A/N: *taps the dusty microphone* ...is this thing on? Is anyone still out there reading this?

Sharp Little Pinpricks

Chapter 9: Winds of Change, Part I

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It was still early in the morning and majority of the island was either asleep or passed out drunk. Vendors were beginning to set up shop underneath the faint, pink sky, accompanied only by the singing gulls above head and the few early-morning dwellers of Brandel's Reach. This 'market' area was stunningly and oddly beautiful given the nature of its inhabitants. The thickness of the surrounding trees made the vicinity slightly warmer than it was down by the shore and tavern, but what made it lovely still was the faint, sweet scent of the flowers that grew around the tree trunks. It was as if the wind carried their perfume there, circling it around the small space until everything enclosed smelled beautiful.

Hawke inhaled deeply. It was vastly different from anything she had previously experienced on this island. "Well this is a bit of a drastic change. It's lovely on this side."

Isabela chuckled, "It's the flowers and the direction of the breeze. They have a much stronger aroma than the flowers in Kirkwall or Ferelden. But don't be fooled," she warned mischievously. "The reason they are in such abundance is because one touch will make you itch like mad."

"Speaking from experience? I already told you to stop picking flowers in order to make me those bouquets. I know you admire me but honestly Isabela, they're starting to take up a bothersome amount of space."

"Clever girl," the pirate said with a grin. "Or maybe it's because while you were unconscious, I went on one of my merry adventures and stumbled upon a handsome man who had his way with me near one of those bushels..."

"If that's what you did then I'm sure it's not the flowers that made you itch," Hawke retorted with self-satisfaction.

"Mm," the pirate thought aloud, eyebrow arching in contemplation. "You might be right about that."

Hawke's smile fell from her lips and her eyes narrowed as she turned to view Isabela's expression. She couldn't tell if she was teasing or not. Eventually, Hawke opted for hitting the pirate on her shoulder who in turn offered a single nudge and the occasional smirk, both still apparently satisfied from each others company and a wonderful morning meal.

Isabela suddenly extended her arm and pointed sternly in the direction of a burly dwarf. "There's Bodok. I told him that today was the day we'd be getting more supplies for our—my ship," she said quickly and coughed as if something were lodged in her throat.

"Oh that's fine," Hawke reassured, not seeming to notice the mess of words but still patting the pirate on the back in attempt to relieve her. "You can go on ahead and do that. I have something else that needs to be taken care of."

"Ooo, I like it when you say things like that."

"It's nothing terribly exciting."

"Come on, what is it that you need to take care of," Isabela pried, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Hawke smiled in a way that was only meant for her pirate companion. The woman was incorrigible. "Oh just think what you'd wish, because Maker knows there's no telling you otherwise once you've gotten something into your head."

"Secret Rendezvous?"

Hawke groaned. Incorrigible indeed, much like that of a horny teenage boy. "...really? Here? You think I'd have a rendezvous here?"

"We've been at sea for months with little time to dock in between. At this point just about anything starts looking attractive. I seriously just gave a batch of cucumbers a twice over back there. So come on, what is that you need to do? And will it be involving sex or gold and the ability to make off like bandits?"

"No. I'm going to—"

"Ugh." Isabela lifted a hand, her facial expression seemingly now lackluster. "This is where you tell me something mind-numbingly dull, isn't it. If you're going to take my fun at least leave my poor, deprived body my imagination. It'll help when I work the kinks out tonight."

"Then I'll just agree with you to make you happy," Hawke deadpanned as she turned away with a stone expression. "I've been caught," she continued, "I've had a secret lover on this island for as long as I could remember and have managed to keep him ...well, secret... up until now. Damn it all," she said in monotone, shaking a limp fist unenthusiastically.

"Oh, she's witty and beautiful," Isabela cooed, words falling from her tongue like silk. Knowing full well Hawke hated this, a slender finger curled underneath the blonde's chin and tickled there lightly, promptly sending Marian into a fit of slapping hands. Isabela chuckled at the dry humor of her warrior companion. "Fine, I'll play nice with you just this once. If you're not holding out on me then what's the real reason, sweet-thing?"

