Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited... I certainly appreciate it - it makes me smile : ) Hopefully you enjoy chapter two just as much!
Running away had always been easy for her – second nature, really, cultivated through years of thievery and calculated emotional deflection. And as a pirate, running had been all too convenient. In the face of tragedy, guilt, fear, or any combination of the three, it was simple enough just to submit herself to the soft, undulating rhythm of the sea. She would be swept away in that constant ebb and flow, the constant movement that reminded her that being still for too long would never be pleasant. And as sure as the sun setting over the endless blue horizon of the ocean, her troubles would drip away, eroded by the sting of salty sea air.
But she had spent six long years as a captain without a ship, a fact that she had bitterly ruminated over for the past three. To her, it was both an unfortunate reality and an ironic metaphor for the unexpected turn her life had taken since she'd arrived in Kirkwall. The city was… is not the problem, Isabela, she thought to herself. She scoffed , digging the toe of her boot into the dirt. This voice in her head – this righteous, sweetly sardonic voice – had been a habitual companion to her since leaving. But in truth, it was not her own.
"Shut up, Hawke," she muttered to herself. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could hear the apostate's gentle, child-like laughter ringing out as clearly as the city sounds surrounding her. Unable to control herself, a begrudging smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and for a moment, her chest fluttered. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head just slightly.
She was more conflicted than she had ever been in her life. On one hand, she felt a tremendous amount of relief coursing through her as she meandered around the docks overlooking the City of Chains. For three years – years that had seemed far longer than she would ever care to admit – she had been away from here. She'd spent this time on foot, travelling around the Free Marches, stopping in towns and villages whenever possible, getting drunk as often as she could afford.
She'd taken lovers here and there, of course, on fleeting nights in which she'd found herself feeling particularly lonely. But even these sporadic instances of hunger had been almost entirely lackluster, much to her chagrin. Sex could never be entirely disappointing or unpleasant where she was concerned – after all, it was only skin-deep – but as the years had passed outside of Kirkwall, she'd found these skin-deep encounters began to have a more scathing affect on her, emotionally.
She could no longer take pleasure in strangers without, at some point, closing her eyes and seeing those glimmering, emerald eyes searching her. She couldn't help herself. No matter who she was with, she would feel Aya's warm breath grazing her skin, Aya's lips pressed delicately into the nape of her neck, Aya's nails digging into her back… And when that happened, she would call out for the Champion, much to the surprise of whoever she was actually with. But when all was said and done, these strangers never cared whose face she saw or whose name escaped her lips in a heated whisper, just as long as they got what they wanted. And though that never would've bothered her before, it bothered her now.
Perhaps this was why she'd spent so many of her nights alone in the past year, toying with the idea of returning to the city, of facing Hawke, but feeling too cowardly to do so. In truth, she'd never ventured very far from Kirkwall, always remaining within four or five days' travel, but none of her former companions knew that. Well, except for Merrill… maybe.
The soft spot she held for the elf had grown too big in the past six years, and since her departure from Kirkwall, she'd written to her frequently. This had probably been a mistake, considering Merrill was quite close with Hawke, as well. But the pirate just couldn't bring herself to abandon the elf entirely. As hard as it was to believe, she knew Merrill looked up to her for one reason or another, in the way a child might look up to an older sibling, and she herself felt fiercely protective over the impish blood mage. So she'd written to her every few weeks, never disclosing her location, but assuring Merrill that she was "close enough" and was well.
Other than her correspondence with Merrill and a few humorously lascivious letters she'd penned to Varric, no one in Kirkwall had seen or heard from her since leaving. She often tried to convince herself that it was "better this way" and that running had been the "right thing" to do, for Aya especially, but deep down she knew this wasn't true. Deep down she knew she was making excuses for herself, to justify her own running, when in fact the only justifiable thing she'd done or felt was regret.
Her true reason for leaving had been the way Hawke looked at her when she thought the rogue wasn't watching. Isabela had caught her staring a few times, out of the corner of her eye, sometimes in battle and others during raucous nights at the Hanged Man. But the last time she'd really caught her staring – the time that had unnerved the pirate the most – had been the last time they'd slept together.
It had been just a few nights before Hawke had fought the Arishok. Isabela, Aya, Varric, Merrill, and, surprisingly, Aveline had gathered in their favorite Lowtown tavern for a few hours of cards and heavy drinking. The Guard-Captain generally didn't join them on such blatantly frivolous evenings, but had just finished a particularly difficult patrol and was in need of some ale. Hawke, as usual, was happy to pay for everyone's drinks, and had the table thoroughly inebriated in just an hour's time.
