A/N: Hello! It's taken a while but I'm slowly getting back into my writing again. Feels strange after months of nothing, and it took me ages to do this chapter. Grief is a very strange and frustrating thing. However, I've finally got there and I hope you all enjoy this latest installment of A Marauder's Redemption. Thanks to all who messaged me with support. This chapter is for you guys!
A small, recently lit fire crackled softly in a grate, the only source of comfort in a derelict building that all evidence suggested had once been grand. Flickering against the smothering darkness, it cast large ominous shadows of aged elegant furniture against the cold stone surroundings, illuminating the Amell Family Crest hanging above the fireplace; dusty, discoloured and crooked. The heavy rusted shield was littered with cracks, although miraculously still intact after the magnitude of battles Kirkwall had been privy to in recent years. On the skeleton of a massive four-poster bed in the middle of the room, a lone woman sat, tracing the rotting frame gently with her fingers, as though absorbing memories that the decaying wood seemingly possessed. She looked ragged, wild, and out of place, even amongst the mess, as though she didn't belong there. Despite this, the woman was staring around the chamber with a certain familiarity that suggested otherwise.
This was Hawke's...All of it...
Despite constantly giving her grief for living in 'boring' Hightown, Admiral Isabela felt a little pang of regret as her amber eyes took in the ruins, the mess, the massive hole in the ceiling and the resulting damage of the Estate's collapse that had no doubt ensued from the Mage-Templar war. Rusted Templar armor lay discarded in the corner, clearly too far gone to have any value in the eyes of a thief. The gooey skeleton of an unfortunate soldier lay decomposing beside the doorway, his valuables long since stolen. The veil was thin here. Isabela couldn't remember ever feeling this uneasy in the Hawke Estate back in all its grandeur. A winter chill blowing downwards through the collapsed roof threatened to put out the fire she had lit, causing the flames to dance wildly in the grate and ash to spill out onto the already dusty floor. There was barely a thing left to pilfer as looters had set in long ago and claimed most of Lana's old belongings, but something of the woman's character still remained. She'd lived here for the better part of a decade after all. Isabela didn't much like the idea that strangers were now cherishing Hawke's home comforts as though they were their own.
That bugger outside with a younger Lana's portrait for example, Isabela thought to herself lividly, touching her bosom where the old painting of Lana rested for safe keeping after she had relieved the dead man of it. Not going to lie, it kind of turns me on a little having her pressed between my cleavage again.
She smiled to herself then, and stared down at what was left of the four poster bed she was sitting on the edge of. There was no longer a mattress, and the long red curtains had been removed by some unknown intruder, giving the bed an empty, rather exposed appearance. Despite this, it was easy recalling the nights Isabela had spent here with Hawke, her arm wrapped around her in the night, the smell of Lana's dark brown hair as she buried her face in it and sighed contentedly, falling into the best sleeps she'd ever had in her life. Never before had Isabela felt that wanted, that appreciated. She'd grown so used to being on her own, but Lana always seemed to have time for her, even at her own expense. I screwed her over on so many bloody occasions back then... Maker, I miss her now, she thought then, getting misty-eyed all of a sudden. She immediately pulled herself together and got to her feet. I'm being silly. Balls, what's the matter with me? Suddenly something caught her eye, bundled up in the corner. It was so covered with debris it was almost impossible to tell which colour it had originally been. A small hint of red was still left untouched however, and this is what caught the pirate's eye.
Isabela crossed the room, bent over and picked up the thin fabric. Trying not to choke on the caked-in dust, she shook it out, turning her face away and holding her breath as it settled on the floor. She watched as the stylish Antivan blood-red dress fell to its full length, and returned to something which resembled its normal colour. Isabela's mouth fell open. Andraste's tits, of all the... Stunned, she shook off the last of the dirt and, glancing over her shoulder making sure she was really alone, held the dress up to her face, taking a small whiff of the fabric. Mixed with the smell of mould and dampness, Isabela was pleased to find she could still make out the faintest scent of perfume, which Lana had been wearing the first and only time she'd seen her wear it.
