Well, I planned to have this chapter finished sooner, but as usual, life got in the way. However, I also didn't plan on it being quite this long... it got away with me. I hope you enjoy it!
"You know, Bela," Aya mused one lazy morning as she neared the end of her recovery, "you can't let any of the others catch you pampering me like this." The corner of the pirate's mouth quirked into an affectionate grin as she focused upon the apple she'd been slicing. Setting down her dagger, she turned around to view her Champion. The mage lay upon her side, curled with her knees drawn gingerly to her belly and her arm resting under her chin. Her eyes remained half-lidded and dreamy with lethargy as Isabela popped one of the apple slices into her mouth. She had no qualms with feeding Hawke – in fact, there was a part of her that quite liked taking care of her – nonetheless, she could imagine the endless ribbing she would receive if the others knew how horribly soft her hardened heart had become.
"It'll be our little secret," she replied, a hint of seduction creeping into her voice as she leaned down to seize the juice dribbling off of Hawke's mouth with her own lips. Aya grinned, allowing her eyes to shut softly while emitting a contented sigh. "Besides, this 'pampering' thing is only temporary – until you're officially off bed-rest." Isabela grinned when Hawke's lips puckered into an irresistible pout that was so petulant and uncharacteristic of her, she couldn't even manage to sustain it. "Nobility need no spoiling, anyhow."
"Well, then," Hawke's eyes fluttered open just slightly, catching the effervescent shreds of sunlight that drifted in through the open window. Isabela found it particularly breathtaking how the luminosity seemed to tangle within the mage's long, dark eyelashes as they swept over her gleaming emeralds. For a brief moment, she lost hold of the playful flirtations that had possessed her just moments before, now completely rapt in the effortless beauty of the woman lying beneath her. Gorgeous or not, she was sure she would've fallen for Aya regardless; but, oh… the Rivaini – a beauty in her own exotic right – was so lucky to have fallen for someone quite as lovely as Hawke. "Just don't think of me as Kirkwall nobility. Think of me as… the poor Ferelden apostate I am at heart. Then you should have no problem spoiling me."
"Oh, really?" Isabela inched closer to Aya, feeling both amused by her and captivated by her innocent allure.
"Yes, indeed. I've had such a hard life you know…" Isabela chuckled, setting down the plate of fruit and lying next to Hawke as she drawled on.
"Do you think that's going to work on me?" Aya narrowed her eyes as a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. This, in particular, was the pirate's favorite grin.
"Maybe not… how much longer can I continue to play the 'wounded' card for?"
"Well," Isabela said as the mage nestled into the crook of her neck, teasing the flesh there with a few sensual puffs of warm breath, "we know you can move around okay on your own… when you want to. Anders wants us to visit him at his clinic tomorrow sometime. He'll redress your wound again, and if he feels you've healed well enough, you'll officially be off bed-rest."
"Then no more milking the whole 'impaled mage' thing?"
"No more."
"That's a shame," Aya said, her voice a bit more sultry as she nibbled on the flesh of Isabela's neck. "Because my whole recovery has been so satisfying. I'm going to hate to see it end." The pirate grinned wickedly, drawing Hawke as close to her as she could and making sure that their flesh converged in all the most delightful places. Relieved, she had no doubts that the mage's health had returned to normal. Aya may not be quite as spry as she had previously been, but she was now bolstered with renewed energy and near painless movements. If nothing else, her revitalized sex drive proved this fact – Isabela was extremely pleased, even if she knew the Champion was perhaps taking advantage of her respite (that remained another of their little secrets).
"Not every bit of it has to end," Isabela breathed desirably into the apostate's ear, eliciting a particularly agreeable shiver. "For instance, I would be more than happy to continue giving you baths." She snaked her tongue over Aya's earlobe, noting how her breathing seemed to hitch at the gesture. "As long as you extend the same courtesy." She tantalized her lover's ear even further with a gentle bite, provoking a moan Aya simply could not stifle. This happened to be one her most sensitive spots, and Isabela knew it.
She'd certainly expected Hawke to melt under her teasing actions; however, she had not expected the injured woman to react by flipping her over and pinning her swiftly to the bed. Isabela gaped at her with slight surprise and concern. Aya could handle herself, for sure, but if consumed by passion, she would be more apt to overexert her still healing body. In spite of her own overwhelming lust, the pirate conceded to issue a warning to the mage, albeit weakly. "Careful, sweet thing. You're technically still on the mend-" All futile words of caution were lost completely as Aya bit down passionately on Isabela's neck, causing a heady groan to overpower the last of her warning.
