A/N: A derpy, parody-ish one with a temperamental Hawke at the helm. This is Act 1, pre-Deep Roads. Figure it's not unrealistic to assume it took a few months to gather all that coin for Bartrand. Thank you, thank you, thank you! for reading and all the lovely reviews.
Description: Isabela is plotting with Carver. What's the worst that could happen?
Warning: Filthy potty mouth language and implied adult naughty bits.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.
Humiliations Galore
Fenris gazed forlornly at the dark bottom of his empty cup. "Gone already," he sighed, tipping the vessel upside down to watch one last droplet of wine splash against the rough tabletop.
Beside him, Hawke snorted in amusement. "The bar's right over there," she pointed out with a nod at the other side of the Hanged Man. "Make Corff give you the good stuff he hides in the floorboards. It's much better than that— Oh, Maker damn you, Varric!" The woman glowered at the smirking dwarf and hurled her hand of cards onto the table as he scooped up his winnings. "You cheating son of a whore!"
"Now, now, my dear Hawke," Varric chided with a smooth grin and wagging finger, "mind how you speak of my mother. And it's only cheating if you catch me." Hawke swore under her breath at the dwarf, drowning her annoyance in the dregs of her pint.
"She's always been a sore loser," Carver informed them all from the other end of the table where he and Isabela had been conspiring quietly for some moments. "She split my lip once when we were young. All because she lost a footrace!"
Fenris chuckled along with the rest of their companions at the image of the two scrapping as children. Hawke scoffed, "Only because you wouldn't stop teasing me! Kept putting your fat mouth right here in my face," she held her palm up nearly pressed to her nose, "and doing that obnoxious donkey laugh of yours."
"I'm only surprised it just happened the one time," Varric admitted, tossing a wink at Hawke.
Shaking his head, Fenris rose to cross the sparsely populated tavern in search of more wine as the muted taunting continued behind him. He had only known this group a few months, perhaps half a year at most, and sometimes the strangeness of it all would catch him up. Having stability and friendship and protection – these things were so foreign still, and yet he found himself grateful for them. This new life was daunting and overwhelming at times, but he could not help but feel like luck or fate or perhaps even the Maker Himself had offered him a respite.
At the bar, Fenris ordered his wine, keeping a fair distance from two drunks who were singing all the wrong words to every bawdy song they could think up. They both smelled as if they had not bathed in years. The rest of the Hanged Man was quiet in comparison to most nights, but that did not stop the elf from keeping a wary eye on the movements of the dozen or so patrons. He was nodding his thanks to Corff when his sharp ears caught the start of a true argument brewing from the general vicinity of Hawke's table.
"Oh, Andraste's tits, Sister!" Carver bellowed loud enough to silence the singing drunks, something between anger and disgust in his tone. "Do you ever stop staring at his arse?"
Fenris' wine cup froze halfway to his lips and he blinked at the far wall a moment before turning to look over his shoulder. Carver was standing at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest as he met the slack-jawed stare of his older sister.
Recovering quickly, Hawke demanded, "What in blazes are you on about? And stop talking like Meeran! You sound even dumber than usual!"
"Oh, I'm dumb?" The younger Hawke sneered and shook his head. "Look at yourself! You're like a magpie with a shiny new toy when your pet elf is around!" Carver flung his arm in the direction of the bar.
Both of Fenris' eyebrows shot up toward his hairline as nearly the entire population of the tavern turned their stares on him. The elf was torn between distaste for Carver, amusement at Hawke's horrified expression, and an utter disbelief that this was all really happening. He more than half expected he had dozed off after that third cup of wine and that this was the Fade playing tricks on him.
Hawke sputtered a denial, but her brother cut her off with a loud snort. "You should have seen her a few days ago," he said mostly to the gleefully grinning Rivaini beside him. "A walking corpse bit her – actually took a chunk off her arm! And all because she was too busy watching him," Carver looked decidedly smug as he bobbed his head in Fenris' direction, "whip his big sword around."