"I need a new weapon. If we were to get into a battle I'd be a bit on the defenseless side. I hear fists against weapons of a more pointy nature can be a bad thing—unless you're the type that's into people with nothing but stumps for limbs."

"Well it'd certainly never get boring between the sheets. I've heard that someone who can't use their hands or feet in bed must be very creative with...otherthings..."

"Maker, you really are deprived aren't you."

Isabela's steps slowed until she eventually stopped in her tracks. She laughed softly, a short sound followed by a rueful shake of her head, looking down for reasons unknown. "I'm sorry that I couldn't save your equipment. I know how much you adored your armor; you had actually found a big, clunky thing that still managed to make you look delicious. But it was either your armor or you to sink…"

"Believe me when I say that I'm grateful for your decision in choosing me," Hawke said and smiled, small and genuine while daring to lift Isabel's gaze to meet her own. Isabela's eyebrow rose. Hawke looked onto her friend so fondly then that the Rivaini took a small, involuntary half-step back from its intensity.

"You saved my life. Thank you..."

Imagination or not, color seemed to kiss the cheeks of Isabela's face, her eyes uneasily darting away from the green orbs that peered into her.

"Isabela, I—"

Isabela knew that look. There was something there, in the air between them, around them, above and below them. It was thrilling and excruciatingly terrifying all at once; so much so that her skin suddenly felt much warmer, almost feverish underneath the already bright and burning sun. "—oh no need to get all serious about it," she interrupted with another tense laugh, not knowing exactly how to respond but knowing she needed to stop Marian there for now. "Just consider it repayment for dueling the Arishok all those years ago. Now we're even! You know how much I hated watching you fight on my behalf. Knowing that I returned the favor makes it easier to manage—you know, my pride and what-have-you. Us sailors are very sensitive about our pride. And toast. Never touch a sailor's toast."

The hair on the back of Isabela's neck stood up; Hawke looked so much like she did the first time Isabela saw her what with that unwavering gaze and firm, confidant posture.

"Now we're even?" Hawke questioned. "I didn't realize we had been keeping score all this time."

Awkward.

Balls. Dark lips twitched into a frown before falling into neutrality. Slender hands wrung themselves together in an attempt to refrain from touching Hawke. She honestly didn't mean for her words to come out so indifferent. But no matter the person, Isabela still hated when someone managed to unnerve her. The act in itself was rare, so taming the nerves was unpracticed and discomfited.

Hawke turned her head to witness Bodok growing impatient in the distance, his hard leather boot tapping hastily on the ground. "I think your dwarven man is waiting."

Isabela nodded. "An eager sea-dog, that one. He doesn't like staying docked in one place for too long." The corner of her lip lifted. "A dwarf after my own heart. Anyways, I don't know how long we'll take. There are rations to restock and parts to be bought. We need more rope before Riggs begins to mope, and more whiskey to ensue much wanted frisky—I swear I'm not trying to rhyme."

"Fascinating," the blonde said dully, almost managing to crack a grin. "We'll just meet back at the tavern later. Try not to spend all we've saved in one place, will you?"

*-o-*-o-*

"Pfft, coin is meant for spending!" Isabela tilted her head in consideration, ignoring the echo of Hawke's earlier comment; this could be a very important purchase and she didn't want to choose incorrectly. Perhaps a second opinion was in order. "Oy, Bodok, what do you think about this?" The pirate placed her hand on a cocked hip and posed for her Quarter Master. "Too much? I think it might be."

Bodok crossed his thick arms and smirked, watching as Isabela adjusted the small, stuffed parrot on her shoulder before posing again.

"Well?" She held out her hands awaiting a response.

"Nah, it ain't too much," the dwarf finally replied in a deep, graveled voice. "I'd get the red one though."

"Really," Isabela asked, turning her head to eyeball the puffy bird. "I thought red would be too cliché for a pirate captain."

"Cliché would be a live parrot, Cap'in. A stuffed one would be completely different."