After quite a bit of gambling and a lot of lost coin (well, not lost on the pirate), a grumbling Aveline offered to walk home an unsteady and terribly giddy Merrill. Varric retired to his suite soon after to put the finishing touches on a story he'd been working on, and Hawke… well, she wasn't in much of a hurry to leave. In fact, it seemed that she had no intentions of going anywhere that evening.
Isabela could only smirk, having no qualms with Aya's forthcoming advances. Drunk or not, the sex was always great, and she'd sincerely grown to enjoy the other woman's company, perhaps more than she should've allowed herself to. They'd run up to the pirate's room soon after Varric had left them, already consumed in a heated tangle of limbs. They succumbed to their passion for a few blissful hours before falling into weary, contented slumber.
When she awoke the next morning, she found Aya at her side, hitched up on her elbow and staring at her with the most curious look upon her face. It was a concentrated blend of wonder, determination, and worst of all, unbridled adoration. They locked eyes, and Isabela could feel the blush quickly rise in her cheeks. Her automatic response, in any other situation, under anyone else's gaze, would have been to roll away and issue a smart, sarcastic remark. But with Aya's beautiful eyes peering into hers, she found she couldn't move. In fact, for the briefest moment, she couldn't even breathe – a reaction she ardently hoped the Champion had not noticed.
Unfortunately, she had noticed, and her brow knitted together just slightly, her lips parting as if she'd had something to say, but had forgotten the words. It was almost unbearable for Isabela, and as soon as she regained some of her composure, she sat up, a little too quickly, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Leaning over to pick up a shirt from the floor, she said, "I've had stalkers watch me in a less invasive manner, Hawke." She'd meant the words to be in jest, but her nerves had placed a more calloused edge on them. She felt Aya scramble off the bed, probably searching for her own clothes, and her chest tightened. Damnit…
"Sorry," Hawke sputtered, clearing her throat. "It's just…" her words trailed off. The pirate knew she should've left it at that, but the weight of possible words left hanging in the air made her antsy. Especially when they very well could've been four-letter words.
"Just what," she asked, turning around to face Hawke with a forced, mischievous grin. The mage allowed herself a small, embarrassed smile as she pulled her tunic over her head. She seemed suddenly reluctant to meet Isabela's gaze.
"Nothing… you just look different when you sleep," she mumbled. The pirate cocked an eyebrow, feeling a surprising amount of relief wash over her.
"How so, sweet thing," she asked, feeling her composure come back in full this time. Aya smile broadened as she took a seat on the bed next to Isabela.
"You look, like… there's no walls."
"Walls?" The pirate chuckled lightly, sensing where this was going. She'd heard it before, but wasn't sure how it would make her feel, coming from Aya.
"Yeah… you're not easy to read, you know. It's taken me a long time to get used to. You very rarely say what you're truly feeling, Isabela. Your words might be used to make me think one thing, but what you're actually feeling is entirely different." Isabela suddenly felt Aya's nails drawing lightly over her hand as it sat tensely on her thigh, and she shivered. Instinct told her to move away from the other woman, but against her better judgment, she stayed put. "But when you're sleeping, there's no pretense," she concluded quietly.
Isabela paused, choosing her words carefully. "How do you know that's not a well-crafted ruse?" The words had been harder than she'd intended, but she didn't mind this time.
"It's not," Aya whispered into her ear, allowing her breath to linger sensually along Isabela's earlobe before abruptly standing to finish dressing. "I should probably get going. I have a meeting with the Viscount this afternoon and it would do me some good to prepare. But," she turned back to Isabela, who sat with a mixture of surprise and aggravation adorning her face, "I might be back later, if everything goes alright."
She never did come back later, and Isabela didn't seek her out either. She wouldn't see Hawke again until the day of the Qunari insurrection, when she showed up at her estate asking for help in finding the relic. She had to wonder… if she'd known then that the situation was so ill-fated how different her actions would've been. As usual though, she shrugged off this thought, feeling it best not to dwell on it.
What she did choose to dwell on, however, and had for so many sleepless nights in the past three years, was the way Aya had looked at her that morning. It was the reason she'd left her in the Hanged Man after the Arishok's defeat, and it was the reason she was now returning to Kirkwall.
