A/N: Forgive any grammatical or spelling errors as I am the only one who proof reads the chapters.

Sharp Little Pinpricks

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Chapter 13: Wanted

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It was another night at the Amell residence and Hawke had just ripped everything out of her and Bethany's wardrobe. "I look frumpy. Do you think I look frumpy? I feel frumpy."

"Frumpy good or frumpy bad?"

"There's a good kind of frumpy?"

Isabela shrugged, tilting her head to the side. "What about the blue one?"

"That belongs to Bethany. It would never fit me. Her boobs are just...you know." Hawke extended her arms as far as they would go, bouncing her hands up and down. "At this rate I'll never find a damned thing to wear."

"She's got tits like your mother, that girl." Isabela grinned, ruffling herself up as she thought of Leandra. Though the woman was much older, her womanly figure had remained quite attractive.

"Are you going to actually help me? Or are you going to just talk about how attractive all my parents and siblings are?" Hawke's expression was soft but irritated.

"Can I do both?"

"Isabela, he'll be here shortly…"

"There you go again. You're a fun-killer, killer of all things amusing and happy." It was a comment she made more often than not when speaking to Hawke. "But fine," she continued. "What about this one?" Isabela got up from her seat, walking over to the small pile of dresses and pulling out a red one. "If this one doesn't tell Anders to bend you over and shove it in, then I have no idea what will."

Hawke eyed the garment while taking off the one that made her look like a sad, wet llama. "The day that Anders bends me over will be the day that mages and templars get along. It's going to take more than a nice, red garb to do that."

"Wait," Isabela stared, not relinquishing her hold on the article of clothing when Hawke tugged at it. "He hasn't…? You two haven't…? And how long have you been together?"

Hawke shrugged, "He always seems to shy away when the moment arises. I don't want him to feel forced, so I try not to push it."

"It's small isn't it? Anders' little magic stick is small."

"Isabela." The pirate's one and only warning came in the simple form of her name.

"Sweet-thing," Isabela cooed, "we need to fix that problem."

"We," Hawke emphasized, wiggling her finger betwixt the two of them, "don't need to fix anything. I," she stressed again, "will address the subject when it matters. Right now, I'm okay. We're okay. It's okay." Marian cleared her throat and snagged the red dress from the amused pirate.

Isabela grinned widely. "Were you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"Shut it," Hawke snickered, slipping into the little number with ease. Either Isabela knew Hawke's body too well, or Isabela knew Hawke's body too well: it hugged her in all the right places. "Besides," Hawke said quietly, a tender smile on her face as she slid her hands along her tummy and thighs to feel the soft fabric. "We've been planning this night for a while. It's actually quiet tonight; Aveline hasn't broken my door down screaming about heathens or fools. So, I guess you just never know..."

"Look at you," Isabela whispered, a grin still on her full lips. "Sweet-thing, I'd say that the red dress will do you just fine…"

"You think so?" Hawke inquired, delicate eyebrow arching when she turned to face her friend. "Does it honestly look good?"

Dresses were a rare occasion for the elder Hawke. Normally, if it wasn't armor it was a tunic, and if it wasn't a tunic then it was armor. Isabela stood in front the blonde holding a small, round container and took a moment to stare, drinking in the sight of the beautiful warrior. Hawke's long, blonde hair fell in soft tresses around her face, her green eyes seemingly more bright than usual.

"You look delicious, but…part your lips. The ones on your face." Isabela dabbed her pinky finger in the rouge-color crème.

Hawke looked onto Isabela fondly, trying not to giggle when doing what she was commanded, watching as the woman ran her finger along the soft, plump flesh of Hawke's lower lip, her brows furrowed hard in concentration. "There, you're ready as you'll ever be. But where is Ander—"

The sound of her large bedroom door cracking back against the wall made both women jump. "Where is it," Anders asked, his voice deep and harsh, eyes scanning the entire floor of their bedroom before his hands began to messily rummage through both his and Hawke's things.

"Anders, what is it? What are you looking for, love?" Hawke looked onto him with a worried expression. He hadn't shaved nor even bathed yet and his attire wasn't exactly go-out ready.

"I'm missing pages," Anders spoke through gritted teeth. "They're very …important pages… and I can't find them! My manifesto… I need to— honestly, what is all of this damned mess! Shouldn't you be, I don't know, playing with your sword or training or something? Not in here making our bedroom impossible? Hello, Isabela," he managed through a hard scowl. "I'm surprised to see you here and not up to your eyebrows in whiskey and ale."

Even though she tried to fight it, Isabela couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes as dramatically as possible. Anders had a terrible tendency to act out like a petulant child when it came to his precious Manifesto. Thus, Isabela figured out rather quickly that when Anders was in a bad mood it was best to just let him be. Otherwise, she would be there all night arguing with him.

