AN: Well, hot damn. This chapter really wanted to happen. I blame Isabela. Finally Act II! AW YEAH.
Rated M: Because Isabela
Disclaimer: BioWare owns Thedas, Tra la la la!
Act II
"You need to get laid," Isabela helpfully informed Hawke as she sauntered into her friend's library and draped herself across the back of the chair the apostate was occupying. Raen glanced up at the pirate and was met with an eyeful of barely concealed bosom. She gave a grating sigh.
"Was that an offer, or a professional opinion?" the mage asked mildly as she turned back to her book. She had found a manuscript written by the elf Shartan in one of the Lowtown bazaars, and thus far, it was a fairly good read. Hawke vaguely wondered if Fenris might be interested in it. Hell, he could have it as far as she was concerned. Maker knew he could probably use something to occupy his time other than scowling at the fireplace in his room and drinking his way through his mansion's wine cellar.
The rogue snatched the tome from her with deft brown fingers and tossed it over her shoulder.
"Can't it be both?" she asked sweetly, smirking at Hawke's disgruntled expression.
"As charming and selfless as you are, I'm afraid I'll have to pass," Raen replied, rolling her eyes. "I've heard about some of the other…ports you've docked in, and I'd prefer to forego an uncomfortable visit to Anders to try and get rid of some mysterious rash."
"Tch," the duelist complained. "You've been no fun since Carver died." Hawke's face darkened, warning flashing in her eyes.
"Don't." She said flatly.
"You miss him. I understand. We all do," Isabela continued, her tone a little softer. "But you can't just spend the rest of your nights cooped up, not letting yourself have a life just because he can't have one. It's been almost three years! Your nethers are going to pickle and you'll turn into another Aveline if you don't do something to loosen up soon."
"I'm just trying to take care of my mother," Hawke protested.
"You live in a mansion!" Isabela laughed, sweeping her arms wide as she gestured to the rest of the house. "You have servants, a title, and more coin than you can shake a stick at; what else could you possibly do for her?"
"She…wants me to get married," Hawke mumbled, staring down at her lap. The Rivaini scrunched up her face in disgust.
"Right, that settles it then," the former sea captain said firmly, as she took Hawke's hands and dragged her out of her chair. "You and your shortest skirt are going to spend the evening with me, Merrill, and that ginger-haired battle-axe of a guard captain. We're going to go to the Blooming Rose, and if you don't at least get a lap dance, I will never speak to you again."
"Is that a promise?" Raen asked, laughing. "You're never going to talk Aveline into willingly entering a brothel."
"Three silvers says I can," the rogue said with confidence and a wicked grin.
"Done," Hawke answered, clasping the pirate's hand to cement the deal. "Five if you can get her into a dress while you're at it."
"Ooh, I like the way you think," Isabela said gleefully, mischief shining in her tawny eyes. "You're on!"
A few hours later Hawke showed up at the Blooming Rose in a pair of snug leather breeches and a shirt that dipped low enough in the front that her mother had given her a disapproving frown as she walked out the door. Her friends were waiting at the bar, and much to her surprise, Aveline had decided to grace them with her presence. An even greater surprise was the fact that the six foot tall brick wall of a woman, was not the one who seemed the most out of place.
Merrill had opted to wear some sort of billowy yellow sundress, with a high-necked collar and long ballooned sleeves. She looked like she was either about to get married, or slowly turning into an Orlesian pastry. It was utterly adorable, thoroughly ridiculous, and a trifle unnerving to see the little bright eyed Dalish woman surrounded by drunks and prostitutes.
"You're late!" Isabela declared imperiously, gesturing with her full tankard and sloshing ale onto the Guard Captain's trousers. Aveline grumbled out a string of curse words and gave the pirate her trademark glare, which was easily countered by the rogue's trademark disregard. "And you owe me money. You're already two rounds behind!"
"I went by Fenris' house," Hawke explained, taking the pint her fellow Fereldan passed to her. "I had something I wanted to give him."
"Looking like that, I bet he had something he wanted to give you, too!" the Rivaini crowed with a lecherous grin. Hawke nearly choked on her ale.
"That's not-" Raen sputtered, embarrassment blooming on her face.
"Is it flowers?" Merrill chirped excitedly, cutting her off. "You like flowers, don't you, Hawke? I've seen you stop and pick those little white ones that look like bells sometimes."