Leandra's dinner party...The night Hawke told me she loved me for the very first time...And the night I broke her heart. Maker, I'm such an idiot sometimes.
The pirate's heart swelled with love and regret, and she found herself sinking back down onto the frame of the four-poster bed for support once more, still holding the dress in her hand. In that moment, it hit Isabela just how much she really missed Hawke. Her chocolate-brown eyes, her mischievous smile, the taste of her lips, the shape of her breasts threatening to burst out of her shirt... Isabela shivered, knowing it had nothing to do with the cold. She stared up through the hole in the ceiling at the moon, feeling more alone in that instance than she would ever care to admit. She knew she missed Lana (she didn't need the little quiver of excitement or wetness in her pants to remind her again), but she had thought that up until now it was mainly just physically she longed for her. I can't remember going this long without sex before. The truth was slowly seeping in at last though, along with her growing arousal, and Isabela knew then that she just couldn't stay away from Lana any longer. She had to go back. It seemed silly to feel this way and still remain at sea. Her plans could wait. She needed to see her, before Hawke got herself wrapped up in someone else's problems again.
She really is a sucker for trouble...Reminds me why I love her so much.
Remembering her crew were waiting outside for her then, Isabela stowed the red dress into her pack, hoping that no one had witnessed her little emotional breakdown. Heads would roll! Balls, how embarrassing would that be? She had no idea why she was taking the dress, but the mere fact that it was still here was a miracle in its own right. The caked in dust had obviously disguised it as rubbish to intruders, when in actual fact it was worth quite a lot of coin in its day. Antivan fabric was precious. I'll give Leandra one thing, she had good taste. There was no need for Isabela to search the room any longer, as evidently everything else worthwhile (and a few worthless things too) had previously been stolen by looters. The pirate sighed and exited Hawke's crumbling old bedroom. She walked over and stood at the balcony overlooking the old living room below, remembering back to Leandra's dinner party, seeing Hawke being led around the dance floor by Emil, the man with whom her mother had tried to arrange a marriage for her.
Anger had surged through Isabela back then, as she watched Lana try to please her mother by becoming something she wasn't, putting her best foot forward (quite literally) in an attempt to fit in with the nobles of Kirkwall and settle down with a nice man. It bothered the pirate to see the misery on Hawke's face, the awkwardness she was experiencing dancing with this man who would never be enough for her. It was frustrating for Isabela, experiencing such burning jealousy and uncontrollable desire, watching Lana bend under her mother's thumb, and knowing that if she didn't make a move now the Lana she knew would be lost to her forever. That was what had spurred the pirate to descend the stairs uninvited and intervene. The ensuing argument with Lana afterwards then led to a passionate kiss in the library, only for them to be interrupted prematurely by Hawke's mother, and expose her daughter's lifelong secret of her sexuality to the entire world.
Not to mention the secret love she was harbouring for me...
Isabela sighed, regretting how she had handled Hawke's revelation of love that night. Her present day self walked to the stairs then, glancing fleetingly in the direction of Leandra's bedroom, remembering rescuing Lana from a demon there once. She grasped the broken rail of the stairwell to descend like she had done the night of the party. As she did so, her hand grazed something indented in the wood. Her dick carvings on the handrail had withstood the sands of time. Isabela sniggered, making a mental note to tell Hawke when she saw her again. She'll be so pleased! As she walked down to the lower level, the pirate's mind flashed back to the memory of Hawke running down the same stairs in the blood-red Antivan dress, after their brief interaction during the party, when Isabela had snuck in through the bedroom window and surprised her. Isabela felt a bit guilty, knowing she had harried Hawke the entire night. Though if she hadn't of, maybe Hawke would never have told her she loved her. Maybe they wouldn't have ended up together at all. Despite how she had handled things back then, Isabela herself set into motion the events which followed, and for this she was thankful for her younger, sex-crazed self and her unrelenting determination to seduce Lana Hawke.