The Hanged Man was silent but for a few snickers, not a one of the patrons even pretending to mind their own business anymore. Hawke appeared to be speechless in her fury, her hands balled into fists at her sides and her jaw working angrily. Fenris sighed around the lip of his cup and was considering going back to his mansion to escape the madness when Merrill suddenly twittered and leaned in toward Varric. "I think they're so cute," she giggled.
Varric laughed heartily at that and Isabela and a few others joined him while Hawke glared daggers at her brother, looking as though she would leap across the table and strangle him at any moment. "If you think they're cute now, Daisy," the dwarf chortled, "you should see what Hawke writes about him in her journal."
Fenris choked on the wine in his mouth and stared at Hawke, who was blushing a furious red and snarling, "Varric!" in a tone he had only heard her use on the battlefield against their foes. The dwarf raised his hands in surrender, but apparently could not stop himself from adding, "Hey, it's juicy stuff, Hawke! That's all I'm saying!"
"It is not, you wretched little imp!" Hawke cried, though this only succeeded in causing several more people to laugh aloud. Fenris, for his part, found himself unable to turn away from the scene despite how uncomfortable and at his expense it all was. It was much like stumbling across the aftermath of a brutal crime – he wanted to look away, wanted to unsee it, but simply could not find the willpower to move away.
"Oh," Isabela purred with that dangerous smile that meant she was about to say something worthy of making an old dock whore blush, "it must be juicy. What was it you told me, Merrill?" The pirate batted innocent eyes at the Dalish woman, who was suddenly doing her best impression of a startled deer. "You passed Gamlen's house the other night, and Hawke's window was open, right? And she was positively moaning a certain elf's name…"
Heat crawled up the back of Fenris' neck, embarrassment and shameful curiosity flooded his mind with new and intriguing thoughts. Merrill suddenly became the center of attention as the tavern waited for her confirmation. "Oh," the Dalish elf whimpered, her face scarlet, eyes darting from Hawke to Isabela and back again, "Creators save me." She buried her face in her hands and tried to burrow into Varric's side.
The room erupted with laughter, jeers and catcalls, especially when Hawke finally snapped and launched herself from her seat, over the top of the table toward Isabela. Fenris had no idea the mage could move so impressively fast. Corff hollered something about not breaking anything again as Isabela proceeded to cackle like a fiend and use Carver as a human shield against a furious Hawke. And Carver, the fool that he was, tried to grab and subdue his older sister. Fenris heard the crack of her palm against his cheek even over the uproar.
"Wait, wait!" Isabela cried, still laughing, but holding her hands up toward Hawke in a placating gesture. She was, of course, still hiding behind Carver, who was now scowling and gingerly touching the flaming handprint on the side of his face. "Hawke, just wait! I have a peace offering!"
Hawke stopped the mad dance she and the pirate were doing around Carver and snarled threateningly, "Maker help me, if you offer me sex, Isabela…"
"No, no," the pirate laughed, then paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Unless you really want to… I'm joking! So touchy, Hawke! You really do need to get laid. Here."
Isabela reached inside her bodice, causing several people to stretch and strain their heads for a better view – as if that were even necessary. After a brief struggle, the pirate produced a folded piece of paper with a triumphant, "Ah-ha!" and held it out for Hawke over Carver's shoulder.
Hawke glared at Isabela for a moment, then snatched the paper and unfolded it in sharp, jerky movements. The frown that formed on the woman's face doubled Fenris' curiosity, though he still thought it best to remain safely at the bar. When Hawke waved the paper and Fenris caught a glimpse of what was on it, the elf felt the blood drain from his face as his interest was replaced with dread.
"What in the Void is this, Isabela?" Hawke demanded. "You're drawing erotic pictures of me now? Why am I even surprised?"
Fenris swallowed the last of his wine in one go, his eyes darting toward the door, but he had already seen Isabela smirking in his direction and knew it was too late to leave without making a scene. A bigger scene. "I didn't draw it, Hawke," the pirate drawled. "I…found it, you might say. In an unlocked mansion in Hightown."