"It's not here. Maybe I placed them in another book. Hm," Anders sighed, eyes never landing on Hawke. Instead he turned to walk out the door. "Honestly, Hawke. Clean our room up, there's clutter everywhere and I know it's not mine."

Isabela folded her arms and frowned, her hip cocked with attitude. "That self-absorbed little shit."

"Isabela…"

"He didn't even—I mean, honestly? Andraste's saggy tits, look at you!"

"Isabela," Hawke tried again. "It's fine." Her fingers tips traced along the front of her thighs once more before she moved to open her dress. "He forgot. It's fine."

"No," Isabela said sternly, kneeling down in front of Hawke to stop her actions. For reasons that were beyond her current comprehension, Isabela refused to see Hawke so let-down. "You have spent too much time getting ready to have you just be laying there like a flaccid wanker all night. We, sweet-thing, are going to show you off, because if Anders won't—"

"Hey," the warrior said softly, a halfhearted grin on her lips, "I'm okay." Hawke reached out to cup Isabela's cheeks. "You were wonderful tonight for helping me with this."

"I wish you'd be telling me that for a much naughtier reason…"

Hawke shook her head with a playful expression, leaning in to ever-so-softly plant a small kiss on Isabela's cheek before retreating. "You're horrible and I love it. But honestly, thank you for coming to help me...Captain." The word fell off of Hawke's lips like sex and the sensation of hearing it caused the pirate to shiver delightfully. Hawke was such a damned tease. It's partly why Isabela got along so well with the wicked woman.

A harsh puff of air fell from Isabela's lips. Pretending to ignore the knots in her stomach and how warm her face suddenly felt was proving to be difficult. "Suit yourself, I'll be at the Hanged Man."

"Honestly," Hawke pushed, a teasing finger gently poking into the pirate's rib, "who knew you were such a softy when it came to your friends! The great pirate queen Isabela, all mushy and gooey on the inside!"

"Leaving now."

"I bet you even like to cuddle after a good humping!"

Isabela cackled, amused eyes looking Hawke up and down. "What with Anders acting like a menopausal woman suffering from heat-flashes all day long, I bet you'd like to find out! Tell me, Hawke, do the old hinges creak when you spread your legs? Maker knows they haven't been oiled up in a while…"

"What if I do?"

Isabela squinted at the warrior. "What if you do…what?"

Hawke stood up, the undone dress falling freely off her body and pooling around her feet. "What if I want to find out if you cuddle after a… good humping?" For the first time, this was a fight that Hawke was clearly going to win. The lack of response and sheer look of frustration on Isabela's face said it all.

"Remind me to stab you with a spoon. In your sleep. Through the nipple," Isabela finally grumbled, turning around to stiffly walk away.

Hawke grinned wickedly, the tip of her tongue poking out to wet her lips. "G'bye, lovie. Oh, and say hello to Varric for me?"

Isabela rubbed her eyes in attempt to free herself of the memory. A fine sheet of sweat coated her forehead. Merrick was playing outside, smiling widely when a sailor showed him a trick with coins; Isabela could see him beyond the window from her quarters. It seemed juvenile to have such hatred towards a boy; he was a boy, after all, yet every time her eyes fell on him or his older brother a new reason for wanting them gone began to form. Taking to concentrating on readying herself for Hawke's rescue seemed to help, though only a bit. She counted coin with zeal, a small dimple forming over her right brow when it furrowed in attentiveness. Every inch of her body ached. It had become nearly impossible for the Rivaini to rest. Her nights were filled with terrors, worries, and agitation. Healing salves were helping her physical wound, but nothing was helping the greater wound that lay beneath her breast plate.

Isabela loved Hawke. The pirate queen had known the dirty, little fact for some time now. She would have liked to think that it was when Hawke fell limp into her arms on the shore, pale and wet with salt-water, or when tears spilled from the depths of her loss had fallen from her eyes – an act considered myth to the many that knew the pirate's name. Yet, much to her chagrin, Isabela knew she had loved Marian many years before that, when their problems consisted of lacking the funding for expeditions, not destroying the chantry and waging wars.

It was an issue that, though the pros (sex) of being involved with one such as Hawke would outweigh the cons (when not having sex), Isabela felt no need to press. She was not a woman that needed titles or symbolic jewelry; as long as the blonde warrior, charming in all her flaws, was near her, Isabela was pleased. This feeling towards Hawke was always and easily the most terrifying for the pirate: not the 'I'm in love' bit, but rather the 'I don't care if I don't get gold, I just want you to be okay' bit. Honestly, it was a strange and unwelcomed feeling, but it was the feeling that Isabela wouldn't have given up for all the booze and plunder in Thedas. And that's exactly how she knew it was love she felt.