"Find anything interesting, Admiral?" Jackson asked, as Isabela rejoined her crew and began to lead them towards the docks again. She took one last glance back at the Estate.
"Some things," she replied with a grin, turning her back on it and staring out into the distance as she walked, still lost in a nostalgic trance. "Mainly memories...Good and bad."
"I found this stashed behind that broken plant pot in the foyer while we were waiting for you, Sir," Jackson said, thrusting a bottle of whisker under her nose. "It's still half full."
Isabela took the bottle from him and inspected it. Another wave of nostalgia hit her then. Hawke used to drink this particular brand from The Hanged Man. She smiled, knowing that it had to be Lana's leftovers as The Hanged Man had burned down before the looters set in. It simply couldn't be anyone else's. Bodhan must have taken it from her, one of the many times she had drunk herself into a stupor, and hid it in a plant pot to keep her from it. The top of the bottle was chipped, but the contents were otherwise unspoiled. Another little miracle find. Isabela was surprised the bottle had lasted this long, and loved the idea that she could share one last drink from The Hanged Man with Varric and Hawke when she saw them again.
"How about I take this bottle and get you another, Jack?" the Admiral requested, stowing it in her pack.
"Suit yourself, "Jackson responded, shrugging uncaringly, "Probably tastes like rat piss by now. Make me feel like shit in the morning."
"It always did," Isabela mumbled to herself fondly, lost in her memories. "But it was the best feeling in the world."
Back on The Eider's Cry, Isabela ordered her crew to sail for Ferelden. Though some looked confused, they didn't dare question the Queen of the Eastern Seas. Feeling like she'd prefer to be alone, Isabela descended to her quarters and shut the door, leaving them to it. Normally she would have preferred to sail herself, but tonight she couldn't get thoughts of Hawke out of her head. Everywhere she looked, everywhere she went there were memories of her. Even in here, Isabela thought, recalling the locations in her chambers where she had Hawke bent over a table. She quivered. The woman's figure was unbelievable. Oh how she longed to press herself up against it again! Tracing Lana's hips with her hands, feeling the softness of her skin, the heat of her body, the pointed nipples under the buds of her fingertips.
Oh screw it! Isabela thought to herself. She placed the chipped bottle of whiskey on a nearby counter, chucked her pack and weapons on the floor, and climbed under the covers of her giant double bed. The pillow on the right still smelled faintly of Lana, just like the dress had. Closing her eyes, Isabela slipped her hand under her shirt, and let it slide down along her abs...down...down...deep between her legs. Her body jerked a little in eager anticipation. Covering the wetness with her fingers, she began to cajole her pulsing arousal, gently, teasingly, releasing a sigh of contentment and longing. Her entire body was yearning for Hawke. Images of Lana, sweaty and naked, hovering above her in the darkness consumed her thoughts, and before she knew it, Isabela was getting herself off, over and over, relishing every spasm in her stomach, every thrust of her fingers...every uncontrollable, irrepressible breath that threatened to betray her loneliness to her crew. She moaned in earnest, wishing in all honesty, that The Eider's Cry would get her back to Lana sooner, and quicker than ever before.
Hawke walked into the tavern in Skyhold that evening, hoping that the theatrics of the night before hadn't given her more notoriety. Many people these days saw her as a disturber of the peace, and she didn't want to add fuel to the fires. I've seen enough fires to last a lifetime. The bard was playing in the corner by the staircase, taking her back to the good old days in The Hanged Man with Varric and Isabela. Six months! Six months since she'd seen her pirate lover. Maybe that's why she found herself constantly focusing on Leliana these days. Nothing was ever going to be between them again, but it was hard when the first woman she'd loved was here in the flesh, while the woman she loved now and wanted to spend her life with was out gallivanting with the raiders and running amok as she so loved to do.
Oh Bela...