"Oh Bodok, what would I do without your invaluable insight?"

"Probably not consider buying a stuffed parrot for your shoulder."

"Hm," Isabela thought, scrunching her nose after another moment. "You're right. Too much," she sighed, finally resigning the idea of 'pirating' up her wardrobe for amusement, "let's go restock rations like intended."

The dwarf nodded, strolling along at Isabela's pace, he calls her attention to a few items here and there, stopping occasionally when the pirate queen began to browse. But when a sudden, brown blur bumps into his boss, Bodok reaches out to sloppily to snag it with little success. The blur, which turns out to be a boy in robes, runs past her, taking Isabela's small coin purse in the process. Bodok growls loudly, watching as Isabela does nothing then turning to make hasty steps in the boy's direction. "You sodding little blighter! Get ba—"

"Let him have his head start," Isabela said with a chuckle. "There's no rush; he won't get far." Something gleams under the sunlight and catches her eye. "Ooo, shiny," she exclaims, obviously in no sort of panic.

*-o-*-o-*

Tall. Broad-shouldered. These were the immediate things that Hawke noticed before tracing the long, curly black beard along his jaw. His hair had streaks of premature white. This man was in his early middle ages, still handsome even with the frown lines along his forehead and the crow's feet around his eyes. His attire was that of a blacksmith: a thick, brown apron, heavy pants, and a sleeveless top that showed off his solid arms. The morning air did nothing to cool the heat that surrounded his forge. Sweat already formed above his brows and on his chest. When Hawke strolled up to him and nodded her head, a hand simply came up to wipe at the perspiration before going right back to work. "If you're looking for a weapon you've come to the right place. I am able to twist this stubborn material into any size or shape with my hammer."

"What have you got?"

The blacksmith grinned, pounding away at red-hot steel. "What are you looking for?"

"Swords would be nice, but at this point anything of quality will do."

His eyebrows lifted in amusement, "Buying a gift for your husband, little one?"

"What a terrible joke. It's not feast-day is it?"

Soot covered hands ceased their movements as black eyes rose to greet hers properly, "The weapon would be for you?"

"No, not at all. I just like standing here in front of you inhaling all that smoke."

"You just don't seem like the type that would wield one, what with that pretty face of yours."

"How dear of you! I'm going to write your name down in my book of enchanting people that win at life and deserve cakes."

The blacksmith chuckled and threw hot metal into cool water. Thick steam rose between them. "What do you need it for?"

"Oh, you know," she flicked a wrist, already quite annoyed with all the inquiry. "I was planning to run through the island stark naked, swinging the weapon around like a mad woman in hopes of hitting small children. Or chickens. I hate chickens, don't you just hate chickens?"

A quick, strange look was the only response she was given.

Hawke sighed. "I lost my sword to the sea and I need a new one. It's pretty much that simple, blacksmith. I can take my coin elsewhere if you'd prefer," she said, extending an open palm towards other vendors. "Or do you always badger your customers with a hundred questions?"

"Pardon, I just didn't take you as a fighter. I can see I was mistaken," the smith replied, still with a smile on his face. His eyes traced down the length of Hawke's arm until they landed on her hands. In the light of the morning he could see the faint imprints of scars and calluses alike. "By the looks of it, it seems like you prefer large weapons. Perhaps those that need two hands to handle?"

Thank the Maker Isabela wasn't here to hear that. Marian followed his gaze before curling her fingers in and letting her hand drop to her side. "It's what I usually prefer, yes. Have you any of quality already made? And don't cheat me smithy, I know what quality is."

"I have a polearm, but no swords or axes," he said simply before turning around to sort through his merchandise, every so often looking over his shoulder to peek at the blonde. "So, you say you lost your sword to the sea?"

Hawke nodded, letting her eyes wander tiredly over some of his less impressive wares. "I did. I lost my armor too, but better the armor than me. Still, the sword was precious to me and its loss was regrettable."

"Interesting."

"You say interesting, I say unfortunate. Have you anything for sale or not?"

