HAWKE

"And here we are again," Isabela purrs as she plops down in one of the Hanged Man's empty seats positioned beside me. She leans in close, while I pick at the bland chicken dish I ordered from the bar.

Not the best I've had, certainly. But I'd eat just about anything right now after all the running around Mother had me doing for her earlier today.

"We really should keep meeting like this, Hawke," Isabella continues. "Though, I have a few more comfortable places in mind, if you're ever up for a change of scenery."

She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

I roll my eyes and take another bite of my last chicken wing.

How she always manages to have so much energy to tease me like this, I haven't the faintest idea. Maker knows I thought she would've gotten bored of it by now. And normally, I wouldn't mind. But today, I'm definitely not in the best of moods to try to joke or tease her back.

"Tell me." She hunches further over the table, enough for her to prop her chin up on one palm. "What's been bothering you? You've seemed . . . distracted as of of late." She inches two free fingers up my left bicep.

I swat them away as they near my shoulder and shake my head.

She's going to bug me until I speak. I just know it.

Maker's breath . . .

"I . . . don't know." I resign myself to the inevitable. "I don't know how to explain it."

Isabela shrugs. "Try," she persists.

I sigh.

Well, here goes nothing.

"This . . . whole situation with Serena staying with Fenris," I start. "Doesn't anyone else think it could prove even more dangerous than forcing them to live separate? They're both wanted elves, on the run from powerful Tevinter magisters, and who knows who or what else. It's asking for an ambush!"

"Hm. Perhaps." Isabela nods. "But is that truly your only qualm with it? Or is there a more. . . personal concern involved?"

She smirks at me—the likes she always gives when she's hinting at something dirty . . . or illegal. Sometimes both.

My heart thuds hard against my rib-cage. The room feels ten degrees hotter. "What are you talking about?" I ask, but I've already got a feeling I know exactly where she's heading with this. And I'm not certain I'm ready to confront it, much less speak about it.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about, Hawke." Isabela reclines far back in her seat. "Men all have the same, sick puppy-dog look in their eyes when it comes to watching whoever or whatever they love. You are no exception."

My jaw drops. I struggle to take in breath.

Maker, I was right, but how I wish I wasn't.

"I . . . I—"

"Ah, no need to deny it." Isabela waves both her hands at me in a dismissive manner. "Who you share your bed with is no concern of mine. And in this case, they do come with a lovely pair of eyes."

She pauses for a moment. A lustful look overtakes her expression. It lingers there for a second, appearing almost reminiscent—entertained—and then she's back to staring me down, a new seriousness dwelling within her gaze.

"You need to make your move, Hawke. And soon. Stop pussyfooting around. Serena's a very popular woman, with perhaps more suitors than you realize. She might be single now, but there's no guarantee for how long."

My gut sinks. A phantom heaviness weighs down on both my heart and shoulders.

Maker, she's right. I've been so caught up with the idea of her and Fenris living alone together, and all that madness that lies between, I hadn't even considered the possibility that there might be others actively pursuing her elsewhere. We don't spend nearly enough time together, and she certainly goes out enough on her own. That leaves plenty of room for others to weave their way in to . . . to . . .

I clench my fists.

"Ah, stunned into silence, I see?" Isabela whispers, snapping me out of my frustration and anxiety induced daze. "I've always liked you shy, innocent types. So much more fun once you get them between the sheets." She crosses her arms and winks at me.

I gawk at her then shake my head. "Maker, I don't even know what to say to you sometimes."

"A thank you would be nice." She shrugs. "And a pitcher of ale, if you're feeling generous."

I open my mouth to smile and retort, but stop. My memory races back to last week, when Serena glared at me back at the market.

That coldness in her eyes—do I even have the right to be thinking or feeling any of this at all?

My entire body tenses up.

Isabela quirks an eyebrow at me. "Was there something else?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I . . . don't know." I hesitate. "It was probably nothing, but . . . earlier last week, I ran into Serena at the Hightown market. She . . . glared at me. Or at least, I think she did. Hard to tell if it was that or if she was maybe squinting from a hangover. Could be either, I suppose. It was still morning."

Isabela frowns. "Well, if she glared at you. There's bound to be a good reason. Serena may be a bit eccentric at times, but she's not unreasonable. At least, in my experience. You could always try talking to her about it, though. Communication could do you both wonders, if you ever hope to get her into bed."

"Why must everything result in going to bed with you?" I groan and give her a pointed look.

Isabela laughs. "I am an earthly woman, Hawke. With a very particular appetite. I know what I want. The better question is: do you?"

Two days have passed since my chat with Isabela.

Merrill, Serena, Fenris, Varric and I are on our way to the Wounded Coast to search for a lost qunari patrol, who the qunari seem intent on blaming me for their disappearance. Not that I would've had the time, mind you. Nor the willpower and ambition.

But to be damned with logic. It's not as though tensions are running high enough as it is between the qunari, the templars, and all the bloody mages. And my family just happens to be stuck at the center of it.

I ruffle up the hair along the back of my head. Once I get the movement out of my system, I glimpse over at Serena. She's walking not too far off from my right, staring straight ahead, while the others lead the way a good distance in front of us.

This could be my chance, I realize. Maybe I should try taking Isabela's advice . . .

I gulp.

No, what am I thinking? Try to talk to her? Here? Now? While the others are mere walking distance away?

I scratch at my beard.

It's not the worst idea I've ever come up with. But if I don't take this chance now, then when? She's been avoiding everyone like the plague as of late. She hasn't even been coming out to our usual Wicked Grace meetup nights. Even when they're at Fenris' mansion—where she now lives.

I stare down at the ground.

No, I need to do this. If we slow down enough, the others won't hear. I just need to get her attention and do it. It's now or never. No more pussyfooting around.

"Serena," I speak up and slow my walk.

"Yes?" She looks back and slows as well.

My heart races. Andraste's tits, I can't look her in the eyes. "Uh . . . Er . . . Lovely day we're having, isn't it?" I rub the back of my neck and gesture to the cloudy sky.

Maker, kill me now.

Serena furrows her brow at me. "Uh . . . yes . . . ?" she whispers then glances around, both up at the sky and at me, confusion and amusement apparent in her squinted gaze.

I purse my lips and look down at the ground.

Just tell her already, you stupid oaf. Pull yourself together. Stop making a bigger fool of yourself and be a man.

"Listen, I-"

"Hawke," Varric interrupts, calling me from further up ahead.

The dwarf's squatting low to the ground in front of some type of cloth. Merrill and Fenris both stand at his sides.

"I think we've found something!" he continues and waves us over.

"Right," I whisper.

Of course . . .

I sigh and glance at Serena. She's still staring at me with amused curiosity.

Without looking back at her again, I stride over toward Varric and the others, grumbling all sorts of inaudible curses and complaints under my breath.