Hawke sat herself down at the counter, swallowed her loneliness, and requested a whiskey. The drink here wasn't bad as Varric had warned her before their session yesterday, but it still didn't feel like home as The Hanged Man once had. Seeing Donnic today on the north coast of Ferelden had brought back fond memories of Aveline, yelling at them all in the tavern for drinking too much, or scolding them for scaring the locals with their filthy stories. She often thought the trio of Hawke, Isabela and Varric was leading the others astray. Especially Merrill and Bethany. Maybe she had a point, Lana chuckled to herself as she took a sip of whiskey, We were always up to no good.
It had been good to see Donnic again, and introduce him to the Inquisitor. He brought with him some bad news though. According to his research, things weren't going well for the Wardens. Thankfully Aveline was doing fine, and Lana told him of little baby Hendyr's wellbeing, answering the first question that came out of his mouth. All was well on the family front, but the Grey Wardens were in turmoil...and all was not what it had originally seemed where the Hero of Ferelden was concerned.
Hawke shook her head, still unable to believe Donnic's words. For Navarre Mahariel couldn't still be alive! She just couldn't! Lana brought a hand to her head and massaged her temples. I saw the tomb in Weisshaupt! I saw it with my own eyes! And Leliana...How in all of Thedas was she going to explain this to Leliana? Donnic had entrusted her, and only her, with the information, to pass it on to the Spymaster. But how do you tell someone close to you that the person they loved was not really dead all this time?
I can't! Hawke told herself over and over I just can't! I need more proof first than Donnic's word for it. I believe him, but Leliana won't. If Navarre is alive after all this time... I'll find her myself.
"Stressful day, Warmonger?"
Hawke jumped, having forgotten she was supposed to meet someone, and turned to find Dorian grinning at her. His black moustache was as perfectly crafted as always, despite their latest adventure to the seaside.
"You could say that," she sighed, as the mage slid onto the stool beside her and helped himself to an empty mug and her bottle of whiskey.
"Hmm, yes...that Donnic fellow's words were troubling indeed," Dorian agreed, believing her to be preoccupied with the Grey Warden's strange behaviour. "And the fact that he's being hunted by other Wardens? Well, it just doesn't make any sense, does it? I was wondering why he was hiding in a cave on the beach...I got so much sand in my boots following the Inquisitor there."
Hawke chuckled. "Don't be such a lady, it's only sand," she teased, "Besides, you're boots are much too Tevinter for this weather. Might want to think about an upgrade."
"Ha! Is that so? Are you going to lend me the coin?" Dorian joked. "This Inquisition business is...well, rather unfulfilling coin-wise I have to say. Lucky Ellana's an absolute darling, otherwise I'd have left by now."
"Ooo, thinking of taking her to your bed?" Lana teased, "Taking advantage of her under those filthy Tevinter sheets of yours maybe? Tell me, do they only come in bright purple? I'd have taken you for a pink man myself."
The mage tittered with laughter, and a faint hint on pink crossed his cheeks then. He was blushing.
"So you know then," he observed, taking another sip of whiskey and avoiding her eyes. He suddenly looked uneasy.
"That you only enjoy the company of men?" Hawke asked, smiling to herself, following his gaze and scanning the numerous bottles over the bar, though not really reading them. "Oh, I know."
"How?"
"Intuition," Hawke joked, "Plus you might want to rethink the shiny clothes if it's supposed to be a secret." The mage chuckled. "So, is this why we're here?" she asked, filling herself another whiskey.
"Sort of," Dorian replied, "I'm...well, I find myself in a bit of a predicament, Champion... Of a rather sensitive nature unfortunately."
"Er, I don't know if you've heard," Hawke interrupted, before he went any further, "But I'm strictly into women only. If some ex lover of yours has shown up to cause trouble, then the best thing I can do for you is give him an arrow to the head and have done with it. I have no experience whatsoever of sweet-talking men...Unless you count the time Isabela and I disguised ourselves as whores and...No, no, never mind."
