First Day at Skyhold was a festive occasion. Everybody was dressed up in their most elaborate finery, and Josephine had spared no expense in decking out the throne room with all the necessary paraphernalia. There were ribbons and candles, and holly wreaths and mistletoe, buffet tables creaking with food and large cauldrons filled with steaming mulled wine. For a few hours, they could celebrate; for a few hours, they could forget about Corypheus and the Red Templars and the Venatori.
Hugh was grateful for the respite. And maybe he had a little more wine than he should have. How else could he explain how he'd ended up here, next to Izzy Hawke, in a daringly low-cut blue taffeta dress that brought out the colour of her eyes, with mistletoe dangling over both their heads.
"It doesn't count if you are holding it, Sera." He glared up at Sera's smirking face. "Only if we happen to walk under it."
"Do you really care?" Izzy's smiling face was right before him, and her lips looked soft and inviting. "I, for one, would be willing to make an exception."
Hugh held his breath, trying to work out if the dizziness he felt was due to the wine or to her proximity. She had put on some subtle perfume, probably a gift from Josie or Leliana, and he inhaled her scent deeply, intoxicated by its sweetness.
"No. I don't care." His voice sounded foreign to him. Slowly, he tilted his head.
Izzy just laughed, and then her lips were on his, light and teasing, and he was sorely tempted to deepen the kiss, to bury his hand in her golden hair and plunder her mouth, to taste her, to make her moan-
But the moment was already past, and she pulled back with a smile. "See? That wasn't so bad."
"Not at all. It's just a silly custom anyway." He kept his tone light, but somehow, he doubted he had fooled her.
She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze thoughtful and appraising, then winked at him and turned around to head for the buffet. Her hips were swinging seductively as she crossed the room, and he just barely suppressed a groan.
Before he could make up his mind what to do, Vivienne found him and dragged him off to meet a senior enchanter from Wycombe – You simply have to meet him, darling, he has the most interesting theories about the flow of magical energy. There were others demanding his attention, courtiers and mages and ambassadors, and soon the atmosphere became too stifling to bear.
He headed out for some air, feeling inexplicably lonely and wistful. Izzy was laughing with Dorian and Bull over in a corner by the door, and as he passed them, he realized he was going to miss her. Ah, well. Can't be helped.
The cold helped clear his head, and he was about to go back inside, when the door opened and she was there, silhouetted against the bright lights inside.
"Good thinking. I need a break, too." She joined him at the balustrade, and for a while, neither said a word.
"Look, there's Draconis. My favourite constellation." Izzy pointed up at the clear sky. "And there's Equinor, the Stallion."
"You know your astronomy very well." He hadn't expected that.
"Yeah, well. Anders taught me." Her smile was sad. "Before…"
"Ah, the infamous Anders." Instinctively, Hugh tried to lighten the mood. "They used to tell stories about him in all the Circles in Thedas, you know. How many times did he try to escape?"
"Six or seven. And he didn't just try, he succeeded," she corrected him.
"So he did." And see where it got him. There was no need to say the words aloud. She knew better than anybody else how Anders' foray into freedom had turned out. Better change the subject again. "You know, I ran away from the Circle once."
"You never!" She stared at him, eyes wide open, momentarily distracted. "Really?"
"I did. When I was seventeen, shortly before my Harrowing." Hugh closed his eyes, calling up the memory. It was a story he'd never told to anyone before, and he wasn't sure why he was talking about it now. "I wasn't alone. Her name was Elaine and she was…" He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "She was lovely and special. They caught us, of course, and brought us back. We got off lightly, because we were young and it was our first attempt."
"And then?" Izzy was listening with uncharacteristic quiet attention. "What happened to her?"
"We…" Maker, this was more difficult than he'd anticipated. "We went through our Harrowing a few weeks later, both on the same day. Only, Elaine… She didn't make it, and I very nearly failed myself."
He'd thought he was so well prepared, but the desire demon had caught him unawares, with a vision of a happy future with Elaine: a family; children; a home. By the time he'd realized what was happening, it had almost been too late.
"I'm sorry." Izzy had been watching his face the whole time, and now she took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm so sorry."
"It's all right." He took a closer look at her. She was shaking, her lips blue from the cold. "But you're freezing. Let's get you inside and warm you up!"
"Good idea." Her teeth were chattering, but the sparkle in her eyes was undimmed. "I know. You get me a glass of mulled wine, and in return, I'll introduce you to some other ways to get warm." She grinned at his baffled expression. "Don't look at me like that! I was thinking of a dance, maybe?"
"A dance. Right." Hugh felt mildly dazed.
Izzy took his arm. "Come on. It will do you good."
Hugh hesitated. But then he felt something new and reckless flutter in his chest. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her toward the light and warmth. "I guess it will. You have a deal."