"Andraste's Grace," Hawke told the elf with a relieved smile. "Yes. They don't grow much here, but they were practically rampant in the Bannorn at springtime. They smell like home."
"So, Fenris did get you flowers?!" The little blood mage gasped, her big green eyes practically dancing with delight. "Oh, that's so romantic! I didn't even know he liked you that way! Did he pick them himself? Because I can't really imagine him going out and-"
"Merrill." Hawke groaned.
"Oh, Kitten." Isabela sighed, shaking her head and smiling.
"What?" The elf asked, genuinely confused. "Did I...miss something dirty again?"
"I don't think Fenris likes much of anything." Aveline pointed out dryly. "He's very... Qunari that way."
"You reckon that's the only way he's like them?" Isabela asked, licking her lips hungrily. "Two coppers says the sword he polishes in bed is just as big as the one he lugs around all day."
"But I thought he only had the one sword and-...oh. Oh!" Merrill squeaked out the last word, her face a blaze of scarlet. She buried her face in her hands soon afterwards and groaned. "Creators...the image is burned behind my eyes now."
"Ugh!" Aveline complained. "Maker's breath, me too."
"You're welcome!" The pirate said smugly, slinging an arm around both of their necks.
"If you expect me to sit here and listen to you talk about the private bits of every man we know, I am going to need a lot more alcohol." Raen informed her bluntly.
"You heard the woman!" Isabela hooted, summoning the barkeeper with a wave of her hand.
Two hours and several glasses of various types of booze had Raen more drunk than she'd been since she'd stepped off the boat in the Gallows four years ago. It was marvelous. And great! Everything was great.
"And then he says…he says, 'I don't care! I'd drown us in blood to keep you safe!'" Hawke said in a bumbling attempt to mimic Anders' voice, scrunching her brows and trying to look serious.
"What, really?" Isabela sniggered.
"Gross." Aveline said with a bark of laughter.
"S'not dangerous," Merrill mumbled from the pirate's lap. She had been mostly passed out since the fourth round of drinks. "I know what I'm doing."
"Of course you do, Kitten." The Rivaini said off-handedly, patting the elf on the head. She then turned her amber gaze back to Hawke, an impish grin curling on her full lips. "So. Then what happened?"
"Wha'chu mean?" Hawke asked blearily. "I told him to calm down, 'cause…because I didn't want to him to lose himself to Justice or the templars."
"And?" Isabela gasped out in excitement.
"And then he got stroppy with me an buggered off." Raen said with a shrug. "What'd you expect?"
"Ugh." The pirate sighed in disgust. "Why are my friends so boring?" She turned to Aveline. "How about you Captain Prudy-pants? Get anything good lately?"
"As if I'd tell you," The red head scoffed.
"Tch. Well, if nobody's got any more stories we'll have to settle for idle gossip." The rogue stated matter-of-factly. Aveline and Hawke groaned simultaneously.
"Spill." Isabela demanded gleefully, choosing Hawke as her victim. She reached across their table and grasped the mage's elbow with strong brown fingers, yanking her a bit closer so she could whisper not-so-quietly into her ear. "Which one of our dashing compatriots has caught your fancy, hm?"
"What? No! I don't-" Raen tried to argue, but it was all in vain. The nosy rogue would not be deterred from her prize.
"No use lying to me, Sweet-cheeks. I've got a sixth sense for this kind of thing. Plus, you're blushing; an obvious tell. Now spill." The pirate laughed at her friend's expense. "What's wrong? Is it me? …Oh! Is it Varric? Tell me it's Varric!"
"What? No. He's like my short hairy brother, that would be so weird." Hawke said with a disgusted look, sticking out her tongue.
"Yes, those lovely wide shoulders, all that glorious chest hair, and those thick dexterous fingers…completely unappealing." Isabela purred with an arched brow and knowing quirk to her lips. Hawke made a retching sound, Aveline rolled her eyes, and Merrill hiccuped quietly.
"Alright, alright…what about that Prince fellow? Sebastian. Noble title, blue eyes, nice bum, and so boring your mother is sure to love him." The Rivaini asked.
"Right, because the first thing I look for in a man is borderline fanatical devotion to the Chantry. Every apostate dreams that someday their one true love will throw them in a prison and give them the brand. So romantic." Raen sighed dramatically and batted her eyelashes. "Besides," she continued. "I'm fairly certain Sebastian is actually somewhat afraid of me."
"So, I guess that means what's-his-face is out…you know, the templar. The pretty one." Isabela said, scrunching her face a bit as she tried to remember.