"My, my, is that what you thought of me?" Dorian laughed, "I'll have to hear that story some time. But in any case, Champion, let me assure you that I am not such a coward. I can handle my affairs better than most, I assure you." He chuckled again. "No, no...the task I have for you is...Well, more family-oriented.
"I don't understand," Hawke replied, confused. "What does this have to do with your sexuality?"
Dorian sighed, looking rather uncomfortable once more. "I prefer the company of men, you see," he said then, sounding rather angry, "And my father disapproves."
Instantly Hawke clammed up. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and it held rather unpleasant memories for her. Whether Dorian knew this or not, he was going to ask her something which she was sure would open old wounds she had tried desperately to close.
"Dorian..." she began awkwardly, "I...What is it that you need of me? If you need me to tell your father your secret then-"
"Oh, Maker, no!" Dorian chuckled again, "He already knows, Champion. One of the many reasons I left Tevinter. I was tired of trying to live up to an impossible standard."
"Pff...I know that feeling," Hawke sighed, remembering her own mother's face when she saw her eldest daughter locking tongues with a pirate woman during an all important dinner party, while her betrothed waiting patiently and obliviously in the other room. Lana's heart ached then. She hadn't thought of her late mother much since leaving Kirkwall years ago. The idea of them never having been able to reconcile before her untimely and shocking demise, still stuck uncomfortably in her throat.
"You do?" Dorian asked, genuinely surprised.
So he didn't know, Hawke realised, He was actually just asking me, as I'm probably the only one who could help. Seeing a familiar look in his eyes, reminding her of herself, Lana nodded.
"I'm afraid my...my mother never approved of my sexual preference either, Dorian," she admitted, "Mainly because I kept it a secret from her for so long...along with half of Thedas. But when she finally found out..."
Lana's voice trailed off and she stared into the depths of her mug, jaw clenched. She had no idea why she was telling this man anything. She didn't know him that well, and didn't even fully trust him as a Vint, but for some reason she could sense in him the same feelings of shame and disappointment and that undeniable fact: That they were both never good enough for their parents.
"I'm sorry, my lady," Dorian offered, realising he had upset her a little, "You have my deepest sympathies. If I'd have known I...Well, I suppose you're not really in a position to help me are you?"
He looked saddened then and imitated Hawke, staring deep into his own mug and swirling the whiskey around.
"Why tell me this now?" Hawke asked, glancing over at him.
"Oh, he's shown up, my father has!" Dorian admitted with a snort, "Under the guise of a 'retainer' and a secret meeting in Redcliffe. The Inquisitor informed me. She showed me the letter."
"Has your father shown up to take you home?" Lana wondered.
Dorian shrugged. "Who knows what that man is capable of? I just wanted someone to accompany me to the meeting in case he tried anything. Magisters are tricky beings to handle...I guess I could ask the Inquisitor. She offered originally but I refused...I don't much like putting all my eggs in the same basket."
"Likewise," Hawke agreed. "I don't know, Dorian...L-let me think on it."
"Ah, maybe I won't even go," Dorian sighed. "I'd much rather he died and I wouldn't have to face him again. It'd be so much simpler."
"Don't say that," Lana replied, looking grim. An image of Leandra's decaying face obstructed her thoughts then. "I'd kill for the chance to reconcile with my mother...Instead I...I watched the life fade from her eyes as she lay dying and decomposing in my arms...Murdered by a mage."
Dorian looked horrified, and much like he'd love desperately to get his foot out of his mouth. He didn't know quite what to say. Hawke got to her feet and downed the last of her drink, realising she didn't want to talk about this any longer. "I'll think about it," she said again. "Give me a day or two...I-I have to go. See you around, Dorian."
She patted him on the back comfortingly and walked away, ascending the staircase to her room. Once inside, Hawke leaned against the door, and slid down onto the floor in a heap. She could feel her eyes tearing up and closed them stubbornly, becoming lost in memories of her long lost mother, and the poisons of their once happy relationship.
