The Wicked Dream looks so much like the Siren's call, right down to the shit-stained deck and the filthy sailors.
I cup the nape of my neck with one hand and roll it lazily, the hot sun on the horizon making me sweat. Far below, men are moving cargo like ants scuttling around with larvae on their backs. I suppose I wouldn't see them as such if I weren't lounging atop the roof of a foundry overlooking the docks. I know it isn't particularly healthy, but I find myself visiting this familiar perch whenever I feel wistful or land sick, which happens more often than I like. It's fun to examine the many prize ships before me, devising a clever scheme of piracy that is never carried out. My gaze wanders back to the Wicked Dream, sails rippling in the wind.
I'd take the guards out first, make it quick and quiet. Then go for the ropes, take control of the helm with a fair bit of stealth, and make sure to escape from those docks. If I could go far enough from the port I could none-too-kindly convince the sailors without difficulty—
"By the Maker! From that starved look on your face, it's a wonder the city guard doesn't arrest you for pre-meditated theft."
Blinking from my thoughts, I peer down to see Hawke squinting up at me, hands on her hips.
"That's the beauty of it," I retort. "I keep the stick-up-their-ass guards busy while you putter away with an army of virginal templars; keeps the fun in our corner."
Hawke raises an eyebrow, and I respond with a nimble descent to the ground. Side by side, we make our way up towards Lowtown.
"You excited about your big blowout surprise party?" I exclaim cheerfully. Hawke groans and cuts me a sidelong glance.
"Honestly, Isabela, your lack of self control rivals that of Merill."
I snort, insulted. "Who was it who told me she hated surprises?"
"That doesn't mean you have to ruin it for everybody else!" she snaps, kicking at a loose stone at her feet. "I'm a terrible actress."
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, but she pointedly steps out of my innocent, friendly embrace. Ignoring her chaste shyness, I offer her a wide grin.
"That's why you have such a kind and capable woman like me in your life, Hawke. I more than make up for your lack of subtlety."
She scoffs. "Isabela, you have the subtlety of a knife to the throat."
"Nonsense!"
"A knife that shines even in the dark."
I shake my head sympathetically. "I know what you're doing Hawke, and I wont let you escape our little gathering, no matter how much you break my heart."
"But—"
"Kitten has been working on decorations and present gathering for ages. And Fenris actually agreed to lay back on the wine tonight. Varric bribed the Hanged Man to ourselves, and that was no easy price, mind you. Its safe to assume your man Anders has something up his feathery sleeve and I even managed to sweet-talk little Carver away from the Gallows for you. And don't even get me started on how I lowered myself to hunting down Sir Aveline…"
She sighs quite dramatically. "Alright, alright. You win Isabela. I'll go to your damned party. I'll just have you know that Carver will rue the day he mentioned my date of birth to you vultures."
With a laugh, I slap the mage on the back. "You won't regret this my sweet!"
"I'm regretting it already," Hawke says with a wry smile.
The party was a roaring a success.
Save for the occasional skirmish between Carver and Anders, and then between Aveline and myself, the night went by with little incident. I even gave Fenris some pointers on dueling, though the stubborn mutt lacks the underhandedness involved.
With the finest the Hanged Man has to offer, we all played a few rounds of Diamondback, and our Guard Captain proved how sore a loser she can be. We also had many drunken debates over our pints, where we learned without much surprise that Carver shares Aveline's mulish pride.
Then we moved on to the presents! Kitten carved an elvish charm to ward off some haggish dog. Hawke dutifully draped the charm around her neck, hugging our little blood mage affectionately.
Varric's gift was wrapped in fine silk. Hawke unwrapped it gently to reveal a shining gold bracer with three stamina runes engraved in the shape of a triangle. An emerald with a lustrous colour similar to that of her eyes gleamed between them. It was stunning, the smug bastard. The bracer found its way swiftly to her bicep.
The trinket Carver presented to Hawke seemed to mean something. At first she growled at him, demanding where he found it. After a hasty explanation about Meeran and such, she forgave him with a swift kiss to the cheek. The fine young templar wasn't fond of that.
When the playful wrestling subsided, Anders offered her a glass box, with a rose encased within. Some sort of magic kept its petals from shriveling.
"I want them all to see the beauty our magic can preserve," he explained. Hawke stared into his eyes with gooey, sickening love and clasped his hand.
Fenris, being the ever-practical elf he is, gifted Hawke with a heartbreakingly deadly dagger of fine dwarven make. I glared at him, lusting over the work of art. Yet after careful consideration, I decided that his choice made sense: Hawke depends far too much on her staff for protection.
Aveline surprised us all. She bought Hawke a small shack in the Sunderlands, complaining that she was tired of Hawke returning to Kirkwall with a fever from camping on the ground. We all know her true purpose, though. If the templars decide to arrest Hawke, she will have somewhere to hide.
As for me, I humbly gifted Hawke with some fine undergarments fit to attract any man in the Free Marches, or in her case, Anders. I knew she was lacking from my brief forays through her belongings, and by the look on her face when she beheld my gifts, she has never owned any. With a cute little squeek, she rewrapped them with an indignant, "Isabela!"
I know she likes them.
By this point, the party is dying down. Aveline is of course the first to depart, going on and on about her duties. Fenris is still recovering from a shoulder wound—being too stubborn to accept any magical healing—and bids us farewell. Merill also takes her leave, Varric insisting he walk her home at this late hour. From the look of the two lovebirds in the corner and Carver's scathing glares in their direction, I too order my last drink before the sparks fly.
Lost in drunken thought, it takes a moment to register Hawke's presence at the bar beside me.
Grinning wickedly, I say, "That wasn't a bad faux supris look back there. You've got the heart of a pirate in you, sweet thing."
Hawke chuckles good-naturedly. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Hawke. I mean, your life isn't nearly so spontaneous as mine."
"Wouldn't want to steal your title now, would I?"
"You couldn't even if you wanted to."
We nurse our drinks in companionable silence for a time. I'm happy to hear Anders and Carver conversing in civil tones for once. A birthday miracle. Now, if we can achieve the same with Fenris on Varric's special day…
"You miss it a lot," Hawke states quietly, rolling her empty cup on its edges.
"I miss a lot of things, sweet thing. You'll have to be more specific."
"Being a pirate," she clarifies. "The ships, the crew, the adventure, all of it. I see you staring across the sea from that foundry roof all the time."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Nothing I can do about it without a ship and a loyal crew. Besides. " I knock my shoulder against hers. "You would all be lost without me, even with Aveline scaring all the bad men off." I ignore the disbelieving twinge in my gut at my words.
Hawke smiles her agreement. "Either way…" she looks uncomfortable, and before I can fish out what she wants to say, she shoves a prickly object in my hand. I open my fingers to examine the most adorable model ship I have ever seen. It looks innocent, with its pure white sails and its basic structure, but that adds to its appeal.
"Oh, isn't that the cutest thing!" I coo, unable to contain myself.
Hawke shifts her feet, leaning from side to side. "That's not exactly what I had in mind when I gave it to you."
Before she can stop me, I kiss her on the lips. As I pull back, I hear a strangled sound from both Anders and Carver. They should consider themselves lucky. I know when Anders will be loving Hawke tonight, he won't get that kiss out of his head.
The mage herself looks embarrassed. "I mean, its something to aspire to…to get you your ship…a real one I mean."
I fight back a smile, trying to ignore the fact that she sounds a hell of a lot like Kitten. "Thank you, Hawke," I say, cradling the little ship to my chest. "It's a thoughtful gesture."
I know I will be taking my little ship to meet all of its bigger family members tonight, but I know I won't feel as lonely this time.