"This is pathetic," she mumbled to herself, the ghost of a smile still dancing around her lips. It's not pathetic, the voice in her head chided. Vulnerable and maddening and painful maybe, but not pathetic. It's love.
With Aya's voice echoing through her head, the image of her smile flickering through the pirate's mind's eye, she made her way back into the city, deciding it was better not to think.
Come nightfall, Isabela was sitting in Hawke's bedroom, curled up nervously in a velvet chair she'd dragged before the fire, awaiting Aya's return. When she'd showed up at the estate, her heart pounding in her chest, she truly hoped the Champion wouldn't be home. She would wait for her, yes, but she needed this time, to situate herself in Aya's private sanctum, to draw in a scent so delicate and soft she'd nearly forgotten it.
Bodahn had been his usual ecstatically oblivious self, and had greeted Isabela happily, none the wiser to the circumstances surrounding her departure. He'd informed her that Aya was out helping Aveline with some guard work, and should be back in a few hours. In that time, the pirate tried to make herself at home, but after spending a half hour or so walking through the large, lonesome halls, exploring the rooms, she wondered if Hawke could truly consider this a home anymore.
Aya had bought the house to console her mother. After Carver had left to join the templars, they were both rather solemn, and she thought regaining the Amell estate would put a smile back on her mother's face. Being back in her childhood home had overjoyed Leandra, easing the pain of the losses she'd been dealt in the past few years. Seeing her mother so pleased had helped to raise Aya's spirits, as well. But after Leandra's death… Hawke tried to stay away from the estate as often as possible.
Hawke had once confided that without her mother, the only time she didn't feel lonely in the estate was when Isabela was there with her, a fact that now pained the pirate.
"Andraste's ass, what have I gotten myself into," she asked herself, peering into the fire as she was sure the Champion had a hundred times before. Suddenly, she heard shuffling from downstairs and Bodahn's cheery, booming voice.
"Oh, hello, Messere!" Isabela held her breath. She'd asked Bodahn not to inform Aya of her arrival when she returned home, wanting it to be a surprise. Yeah, some surprise this'll be… "How was your evening?"
"Fine." Even from downstairs, the pirate could tell how exhausted and unenthusiastic Hawke sounded. She worried she'd made a mistake in coming here… no, she knew she had. But she also knew that this had to be done. She couldn't keep running. "Did you and Sandal have a good day?"
"Oh, yes…" The little dwarf prattled on for a few minutes, engaging the Champion in small talk. Isabela did like him, but damnit, how she wished he would shut up. The anticipation was killing her. She heard Aya's footfalls on the stairs as she bid Bodahn goodnight, and the rogue shot up nervously. Be calm, would you? This is ridiculous… some pirate queen you are…
As the door creaked open Isabela held her breath. Aya didn't notice her at first, as she kept her gaze turned down, tiredly removing the gloves from her hands. But from the corner of her eye, she must've noticed her pirate's presence, because she stopped dead in the doorway, her eyes rounded on Isabela's face.
The pirate wanted to grin smugly, but couldn't. All she could do was stare at the woman before her, as beautiful as she'd been in Isabela's dreams these past three years. Her dirty blond hair was longer now, pulled back from her face sloppily. Her lips were as soft and full as ever, slightly parted now in surprise. And her eyes… those beautiful green eyes shined more deeply than they ever seemed to before, even as they were ringed in newfound lassitude.
The fire cracked and flickered, casting new light on Aya's face, illuminating injuries the pirate had been too distracted to notice just a second before. The apostate's left temple was bruised and swollen, and a moderately sized cut had been etched from her earlobe down her cheek. It also appeared as though she were holding her left arm gingerly, signaling that that too had been injured.
Isabela wanted to tease the mage, to take her to bed and soothe her as she might've done before departing. But she knew now that wouldn't be right, as she was regretting this decision more than ever.
"Hawke." She actually managed a faint smile as she spoke the mage's name. Aya's brow furrowed, and she leaned gently against the doorframe.
"What… what are you doing here," she asked, clearly pained. Of course, this would be the most obvious question on the Champion's mind, but Isabela was unsure how to answer it.
"Travelling was nice, but I missed all the fun Kirkwall had to offer." Anger flared briefly in Aya's eyes before she entered the room completely, keeping the door ajar. She set her staff in the corner and began removing her light, leather armor with blatant difficulty. "I see you've been having plenty of that without me." Isabela couldn't mask the concern that crept into her voice. Hawke merely looked up at her and scoffed, tenderly rubbing her injured arm.