"I do," the smithy replied, moving aside so that the warrior may look at the wares he set out.

Disappointment was starting to show on Hawke's face as soon as she scanned through the surplus of differing weapons. The blacksmith was talented, but none of the merchandise seemed to catch any of her interest.

"Anything you like?"

"Nothing."

He crossed his arms and looked at her. "It's all of quality, I assure you. Pick them up and feel them out. The weight and balance is perfect on most."

"There's no need. There's nothing here I want."

As Hawke turned to leave, a strong hand reached out in her direction but stopped just short of touching the blonde. "Wait," his deep voice grumbled as he leaned over to grab something underneath his counter. It was covered when brought into view but Hawke could tell that it was long and sleek. "You seem to have quite the eye. So look at this," he said. And what he uncovered made both of Hawke's brows arch; a sword, brilliant in metal and beautiful in design. Her fingers twitched in response to the urge of wanting to touch. The sword gleamed under the sun, accentuating its unexplainably thin blade, sharp on both sides and deathly pointed at its tip.

"My son found this metal out in the forest near the opening of a cave. It was night and he was making his way back from the shore when he saw something fall from high in the darkened sky, its body ablaze in brilliant hues of red and blue. He grew curious and found it lying within a large hole later that night. After taking note of its location he came home and told me of what he had found. We packed an ox and went to retrieve it immediately. This is what I was able to produce with it. You want quality? You want beauty? Here it is. It is my best work to date."

Hawke reached for it but halted just above its hilt, raising her gaze to meet his in permission. When he nodded Hawke lifted it from its case, eyes wide at how surprisingly light it was to carry, almost as if it were made of hollowed wood rather than metal. "This is a strange but remarkable weapon," she said, eyes tracing its length.

"It took me quite the while to craft. But the end result was worth all that effort."

"I would have to agree with you. What would you charge for such a weapon?"

The smithy ran a sooty hand through his dark hair, "I had never really intended to sell it before. But winter will be here before you know it and sales have been poor this year. I would have to consider the price before offering you an estimate."

In actuality the price didn't matter to Hawke. Being the Champion of Kirkwall had its perks; over her years in the city she had amassed a fortune that was no where near depleted. She just wanted the sword. "I don't have much time left on this island. The ship I came on will most likely be leaving soon. If I am to purchase I would like it to be now."

"I see. In that case I can see it selling for no less than... twenty sovereigns of Ferelden weight and print?"

Hawke considered it, twisting and working the sword out in her hand. "That's a small fortune you ask for."

"I think we can both see that the sword is not ordinary. Take into consideration the time it took to craft and that the metal must be rare. I would say twenty sovereigns and no less is fair."

The warrior looked from the blacksmith to the sword before quirking her lip in a small grin. "I'll make you a deal. I will give you twenty-four sovereigns if you package a good kite shield with it."

The blacksmith smiled triumphantly before kneeling behind his counter to gather a mass in his arms. "For twenty-five sovereigns I'll not only give you a shield, but a dagger for your boot and a quality sheath for your sword. Deal?"

Hawke considered the offer. She nodded.

"Good exchange," he said in that baritone voice. He produced a thick object covered in more black linen. After placing it on the old, wooden counter he removed the covering. Hawke's face lit up. The shield was indeed well made and just as beautiful. Hawke's fingertip ran down its face, feeling the smoothness she found there.

"Have you heraldry," the smithy asked. "I can't paint, but I can fine-chisel it into your shield's wall if you'd like? No extra cost."

Those were three of her favorite words. Hawke retrieved a small handkerchief from her belt and showed it to the smith, pointing towards the small crest in its corner. She made no mention of its name, but the design was no other than that of the Amell family: two giant, winged creatures that reached for each other, their talons and feathers intertwining into a delicate, yet tribal design. "Can you do this?"

He observed it carefully, two bushy eyebrows furrowing together before he made a decision. "I can manage that, yes."

"Great," the warrior said with a genuine smile, taking the correct amount of coins from her purse and laying them in neat stacks by his hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you. I'll be taking my sword and dagger now, but I'll be back for the shield by the end of this evening."

