I needed to get back in my favorite hero's head for a while. Probably more angst than other things I've written for this pairing but hopefully still pure fun.
The pounding noise was more than just her head. It had to be. Her usual headaches were a steady throb of pain, not this ebb and flow rushing around. The roaring in her ears was actually rather comforting. It sounded like the blood pumping through her veins in a fight, in a storm, in bed with. . .
"Come on, Hawke, you don't get to be dead yet." The graveled voice was an echo of her own raw throat. One calloused hand slapped haphazardly at her shoulder, grounding her back into her body.
Hawke opened her mouth to speak but instead felt a surge of water and pain cut off her words. She rolled, barely getting to her knees before vomiting out a gallon of the Waking Sea and a good portion of its beach. The sand felt like shards of glass ripping her open and ocean salt added to every sting. The taste of copper filled her mouth but mercifully she saw no blood. After a few more violent spasms emptied her lungs Hawke finally managed a gasping breath, sucking air across her tortured lips and holding it as deep as she could. When she let it blow back out her breath fell into an instinctive, broken rhythm.
"You're laughing? Already? Can't you at least pretend to have been scared for a minute?" Varric demanded as he also dragged himself upright, brushing absently at a few crabs that had hitched a ride on his coat.
"Of the Raiders I was busy killing or the blowhole you dragged me into?" Hawke turned; the burning cuts all over her face and mouth stung but she couldn't help smiling.
"Is that what it's called? Maker's Bad Breath, I'm coming up with a different name for that thing. Dragon's Mouth, Demon Spout, maybe something about bowels. You're welcome, by the way." The dwarf shook his head. He looked around their newfound refuge, clearly contemplating the efforts of getting to his feet and deciding it wouldn't be worth it. Not yet, anyway.
"Excuse me? You expect me to thank you for getting in the middle of my fight? I was doing just fine." Hawke copied him, rolling to her back to enjoy the momentary stillness. Every inch of her body ached and it wasn't all from being swallowed in the tide and slammed against cave walls like a wet sock. A few of those Raiders were better fighters than the usual lot.
"There were two dozen of them in that camp, Hawke. I've seen armies with fewer weapons!" Varric had known his friend far too long to be surprised by her stubborn streak. He could never be exasperated with her stupidity because it was just too damn entertaining. Sold well, too.
"I was doing fine," Hawke reiterated, completely indifferent to facts, "Eventually they would've started slipping in my blood."
"You're impossible." The blonde sighed but found himself joining her infectious laughter. The sound faded into silence as both rogues continued to savor the luxury of simply breathing.
Hawke wasn't sure she'd ever gone so long without air. There was a reason she never went swimming, not even at sea with Isabela. Isabela, on the other hand. The Champion felt her smile grow wider, splitting the cuts on her lip. That woman could live in water, on water, under water. The only thing she didn't like it for was drinking. Hawke had been stupid enough to doubt the sailor when she bragged about how long she could stay under water. That ended up leading to a truly impressive demonstration. Hawke lost track of the time when her legs buckled but Isabela knew she'd won. She always won. 'All a matter of stamina, sweet thing.' Maker, the look in her eyes when she came back up! Dripping wet and gripping Hawke's waist to keep her from collapsing.
Hawke shivered. That wasn't going to help any. She came out to the Wounded Coast so she could stop thinking about Isabela, not to have her slip through her thoughts with every third breath. That's what she told herself when Aveline mentioned in passing that Raiders had been causing trouble in the area. She was absolutely certain that she was just excited by the prospect of a good fight, not because that coast happened to be the perfect place for watching traffic on the Waking Sea. Not because she knew a particular boulder she could sit on for hours and imagine that one of the many ships sailing back and forth held a familiar dark-skinned sailor, kohl-lined eye pressed to a spyglass and lips turning into a perfectly wicked curve. She didn't think about that at all. Nor was she violently enraged to find that the Raiders had set up camp around that very boulder. Bastards.
"You're doing it again." Varric wasn't looking at her. His eyes weren't even open. Yet there was a knowing smirk itching across his lips and Hawke knew better than to argue with him. That didn't mean she wouldn't try.
"Doing what?" She shot back, hoisting herself off the ground and testing each new pain.
"Thinking about Isabela." The dwarf chuckled, opening his eyes now to watch the tiny twitch of her mouth that was as good as confession.
"That's hardly anything new, Varric. You're going to have to be more specific." The Champion folded her arms, cocking her head slightly to complete the challenge. Varric's smirk just got bigger. He deliberately pushed himself off the wet sand, swiping at the hair that had fallen loose from its tie and matted against his face.
