Happy new year, folks! One of my goals is to write more stuff that I actually post this year. We'll see how that goes :p
Isabela's side of the bed is still warm when Hawke wakes up. She frowns, rubs her face, and stumbles out of bed, reluctant to rise so early on a holiday. She tosses on her robe and ties it around her waist before venturing out of her room. There are no signs of life in the hall. None of her friends who stayed the night seem to be up yet. Even Bodhan is nowhere to be seen.
Hawke finds Isabela sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, a mug between her hands. She's wearing a black robe, procured from Hawke's wardrobe as she's wont to do. Sometimes Hawke teases her about it, about the way she lays claim to many of Hawke's things without asking. Isabela's responses are reliably deflective and humorous. This morning, the mug she has is one of Hawke's favourites. It's dwarven-crafted stone, polished smooth, with the Amell family crest engraved on one side. No one else touches her mug. They've learned not to from the way Hawke mysteriously appears at their side to pluck it from their grasp and replace it with another.
"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Hawke teases, sitting beside her. Isabela knows as well as anyone that that's her mug. The thief takes a brazen swig.
"Don't worry, it's only milk."
Hawke squints, not sure she's heard right, and repeats, "Milk." Isabela isn't known to drink much besides alcohol and water. Isabela takes another sip and Hawke waits for her to volunteer an explanation.
"When I was married, my husband would insist on celebrating First Day together." She rolls her eyes. "The mornings after, one of the servants, Minerva, would brew a bitter tonic... After I'd choke that down, she'd warm some milk with honey and sit with me. Didn't say anything, but she was there, more a mother to me than mine ever was."
"Is that why you seemed a little different last night?"
Isabela nods, glancing down at her mug then settling her eyes just over Hawke's shoulder. "Some of that. It's so different now. With you… And everyone. I'm happy. It's... too good. It feels like something's just waiting to come along and tear it up. Or maybe I'm the one who's going to ruin it."
"After everything we've been through? Don't tell me you've got more trouble up your sleeve." Hawke bumps her lightly.
Isabela smiles. "I might. Who knows. It actually makes me wonder about your sanity."
"Says the one who thought it'd be a good idea to steal the Tome of Koslun from the Qunari. And then sail into a storm."
"Yes, well... Maybe we're both crazy."
There's a moment of silence, then Hawke leans in and whispers, "You know I can't get you pregnant, right? You didn't need to drink any— Ow! I was joking!"
Just then Varric bursts through the door with a scowl, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. "There you are, Hawke! Listen, I was about to get into the tub when Carver barges in demanding I leave because he needs to dump a horse's load! …Er, mind if I use yours instead?"
"Sure, Varric." Hawke sighs, but not without some affection.
When they're alone again, she looks at Isabela. "Maybe we're all crazy. It's quite the band of misfits we've surrounded ourselves with, and you know what they say about like attracting like... What?"
Isabela's grinning. It's the kind of grin that heralds mischief and Hawke's almost hesitant to hear the following words: "Where did you leave the toys we were using?"