"I know, love. Don't worry," she whispered, leaning down to kiss her pirate fiercely. There was such an intense hunger and adoration in her lips that Isabela was left reeling. Suddenly, Aya pulled away, her eyes glimmering devilishly. "Besides, what's pleasure without a little bit of pain?" The sensuous pirate's head spun, inflamed with delicious heat and seduction as the deft Champion began to fervently tug at her clothing. She could only smirk, realizing she had clearly been far too gentle with the mage in light of recent events, and was more than happy to allow Hawke to take the matter into her own hands. Well, I suppose it is about time that she takes care of me…
The following day, Isabela and Hawke made their way to Anders' clinic, as requested. When they left the estate, Aya, though still seeming somewhat weary, linked arms with the pirate and walked with a rather particular liveliness. Isabela assumed this was because the mage had not left her home in over a week, save for a few hours spent reading in the garden, and now simply basked in the lovely spring weather. As they walked, the sun was fixed high in the flawless pall of azure overhead, casting off warmth and shiny beams of light that seemed to ricochet endlessly into the vast blue. Previous bed-rest notwithstanding, Aya had always been green enough to take an excessive amount of pleasure in a sunny day. That's not to say she was juvenile – she had merely maintained enough unadulterated innocence to enjoy something as simple as sunshine or freshly bloomed flowers. This, in spite of all the misery and grief she had endured over the years. To Isabela, that was a strength unlike any she had ever known. Someday, it might save all our asses. It also injected the Champion's fatigued step with a unique vivacity.
She knew Hawke detested having to trade in the vibrant sunshine for the dim, dank streets of Darktown. Such a change in scenery tended to bring out the tired and restless aspects of the mage more than Isabela had liked. She certainly hoped that Anders would make haste in his checkup so that they could continue to enjoy the weather. It would be lovely to take a stroll down to the Alienage to visit Merrill, or through the Lowtown Bazaar so Aya could purchase the new armor she so sorely needed. Of course, she expected Anders to take his time just as he did on any occasion when he was granted the chance to examine an injured, scantily clad Hawke. She suspected these occasions were some of the healer's favorite. Lucky for him, with the amount of fighting the Champion did, they occurred bi-weekly, at the very least.
Anders was waiting for them when they arrived. He greeted Aya with a smile and bright, adoring eyes, just as he always did, whereas he greeted the pirate with a tempered scowl. She, of course, in an effort to pique his annoyance, offered him an infectious, shit-eating grin and clapped him on the shoulder. She could've made a show of removing Aya's tunic languorously so that he could change her bandages, but opted against it. Anders may aggravate her to no end, but Hawke considered him one of her dearest friends. If only for that reason, she would gladly play nice.
"You look like you're getting around rather well, Hawke. How do you feel?" Aya wore a modest grin as she took a seat on one of the clinic's decrepit chairs.
"Better. The sunshine helps… among other things." She shot a quick, devious glance in Isabela's direction. Thankfully, Anders did not seem to catch her suggestion, as his back was turned. When he faced the two women again, he was armed with bandages and salve, and quickly took a seat next to the Champion. He motioned his hands towards her tunic, but stopped short, clearing his throat and hazarding a brief, sidelong glance in the pirate's direction.
"Could you, uh-"
"Lift my shirt," the apostate supplied lightly, trying not to chuckle. She had a rather skilled propensity for causing Anders to blush. It was never her intention to make him feel awkward or embarrassed, but it seemed, nonetheless, he was always going red in the face when in her presence. "You don't have to act so nervous about touching my midsection, Anders. Bela isn't going to lance you for giving me a simple checkup." The man made a poor show of being calm and aloof as his fingers quivered just slightly when they met Aya's pale flesh. She of course noticed, but pretended not to, for his sake.
"Give me a break," he groused, feigning annoyance. "I know Isabela isn't going to try and lance me."
"It's true," the rogue said as she stood behind Hawke, lazily twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger. "Though I'm not so sure you're not going to try and lance our dear Champion." Isabela smiled wickedly at her own lascivious remark when it appeared that Anders' eyes would pop out of his skull. Aya seemed nearly as mortified when she turned back rigidly to glare at her crude lover, though the pirate suspected she was also biting back a tiny laugh.
"Isabela," she chided. The brash woman bared her hands defensively, laughing loudly at the healer's expense. He merely leered at his own hands as they remained frozen on the bandages he'd begun to unwrap. For a moment, Hawk was afraid he would erupt, Justice having been provoked enough to unleash his wrath on a still hysterically laughing Isabela. However, he simply stiffened his posture and continued, not daring to look towards either woman as he worked.
"You know I was only kidding, Anders. The setup was just… so perfect. I couldn't resist," she said, though the effect of her pseudo-apology was severely dampened by the laughter she still struggled to contain. Anders' lip curled in dissatisfaction as he tugged roughly at Aya's remaining bandages, finally revealing her nearly healed torso.
