warmth against the chilly air.

"Can we go back to my room?"

We, he says. He has no intention of resting alone.

Metaari catches that, the one little slip of the word that includes him in the decision, and he smiles a little before nodding. "Anything you want, Merrick." Well, almost; if the elf thinks he's going to be walking back, he's got another thing coming.

He lifts the cowl of the robe draped around Merrick's shoulders so that it covers his head before he wraps his arms back around that small body, getting a hold before he pushes himself to his feet. Tucked like this against him, so long as he doesn't lift his head, there's no telling who it is Metaari is carrying. He could be taking a child he found sleeping somewhere to a more appropriate place to rest for all anyone knows. Once he's sure he has a firm hold on Merrick's body he starts walking before the protests can start in earnest.

Surprisingly, Merrick doesn't protest at all. In fact, he just curls his body against Metaari's chest and closes his eyes, hiding his face in the qunari's shirt to shield his eyes from the sun.

He feels so safe, so protected, in a way he'd never experienced before. Even as they get back to his room, he doesn't seem to want to get free of Metaari's arms. He might deny it later, but right now he keeps his fingers tight around the fabric of Metaari's shirt, showing no signs of wanting to let go.

Everything gets closed off behind them once they get back to the room, the door firmly shut. Metaari is tempted to lock it, just to give them both some time to themselves, but he shakes his head; there are certain others who would potentially worry, a lot and with good reason, if they tried to come by only to find the door won't open. He steps away before he gives in to the temptation and moves over to the bed.

There's a moment where he starts to move his hands away so that he can set Merrick back down onto his own feet but he keeps clinging to him, holding on like a life line in a turbulent sea, and he brings his hands back again with a faint smile. He lowers himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, shifting Merrick's legs so they settle better, and he reaches up to tug Merrick's hood back down. "Alright, we're back."

This is just fine, Merrick decides. He's warm and comfortable, so why bother moving to the bed? He's a very affectionate person by nature, so he has no trouble just cuddling closer, drawing his knees up a little.

The ease in which this man moved into his circle from the outside is unprecedented, and there's still a lot to talk about, to piece together. This has been a step forward, though, even if Merrick doesn't really see it that way. It's easy for him to feel things-- words can come later.

It's adorable, actually, how cuddly Merrick's gotten. Metaari has become so accustomed to the little spitfire that he knows Merrick can be that this change of pace, devoid of the usual clinging because of sex, is unexpected but completely welcome. In fact, now that he knows it's a thing he can get, he'll probably go after it more often. He likes cuddling.

Once he settles in a bit he shifts, turning on the bed until his legs are up on it and he lays down, pulling Merrick down with him to lay on top of him. Now that he doesn't have to focus on holding him anymore he lets his hand run up and down Merrick's back in a soothing pattern, his own eyes closed as he enjoys the moment. There probably won't be many chances like this.

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