The dance did warm him up, just as Izzy had promised. As a matter of fact, Hugh was decidedly hot. The moment they entered the hall, Izzy had dragged him off to join Blackwall and Scout Harding in a wild country jig that had left him breathless and laughing. He looked utterly disheveled, his shirt untucked and his hair tousled and untidy, but at the same time he hadn't felt so alive in years. Vivienne gave him an odd look, but everybody else was smiling benevolently, and for once, Hugh decided not to give a damn about Madame de Fer's opinion of him.
Izzy hardly left his side for the rest of the night. She kept talking, telling funny stories of her time in Kirkwall, particularly of her posse of companions there and their various romantic entanglements. Some of the names were familiar from Varric's tales, though Hugh discovered quite a few discrepancies in their respective versions of the same events.
At some point, late in the evening, when most of the guests had already left, he found himself back on the dance floor with Izzy in his arms. Only this time, the music was soft and low, and the light from the burnt-down candles was dim and intimate. Izzy was pressed tightly against his body, not a hair's breadth between them, her eyes shut and a blissful smile on her face as she moved in time with the music. She felt good, warm and pliant, and her hair smelled sweet and enticing. If he closed his eyes as well, it was easy to pretend there was no one else around, that it was just them, enclosed in a safe space, a happy little bubble of their own.
Hugh wasn't drunk. He wasn't in the habit of indulging in excess, and tonight, more than ever, he'd wanted to keep his wits about him. So he'd contented himself with a tiny sip of the mulled wine. Izzy, on the other hand, had drunk without regard for the consequences, and when the dance ended, she kept swaying on her feet, smiling dreamily.
"Come. I'll take you to my… to your quarters." Gently, he took her arm. "Time to call it a night."
She didn't protest, following him meekly up the stairs and to the doorstep. But when he let go of her arm, she twisted around, and before he knew it, they were embracing again. Once again, she offered her lips for a kiss, and it would have seemed churlish to deny her. And this time, they didn't stop at a mere peck.
This time, her lips parted the moment he brushed his own against them, and this time, he didn't hold back. Cupping her head in his hands, he kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth thoroughly, drinking in her taste, her sighs, her moans. And Maker, it was better than he could have imagined, sweet and wonderful and utterly addictive. One kiss wasn't nearly enough, so when it ended, he kissed her again, and again, and once more for good measure, and she was just as enthusiastic as he was, clinging to him like a burr, her body flush against his. It took an effort to release her and take a step back.
"Right." He cleared his throat. "Time to say good night, I believe."
"But, Hugh!" Izzy's smile turned into a pout when she realized what he was doing. "Won't you come in? I'm not tired, not at all. Besides, I don't think I can get out of this dress without your help."
He hesitated. It was a transparent pretext as those things went, but then again, there was probably quite a bit of truth in it. The robe was laced up with tiny hooks all the way down her back. There was no way she would be able to undo them all by herself.
"All right." He allowed her to drag him over the threshold. "I'll help you."
She turned her back to him, raising her arms to hold up her golden curls, and the movement was so unselfconsciously graceful that it made him swallow. Izzy was naturally slim, and after all the months she'd spent on the run, going hungry more often than not, she looked as delicate as a wildflower. He knew she was tougher than she looked, of course. She had to be, to have survived all those ordeals. Still, she seemed so much more vulnerable tonight than in her customary mage armour, all her bravado gone and just the fragile human being remaining. Which was a lot more attractive to him than the Champion persona, if he was honest.
Slowly, carefully, he undid the hooks, his hand trailing down her back in a gentle caress. Her skin was just as smooth and silky as the fabric, but warm and slightly damp with sweat. Underneath, she was wearing nothing but a few wisps of silk that just barely preserved her modesty. And Maker, she was lovely, and it had been so long since he'd had a pretty woman in his arms, so long since he'd allowed anyone at all to touch his heart.
"Hugh." She leaned back against him with a breathless sigh, swaying slightly on her feet. "You're quite good at this undressing business, you know. I like a man with clever fingers."
The brush of her hips against him made him shiver, and she didn't miss his reaction, grinding herself more intently against him.
"Mmhmm. You feel good." She was practically purring, but again, he had to steady her to prevent her from stumbling. "Stay with me. Please."
He hesitated again. It was hard to resist the temptation to remain here with her all night long. But on the other hand… No. This won't do. He came to a decision, though not without regret.
"Ssssh, Izzy. Come on." Sliding his arm around her waist, he picked her up bodily from the floor and carried her over to the bed, lowering her gently onto the mattress.
Izzy arched her back, extending her arms invitingly. "What are you waiting for? Make love to me."
And again, he was tempted, sorely tempted, but he had his principles and she was in no state to make a rational decision.
"No. You're drunk, and you need to sleep it off." Pulling the blanket up to cover her, he pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Good night."
"Blight it, Hugh!" Her voice held a genuine note of indignation, but at the same time it was slurred enough to strengthen his resolve. "I'm not some blushing maiden, for fuck's sake. I know what I want."
