"The Maker doesn't tell us magic is evil." Mother Giselle's voice had taken on that pontificating tone that never failed to raise Izzy's hackles. "Over and over again, he has told us that he loves all his children, be they farmers, nobles, warriors, or mages."
"Huh. Interesting." Izzy knew it was pointless, but she simply couldn't stop herself. "This Maker of yours never stops by to chat with me."
The Revered Mother turned to face her, extending her arms in a gesture of acceptance. "Ah. Serah Hawke. Forgive me. I hadn't realized you were here."
'Here' being Skyhold's pretty, quiet garden, set up as a space for prayer and meditation and frequented mainly by the Andrastian faithful. Despite the fact that she herself certainly didn't qualify for that latter group, Izzy rather liked the garden. Or had done so, until Giselle and her entourage had shown up and begun droning on about the Chant, spoiling the peace and quiet of the afternoon.
"Is my presence here offending you?" Stretching lazily, Izzy pointed her thumb at the rather ugly statue of Andraste against whose plinth she'd been reclining. "Am I perchance breaking some sort of commandment by using the Maker's bride as a backrest?"
To her credit, Mother Giselle's eyes wrinkled in a kind smile. "Not at all, Serah Hawke. Andraste is not so easily offended, and neither am I."
"Glad to hear it." Far from quelling Izzy's rebellious tendencies, the old woman's saintly patience only served to kindle them further. "So… About the Maker. Why doesn't he talk to me, personally? Is it because I have kind of a bad history with the Chantry?"
Giselle earnestly shook her head, refusing to be baited. "Those furthest from the Maker are the ones most in need of him, my child. Trust me, the Maker will speak to you as he does to all his children, if only you're willing to hear his words."
Really, it was too much. Was there no way to get the old bat to drop the jargon and show some real emotion? Tossing back her head, Izzy favoured her with her most provocative smile. "To be honest, I'd rather he didn't. Chances are I wouldn't like what he has to say. And since I don't intend to change my ways, it would be a waste of breath anyway." Scrunching up her forehead in a frown, she pretended to ponder her own words. "Assuming the Maker breathes, of course. Does he? Or is it beneath him?" With a shrug, she got to her feet. "But hey, next time you talk to him, give him my regards, will you? Just in case."
The shocked intake of breath among the assembled Andrastians told her that this time she had managed to score a hit, as did the sudden tightness around Mother Giselle's mouth. But before the old woman could reply, a familiar deep voice sounded from behind her.
"Revered Mother. I apologize on behalf of my guest. Please forgive her thoughtless words." Hugh looked pissed, there was no doubt about it. "Hawke. Would you mind coming along with me?" He turned and walked toward the stairs to the battlements without bothering to check if she was there.
"Not at all." Rolling her eyes, Izzy followed him. In a way, she was glad that he'd showed up. As fun as it was to provoke the Revered Mother, she couldn't really afford more trouble with the Chantry.
Hugh didn't speak until they were on top of the battlements, and he didn't look at her, just sighed wearily and stared out across the magnificent vista of sky and mountains. "Hawke. Izzy. Was that really necessary?"
Shit. Now he'd managed to make her feel bad for adding more stress to his day. Which of course only served to increase her sullenness. "Probably not," she grudgingly admitted. "But-"
"There's no 'but' about it!" Finally, he turned to face her, and blight it, he looked really angry, not just mildly annoyed. "Why would you think it's appropriate to blaspheme against the Maker in a sacred place? Why would you insult someone like Mother Giselle who goes out of her way to see both sides of the conflict? Can't you see she only wants to help? Can't you-"
"Oh, come on." She had to cut him off, before he became too enamoured with his own eloquence. "I get it. Mother Giselle is practically a saint, and no doubt the Chantry will recognize her many qualities as soon as she's dead and gone and has stopped spouting uncomfortable truths. Doesn't mean I have to like her." Pouting prettily, she took a step closer to him, placing her hand on his chest, savouring the sensation of firm muscle beneath his soft robes. "Look, I know I've been bad." She shamelessly batted her lashes at him. "But surely, what I said wasn't that blasphemous. The Maker must have heard much worse, don't you think?"
"As has Mother Giselle, no doubt." His tone was bone-dry, but the hint of a smile was playing around his eyes, and he didn't flinch away from her touch. "So, you think I should forgive you?"
"Well, the Maker would," she purred, inching yet another step closer. "Shouldn't you follow his example in all things?"
She was practically in his arms now, and he cast a nervous glance at their surroundings, making sure there was no one around to see them.
"You're impossible." His voice cracked a little on the last word, and his hand came up to rest on her back, pulling her closer.
"Aw, come on. You like it." She wiggled a little against him, tilting her head back in a clear invitation.
