She knew his eyes were on her, observing how her fingertips traced after, double checking he was at the very least, presentable. The moment felt exactly as it had all those years ago, simple, perfect contentment.
Confusion rippled across her brow as he mentioned someone, another question soon answered after he’d smother her voicing it with him drawing around to reach behind her. Meg’s head tilted knowingly, [color=#008e02]“Matilde…”[/color] and without a further pause, shoulders bobbed indifferently, thumb continuing to caress his jaw, [color=#008e02]“she obviously doesn’t know about the infamous ‘Ruth-cut’ then.” [/color]
Presented with the scissors, she hesitated, thinking. The idea of moving, navigating through the tunnels to elsewhere, losing its appeal the more she dwelt on it.
[color=#008e02]“Maybe. Maybe we do this another time.”[/color] Meg glanced between the shears and his face, brow lowering in thought. [color=#008e02]“Nairn do yo-. Have you followed me to the house?”[/color] She felt it was an unnecessary question, but she was still feeling out the extent of his distant surveillance. [color=#008e02]“Then.. maybe you come to visit. Or stay. Or just you…”[/color] Now she grew awkward, the shyer side of her brimmed to the surface against the anger, relief and joy were gathering momentum.
[color=#008e02]“I just don’t want to go anywhere else. Not right now. I just..”[/color] She pushed the scissors aside, shifting to manoeuvre her way onto his lap. [color=#008e02]“You wanted this, the minute you sat down, you can’t lie to me.”[/color]
Mmm, don't remind me of that abomination. Terrible cut. He chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. She seemed hesitant, and he tilted his head, into her wandering caress. His eyes closed, when she suggested that they cut his hair another time.
Mm, never got too close to the house, no. But I know where it's at. He'd drifted along like a shadow most nights, making sure she made it home safely. Between darkspawn and vagrants and thieves, he'd wanted that peace of mind. To know she was home safely.
He opened his eyes when she hesitated, struggled to find her words, and he chuckled softly. When she nudged the scissors aside, and settled herself into his lap, he adjusted how he sat. Placing the shears down, he settled both hands against her lower back.
Askin' me to move in, already, darlin'? He teased her softly, cheeks bright with color as she adjusted the way that she was seated. This was what I had in mind, when I picked the couch... He agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
I've missed you, ma vhenan. He reached to tug a piece of her hair, fiddling with that loose strand of hair, for a moment or two. Drifted into silence, gazing at her like she was something otherworldly. Dreamed of holding you, he murmured, the hand messing with her hair tucked her hair behind of her ear, before that thumb brushed across her mouth. This is better than my dreams.
How many times had they settled on a couch similar to this one, her on his lap, the comfort of knowing they had one another? He couldn't remember the exact number. He wasn't sure it mattered; not really.
Meg smiled as he chuckled in protest. It didn’t seem real that he was leaning into her touch again, sitting so close his breath danced against her skin. She thought any minute she would wake up, be crushed all over again, roll her arm over the empty side of the bed and remember.
It made sense he hadn’t come too close to the house. Knowing Ruth’s nightly activities, there was the risk of being caught or stumbled upon by the drunkard on his return home.
She tensed a little with his joke. [color=#008e02]“...One step at a time, let me get used to you breathing first of all.”[/color] Everything had shifted in less an a few hours, her concerns, priorities, her very desires put into question with him not dead.
She folded herself around him, arms holding while her legs mounted. [color=#008e02]“You know how much I missed you,”[/color] teasing, yet admonishing him. Ivy orbs drifted between his fingertips playing with her hair and his stare. Her smile turned sad again, [color=#008e02]“My dreams… memories and nightmares replaced them,”[/color] eyes briefly reflecting the hollowness left behind.
Her lips brushed against his finger.[color=#008e02] “Still feel like I’m going to wake up any minute.”[/color] How often had she dreamed of this very thing? The two of them curled up in the corner of a couch, chair, a nest of cushions. Gibbering nonsense under the glow of herb, laughing, even doing nothing, simply just enjoying the simple closeness.
Before she knew it, her mouth went back in again to nip the tip of his finger, clutching it as a minor hostage.[color=#008e02] “Mine Now,”[/color] she’d mumble between.
I think moving in together is step five or six, so we've a ways to go, anyway. He stated, in agreement. Besides, he needed to finish up with the loose ends and give over power of the Coterie, as it were. Though she didn't know that just yet. She settled herself against him, straddling him, and he nodded, his smile fading slightly.