"I'm sure you do." He took a step back. Better to put some distance between them. "But so do I, and I…" Taking a deep breath, he raised his chin, meeting her gaze without flinching. "When I make loveto you, Izzy, I want you to be sober enough to remember every detail. Every touch, every kiss, every caress."
She opened her mouth as if to contradict, but then yawned hugely instead. "All right." She pouted a bit, but she settled back into the pillow, her eyes already closing. "Night, Hugh."
Izzy woke with a pounding headache and a sour taste in her mouth. And unfortunately she was all alone, once again. She had been so sure Hugh would join her, so confident that she had him wrapped around her little finger. But clearly his principles had gotten the better of whatever allure she possessed.
With a deep sigh, she rolled out of bed and got dressed, flinching at the icy coldness of the water when she liberally splashed her face. Her head still felt like a combustion grenade about to go off. No, on second thought, more like a jar of bees, buzzing angrily, and faintly sticky. Either way, she would have to do something about it.
Hadn't Dorian mentioned a hangover potion a few days ago when they'd polished off a bottle of Nevarran red together? He was quite skilled at this sort of thing, at any rate. With newfound determination, Izzy set out to find him. She finally located him seated at a table with the Iron Bull in the otherwise empty throne room. They both looked slightly worse for wear, but they smiled when they saw her coming.
"Ah, Hawke!" Bull's deep, booming voice easily filled the room. "You look like the deeper end of the void."
"Well, thank you very much. Always the charmer." A well-aimed punch to his upper arm with her tiny fist made him wince, much to Izzy's satisfaction.
Bull had been dismissive of her when they first met. You don't expect me to believe in Varric's stories, right? That fight against the Arishok can't possibly have gone the way he describes it. Izzy had responded by challenging him to a practice fight out in the yard, which had drawn quite the crowd of spectators, and had then proceeded to teach him a quick but painful lesson. He'd been quite respectful ever since.
"I'm not usually inclined to agree with him, but he's right." Dorian was undaunted by the nasty look she aimed at him.
"I always am." Bull grinned widely. "And you were quite inclined to anything I suggested last night. As a matter of fact, I was impressed by your flexibility."
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Was Dorian blushing? He shot her a quick, sideways glance, as if he was hoping she'd missed Bull's remark. "Kaffas! Can't you be a little more discreet, you savage?"
Bull shook his head with a low, rumbling laugh. "Look, all I'm saying-"
"Now, much as I hate to interrupt this little lovers' spat of yours…" Izzy raised a hand to block off their protests. "I seem to recall that you're good with potions, Dorian. Do you have something that might help with this hangover of mine?"
"Sure. Come along with me." Dorian motioned for her to follow him to his quarters. "I have just what you need. We will talk later." The last words were addresses to Bull and accompanied by a glare that left its recipient wholly unimpressed.
"By all means." Bull was, in fact, grinning widely. "Looking forward to it."
Dorian just sighed and led the way to his room. Izzy smiled to herself, but regretted it immediately when another flash of pain stabbed through her temple.
Gratefully she accepted the vial Dorian handed her and downed it in one go. He watched her carefully, nodding in satisfaction when he saw her relax. "That's better."
Izzy closed her eyes, almost overcome with relief. Thank the Maker for Dorian. When Hugh had introduced them, she'd been wary, expecting the worst. Her friendship with Fenris had not exactly predisposed her to be friendly with mages from Tevinter. But it hadn't taken her long to figure out that Dorian was no Danarius. They'd spent hours discussing the topic of slavery in his homeland, passionately but civilly. And while she didn't assume her arguments had changed his mind completely, she was pretty sure she'd made him think. By now, they'd become friendly, maybe even friends.
Dorian was still watching her, a critical frown on his expressive face. "So… I'd assumed you and Trevelyan had finally done the deed, but you don't look like things went according to plan. What happened?"
"What do you think?" Quickly, she recounted the events of the past night.
Dorian laughed softly. "So he was all gentlemanly about it? Just like our dear Inquisitor. Really, the man is far too honourable for his own good. I'm never quite sure whether to find it endearing or infuriating."
"Me neither." Izzy sighed. "Ah, well. Maybe he just isn't interested."
Then again, he had kissed her. And it had been a good kiss, demanding without being greedy, forceful but not violent. Nice. And his parting words… When I make love to you…when, not if. Still, he seemed in no hurry to have her.
With a deep sigh, she tore herself out of her musings.
Dorian wasn't even bothering to hide his smirk. "Don't let it get to you, Hawke. Trevelyan is a good man, but he takes himself far too seriously."
"He does have a sense of humour, though!" The words left her lips before she could stop herself, and predictably, Dorian's grin widened even further. He didn't say more, though, and she left with a cranky huff. Really, whatever Bull had planned for him, it would serve him right.
Huggles and thanks to my awesome beta suilven :).