"No. I don't know that," he said tersely. Isabela was about to reply, perhaps even apologize more earnestly, but Hawke cut her off. Odds were she would only enflame the healer's temper even more, and Aya, as tired as she was, did not have the patience to mediate an all-out argument between the two. Besides, she hated when they fought. It was so bitter having to choose sides between the woman she was in love with and the man who she was incapable of loving properly. She wished they could find a way to just… get along, for her, but never expected it to happen. Anders tried to mask his true feelings often, but he'd never been quite as inconspicuous as he thought he was.
"If you even think about fighting in front of me I will be forced to kick both of your asses," she sighed emphatically. "I may be on my feet but I still feel tired. So no bullshit, please?" Begrudgingly, Anders nodded, as did Isabela. He was always the bigger person when it came to his tiffs with her, yet somehow, it was she who the Champion so adored. He truly could not fathom it. Still, he would always concede to Hawke's wishes, in spite of himself. "Good. Let's move on. Anders! I hope you've gotten out of the clinic at some point today. It's so lovely outside."
"Well… no," he grumbled, applying a salve lightly to Aya's stomach before redressing the wound for the final time. Isabela remained quiet while standing close to Hawke's back, still playing with her hair. Anders tried not to look, but he couldn't ignore the subtle pangs of jealousy that hit him.
"You should get out. Go save some stray kittens," Hawke said with a smile, gently touching his arm. As jealous and hopeless and resentful as he often felt towards the apostate, it seemed he was also completely vulnerable to her kindness. He hungered for so much more than her delicate friendship, but whenever she did something as simple as touch his arm, or smile at him, or tell him to get out of his dank clinic more often, his eyes would light up. Isabela had noticed this long ago, and did not fail to notice it now. If she didn't know that Hawke had such a big, innocent heart, the pirate might even feel envious. As it were, she only felt a slight surge of pride knowing the mage had freely and fervently given that heart to her, for as long as she would have it.
"That… would be nice, Hawke," he commented somewhat nervously, wrapping the last of the bandages. "There you go… but, I don't know if I can. Not today, at least. Or the next few days. I have some work to do."
"What kind of work," she asked curiously, fixing her shirt. "It must be especially important if it outweighs all those poor, helpless Kirkwall kittens." He let out a stilted chuckle as his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. Isabela groaned inwardly, expecting him to spew some righteous crap about the priorities of mages and the significance in the ideals of his damned manifesto. Surprisingly, she actually believed in a lot of what he had to say… most of the time. When it came to choosing between templars and mages, her choice was simple: both may be capable of violence, but only mages were subject to unjust persecution and imprisonment. Seeing as she hated oppression in any of its various facets, particularly those that involved magical lobotomies, she had to sympathize with their cause. Of course, falling in love with an apostate had also endowed her with a rather obvious bias that obliged her to their cause, but regardless, she found their plight relatable. Anders made a point of all this, to which she could whole heartedly agree, though it was Justice who put her off. For it was the increasingly prominent and disgruntled spirit who crammed his views down everyone's throats and convoluted Anders' cause.
"Well, perhaps I shouldn't say work," he replied, turning his back on Hawke as he began pacing the floor slightly. "It's more of… an experiment."
"Experiment?" Aya stood, inching closer to the healer. His sudden changes in mood – from cheery, to bashful, to aggravated, and then sharply to vaguely anxious – unnerved her. It seemed lately that his words and actions were becoming as erratic as his constantly swinging emotions, which would be worrisome enough without Justice in the equation.
"Yes, that sounds more appropriate. I've spent a great deal of the past month mulling over a kind of… revelation that I had, and researching a means of rectifying it." He turned suddenly to face both women, a remote flame bristling enigmatically in his eyes, laden with unchecked weariness. This inexorable blaze alone was enough to pique Isabela's curiosity thoroughly; however, she sensed the reservations Aya shouldered in this moment. The Champion was the only one who was capable of talking Anders down off whatever precarious perch he'd happened to thrust himself upon. His currently skewed zeal did not bode well for her wariness of him. "You see, we were both wrong, Hawke. You thought it selfless of me to offer my body to a friend. In some ways, it very well may have been. But there are times when I know that… that even Justice looks down upon the choice that I made. Not for his sake, but for mine, as a mage. And when I feel his shame and apprehension, I know that what I did was unnatural. It should never have happened."
"Unnatural," Hawke asked, confused and somewhat concerned. "Anders, this is… sudden. What provoked such strong feelings?"
