Disclaimer: Dragon Age II is (C) BioWare and Electronic Arts.

Characters: Fenris, Isabela, Merrill, whole party as supporting cast

Pairings: IsabelaxFenris

Category: Action/adventure, drama, friendship, romance

Summary: Set after the game. On the run from the templars, Fenris and Merrill find refuge on Isabela's ship. Isabela finds some trouble in the form of old friends. Adventure, discovery, high jinks, ancient elven lore, magical sea battles and skulduggery. And the awkward love song of Fenris and Isabela, on the side of it all.

– – – –

1. Glimmer

– – – –

I have no abiding memory
No awakening, no flaming dart
No word of consolation
No arrow through my heart
Only a feeble notion
A glimmer from afar

– Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Spell

– – – –

Isabela has never been much good at waiting.

Oh, she can anticipate like an old hand, but the rank dread that throngs the Gallows does nothing for her. Hooded heads twitch towards the black iron drop gates at the faintest noise, restless fingers flutter and tremble, not quite concealed by robe sleeves. Isabela squats down to check her blades, mostly so that her hands do not follow suit. They're fine daggers, Hawke's most earnest attempts at replacing her old matched pair after an ill-fated encounter with the Coterie that ended in a spirited half-naked escape through Darktown to the questionable refuge of Anders's clinic.

The fond memory is interrupted as Hawke turns from where he's been speaking with Orsino and to their small group. Six companions left, now, and Hawke a seventh. It never seemed that they were few; it used to feel like nothing could stand in their way. The poets say you get too old for such thoughts. To the Void with the whole scribbling lot of them. Still, their fearless leader has a heavy mien and a weight to his steps, and all of their eyes follow him as he walks across the broad stone floor to them.

This is it. The deep breath before the plunge, the trial by fire, the moment of truth. She almost turns to Varric to see if he can dredge up another cliché. If she were in her right mind, she'd have raised anchor and hoisted sail to catch the evening tide out.

She doesn't do goodbyes, but the moment hardly leaves her a choice. These insufferable people – and she has had to strive to keep her scoundrel's infamy in this company – well, if Kirkwall is tumbling down around their ears, she couldn't ask for better hands on her deck. Or Hawke's deck. Details, at this point.

"Oh, Isabela!" Merrill drapes her arms around Isabela's neck with a soft hiccup. "What if..."

"Hush, Kitten." She pats Merrill's back and flashes her best rakish smirk as they separate. "We'll win in the end, remember?"

"I remember." Merrill touches the sweeping shaft of the staff that belonged to Keeper Marethari, strapped to her back. "I'm ready. Really, I am."

Leaving her and Aveline to exchange a few words, Isabela throws Anders a wry, crooked smile and leans down to plant a kiss on Varric's cheek, circles back to Aveline for a quick, strong clasp of hands, and comes face to face with Hawke. Hawke, who brought her here. Hawke, who fought the Qunari by her side, for her sake.

When he breaks her efforts at putting all this in suave phrases by crushing her into a hug and nearly concussing her with the stupid pointed gorget of his plate-reinforced field gear, she leans into him, in a tangle of arms and dagger sheaths and mage's staff. "I swear," she says, "I'm going to come through for you this time."

If he wants to defend the mages against a riptide of templars in a possibly futile gesture of selfless heroics, then she has her ways of getting a blade past those bloody tin cans they call armour. He smiles at her, wistful and too old on his easily smirking face. She lets him go to Anders to find or make what peace he can.

To one side, Orsino is gathering his people. Their moments of respite are dwindling. The templars can burst through every door and gate in the Gallows. There will be no walling themselves in, no protracted battle, not with half the mages about to soil themselves at the thought of raising a spell to their guards and jailors. The next few moments will decide the fight.

"So." With light steps, Fenris comes up to her.

"So." Isabela turns on her heel. "Well, I have a bottle of excellent Rivaini brandy hidden in my cabin for later."

He makes a throaty sound, halfway amused. "Is that – an invitation?"

For a heartbeat, she couldn't say if it is. What they have together is simple; she's been careful to keep it so. However tonight ends, their days in Kirkwall are over.

Tiptoeing, she threads one hand behind his neck to kiss him, because it'd be a pity to go to her death without one more when she has the chance. Blessedly, he answers her with a warm mouth and steady fingers gripping her shoulder. Her free hand fumbles for his. She curls her fingers around his calloused palm and the leather and steel of his gauntlet.

Hawke's voice tugs them apart. She drops her gaze and his hand. They both hover, heads bent, until the grind of the drop gate being hauled up jars the entire hall into taut attention.

"Let's go," she says.

"Yes." Fenris tugs his sword loose, and Isabela finds the hilts of her daggers, sure and steady again.