"Hawke, I don't ever want to know exactly which of Rivaini's many skills is occupying your thoughts. Particularly not when you get that damn grin on your face. I just know you only pull ass-headed stunts like this when she's been gone too long." There was a current of teasing laughter under his words but it fell into a sigh at the end.
Beneath all the jokes Varric knew exactly how Hawke felt. At times like this there was a silent sympathy between them, the understanding of happiness just out of reach. That was when they made a mess of the Hanged Man, swindled everyone they could find, fought the rest and ended up laughing and trading bullshit stories into the early hours of morning, hoping no one else knew what they were trying to escape.
"'Heroic adventures,' Varric. That's what you always call them in your books. My ass-headed stunts have made you rich. Or richer, at least." Hawke scoffed, punching the dwarf's shoulder as she moved past him, ready to start searching for an exit.
"I'd trade the money if it meant keeping you sane." Varric's normally loud and playful voice was suddenly very subdued. There was a somber weight in his tone whenever sincerity leaked in, as if honest words were heavier on his tongue. The Champion had her back to him, staring at the water that gently lapped on the edge of their subterranean shelter.
"Shit, Varric. Do we have to do this?" She desperately wanted to talk about anything else, think about anything else.
"You haven't set foot in your home for three weeks, Hawke. Orana is convinced you've already died somewhere up on Sundermount. Aveline would be out here herself if I didn't convince her to let me handle it. Merrill even noticed and you know it takes a hammer blow to the head to get Daisy's attention!" Varric listed off the obvious first. It was the storyteller in him; he wanted facts out of the way so he could move on to feelings.
"It can't have been that long." Hawke frowned, unconsciously knitting her brow as she tried to sift through the past few weeks.
She had gone to Sundermount, early on. Solivitus had needed dragon gall and half a dozen other strange ingredients. That took a while. Then there were the five nights – or was it six? - she spent at the Hanged Man. Norah wouldn't let her stagger home after the second bottle of whiskey and Corff always had a spare bed in the back if no rooms were available. She had a vague recollection of giggling hysterically as Merrill tried to learn the rules of Dead Man's Tricks but kept getting confused over the name. There were gaps in her memory, blurs and shadows and she was reasonably certain at least one glimpse of Serendipity shoving her into bed without any intention of sex. Then there was the conversation with Aveline about marauders on the Wounded Coast and a lot of nights staring up at the stars, listening to the waves and holding her breath until she could imagine Isabela right beside her.
"Kirkwall won't fall apart without me." She finally turned back to face Varric, walling off the part of her thoughts that was embarrassed and confused to have lost track of so much time. Even Champions deserved to get away occasionally. She'd been so damned busy the last two months; work for Varric, rebuilding the city, tips from Red Jenny, chasing out scum that thought they could capitalize on Kirkwall's wounded state. Not to mention the endless invitations to Lady Who-Gives-a-Rat's balls. Surely between Aveline, Varric and the dozens of trained city guards dispersed on every street there wouldn't be chaos if she disappeared for a week or two. Or three.
"For the love of the Maker's Bouncing Bride! This isn't about Kirkwall, Hawke." The power was back in Varric's voice, exasperation mingling with disbelief in a bark of laughter. The dwarf crossed the distance between them, grabbing Hawke's arms as if he could barely keep himself from shaking her back to her senses,
"This is about you not running around like a blind nug with a death wish! You think I want to deal with Rivaini when she gets back and you're too broken to get out of bed and ravish her senseless? I know scary women, Hawke, and that one is worse than an archdemon when she finds new scars on you." The tirade would've sounded like a scolding if not for the dramatic moan of complaint in his voice. It wasn't an exaggeration; Varric knew, loved and fought alongside some of the most terrifying women who'd ever scarred Thedas with their presence. Between Bianca's mind, Hawke's courage, the Inquisitor's will and Cassandra Pentaghast's temper it was a miracle he hadn't forsaken the entire gender in favor of passionate mushroom farming.
"I'm a big girl, Varric. I buckle my own boots and everything." She was swiftly losing her desire to fight. Talking about Isabela, about her absence, about her concern; it all touched too close to those raw places in her mind. The ones that made her chest feel like her heart was stuttering between beats.
"Yeah, you are. You're a bloody Champion. But you're her champion. You get more and more useless the longer she's gone." The dwarf's deep voice rasped with weary affection, releasing his death grip on Hawke's arms in a favor of a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She'd heard variations of this same pitiful accusation from every one of her friends. Even Merrill. It was usually Aveline lecturing her. In fact, that was most of their last conversation, wasn't it? "You never make it past two months without that walking embodiment of everything unholy at your side. Even with Varric getting you drunk and me giving you things to hit." Hawke hadn't survived the Deep Roads and saved Kirkwall by spending too much time in her head. It was easier to act than think. Especially when thinking brought her back to the empty half of her bed.