"Do me a favor, will you? It's fine if you just decide to pop back into my life after three years of… doing Maker knows what, but can you spare me your sarcasm? I'd find it hard enough to tolerate without injury, but as you can see," she clutched her left arm and angled her face to display the cut and bruises, "I'm feeling like shit right now." Isabela gulped, knowing she should leave, knowing that she shouldn't dare touch Hawke, but instead decided to aid the mage in removing her armor. She expected Aya to flinch back, but the help seemed somewhat welcome. Though the pirate couldn't ignore the way Hawke stiffened at their brief contact.
"I can manage that," she said, all humor gone from her voice. After all the armor was removed, Hawke sighed deeply and took a seat at the edge of her bed. "Why didn't you go to Anders?"
"Too tired," Hawke muttered, pacing her head in her right hand. "I'll do it tomorrow… mind getting me a salve from the desk? Top left drawer. I should put something on this cut…" Isabela silently complied and retrieved the salve, handing it to Hawke before taking a hesitant seat on the bed beside her. She should speak, she knew, but couldn't find the words just yet.
After a pause, Aya placed the salve on the bed beside her and looked to Isabela. She was angry, disappointed, happy… but above all else, she was exhausted. "So why did you come back… again?"
Before giving it much thought, Isabela spewed the first words that would come to mind. "I guess I missed you too much." Hawke's eyes widened in surprise. The pirate had never been so forthright with her emotions before. "And… everyone else. Sort of. I mean… I missed Merrill and Varric, and even my Big Girl. But…" She turned to look into her champion's eyes. The anger was still present there, of course, but dimming now, though her lips remained pursed.
"Don't tell me you missed me." The words were harsh, and the rogue was surprised by how much they stung.
"I'm not lying. I could, but I owe it to you now to be honest. I did miss you, Aya. And for the past three years I've felt like… like a coward and tremendous ass for running in the first place. I came back because… I at least have to apologize. I'm sorry for leaving you, after everything you did for me. I was an ungrateful bitch." Aya bit her bottom lip, her face scrunching momentarily in pain. It made Isabela wince as she placed a tentative hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I'm going to try and make it up to you, somehow. Whether you want me to or not."
In the silence that followed, Isabela dared not look at Aya in fear that she might find tears streaming down the Champion's cheeks. It seemed all too likely. Hawke was exhausted, injured, and now upset… she was vulnerable, and after all she'd been through, the pirate knew the mage didn't have an easy time with vulnerability. Especially not as someone who was known for wearing her heart on her sleeve.
All she could manage to do was tighten her grip on Aya's shoulder and hope that simple touch might convey some of the emotion she was feeling. As she did so, Hawke caught Isabela's hand in her own, removing it gently from her shoulder and clutching it in her lap. She sighed loudly, releasing some of the tension she carried.
"You shouldn't be afraid to look at me," she whispered, and Isabela lifted her gaze. A sad, tired little smile adorned Aya's lips, and there was conflict in her green eyes. Not knowing what else she should do, and unable to bear that solemn smile, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Hawke's.
The kiss was brief, but made both of them shudder. Warmth spread through Isabela's entire body, setting her nerve endings aflame. Instantly, she hungered for more and wished more than ever that she'd never left. She knew she couldn't be greedy, however. Hawke pulled away, and the pirate didn't press her.
Aya exhaled sharply, hanging her head. She had yet to let go of Isabela's hand though. "I should be furious at you. I want to be." The rogue's heart hammered in her chest, just waiting for Hawke to lash out at her. "But I don't… I don't think…" She closed her eyes and cringed, shaking her head. "I'm so tired."
Isabela smiled slightly and gave her champion's hand a final squeeze. "Then sleep." She planted a soft kiss on Aya's wounded cheek before standing up. "I truly am sorry, Aya. You don't have to forgive me… I just want you to know I'll be around. If you need me, I'll be back at the Hanged Man." Aya nodded and smiled, ready to let the exhaustion wash over her fully. Isabela turned and began walking towards the door, but Hawke stopped her.
"Isabela… thank you. For coming to me." Isabela grinned.
"Don't mention it…"
A/N: I've been swamped with schoolwork lately, but after seeing the response I've gotten from this story thus far, I will definitely try and update sooner and consistently!
Also, in case you'd be interested in knowing, my Hawke is actually named after a song... "Aya," by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. It's a great song... and would make for a good accompaniment while you're reading ; )