I know, Meg. But we'll make new memories. New dreams. It didn't diminish the fact she's mourned him for a decade, though, and he tapped her chin three times. We'll make new plans, too.
Nairn drifted off, as her lips brushed against his finger. Yeah. It doesn't feel quite real, yet. Another quiet agreement, before she's claimed his thumb in her mouth, declaring it hers.
And he laughs. A clear laugh, the sort of laugh he's not given in a while. Lemme trade ya. Finger for a kiss. He'd wiggle his finger in her mouth, until she released it. And upon its release, he'd lean forward to kiss her.
Not at all a shy kiss; but certainly a gentle one. His newly freed hand found the base of her head, rested against her hair.
Breaking the kiss when he needs to take a breath, he rested his forehead against hers. Mebbe you stay the night here... Not, not here like my office but my bedroom— He's stumbling over his words, in typical Nairn fashion, eventually giving up on clarifying what he'd meant because surely she understood.
There would be a time where they would talk properly. Fill each other in on the details. Meg wasn’t sure if he knew about Sylaise, or how he’d react if he didn’t. Her mind kept returning to the faded hollow, rotating the engine that pumped, ticked instead of beat. It was beyond her skill, certainly, but perhaps not others, if they could study it, see the blueprints… but Nairn was talking again.
They couldn’t go back, only forwards now. Meg had gone through many winters alone, wandered the breadth of Thedas but had never been able to shake the mark, his mark, on her heart. It nearly burst between his words and the three delicate taps against her chin. Maybe it was the need to reciprocate, or a case of nostalgia, that his thumb later became her hostage, lips grinning around the digit.
His laugh did more to break any remaining tension she had, body sinking deeper into his arms as he offered the trade. Admittedly she took a moment, flicking her tongue over the tip for good measure as she released him. The kiss though… Time stopped for Meg. Submitting herself entirely into his hands, Meg’s eyes fluttering closed as her hands shifted around his neck and into his hair.
When they parted to breathe, she could hardly control the little chuckle that escaped. [color=#008e02]“...Yes.” [/color]Grinning, because he hadn’t changed at least not in this way. [color=#008e02]“But no funny business,” [/color]giving him a look before her hand slid delicately across his chest. [color=#008e02]“I want to know… your limits. …I don’t want you dying on me while trying to make up for ten years of missed date nights.”[/color]
Nairn looked shocked, when she declared 'no funny business'. Meg! You wound me so. I am a gentleman. He rolled his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her temple. You gonna worry about me, all the time, now? He settled his hands above her knees, fingers idly tracing shapes.
I'm certain there are things that I can do without stressing the mech out. He ran one hand up the back of her leg, humming thoughtfully. Mmm. Yes. He quietly agreed with himself, lips curling into a smile. What I've got in mind for you, you'll like. A promise, and he let a calm, gentle silence envelope them for a bit. Somewhere in the room, a clock indicated the time.
Dinner time.
We should grab dinner in the mess hall. Let me introduce you to old and new friends, hm? They'll all be wonderin' why I'm smiling. It was also safer to introduce her to the new souls, personally, lest they assume she was to be hazed and treated like fresh meat.
[color=#008e02]“Mmm. No.”[/color] Leaning forward to boop her nose against his. [color=#008e02]“Rascal, but my rascal.”[/color] As he kissed her temple she sighed, a hand remaining to toy with his hair while the other traced up and down his arm. [color=#008e02]“I always worry, back then and now, but I can’t stop you either. Done deal when your vhenan is a healer.” [/color]
She listened, smile turning into a grin to be quickly pulled into a smirk. Eyes narrowed playfully, [color=#008e02]“See, rascal.”[/color] Though it didn’t stop her skin heating up, tingling as his hands made sweeps along the back of her legs. Teeth caught her lower lips for a moment, barely keeping the giggle that tore through her.
She didn’t quite want to leave the sanctuary of the office. Meg would lock herself away for days with him if she could, though their responsibilities would inevitably be unavoidable. Dinner time often meant a shift change too, and while she hesitated, Meg knew the Coterie’s ways, even a decade later. [color=#008e02]“You gonna hold my hand?” [/color]
She fit perfectly against him; and he chuckled when she made a comment about worrying being part of the deal. Bet you'll be monitoring my vitals every chance you get, half-teasing, half-truth. It was a good thing; he tended to overdo it and reject the idea that his body needed to slow down. He'd ignore all the signs until he was near-collapsed in mech-failure. But he couldn't keep those changes in heart rate, blood pressure, etc. from a healer.