"Vengeance," he spat, causing Aya's brow to knit together further. Isabela didn't harbor much of an opinion on the ethical standing of Anders' choices regarding Justice, though she did agree that his sudden and vehement opposition of them was a bit unusual. "Look, Hawke," he said, his voice softening again, "it doesn't matter. My mind is made up. Now, I'm going to be trying something – a solution, if you will. And I was thinking that perhaps you'd like to be a part of it. I could use your help."
"I…" Aya hesitated for a moment, glancing quickly at the pirate, who could only shrug. Quite frankly, this concession of Anders' was weirdly abrupt, though Isabela failed to see the drawback in it. Unless, of course, it involved him mangling himself or putting her lover in harm's way. "I will help you, of course I will. But just what needs to be done?" Anders grinned widely, pleased to see Hawke was on his side. However, it seemed to Isabela that there was also something small but undeniably grim in the way he smiled at her, something she could not place. That left her feeling a bit unnerved, too.
"The Tevinter Magisters were the only mages who ever sought to reverse spirit possession. Did you know that?" Hawke shook her head hesitantly. "While studying their methods, I stumbled across the formula for a potion that I believe will effectively separate Justice from me. Without killing either of us," he quickly added, noticing the cautious look on Aya's face.
"Just because it won't kill you doesn't mean it's not dangerous." Anders' lip curled, just a fraction.
"There are always dangers with magic. But I believe this will be worth the cost." Isabela felt Hawke stiffen beside her, tacitly weighing the potential repercussions of the healer's actions. She was so steadfast in her support of her friends, though she would never be so foolish as to allow them to undergo a task that would harm them in more ways than it would help them. This had always been Hawke's constant dilemma with Merrill and the Eluvian. In the end, she had stood by the blood mage's side and had steered her in her eventual decision to destroy the blighted mirror. This support had not come without its grave costs, but when all was said and done, Merrill was safe, and that was all that mattered.
Finally, Hawke's shoulders loosened as she sighed and said, "If you truly believe so, then I'm sure you're right." Anders' eyes glistened with a twinge of sudden ardor that had nothing to do with his anticipation over the potion. Isabela unconsciously drifted closer to Aya, pointedly grazing flesh.
"I knew you'd stand behind me in this," he said, admiration plain in his soft voice before it suddenly dipped into a somewhat dismal undertone. "Even if…"
"What," Hawke asked, her voice sounding a bit pitchier than she had intended. He turned his gaze squarely upon her for a moment as his brow furrowed deeply. He eyed the apostate with unkempt solemnity, betraying any reassurance he might try and press upon her. For a moment, Isabela felt certain that Anders planned to endanger Hawke in some way, but quickly shook off the thought. He… loved her. It was useless and irksome in all ways, except that it made him attempt fiercely to protect her – that was rather beneficial. No good could come of his feelings otherwise.
The pirate dismissed her distrust when Anders merely shook his head and smiled. He was just fidgeting and thinking grim, she assumed, like he always seemed to as of late. Whatever he was going to try, it could only cause him harm. He's just worried he's going to incur the not-so-infamous wrath of Aya Hawke, Isabela thought with a smirk, her nerves abated.
"Nothing," he assuaged, somewhat feebly in Hawke's opinion. "I just really hope that this… plan of mine works. I haven't put much thought into what I'll do if it falls through." Aya smiled lightly. She was unnerved by Anders' oblique manner of speaking, but thought it best to support him, regardless.
"Then we'll make sure that you don't have to. So what is the plan, Anders?" The healer went on to explain which ingredients he needed to collect for the potion – rocks and sewer minerals, the pirate griped silently. She didn't suppose either would be entirely difficult to procure, but in the event that they might come across dragonlings or some other trouble in their search, Isabela wasn't pleased that the healer felt so eager to include the still tender Hawke in his experiment. She was being overly cautious, she knew, but after nursing the mage back to health in the past week, she couldn't help it.
"And you're sure it's such a good idea for Hawke to be running all over creation to find these ingredients? I still think it's a bit soon." Aya rolled her eyes, but gave her lover's hand a squeeze, nonetheless.
"I have to start getting into trouble again at some point, Bela. Why not start now? In fact, let's go incite a riot in the bazaar or something – return my life to its naturally chaotic order already."
Anders tried not to stare at their interlaced fingers when he conceded, "Isabela is right, Hawke. I imagine you've only been up and walking around the city for a couple of hours and you're already looking like you could use a nap. Then again, you also make a good point. So, how about this: we'll give your stamina the rest of the weekend to recuperate, and then we'll gather bright and early Monday and go trudge through some piss and shit. Sound good?"
"Not at all. But we'll be there."
"Wonderful," Anders said before staring blankly at his boots in the small silence that followed. The quiet only seemed to exacerbate Aya's nagging suspicion further, causing her eyes to narrow. She tightened her grip on Isabela's hand abruptly, and the pirate turned to her with a questioning glance. However, she found that Hawke was not staring back at her, but at Anders.