"Knight Captain Cullen?" Aveline asked. Hawke gaped at her in amazement. The Guard Captain shrugged. "What? I have eyes. He is…nice to look at." She was blushing so furiously that her freckles had vanished into the red of her burning cheeks.
"He is at that." The rogue agreed with a wistful sigh. "He can lock me up any day, so long as it comes with a good honest smiting every now and then."
Hawke spat out her ale as she fought down her laughter.
"Is that a 'no', then?" Isabela asked.
"Yes, that's a no!" Raen exclaimed, still wrestling with her giggles. "No templars here. Not even…pretty ones." She waggled her eyebrows at Aveline, who shoved her shoulder in retaliation.
"So. Mages then." The Rivaini continued mercilessly. "Not many of those outside the Gallows, and since I'm doubting it's the kitten in my lap, that means it must be..." Hawke could feel her ears burning. "...Anders." Isabela's smile was triumphant. "Gotcha!"
"T-there's nothing between me and Anders!" Hawke sputtered desperately.
The unbidden memory of their kiss surfaced in her mind for the first time in ages. She generally tried not to think about it, to be perfectly honest. He had smelled like smoke and healing herbs, and everything about him had been so…gentle. His soft lips parting to her hasty tongue, the quiet moan he had poured into her eager mouth…heady and empowering. Anders was kind, too kind. He had been ready to sacrifice himself to her selfish wantonness, but his instincts as a Healer had saved them both. Sleeping with him wouldn't have made her feel any better about Carver, and their already volatile friendship would likely have been damaged beyond repair. She was glad he had stopped her, but it didn't make her any less embarrassed about it, even years later.
"Doesn't mean you don't want something to be between you!" The dark skinned rogue all but cackled in delight. "To be honest, I don't really blame you. He's got that whole, 'scruffy rebel' thing going on. All that passionate selflessness, those dark soulful eyes, that clever tongue, those magic hands…mmm. Did I tell you about the time-"
"Yes!" Hawke and Aveline groaned loudly in unison. Merrill mumbled something about halla cheese.
"Hawke," Aveline began, fiddling with the mug between her hands and casting a worried glance at her friend. "Anders has done good work for the refugees here, I'll not deny it, but…he's not a safe man. He's no one you should think about trying to build a life with."
"Spoil-sport," Isabela cut in, frowning in disapproval. "Don't let this ball-crusher ruin your fun, Hawke. Nobody said you had to marry him."
"No?" the red head asked angrily. "And what happens when Hawke has had her bit of fun and tries to break it off? What if Justice decides her actions were unfair in some way? Do you think they'll just sit down and discuss it calmly over tea and biscuits? They barely get along as it is!"
"Clearly the answer is for her to become an old maid like you!" the Rivaini snarled, slamming her hand on the table. "Someone so afraid of heartache that she never has any sort of life outside of looking out for her mother and pissing around with us."
"Shut up, whore!" Aveline growled, jerking to her feet and leaning over the table threateningly.
"Make me, prig!" Isabela shouted back, standing up sharply and sending poor Merrill tumbling to the floor.
"What did I miss?" The Dalish mage asked groggily as she peeked up over the edge of the table, rubbing gingerly at her head.
"Isabela and Aveline are having an argument about my non-existent relationship with Anders." Hawke explained tiredly.
"Oh." The elf said, sounding a bit confused. "But I thought you liked Fenris? You two are always spending time together, and he actually seems to like you. Sort of. As much as Fenris likes anyone…which isn't a lot."
"We're just friends." Hawke laughed.
"But Fenris says he doesn't want any friends…" Merrill said dubiously.
"Fenris is lonely," Hawke told her quietly, a soft smile sneaking up on her face. "Even if he doesn't think he is. He has had to drag himself up from the absolute bottom of everything a person could be born into, and it's horrific and…admirable beyond words. He's a good man who doesn't know how to go about being good. But he wants to be, and I'd like to help him, if I can."
Merrill giggled.
"What?" Raen asked, baffled by her friend's reaction.
"Oh, Hawke." Aveline sighed, shaking her head and smiling.
"What?" The apostate repeated, something like horror creeping into the pit of her stomach. She glanced at Isabela who was looking more and more like the cat who had gotten into the cream with each passing moment. The rogue's tawny eye's sparkled in victory. Hawke felt the heat crawling up her neck. Oh.
Hawke buried her face in her hands. "Shit."