I'm a lucky rascal. No-one else could claim to be as lucky, as nobody else had her. Certainly, others had their own loves, but there was nothing anyone might say to convince him otherwise. When she hesitated, at the mention of leaving his office for dinner, and then asked if he'd hold her hand, he chewed his lip. Would he hold her hand, out there in front of the people that had become family? He tapped his fingers on her knee in thought.
You can hold my hand. There were no promises that he'd return the hold. But it was the best compromise he could give her, as he considered the variables in the mess hall. The different groups of people; the age groups; and the few he'd scorned by pretending to be oblivious to their advances. He was good at pretending things weren't happening; so if she wanted to hold his hand, he'd probably pretend that wasn't happening. Or perhaps he'd fall into a different kind of ignorance, where it felt right and therefore was less noticeable to him...
Her smile turned knowing, an idea presenting itself with a dual purpose. [color=#008e02]“I may have learned a thing or two. I can show you later.”[/color] With Sylaise’s companionship came her knowledge, or at least what knowledge this piece of the Evanaris remembered. Megara had become an attentive student when it came to her healing arts. [color=#008e02]“Still… Can I have all the plans? … Might want to warn your engineers, I may ask a lotta questions.”[/color] She and Sylaise may turn up empty, but there was still the hope of finding June. Hope, she wouldn’t let go again.
It still didn’t excuse him and while she was incandescently happy to be in his arms, laughing with him. Kissing him. Meg felt caught in a tug of war between the highs and the comfortable lows that had become her everyday. [color=#008e02]“Mmmhmmm. That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I’m still mad, even if.. Still can’t believe it… Maybe I’ll hit you again in the morning.”[/color] She’d grin, nuzzling into his neck until he’d announce the call for dinner.
If she expected anything, it was his hesitation to be open, vulnerable in company. Meg smiled gently, caressing his cheek with her thumb and nodding. Slowly she rose, and made it seem to be arduous given her reluctance to part from him a moment longer than they’d been these past ten years.
After helping him up, she’d follow him through to the mess, a half-step behind. As they passed through the final doorway, Meg would shift her grip to interlock her fingers with his, a reassuring three squeezes before she met the company.
Nairn smirked at her promise. Oh? Then that's a date. He rolled his eyes when she asked for the plans to his mech. Don't have that. You can ask the dwarves for it. I never much cared to see it broken down on paper like that. Because it reminded him of how close to death he really was.
She stated she might hit him in the morning, and he shrugged. If I have to deal with you hitting me every morning, for the rest of our lives, I can. Because you've gotta be near me to hit me. When the dinner call went off, and he watched her leave his lap, he sighed.
Maybe they should just stay here and starve—he was certain he could survive off of just her presence, if he had to. But she was up, and she helped him up, and claimed his hand.
She interlocked their fingers just outside of the mess, and she squeezed his hand. He'd return the favor. And then they entered the hall, and his grasp loosened on her hand, though he didn't pull out of her hold.
Obviously there's the old man, he gestured vaguely in John-Marc's direction. Most everyone else is new, though. He shifted to redirect their path, away from the older man he'd indicated earlier, and towards a small gaggle of children. The oldest appeared to be in their pre-teens, the youngest was about four.
These are my street rats, though his tone was serious, the smirk on his lips showed it was an affectionate name for the bunch. Show potential, but needs a bit of help. No family that'll miss 'em. Much like himself. As they arrived to the table, he shifted his weight, leaning into Meg.
Dwarves are over there, if ya wanna talk to 'em? Let me check in with these rats about their pickin's', then I'll join you? Grab a plate and a seat. He shifted his arm so that he was hugging her, a rare display of affection, before he'd released her entirely, his hand slipping from hers.
Her eyes rolled playfully, but soon grew more serious as he spoke about the dwarves. Meg nodded, understanding his possible reasoning. Her fingers lightly traced along the cloth covering his chest,[color=#008e02] “Ok… I just.. I wanna know what we’re dealing with.”[/color] Not her, not him. Them. Together.
Nuzzled into his neck, she’d grin with his words, chest filling once again with a joy she’d thought long gone.[color=#008e02] “I don’t want to. I just… I hope you realise I might not sleep. Might just.. stare at you.”[/color] Too often had she found herself waking from an all too real dream. The details, so vivid and clear, it took a few puffs of her pipe to steady her, numbing the pain under a haze.