Varric was the only one who could scythe through the laughter and bullshit she kept around herself at all times. The dwarf had the wisdom of a father, the mischief of a brother and the patience of a saint. He'd been at her side after Isabela ran away all those years ago. He'd watched her wounds heal while invisible pain got worse every day. Neither of them would ever tell her for sure but Hawke had a feeling Varric was the first one to know when Isabela was back in town, that he was the first one to talk to her. She couldn't imagine how that conversation went but for months after being back together Hawke could see Varric watching them from the corner of his eyes, a glint of warning never far behind his gaze.
"I'm fine for the first few months." The Champion of Kirkwall put up her last defense. It sounded weak even in her own ears.
"Sure. Then she's gone longer than you expected and the letters don't keep your sheets warm at night and the Blooming Rose is nothing compared to the stuff Rivaini knows how to do," Varric's smile had that comforting twist of mockery once more, "Honestly, Hawke? You've never been good at living a boring life. That's what makes you so damn fun to write about. You've chased danger every time it crossed your path and that pirate queen is just its most perfect form."
Hawke let the words in, not instinctively blocking them with arguments and excuses like they were attacks to be fought. Isabela was dangerous. She moved like the sea in a hundred different moods from midnight storm to dawn's gentle caress and everything in between. Her charms were addictive, her touch overwhelming, her kiss more intoxicating than lyrium and liquor on a magical tongue.
What made her dangerous though - truly terrifying in the peril of her arching, crashing, tempestuous affections – was the softness in her eyes when the smoldering flames finally faded and left her naked in Hawke's arms. The elusive captain had fought and fled and ultimately fallen. She loved Hawke. The shattering, awakening, bend the universe to its will, kind of love. It made Hawke feel immortal. It crippled her in defenselessness. Worst of all, it ripped part of her soul out of her body and carried it away every time the pirate sailed into the horizon. She always knew it would come back to her, that Isabela would return and make her whole. But the void left behind demanded to be filled and there simply wasn't enough alcohol or violence in all of Kirkwall to match the power of the Queen of the Eastern Seas.
"It's possible," Hawke tested each word for meaning before it crossed her lips, "That when she's gone too long I start to crave a little more excitement. It's a terrible thing to wake up for so many mornings without any fresh wounds."
"There's a big difference between scratches and a black eye, you randy nug." Varric laughed; a low, rumbling roar that echoed off the cave and made the water ripple. His hand left her shoulder, returning the playful punch she'd given him earlier. At least her armor would save her from a bruise. The affectionate gesture was a truce, permission to escape the awkward intensity of emotions she didn't want to think about and pain she had been trying to ignore. A grateful sigh shed the tension from her shoulders and Hawke happily joined her friend's laughter.
"Not with Bela. Don't you remember the Comte de Launcet's dinner party? Anders had just reset my nose." She could easily recall more than a dozen times when her beloved had proven far more dangerous than daily life as city champion.
"And you had two black eyes! I thought Dulci was going to chew through her own tongue! That story you made up about getting kicked in the face by a wyvern was shit, by the way." Varric cackled, delight suffusing his entire face as he recalled the noblewoman's tortured disbelief.
"I had to think fast! I was still trying to figure out exactly what I did that made her –," Hawke barely stopped herself, a rush of blood coloring her cheeks as she caught the memory before it slipped out, "She apologized later. Very thoroughly."
"I'll bet she did. Come on, Champ. Let's find a way out of here and you can tell me all about Rivaini's apologies and the hazards of reverse dragon-rider positioning." Varric waded into the lapping tide before tossing her a grin over his shoulder.
"She told you?! Damn it, Isabela." Hawke groaned, following without any further protest.
. . .
"So then Sera finally pops out from under the table - half naked and entirely drunk – and announces that she knew all along Lady Pentaghast was going to end up in bed with the Inquisitor because apparently 'she is way too into swords that one, no ways a woman polishes her hunk of metal all day unless she's thinking about sticking someone,'" Varric's pinched, nasal impersonation of the blonde elf was surprisingly accurate, "It might be the only time I've seen the Seeker completely speechless. She went redder than a melting kettle; even made a bit of the same sound! Blackwall choked on his ale, Bull's laughing, Cole starts asking questions quicker than he can figure out words and in the middle of it all there's the Inquisitor, trying desperately not to grin like a cat with canary feathers in her teeth."