But just then, someone called his name from below, and Hugh immediately took a step backward. "Right then. I'll do my best to smooth things over with Mother Giselle. See you later."
He was gone before she could make an attempt to stop him. Damn it. Sighing in frustration, Izzy headed into the opposite direction. Maybe a walk on the battlements would help her cool down. This is getting ridiculous.
It had been a long and trying day. Izzy's run-in with Mother Giselle had only been the beginning of a long line of annoying little incidents. As he smiled and nodded at the courtiers lining the Great Hall, Hugh was doing his best to hide his irritation, but it was an effort. Really, being the Inquisitor wasn't that much different from dealing with squabbles among the apprentice mages. Everyone demanded his attention, everyone felt that their problem was the only one that mattered.
When he'd finally managed to tear himself away from all the petitioners, he decided to go looking for Izzy. All things considered, she had settled in well at Skyhold so far. She had been wise enough to avoid Cassandra, for the most part, and she'd easily made friends with some of his other companions. It was something she seemed to have a knack for, far more than he'd ever had. Dorian and Bull were completely at Izzy's beck and call by now, and Varric would have laid down his life for her in a heartbeat. She even got along with Sera, though on second thoughts, that wasn't astonishing at all.
It took Hugh a while to find her, and when he did, he heard her laugh before he saw her. She was in Varric's quarters – no surprise there. He hadn't expected to find Cullen and Blackwall there as well, though, and he'd certainly had no inkling of the scene that would await him.
They were playing Wicked Grace, had been doing so for some time, judging from the stale air in the room and the number of empty bottles on the table. Predictably, none of them was sober, not even the Commander. Cullen's face was flushed with wine, and he was busy unbuttoning his shirt, preparing to pull it over his head. Blackwall was already down to his breeches, his hairy chest proudly on display, while Varric, still fully dressed, was collecting his winnings with a satisfied smirk.
Izzy was leaning back in her chair, sipping wine and slowly licking her lips while she ogled Cullen. She herself was only clad in a thin breastband and tight leather pants. Her hair was a tousled mess, and a tiny drop of wine was trailing down her chin, down the perfect column of her throat, further down between her breasts… And Hugh was seized by a sudden urge to catch the wine with his mouth, to lick her clean, to taste its rich aroma as it mingled with the salty tang of her sweat. But at the same time, anger rose within him like bile, hot and bitter.
When he cleared his throat to announce his presence, none of them heard him above the whoops and catcalls accompanying Cullen's disrobing. The Commander's shirt came off to reveal a perfectly chiselled chest and a tight abdomen, wide shoulders and muscular arms – a warrior's body, strong and powerful, and, Hugh had to admit, quite gorgeous.
"Goodness, Commander." Izzy's voice sounded breathless and sultry. "If I'd known what you were hiding under that Templar armour, I'd have been a lot nicer to you all those years."
Varric nearly choked on his drink, and Cullen blushed a deeper shade of red, stammering as he searched for an answer.
But Blackwall had spotted Hugh, and he, at least, had the grace to look sheepishly embarrassed. "Ah. Inquisitor. Care to join us, maybe?"
"No, thanks." Hugh didn't bother to hide the disappointment on his face when Izzy looked up at him, her blissful smile vanishing at the sight of him. "Enjoy your little get-together, gentlemen. Hawke."
He turned on his heel and left. He'd seen enough.
"Awww, shucks!" Cursing, Izzy got to her feet and reached for her robes.
She hadn't meant for things to go quite so far when she'd agree to play cards with the guys. But one thing had led to another, and the wine had flown freely, and somehow things had gotten out of hand. Damn it! I should have called this off an hour ago!
Sure, seeing Cullen shirtless had been a memorable experience, but Izzy wasn't really interested in him any more than in Blackwall or Varric. She had just been bored, and the game had been so much fun, much like the old days at the Hanged Man, with Anders and Fenris and Sebastian. It had been flattering, and so very exciting besides: the look of desire on the men's faces; the way their eyes lingered on her bare skin with barely concealed hunger; the happy tingle travelling down her spine.
Still, Cullen and Blackwall were just friends, nice enough guys, but that was all. She didn't want either of them. And she hadn't wanted to sleep with any of the guys in Kirkwall either, no matter what Anders had told himself. It wasn't her fault if men were attracted to her, after all. No, she decided, her conscience was clear. The whole thing had just been some fun among friends, nothing else.
And besides, Hugh only had himself to blame. Tying her belt, Izzy huffed impatiently when it got tangled in the folds of her tunic. If Hugh had been a little more accommodating earlier, she wouldn't have had to go looking for attention elsewhere, right? But now, after he'd seen her like this, he would probably be worse than before, all stiff and angry and disapproving. Really, he can be such a prude.