A creak from rusted hinges rang into the air.

"—H-Hey—I just wanted to say I'm sorry." Flynn stood at the cabin's entry way for several moments, too scared to cross the threshold and too nervous to move an inch. "We both are. It was an honest mistake, albeit a very large and very bad one." Thumbs twiddled and his posture seemed nervous, switching its weight from one foot to the other. In his hands was a small, leather bag. "Also, I wanted to bring you this. Merrick crushed the herbs and made the salve himself. It's good. It'll help." Flynn extended his hand carefully, not daring to enter a single foot into Isabela's quarters.

Isabela clenched her jaws together and closed her eyes, losing count of the current coin pile she had been working on. "Do you know what your bloody problem is, boy?" Wisely, her question had been met with stillness. "You need to pick a damned side and stick to it. I don't know what dries my lady bits more: a man who constantly betrays his group, or a man that doesn't know what he stands for. I may be a pirate, a whore, a bitch, and I might have even screwed up more times than I can count – but I have always known what I believe in, and in the end I have always stood by those who have stood by me. Now leave the salve at the door and go."

"…if I had stayed with them… you would have died. I picked my side. My brother and I are only sad that we picked it too late," Flynn spoke softly, eyes landing on the woman for only a moment. The gentle clicking of a lock let Isabela know that the boy had left. She whimpered a bit, scowling when she began to gently remove her bandages. A small glob of the yellow-ish ointment adorned her finger tips and Isabela leaned forward, her arm reaching around to slather the reddened wound. Once she repeated the process on her chest, Isabela hissed and gripped the edge of her bed. It was a burning feeling that bordered on excruciating, almost as if someone where sticking hot pokers into each of her wounds simultaneously.

Laying her head back into her pillow allowed the fading scent of Hawke to fill her nose. The entirety of her body was coated in sweat and her throbbing head equaled to that of her wounds, but the fragrance was a small comfort with a large impact, slowly granting her access to much needed slumber, however long it would last.

Soon.

*-o-*-o-*-o-*

"The bastard and bitch had this much coin aboard this ship and he fed his crewman spoiling rations?" Hawke looked out the window towards Lily's tied body with narrowed eyes.

Irial nodded, continuing in her efforts to help Hawke search through Quib's old quarters. "Besides this little chest of papers, a few gems, and all that coin… there isn't much here, or at least I don't think there is." Irial winced after talking, reaching up to gently touch her nose. When Hawke reached over touched the young woman's shoulder apologetically, Irial shook her head. "It's okay. I understand that you were only trying to protect me. Had your plan gone wrong they would have thought that I had released you from your shackles. Is that right?"

"Right," Hawke said softly, reaching over instead to take the small chest. "Now, let's see what we have here…"

"What is it," Irial asked curiously, peeking over the woman's shoulder as Hawke sat down at the desk.

"Here's a list of stock. Hold on to it for me, will you?" Hawke folded and handed the paper to Irial. "The rest is…old letters…a few maps…what's this?" The long piece of parchment unrolled easily in her hands and Hawke read it carefully. "…for being successful in several of our past arrangements, you, Paul Q. Henley, among other select few men and women have been granted the opportunity to serve Thedas in exchange for a reward of three-thousand sovereign per unharmed individual. The acquisition and return of the listed individuals below to the office of the Viscount in Kirkwall must be fulfilled to receive aforementioned reward: Aedan Cousland of Ferelden, Marian Hawke of Lothering, and…"

"And who," Irial asked, leaning in to see. "Oh, there's a small description and sketching of all of you at the bottom…"

Hawke wrinkled her nose and brought the parchment closer to her face. It was no use. "I can't read the last name; the ink is too blotted."

"The amount they're paying is a fortune. You're a wanted woman," Irial said, her eyebrows lifting in wonder. "It said there were others besides Quib who were charged for your return… what are you going to do? We're only a day or two from Kirkwall and that's where they were supposed to take you!"

"Well, there's no use in changing good plans," Hawke replied coolly.

"H…Hawke?"

"We're going to Kirkwall. But we'll do it on my terms. Someone is looking for me, obviously. They asked to have me returned unharmed. And honestly," Hawke said before a long exhale, "I don't feel like running. Not anymore."

"What did you do, exactly? When we spoke of this last you said you made 'ripples of disorder'. What does that mean," Irial asked nervously.

"…I unknowingly helped someone do something very bad. It has killed and may be still killing lot of people. It has ruined a lot of lives."

Thin fingers twined with each other as thumbs twiddled uncertainly. "Do you think the Viscount will listen when you arrive at the docks?"