His sigh caught her attention, the returning smile understanding his thoughts completely. All she wanted was to hold him, touch his face, rediscover every dip and curve of his body. Ask about his new scars, not his mech of course, but the new nicks and scrapes she’d picked up on, but hadn’t had time to dwell on. But dinner called and they had to move through the tunnels and hatches to the mess.
Meg’s grip remained unchanged as he guided her through the doorway; the fact he held it at all was an improvement. She allowed him to direct their path, gaze drifting off to find the old man at first when Nairn pointed him out. John-Marc. Her free hand clenched at her side and the urge to give the man a piece of her mind did nearly have her feet marching over, but… this was John-Marc. Ruthless. Cold. Dangerous. Bertie had always warned them not to get on his bad side, but from what Meg could tell, there was only the bad side.
Nairn wisely, redirected her to the kids, though the four year old still pulled a slight frown from her. There wasn’t a family that could take him? In the early days she had been the one on the floor, teaching, playing, she was the hearth they’d come to. Meg greeted them openly, lightly fussing over a few before Nairn meandered them towards the table.
She’d been accustomed to the lack of affection, so the rare display did surprise her at first, quickly mellowing into a look of admiration. [color=#008e02]“I’d like to, yeah. Just some basic stuff, I’d like to look at their plans first.”[/color] Perhaps ask a relevant question or two if there were to be more sleepovers. Meg still pouted as he slipped away, but the tightness around her chest eased some, knowing he was close by and would, this time, return to her.
Nairn noted the way she spoke; they were together, dealing with the mech. It wasn't just him or her. Them. And he filed that away for later. He has nothing to say when she tells him that she might not sleep; she'd rather stare at him, convince herself that he's real. They entered the mess hall and separated after a moment. But not before he was red in the face, even the tips of his ears, catching the look of surprise as he'd hugged her. She looked at him like... he wasn't sure; was it a look that said he could do no wrong? Perhaps. Did he deserve that kind of reverence? Certainly not.
But she was walking away, and for the first time in a very long time, he watched her and didn't feel the need to chase her down. The subtle sway of her hips as she made her way from him made him chuckle. He'd wait until she joined the dwarves, and by this time, his blush had worn off.
Nairn doesn't get the chance to rejoin the table of children, who have eagerly piled their stolen goodies in the center of the table. A woman slipped up behind him, nodding towards John-Marc, and he nudged her towards the children, as he moved towards the center most table, where the old mage sat alone. Hands in his pockets, he didn't seem too concerned at being summoned in front of most of the guild.
[color=#419dc1]Why is she here?[/color] The room has fallen into silence, weary gazes wandering to fixate on the center most table. The older man did not raise his voice, though he did not speak in a whisper, either. He could be heard easily over the deadened silence that's ensued.
'cause I want her here. Nairn stated as he leaned against the table, staring at the other man.
[color=#419dc1]Girl owes us no debt. Got no right to bring her here.[/color] The elder man stated, [color=#419dc1]Told her never to come back.[/color]
Nairn's index finger twitched, and he straightened. Smoothing out his shirt, he sucked on his teeth for a moment, let his gaze wander over to where the dwarves sat with Megara. If you're worried about debts, his lips curled into a smirk. Then let me pack my shit. I owe you nothin'. He watched how the other tensed and added: She'll be my responsibility. No-one else's.
John-Marc studied him in silence for a long moment. Nairn swore he could feel every eye in the mess on them. [color=#419dc1]She fucks up, you take the punishment.[/color]
Nairn stepped back from the table. She comes and goes like a member. All he received in return was a nod. As he walked away, he paused, his gaze sweeping across curious faces. Stop gawkin' and eat your dinner. He'd stay where he was, hands in his pockets, until people gradually resumed their chatter around their tables.
Snagging two plates off the line, he'd settle against the table that Meg and the dwarves were at, empty in one hand. As he joined them, one of the dwarves snorted, [color=#FF851B]You really shouldn't fuck with John-Marc. He's gonna murder you in your sleep, numbskull.[/color]
A shrug. He ain't that bad. S'long as you don't back down. Besides, he doesn't move as good as he used to. Old hands, arthritis, yanno? He chuckled quietly, and reached to smooth one of the plans laid across the table. It'd been curling at the corner. You find what you wanted? Directed to Megara, curious eyes searching her features.