"Do you want me to worry," she asked him suddenly. He met her gaze, trying to appear both amenable and confused, and not quite portraying either very believably.
"Excuse me?"
"I know you're moody," she shrugged. "And the revisions you've made to your manifesto recently have been pretty… fatalistic, which doesn't bode well for this sudden change of heart you're expressing. I might believe it a bit more if you weren't also so purposely vague."
"I'm not sure you-"
"I just want to know what you're not telling me Anders."
"Don't you think your distrust is a bit unwarranted? We are friends." Aya wanted nothing of his inauspicious reply. To her, it sounded like evasion. She should have fought him for an actual answer, if only to ease her mind, but instead opted to appease Anders.
"Of course," she sighed.
"Then you need not worry so much." Hawke stared hard at the healer for a moment, debating internally whether or not she should push the matter. Eventually she decided to abandon her assertions in case they might cause an unwanted argument. She would collect the ingredients, then confront him if need be. Until then, she would drop it.
"I guess not. Thank you again for the checkup. We'll see you Monday morning."
"Thank you, Hawke." Anders grinned widely in her direction, but she felt no inclination to return the appreciation. Instead, she tugged at Isabela's hand and made her way quickly to the door. Though they didn't say a word, both women had to wonder if they'd gotten themselves into something they would regret.
Neither Isabela nor Hawke really had much of an idea what they were expecting from Anders' experiment – a lie perhaps. Though the Champion had left the Darktown clinic that previous Saturday in a calm and resolute contemplation, one which Isabela constantly attempted to break, she had been more vocal about her worries the night before they left for the small mission.
"I just don't know," she sighed, lying in the garden as her rogue lover sharpened her daggers by the light of a lantern. The weather had improved greatly in the past month, easing into the soothing warmth and rolling green renewal of spring. It was often hard to appreciate the calm, pastoral restoration of late April under the confines of a city as clustered and grey as Kirkwall, and so Isabela and Hawke had taken to retiring to her garden on most evenings. Merrill had kept the area lush and fragrant; however, she was not one to maintain it in a tidy and contained manner – not as Leandra had before her passing. The tiny elf believed in a more wild and free-roaming approach to botany, with vivid and lively plants coiling around the estate and backyard of their own accord. Some of the other nobles might consider this small paradise unkempt and overgrown, but as Merrill had suggested, it momentarily loosened Aya's bounds to the claustrophobic city and gave her a sense of freedom – something she felt less and less in the past six months. It became her respite on nights when she was home, without work or obligations.
The apostate ran her fingers through her hair, inhaling deeply of the soft grass and lilacs planted beside her. This was her favorite spot – between the lilac bushes and the ancient oak tree in the backyard – it smelled delightful, provided shade from the encroaching spring heat, and allowed her a bit of pleasant nostalgia. She imagined that as children her mother and uncle had played in this spot often. Gamlen would climb the tree and Leandra would sit beside the lilacs and read the books of poetry and fairytales that she had always favored. Or, at least, that is what Aya imagined. She wished she'd thought to inquire of such wistful visions when her mother was still with her. Or perhaps she simply wished her mother had not been taken. No matter, she pushed those thoughts away as Isabela smiled down at her kindly.
"Don't know what?"
"What to do with Anders. I'm afraid he's going to get himself into trouble. A lot of trouble." She stared up at the stars, extending her hands towards the sky and spreading her fingers like a wandering child. From her perspective, it looked as though she could run her fingers through the vast blanket of purplish obsidian. When she was young, she had always imagined that, if she could touch the night sky, it would feel like velvet. The sunshine and azure of the day would feel like cotton, but the night would feel like a fine, dark piece of Orlesian velvet, held delicately in her long appendages. The stars, on the other hand, were not for feeling. They were merely for watching, and for being watched. Or, at least, this is what she had thought since she was a little girl.
Hawke had first experienced death at the age of five. She'd lost her best friend – a boy from the village in which they lived – one summer's day as they were picking wild strawberries by the river. The boy, Julian, had bent over the riverbank to pluck a particularly succulent looking strawberry and fallen into the water. Neither could swim, and Aya knew that in the time it would take her to run back to the village and fetch their parents, Julian would be lost. So, instead, she was forced to watch frantically as her dearest friend drowned.
There was nothing she could've done, she knew, but she still feared that she would be blamed for Julian's death. The river had taken the drowning boy from her, so she couldn't even lead his parents to a body. In utter shock, she sat by the water for the remainder of the afternoon and the evening. She couldn't move or think. Eventually, after nightfall, her frightened father found her. She remembered him yelling at her, his face awash with worry and subsequent relief. He may have asked about Julian – she couldn't comprehend the words that fell from his mouth. Instead, she stared blankly at the stars as he scooped her into his arms and carried her home.