Marian picked up a nearby dagger and twisted it in her hands. "I don't know. In all conscience, I was fairly sure that if I were to ever show myself there again, the only thing he or she would want to listen to is the creaking of the gallows as I hang. But, I've been wrong before. All I know is that it doesn't matter if it was an accident. Maybe all that has happened was a sign from the Maker himself. Maybe I need to answer to what I have helped do."

"So…you're going to enter Kirkwall on your own terms? How?"

"Well," the warrior said, lifting the dagger to her hair. "Because I'm not returning the way anyone might remember me. I am taking a very small but simple safety precaution." Irial watched as Hawke slowly hacked her hair into a short, boyish style, her blonde curls falling onto the floor.

"Your hair!"

Hawke half-smiled sadly, remembering a time when she tried to wiggle away from her mother who tried so hard to get those now cut-off curls to look decent. "It's only hair," she spoke aloud, perhaps a reminder more for herself than the woman next to her. "Now tell me, Irial, have you ever changed a woman's hair color?"

"No," Irial said, watching as Hawke continued to cut.

"You'll need a small satchel of black walnuts crushed into a fine powder, a cheese-cloth, warm water, and a dark tea for rinsing. Can you see to it while I try to finish this?"

"Of course."

Long, loose curl after long, loose curl fell to the ground in silence. Hawke stared at the floor, once bright eyes outwardly more dull than usual. She could hear Isabela in her mind; see her leaning against the cabin's wall and arching a brow unapprovingly.

"You've cut your hair", Hawke could hear, "It looks horrible".

"My hair grows quickly. It'll come back soon."

"You look like a pretty man."

"Then it could be worse, I suppose. I could look like an ugly man."

Irial stood still at the door and blinked. "You don't look like a man at all. I think the shorter hair makes you look… distinguished."

Hawke shook her head with a small laugh. "Thank you, Irial. Have you got what I asked for?"

"I got them, but I don't know how fresh the walnuts are. They're getting soft, I think."

"It is fine," Hawke assured, taking the walnuts and placing them in a mortar. She crushed them softly as Irial began to warm the water.

"So…" Irial watched Hawke with curious eyes, sure to keep her tone easygoing. "Were you speaking with someone just now?"

"Myself, mostly."

"You just looked so…different."

Hawke shook her head again. "I'm okay. I just miss a friend very much."

"Is that who you were speaking with?" Irial looked over to Hawke. "I talk to one of my sisters all the time even though she's not here. What is your friend's name? The one you miss?"

"Isa—" The word carried more weight and impact than expected, and the result came in the form of a choke. Hawke only took a second to compose herself, but the crease across her forehead made it known that her state was visibly worse than before. "Excuse me," Hawke said, clearing her throat nonchalantly.

Irial knew that kind of grief all too well. "…when did your friend pass to the Maker's side?"

Hawke couldn't help but let out a sad yet genuinely loud laugh, and the sound pleased Irial. "If the Maker had the balls to take her I don't think he'd know what to do with her or himself. I picture him constantly wagging his finger at her while she chases Andraste around in hopes for a good lay. Curiosity for Isa—" Hawke exhaled then slowly took a breath. "Curiosity for Isabela was a character flaw. But it was the flaw I enjoyed most. It was a flaw we shared. It got us into trouble more often than not, but still…I adored it."

Irial smiled at the aforementioned scenario. "It sounds like you loved her very much."

"I love her still," Hawke said, allowing the words to fall free from her lips. "I think I always have. We were both absolutely terrible and terribly amazing together. But that's enough of this talk," Hawke said sternly and abruptly, finishing with crushing the walnuts. "Is the water ready?"

"It is," Irial said quietly. "This is such a small amount though. Don't you need more water than this?"

"No, it'll be more concentrated this way. When I dunk my hair in just sprinkle the contents of this around; the water will thicken so be sure to try and cover as much area as you can while it's warm."

Both women sat in silence as Irial worked gently on Hawke's shorter hair and scalp. Blonde soon turned to black, and when the thick-substance finally cooled Irial took the pitcher of dark tea and rinsed Hawke's hair.

"All done," Irial spoke, watching as the woman sat up. It seemed a silly idea, but Hawke actually looked like a whole new person. The darker hair accentuated her light skin and somehow made her eyes brighter. Her facial structure seemed more prominent. Irial noticed the high cheekbones, thinned face, and elegant jaw more so than usual.

"So," Hawke asked. "How is it?"

"Different," Irial said honestly. "You look completely different."

"Good. Then I am ready for what Kirkwall has in store for me..."

A/N: So I've graduated with my Master's Degree. Yay for that! Anyways, I'm going to be bleeding this story into Dragon Age: Inquisition in a hopefully good way – so keep an eye out. Thanks to all who still follow, read, comment, and PM me!