Hawke's angry expression melted into confusion and surprise. She looked down at the sketch in her hand, then slowly, so slowly turned her face to meet Fenris' eyes. Her expression was inscrutable, calculating, intense, and Fenris only hoped his face betrayed as little as hers did. Underneath the calm, he felt exposed and vulnerable and ready to kill Isabela.
It was not an erotic picture, Fenris wanted to explain, but he feared her response and clamped down on his tongue. He could understand why she would see it that way, especially when it had come from someone like Isabela, but the sketch he had made of her by firelight only a handful of weeks earlier had nothing to do with lust. There had been a moment, an intense, wild moment in the heat of battle, when he realized he could trust her, when he became sure that she was nothing like Danarius, when he knew she was something more, something better. The image of her then, defiant and fierce and filled with righteous fury, had haunted him until he had given in and put it on paper as best he was able.
"I…see," Hawke murmured carefully, eyes still on the elf across the room. She glanced at Isabela and gave a short nod, then abruptly swept her cloak off the bench and headed for the door.
"That's it?" Carver cried. "You're not even going to say sorry for slapping half my brains out?"
"Half of nothing makes little difference," Hawke snorted, sending a scathing glance around the Hanged Man. "I hope you all enjoyed the show. You should bloody well be paying us for such scandalous entertainment."
Hawke vanished out the door as the room filled with chuckles and renewed gossip, and Fenris scowled when he noticed that people were staring at him. Corff asked him if he needed another round, but Fenris shook his head, wanting nothing but to flee this spectacle and allow the darkness of his mansion to swallow him up. Tomorrow he would deal with Isabela and her apparent burglary of his home.
"Sleep well, Fenris!" Isabela called in a mocking singsong as he reached the door. Fenris paused and met the Rivaini's eyes for a moment. She plastered on an infuriating smile and winked at him, adding a haughty, "You're welcome, by the way." Struggling with the temptation to throttle the irritating woman, Fenris reigned in his temper and slipped out into the dark streets of Lowtown.
The elf took a deep breath of the cool night air, then startled when a shadow shifted and moved near him. His hands flexed as his brands blazed to life, casting everything nearby in an eerie blue glow. Hawke raised an eyebrow at the display, clearly unfazed, and Fenris relaxed again with a muttered curse.
The silence that loomed over them in the dim lantern light was awkward and strained. Fenris could only see half of Hawke's face, but she appeared to be eyeing him, searching for something in his expression, though he doubted she could see any better than he could. It was a strange and ridiculous standoff, and he could not decide whether they both stayed silent out of stubbornness or simply because neither of them knew what to say.
Finally, Hawke held up the drawing and asked pointedly, "Did you make this?"
Fenris tilted his head, eyes narrowed, and responded, "Do you really stare at my backside and write about me in your journal?" A dark little voice inside him was screaming for him to ask about her moaning his name in the dead of night, but he doubted she would react well to that and he was not entirely sure he was ready to know the answer.
"So, that's how it's going to be then?" Hawke murmured, her eyes narrowed as well. They both stayed that way for a long moment, staring and taking the measure of each other defiantly. Hawke laughed suddenly, a sharp sound, but a smile sparkled in her eyes. "I'll get the truth from you, Fenris. Just wait. And I'm keeping the picture."
The elf allowed a faint smirk to pull at his mouth. "May I walk you home, Hawke?" he offered. He relished the surprise that crossed her face at the abrupt request.
"I…would like that," she answered slowly. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." Fenris strode in the direction of Gamlen's house and called over his shoulder at the woman. "Allow me to walk ahead so you can enjoy the view, Hawke. That should give you something worthwhile to add to your journal."
The woman barked out a startled laugh, grumbling under her breath, "Arrogant bastard elf… I'm going to kill Isabela…"
Chuckling to himself, Fenris decided that he would leave the pirate's punishment in Hawke's hands. It seemed to him that Isabela may have done them a favor after all.