In the distance between the river and the village, she thought about where Julian had gone after he drowned. Not so much where the river had taken his body, but where the maker had taken his soul. However, as she gazed upon the stars, she realized he must be up there, beside the maker and Andraste and every single soul that had ever been taken from this life. She realized that those stars, burning fiercely in the sky like a million tiny explosions, were not stars at all. Rather they were more like eyes – the eyes of the dead – peeking down from eternity to watch over the ones that they loved. She picked out the biggest star in the sky, and knew it had to be Julian.
Lying in the garden, her head resting upon Isabela's thigh, she knew the three biggest, brightest stars in the sky were now her mother, father, and baby sister. That comforted her a bit as she mulled over the constant calamity that was her life.
"You don't think his experiment will work?" The pirate, finished with her daggers, placed them in the grass and leaned back on her elbows.
"It's not really the experiment I'm worried about. It's just… he's hiding something, you know? And I'm sure it can't be anything good. He was acting so damn twitchy and ominous."
"He always acts that way around you, sweet thing," Isabela laughed lightly. "You should try and be a little less irresistible sometimes." The mage rolled her eyes.
"You know this is different. He was acting like a guilty little boy. Except… with an obnoxious spirit stuck inside of him." Isabela was silent for a few moments, casting off her sarcasm to thoroughly consider what Hawke was saying. She knew just as well as Aya how foreboding Anders' nerves could be. She suspected he was up to no good – to what degree, she was unsure; however, his odd behavior did warrant an unusual amount of anxiety in her. Of course, she didn't want to tell Aya this. The apostate needed Isabela's aloof sense of humor to assuage the pesky negative thinking she was prone to. Her sarcasm may aggravate Hawke at times, but it was still healthier than reinforcing her worries outright.
"He's got plenty of reasons to be guilty. But you never know how much of that guilt comes from Justice. That damn spirit is so self-righteous he could make Andraste feel like a bloody whore." Finally, Isabela had gotten a laugh out of the other woman. She grinned, noting the way her heart seemed to beat faster when listening to the soft, dulcet tones of Hawke's laughter. There wasn't a great many things in the pirate's life that actually made her feel like a good person. But for some reason, when she made Aya laugh, particularly on a bad day, or a worrisome night such as this, she truly felt like she was doing something right. It felt nice.
Isabela dropped from her elbows to lie down on her back fully. She eased in to Aya as closely as possible, nestling their heads together so that their hair meshed in flowing rivulets. Hawke still stared intensely at the stars, though a contented smile now lay upon her lips. The pirate did the same, gazing into the dark expanse overhead in an attempt to see whatever it was that Hawke was seeing. To Isabela, they were just stars – beautiful, of course – but just stars, nonetheless. They always looked brightest to her over the sea. She wondered if, to Aya, they looked brightest over Ferelden.
Another minute of silence passed before the apostate remarked, "You know what I think really worries me about this situation?"
"Hmm?"
"Well, with Anders… he escaped from the circle seven times. I'm surprised the templars didn't just execute him. I mean, I always assumed that if a mage were that much trouble, they'd just kill them. Maybe not in Ferelden though – I don't know. I tried not to ask too many questions about the circle growing up, in case I ever ended up there." She shifted a bit, then continued on, her voice growing darker. "After the seventh time he was conscripted by the wardens, where he was granted a reprieve from the circle. And I guess being one of the Grey wasn't exactly a picnic, what with the taint and the Darkspawn slaying, but if it granted him an official pardon from the circle… he should've stayed. Instead he ran away from them and fled to Kirkwall, where he settled down in a secret clinic just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the damn gallows," she said mordantly.
"He's evaded capture for years, but he's getting careless. If something goes wrong with this experiment, or if… if he's planning something worse, they'll catch on. And this time, they won't take him to the circle. They won't even execute him – that's not the way of the templars in Kirkwall. They'll make him tranquil. That's a fate worse than death, Bela. And if the templars tried to subject one of my friends to that – Anders or Merrill – I would kill every last one of them." The pirate was surprised by this blunt, plaintive admission. Aya wasn't a killer, after all. When it came to defending herself and the ones she loved, or if just an innocent stranger in desperate need, she would kill. Regardless, she was not a killer. But she talked about taking out the templars as if she were. Maybe she would be, if they pushed her and her principles towards a high enough precipice. Tranquility would be her breaking point. "I guess that's what worries me most." It worried Isabela, too. And though she didn't want to ask Aya what she would do if tranquility were thrust upon her, she felt she had to.