When she'd finally managed to get dressed, she set out to find him, ignoring her fellow players' protests. Hugh had vanished completely in the meantime, of course. But she had her ways and means of finding him. After all, there were few mages of his calibre around, even in Skyhold, and his aura was almost strong enough to taste. Especially now that I've had a taste of the man. Izzy grinned at her own wit as she followed the traces of magical energy through the fortress.
It got entangled in Lady Vivienne's signature for a short while, near the Great Hall. They were similar in many ways, both of them saturated with Circle magic, powerful and skilled, but tamed and subdued. Solas felt completely different, as did Dorian, but Vivienne was a distraction. Still, a little focussing helped, and she was able to locate Hugh in the end, up one of the towers, in a part of Skyhold that was still only partially restored. The tracing didn't get more precise than that, but it was enough for her to find him, moving quietly through the empty rooms.
He had hidden away in a derelict bedchamber on top of the tower. When she heard his voice, she almost retreated, fearing he wasn't alone, but then she realized he was moaning, and she actually sped up for a moment, fearing he might be hurt. Fortunately, she realized her error before he noticed her presence. Oh. Not moans of pain, definitely not.
Hugh was lying stretched out on the bed, his eyes firmly closed, biting his lower lip, one of his hands hidden from sight between his legs while the other one was slowly stroking up and down his shaft. Whatever had gone through his mind after he'd left her and the others, at least some part of him had clearly been sufficiently inflamed by what he'd seen that he'd decided to take matters into his own hands.
Instinctively, Izzy averted her eyes and turned to leave, but then she hesitated. He had to be far too distracted to sense her presence, and it was dark enough outside that she could hide in the shadows of the ancient musty wall-hangings. But the moon was shining in through the window, bathing the bed in its silvery light, allowing her a perfect view of his hand moving rhythmically up and down.
He hadn't stripped completely, just bared his cock, and Maker, it was a beautiful cock, nicely shaped and a decent size, too. And Hugh was gorgeous like this, his skin almost translucent in the soft, white light, every muscle in his body taut and tense. Izzy knew she should respect his privacy, knew she should withdraw, but there was no way she was going to miss this. Let the Maker punish her afterwards, but she intended to savour every detail, every sigh, every gasp.
Hugh paused for a heartbeat to spread the pearl of fluid that had gathered on the tip of his cock, and Izzy had to bite back a moan of her own at the sight, because she wanted to taste him so badly. He resumed his strokes, faster now, jerkier, and she couldn't take her eyes off him for a single moment, not if her life had depended on it. So hot.
She was soaking wet herself, pulsing with want, and part of her wanted to come out of hiding, to let him know she was there, ready to take care of him, but she didn't dare. He'd been so angry, so coldly, fiercely angry earlier on, and he probably would be even more furious at her for watching such an intimate moment. Yet, how could she not? His moans were getting louder now, and every one of them went straight to her core, making her shiver all over. And then he whined, just once, and went perfectly still for a heartbeat before spilling all over himself, streaks of pearly white creating a stark contrast against the dark fabric of his robes.
And Maker, she would have loved to stay and watch the aftermath, watch the tension drain from his body, watch him clean up that lovely mess he'd made. But she had to run, or he would know she'd been there. With a last, regretful look back at him, Izzy turned and fled down the stairs. Such a waste.
Slowly, Hugh opened his eyes, flinching at the sight that greeted him. He'd have to sneak into his temporary quarters and change his robes before anyone saw him and jumped to wholly justified conclusions. Really, what had possessed him to hide up here and jerk off like a school boy, to the image of Izzy, half-naked and dissolute, her skin so smooth and beautiful, her curves so enticing…
Maker, he wanted her so much. He couldn't even recall the last time he had felt such an urgent, almost violent need to be with a woman. Yes, he was mad at her. Jealous and angry and more than a little hurt by the way she had looked at Cullen. And yet, those feelings only seemed to stoke his desire further.
Over and over, while he got up and returned to his room by the stealthiest route available, he tried to tell himself that it was no use. Izzy was what she was, an incurable flirt, provocative and irresponsible, and often irrational. He couldn't afford to get involved with her, even if he wanted to, and she certainly couldn't be expected to change for him.
But at the same time there was a tiny whisper at the back of his mind that told him that this sassy, superficial mask wasn't all there was to Hawke. He'd caught mere glimpses of the woman behind it, but what he'd seen had intrigued him. Maybe if… He was too exhausted to think about it now, though. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the Fade overtook him. The problem of Izzy Hawke would have to wait for another day.
Huggles to my lovely beta suilven for all her help and support. And to all of you who read and review - so good to know you're there. :)