This is a short fic I wrote back in April when I was working through my first DA2 playthrough ever on a cheeky pro-Mage rogue named Robin, who was intended to be an archer but ended up preferring daggers. She had a terrible crush on Aveline, became total bff’s with Isabela, and fell head over heels for Merrill.

This is set after the events in “All That Remains,” so it’s angsty.

It’s been weeks since Robin Hawke found what was left of her mother. She hasn’t gone a night without having nightmares since.

Sometimes it’s seeing her mother, seeing what that monster did to her, again and again. The shambling, unnatural movements. The smell. Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes she dreams of the necromancer kissing her mother. He did it all because he wanted his wife back; there are things Robin does not want to know if he did or not, but it worries her and gnaws into her dreams.

Sometimes it’s Carver, broken by the ogre, but walking again. In that not-really-alive way that her mother had. Re-animated. Blaming her. She’d gotten him out of Ostagar alive only to let him die. He wants to know why she didn’t help him, why she didn’t die instead. Robin doesn’t know how to answer him.

Sometimes it’s Bethany, only those blighted Templars have turned her Tranquil. It’s not all that different from Carver and Leandra, because it isn’t really Bethany anymore. Just a shell of what Bethany used to be. There’s an accusation in those blank Tranquil eyes: Why didn’t you save me? Why did you leave me here alone when you went to the Deep Roads? Why did you abandon me?

Whatever dream it is, Robin wakes up shaking, in tears or fighting back the urge to vomit. There’s a moment, each time, when she feels staggeringly, earth-shatteringly alone. But in the moment after that, there’s Merrill. Robin’s usually managed to at least partly awaken the elf while still dreaming, and Merrill pulls her closer, gently, holds her and kisses her cheek, murmuring soothingly that she’s there, that it’s all right now. Even if she slips into Dalish and Robin only manages to understand half she says, it’s still soothing. Robin buries her face in the slope between Merrill neck and shoulder and cries herself back to sleep, or at least into a calmer state.

They don’t talk about the nightmares. Robin isn’t sure how to. That part of her life is so different from what the rest of her companion see in the daytime. They see a confident, cocky, wise-cracking Robin. The Robin she wants them to see, the Robin she wants to be. But Merrill sees her with her guard down, and it’s a relief. Oh, she’s still a cocky wise-arse at home, yes, but no one can be that cheerful all the time. It helps, having Merrill around.

Merrill’s her lifeline. Having Merrill to hold her close is, Robin is sure, the one thing keeping her sane, keeping her alive.