"What if it wasn't them," she inquired softly. "What if it was you?" Aya was quiet for several moments before she slipped her hand into Isabela's and squeezed tightly.
"A fate worse than death…" she repeated, quieter still. The pirate wanted to allay both their fears, but couldn't bring herself to. She could only hope that it wouldn't come to that.
The ingredients had been relatively easy to collect. When obtaining the sela petrae they had encountered some thugs and a remarkable amount of aesthetic unpleasantness. When searching for the drakestone, they found that the Bone Pit had once again been infested with dragons. However, all of these creatures and cretins had been rather easily dispatched. Aya was tired, and still wary of Anders' motivations, though she was put at ease by the positive turn of mood he achieved from acquiring both. He was all smiles on the return trip to his clinic, and Hawke and Isabela were silently happy that it seemed they could avoid a confrontation with the healer. Unfortunately, as the three companions, as well as Varric, arrived at the clinic, Anders' previously suspicious behavior reemerged.
As he left them in the front room of his clinic while he put away his new ingredients, Isabela turned to Hawke and quietly said, "I think you'll need to confront him. I would do it myself, but… well, I think we both know that would end in a complete brawl." The apostate sighed and nodded, a determined look taking place on her face as Anders reappeared.
"Aya," he strode towards them like a man possessed… figuratively, not literally. There was a sudden urgency to his voice that left his three companions slightly taken aback. His moods seemed to change with more rapidity each passing day. "Now that I have the necessary ingredients, there's one last thing I must ask of you. And I can't tell you why." Hawke's brow knitted in slight confusion at his abrupt, business-like manner. Just before they'd returned he'd been smiling and sarcastic – the old Anders. "I must get inside the chantry, without being seen." Aya's eyes widened briefly before narrowing – Anders wanting to sneak into the chantry was most decidedly not a good thing.
"What?"
"Will you talk to the Grand Cleric for me? Distract her long enough for me to do what must be done?" Isabela and Varric glared at Anders, suspecting some sort of foul play, though the healer acknowledged only Hawke.
"What 'must be done'? Anders… what are you plotting?" He smiled slightly, concealing his motivations well. Aside from his obvious jitters and sudden urgency, it was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking.
"You would not thank me if I told you." His voice was abruptly affected with a sharp, slightly accusatory tone when he next spoke. "If you support freedom of mages, help me. That's all I can say." Aya was clearly wounded by this comment, and still rather perplexed. Isabela imagined dozens of possible scenarios – Anders' possible plots – moving a mile a minute within her quick mind.
"You want me to distract the Grand Cleric… and talk to her about what?"
"Food? The Weather," he replied sarcastically. "What does it matter?" Hawke snorted. "No… talk of mages. Give her one final chance to hear what we have suffered. To pick a side. I assume she'll be more inclined to listen to the Champion of Kirkwall."
There was a pause, then Aya went deadpan as she calmly asked, "What is it you don't want me to see?" Anders' face darkened and he was quick with a retort, once again trying to guilt Hawke as he had when persuading her to help him retrieve the ingredients for his potion. Isabela gritted her teeth as she held herself back from making a biting comment – she didn't want to instigate the situation in any way.
"Don't you believe in me, Hawke? Don't you believe that mages deserve to live free of the templars' grasp?"
"Of course I do," she yelled, anger suddenly evident. However, in typical Hawke fashion, she reigned it in just as soon as she'd let it spill forth. "I've lived in fear of them my whole life, Anders. You know that."
"Then trust me now." His face softened, and he reached out to place a hand on Aya's should. The contact seemed to make her uncomfortable and she shrugged out of it, much to the healer's dismay. "I am doing only what is necessary."
"I…" She struggled to find the appropriate response as her composure chipped away slowly. Perhaps only Isabela noticed this; in fact, it was likely. The change in the apostate's appearance was subtle as her jaw tightened, and her shoulders twitched, indecision and frustration evident. "I can't act blindly. Tell me your plan."
"I am taking a risk. I would not see you drawn into it." Bull, Isabela thought. The very thing he was asking was for Aya to involve herself in the situation, whatever that may be. "But," he quickly added, his voice sounding terribly snide as he remarked Hawke's growing hesitancy, "maybe your support of mages ends at talk. It's easy to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it."
"Are you kidding me," she snapped, coming within two inches of Anders' face. For someone who apparently had strong feeling for the Champion, he was becoming very good at driving her to dislike him. This satisfied Isabela, but also unnerved her. "You talk about freedom as if I've never fought for it! I fight for it, every day. And not just for myself, but for family and friends and even strangers, for Maker's sake! So do not speak to me with your latent accusations that I am somehow apathetic to the cause of mages. You're so taken with your personal vision of justice that you… you seem disenchanted with what freedom truly means to us." He was silent for a moment, contemplating her words with obvious spite. Isabela knew that had to sting, for both of them.