Meg watched the colour rising in his face, her smile widening as it reached the tip of his ears. Still, she pouted at their parting, but knew it would be short-lived. Crossing the mess, she’d head to the dwarves, introducing herself with a smile and a friendly shake of hands before sliding into a chair.
She was quick to get to the meat of the matter, the engine, asking if she could look at the schematics, designs, anything that would help her make sense of the mechanism that kept Nairn walking and talking. The sudden hush though had the three exchange glances before they all turned towards Nairn speaking with John-Marc. Tension squared her shoulders, focus entirely on the exchange she couldn’t quite hear, yet reading it as best she could from the two’s demeanour.
Meg began pooling her magic instinctively, sensing the elements she could influence and then quickly dismissed it once realised. While she was confident in her abilities, the old mage had decades more experience, though he lacked Megara’s counterpart.
[color=#cccccc]You don’t trust him. [/color]
[color=#008e02]Nope. Never have. Bertie told me some stories, said they were child's play compared to what he is capable of. He gives me the heebie jeebies. [/color]
[color=#cccccc]The dwarves are talking again. I will maintain vigilance, rest assured, Da’len. [/color]
Blinking, Meg would apologise, asking them to repeat the last part before a roll of parchment was being unfurled by the excited engineer. Not long after, Nairn would return, her eyes glanced between the exchange, but narrowed slightly with her lover's dismissal of the old mage. They softened once he asked, brows shrugged. [color=#008e02]“Yeah, I got myself some homework first. Then I might have better questions than, ‘is he gonna cop it if I get handsy?.’” [/color]
The dwarves laughed, Meg grinned, flashing Nairn a wink. He’d make her pay for it later, but she was betting on it. She’d missed being the cause for the red hue against his fair hair.
Nairn almost dropped the plates he was holding in one hand, and he offered an awkward chuckle, even as his cheeks flushed once more. The plates clinked against each other, as he rushed to hold one out to her, practically shoving it into her hands.
I dunno a better way to cop it. He managed to hiss in her ear, as he slipped behind her towards the buffet of food. He hid his face behind his hair, as he made his way across the mess.
She didn't immediately follow, and he exhaled shakily. Gods, that woman would be the death of him. He was calling it now. He began to carefully select food, placing ample helpings on his plate. Dragging his feet, until the parchments and plans were put up. He really didn't want to know how the mechanism keeping him alive worked, not as in-depth as she did.
He couldn't fault her, though. She was just trying to understand. And he'd had ten years to come to terms with it; she had not. He paused to study the drink offerings, before he selected an ale, claiming a bottle and a mug for himself.
You still don't drink? He inquired, as he took a seat at the table, eyeballing the dwarves. Megara had yet to leave to fill her own plate, but he suspected his physicians would have something to say about the elvish girl once she was out of earshot.
Meg snickered, taking the plate quickly so as not to drop it. Embarrassing him was too easy, Ruth would torture him mercilessly in the past, until Nairn paid him back in kind. Then as he hissed into her ear that it wasn’t an unappealing way to go, her grin would falter. Her head turned to allow her furrowed brow to follow after him, [color=#008e02]“not allowed, but I’ll bring you close,” [/color]and while she knew he was perhaps joking, rolled her eyes back to the dwarves as he mulled over dinner.
She’d ask for copies of everything the dwarves would allow, already preparing her space in her mind back in Arlathan to begin her studies. If she had more specific questions she could return, spend some time with the dwarves in their workshop and the three could talk more. There was enough material to begin with, Meg was playing catch up to his near decade of learning to live with it.
He knew his limits, but it still didn’t make her worry less. If something failed, she wanted to have a contingency.
When he came back enquiring about her drinking, her hands paused when rolling up the blueprints. [color=#008e02]“I… got a taste for Starky Brew, during the Inquisition days, but not since… Skyhold’s party? Ruth put me to bed before Ten.”[/color] Two pints was her limit, and she usually sipped at one all night, her tolerance near zero compared to that of the herb in her pipe. She’d hand off the roll back to the engineer, picking up her plate on the return. Before leaving the table entirely, fingertips brushed along his arm, [color=#008e02]“Your’s looks good,”[/color] eyeing his plate, [color=#008e02]“be right back.” [/color]
A quick peck landed on the top of his head and Meg’s grin grew slightly smug as she perused the selection once reached.