"No need, I'll have my boy deliver it to you when it's done. Where and who should he send this to?"

"My name is Hawke and you can send it to the tavern. Tell the boy to leave it with Digby, the barkeep. It'll be fine with him until I pick it up. Send it covered by that linen. I want it wrapped tight."

"It will be done."

"Oh, and blacksmith? I wouldn't try to cheat me. The shield had better be with me by the end of the night."

"There's no need for threats, serah. I am a man of my word."

Hawke regarded him for a moment before nodding her head. She turned away and inhaled, considering the enticement of going for a walk since the day was still young. From the time when she had fallen over Isabela's ship to now, there had been time to think but very little time to do it privately. Hawke thought of the dream she had had and of her dearest friend. She let her mind wander, beginning to walk off into the forest as if on mindless automatic. There were so many things to consider. There were so many questions to be asked and conversations to be had. But one thing was beginning to become increasingly clear: maybe it was time for Hawke and Isabela to sit down and have a real conversation.

Oh dear Maker. It was a scary thought. Neither one of them were very good at those kinds of talks. It was easier, much easier to flirt and joke. It kept things light-hearted the way Hawke liked and the way that Isabela was used to. Life for Hawke had taken so many dark turns, and if there was one thing she could always count on it was Isabela's frivolous nature. It made her smile, made her dizzy with giddiness and gaiety. Isabela made life...fun.

Hawke didn't want that to change. She didn't want to scare Isabela away with the thoughts coursing through her head. Isabela's nature was clear; the woman was a rover. Hawke wasn't thinking when she reached out to take Isabela's chin, to force the woman to look at her, to show her such amounts of keenness and dedication. It was all so very...relationshipy. What was she even trying to prove? Marian squint her eyes in reflection.

All of this started when she fell into the water.

These feelings.

She could only remember pieces of the dream she had after falling into its depths, and she smiled sadly as she recollected one bit: Carver. He had called her selfish, recognizing that she had been blind to her tanned companion. Isabela had done nothing but care and comfort the warrior through her grief, but never once had Marian bothered to ask how the other was holding up because of it. This, besides her weakness and wanting to give up at life, is what stung Hawke most. She never took the time to noticeher friend, to really see her. And now that she had started looking, reallylooking, Hawke found that she liked what she saw. Underneath the sex appeal and witticism was a good woman. Isabela, much to her own chagrin, had proven this time and time again throughout her later years with the Amells.

Hawke settled by a clear stream, sitting quietly at the base of a tree trunk but steering clear of all pretty-smelling flowers. She sighed softly, tipping her head back and letting it fall against bark.

Rapid footsteps abruptly became noticeable in the distance and Hawke stilled her mind and readied her sword. Someone was swiftly coming her way.

"Move! Get out of my way or they'll catch me!" A small boy in robes flew by, going way too fast to make any kind of detour, breathing heavily and jumping high over Hawke's extended legs. He growled as he almost tripped, hunching over after landing, fingertips grazing the grass below before managing to straighten up and continue on his way.

"What the—"

"Oh Hawke, it's you! Working hard?" Isabela said coolly, almost cheerfully as she too ran past and mirrored the boy's action, only with the seasoned grace and agility of a rogue, her legs pumping powerfully as she closed in on her target with each step.

Bodok was next to pass, much slower in his pursuit and huffing the entire way. He only managed to give a short-lived nod to the warrior, releasing a hacking cough in the process.

"Wait, what's going on!" Hawke stood up quickly, watching as the pirate, the dwarf, and boy disappeared into the forest with wide-eyes. "Bodok! Isabela! Who is that! Hey! What hap—" A short, shallow sigh pushed past her lips, watching in confusion as the three disappeared into the forest, a slight wind beginning to gently rock the leaves and branches of the trees.

"Bullocks," Hawke sighed. "Here we go."

A/N: Small chapter for now to see if there are still readers out there. Comments, questions and reviews are always welcomed and definitely adored. Thanks, everyone!