"I'm sorry if you disagree with my passion, Hawke. I don't believe you are apathetic towards our cause. I'm just not so sure that our cause is the same."
"I know what to fight for, Anders. I'm not so sure that you do." Cold fury bubbled within him, and Hawke took a step back.
"I am the cause of mages. There is nothing else inside of me! You… you, on the other hand," he spat, "are the revered Champion of Kirkwall. An apostate, but a hero, nonetheless. The templars of this city would have the heads of a dozen lowly mages before they would have yours!" As his final words echoed throughout the clinic in burgeoning silence, Varric and Isabela standing back with shock at his implications, the pirate expected Aya to explode. However, Hawke's shoulders merely slumped, and as Isabela tried to get a good look at her face, it seemed she was masking herself from her companions. Is she… guilty? "So, will you aid me now? Or does your support stop at the chantry door?" Hawke was silent for many seconds before she replied, her entire demeanor seeming to have shrunk. Now Isabela was sure she was guilty.
"Why don't you talk to the Grand Cleric? You could at least try to find a peaceful solution of some sort-" Anders laughed sardonically, cutting Aya off.
"That's far too idealistic to ever happen. They're all the same, you know. The Grand Cleric, the templars, Meredith. Elthina may be a bit kinder, but when all is said and done, she sees us just as they do: monsters. And believe me when I say they can't imagine a world with room for all of us. Who knows though… maybe they're right."
"No. That's not true, Anders. You can talk to her. Show her that you – that mages – are just as reasonable and peaceful as they are." The two apostates were quiet, peering at each other as though searching for something – some sort of answer perhaps. Finally, Hawke said, "I don't know what you're planning. But you don't have to do it. You can find a better way – the best way. There's still time." Anders turned away slightly, leering into the fire at the far end of the room with his shoulders suddenly trembling. Hawke remained steady, feeling as though she had perhaps dissuaded him from whatever horrible thing he'd had in mind.
"Yes, time. Maybe there's still… time," he whispered. In an instant, the trembling in his shoulders grew into sudden, violent tremors as he rounded on Hawke, his eyes glowing blue with indignant rage. Just like that, she had incurred Justice's temper.
"Leave! This does not concern you," the booming, disjointed voice commanded. Instead of stepping back, Aya lunged forward once again, just inches from the possessed man, and challenged his wrath. Startled, Isabela's hands tensed, at the ready to reach for her daggers and gut Anders if he even attempted to lay a hand on the Champion. Beside her, Varric seemed just as ready and alert.
"This is Anders' decision, not yours!"
"I am Anders," Justice persisted, though he did not seem as though he was ready to attack Hawke yet. "You have given into sloth! You would stand by while mages are abducted and tortured. Go! Anders has no need of you." Aya's fists clenched, as she was about to retort when Justice's blue glow suddenly faded from the healer's features and was replaced with utter confusion. The Champion, however, remained tensed. "What was I saying?" That was most certainly Anders, and Anders alone.
"You… don't know what just happened," Hawke asked, her voice still tinged with anger and stress. Anders shook his head, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes clouded with solemnity. Aya unclenched her fists and took a step back, closer to Isabela and Varric.
"No, I… was it him?" He seemed fearful that Justice had overtaken him so swiftly, and without his knowledge. However, the pirate suspected he was also afraid of what he'd said to his friend. It hadn't been the worst thing he could've thrown at her, but it had certainly hit a nerve, which is what now warranted her caution and subtle retreat.
"Yeah," Hawke nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment and gulped, a mixture of sadness and anxiety glazing over his soft eyes. Aya winced, but did not dare move closer to him. He was no longer the friend he had once been, and that was stringently apparent to her.
"Forget what I have asked of you today, Hawke. If you can," he responded, his voice just barely above a whisper. Normally, the kind-hearted apostate would have fought these words in an attempt to protect Anders, to console him and assuage the constant worry that he was nothing more than… well, a monster. But after the accusations he had hit her with, she could only give him a slow nod before turning towards the door, motioning Isabela and Varric to follow with a murmur and pursed lips.
The pirate obliged and remained silent. Unlike Hawke, however, she actually did look back as they left, and what she saw filled her with complete anger. For instead of seeing a man broken and aggrieved, she saw a man stirred with determination and the thinly veiled knowledge that he was, somehow, right in his convictions.
Though she did not have the heart to say it to Aya just then, she knew that whatever the healer was planning, he fully intended on going through with it. Apparently, the consequences didn't matter.
Once again I want to thank all the people who have continued to read and review consistently (and those that have done so less than consistently, as well). You're all wonderful, and I love your reviews. Please, keep them coming : )