Hawke's laughter echoed off the tunnel walls in every direction, racing ahead and bouncing behind them until it sounded like an entire army of an audience, all delighted. It felt like they'd been wandering for hours in this maze of tunnels under the Wounded Coast, stunned to find so many passages existed without the entire shore having caved in on itself. There was a minimal diffuse light, bleeding in and turning the darkness into disorienting shadows that wreaked havoc with their eyes. The only thing that never changed was the breeze. A cold wind whispered through the caverns, tickling their faces and Hawke knew that so long as they followed the air, they'd find an exit. Follow the wind, that was what Isabela was always saying, wasn't it?
"Wait." Hawke froze, grabbing Varric's shoulder to still his motion. The water was knee deep, churned by their footsteps but now it gradually settled back into its gentle, rhythmic flow. And now she could clearly hear splashing from another direction. The noise reached her along the same drifting air that brought the scent of brine and seagulls. There was a militant force behind the wet crashes; feet that refused to be deterred by anything so pitiful as an ocean.
"You said Aveline wasn't going to come looking for us, didn't you?" Hawke instinctively reached for her daggers. They'd need a lot of polishing after today. Salt water did terrible things to metal. For now they slid free with a sucking resistance, almost sulking in their sodden sheaths.
"Not unless Bianca washed up in the harbor with blood stains and a broken bow. Or words to that effect. We might have been arguing at that point." Varric nodded, easing the beloved weapon off his back and caressing the trigger.
"Charming. It's so nice when city leaders get along." She wanted to stay focused on the direction of the noise but her eyes insisted on rolling heavenward for at least a second. As the Champion of Kirkwall she'd had to sit in on a number of official conversations between the Viscount and Captain of the Guard. They usually devolved into threats, bribery and blackmail and that was just Hawke trying to get out of the room.
"She's sneaking Bran extra stuff to nag me about. I'm sure of it. I haven't seen her name on a single report but there have been eighteen complaints that used the word 'inappropriate' like it was some kind of blasphemy." The dwarf was muttering to himself as much as complaining to her.
"For Aveline it is. Along with 'undisciplined' and 'shameless.' Her lectures have done wonders for my vocabulary. I had to look up three words from her last rant about Isabela." Hawke quietly confirmed, dropping her voice to the tactical whispers they fell into before battle.
"Ha! Pretty sure she's always on the lookout for new ways to describe Rivaini. 'Whorish whoring whore' wasn't her wittiest moment." Varric was trying to be quiet as well but his spontaneous bark of humor carried away from them, overwhelming any other approaching sound. Hawke sighed, adjusting the grip of her daggers and waiting for any indication that danger was still coming their way. She was already sore, wet and tired; their attacker could at least show the courtesy of being prompt.
Silence met them for an unusually long second before a low, melodic purr like the prelude to laughter drifted hauntingly up the tunnel. Hawke froze, heart suddenly hammering loud in her ears. How hard had she hit her head on the way down here? The splashing resumed but at a more languid speed, slipping through the water instead of carving a path. That wasn't how mercenaries or soldiers moved. Predators, perhaps, but of a very different kind.
"To be fair," the rich voice emerged from shadows long before a vague silhouette began to take shape, "She was already beginning to turn purple by then and it took quite a lot of discipline to use any words at all. I rather thought she was going to leave her opinion in bruises."
"Isabela." Hawke started to rush for the apparition but the slippery cavern floor defied her footing. Water sucked at her balance and she flailed, barely keeping hold of her daggers as she fought the insistent pull of the tide. A set of deft hands instantly caught her, easily avoiding the waver of her blades and gliding effortlessly into the Champion's space to steady her. The familiar grip against the buckles of her armor mingled with the scent of spice. Isabela always smelled like the ocean but here in the caverns, where saltwater filled every particle of air, Hawke sought the notes of cedar and cardamom that were only her pirate queen.
"Hawke." The sailor mirrored her greeting with less astonishment and more satisfaction. She might as well have been a demon summoned from beyond the Veil by mention of her name, wrapping enchantment around the Champion without even using words.
"You've got some seriously suspicious timing, Rivaini." Varric's voice broke into the spell of Isabela's eyes consuming Hawke, unable to drag their attention away from each other but just distracting enough to demand words.
"I was watching the coast line. Terrible rocks around here, I'd hate to lose another ship," The raven-haired pirate's reply was offered like happenstance, "Imagine my surprise on spying a horde of Raiders engaging in a massacre along the beach. It doesn't take too much imagination to know who would be at the heart of that kind of trouble."
"You were watching?" Hawke grabbed hold of the first, seemingly least important fact. Isabela mentioned it so casually, as though it were a simple coincidence that meant nothing deeper. She could cock her brow and offer a smirk to conceal the truth but she couldn't shield her eyes. The flicker of emotion, the small crease in her brow when survival reflexes begged to look away; it was as telling as hours of confession. Isabela had been looking for her. Hawke had told her - one night lost between dreamy reality and sleepy bliss - about the boulder, about sitting on the coast and searching the horizon for signs of her return and feeling utterly foolish but a little less alone so long as she could see to the edge of the world.
"Sweet thing, I always watch." Isabela's dulcet reply accompanied fingers gently brushing against her cheek, savoring the warmth and shape, the way Hawke leaned into the caress. Surprisingly, Varric didn't interrupt again. Not even when she could practically hear his tongue vibrating with unspoken questions. Insufferably nosy about every intimate detail of her life, he still had the grace to not interfere in these rare moments. But she was damned sure that he was taking notes as he watched.
"How'd you know where to find us?" Hawke unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth, clearing her throat of all the words that needed to be saved for later.
"My life depended on finding that book after my ship wrecked, remember? I've scoured every inch of this blighted coast and everything underneath. When you and Varric disappeared from the middle of the fight it wasn't all that hard to figure out." Isabela's honeyed words turned into a chuckle and it rolled over Hawke, melting her that much more into the warmth of the pirate's arms.
Seeking that comfort was what finally dragged the Champion's attention to the feel of the skin beneath her hands. Warm, yes, but covered in goosebumps and a million droplets of water like constellations in the night sky. Her fingers were clinging to wet fabric, wrinkling the nearly transparent white cloth in her grip.
"Bela," Hawke leaned back to take in the sight of her lover, fully processing all the facts, "Did you jump overboard to come find us?"
"I wasn't about to turn the ship towards this damned coastline. Kirkwall was already in sight and there weren't any storms or Qunari for miles, Brand is capable of putting into harbor without me holding his balls this time." Isabela shrugged one shoulder, tossing her head to flip the wet hair away from her eyes. She hadn't let go of Hawke from the second she got hold of her.
"Rivaini, that really didn't answer her question." Varric teased, noting the sailor's defiant posture. She could be so defensive about admitting emotion, even when it saturated her every twitch.
"You did," Hawke's jaw dropped, amazed to see the truth behind Isabela's pride, "You jumped ship to come after us!"
"Shit, I would've loved to have seen that. The Queen of the Eastern seas dives off the railing and slices into churning water, slipping effortlessly through the pounding waves to save her Champion . . ." The storyteller was already getting lost in his own creation.
"Stuff it, Varric." Isabela suggested sweetly, the flash of teeth in her smile a friendly warning.
"Thank you." Hawke let out a slow breath, too deliberate for a sigh but soft at the edges.
"Like that, did you? I can tell him to shut up as often as you want." The sailor's mouth curled up on one side, smug amusement happily rising along her lips.
"No," Hawke shook her head, one hand finding its way to Isabela's hair to pull her a fraction closer, "Thank you. For coming for us. For coming back. For – Maker, Bela! For being you."
Whatever games and flirtations Isabela had in mind until that moment vanished from her face, destroyed by the gentle assault of sincerity. The raw emotion pouring out of Hawke's lips gathered them both in a sudden, harsh embrace, urgency and heartache mingling with tenderness and relief. The taste of salt and ocean laced between their mouths and Hawke's lips still stung with cuts but she couldn't care enough to draw away, not when the warmth of Isabela's kiss was like balm to everything she touched.
The only breath left in her lungs was their trade of sighs and the world started spinning no matter how tightly she clung to the body against her. Hawke choked back her own groan of complaint when she had to break away, had to breathe again. Her only comfort was in feeling the pirate's own need for air, parted lips dragging uneven gasps against her cheek. Not even Isabela could hold her breath when they kissed.
"Shit, Rivaini. I couldn't get a thank you out of her and I saved her from a pack of Raiders!" The growl of complaint from nearby balanced between sarcasm and affection, teasing as always but delighted to see real happiness enfolding his friends.
"Varric, you sweet thing, that's adorable. But Hawke has never needed saving from anyone but herself." Isabela shook her head as she corrected him, eyes glittering with the same amusement that danced in her words. The satisfaction that drifted across her smile filled in everything she'd left unspoken and Hawke silently agreed as she leaned in to capture those tempting lips once again. If she ever needed saving, it was only from herself. And Isabela was the only one who could do that.
I did this chapter in one day so if there are errors or typos, please let me know. Any other comments are also always appreciated.