HAWKE
"And here we are again!" Isabela plops down in the empty seat next to mine.
She leans in close, while I pick at the bland chicken dish I ordered from the Hanged Man's bar. Not the best I've ever had, certainly. But I'd eat just about anything right now, after running around all day, doing errands for Mother.
"We really should keep meeting like this, Hawke." Isabella smiles at me. "Though, I have a few more comfortable places in mind, if you're ever up for a change in scenery."
She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively.
I roll my eyes and swallow another bite from my meal.
How she always has the 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. It's been three years. And normally I wouldn't mind. In fact, I typically play along. But today, I'm definitely not in the best moods to joke or poke fun back—my thoughts being rather preoccupied with a certain Dalish elf.
"Tell me." She hunches further over the table, enough for her to prop her chin up on one palm. "What's been eating you? You've seemed . . . distracted of late."
She inches two free fingers up my left shoulder. They linger there, her gaze and touch unyielding. Those amber depths of hers peering deep into my soul.
Maker, she's not going to give up until I speak, is she? I just know it.
Andraste, give me strength.
"I . . . don't know." I resign myself to the inevitable. "I don't know how to explain it."
Isabela shrugs. "Try?" she says.
I sigh.
Well, I suppose talking to someone about it wouldn't hurt. Better than suppressing and stressing over it on my own.
"This . . . whole situation with Serena living with Fenris," I start, "doesn't anyone else think it could prove even more dangerous than having them live separate? They're both wanted elves, on the run from powerful, Tevinter magisters. It's asking for an ambush!"
"Ah, so you're still on this then." Isabela crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. "Hm. Perhaps. But is that truly your only qualm? Or is there a more. . . personal concern involved?"
She smirks at me—the likes when she's hinting at something dirty, illegal, or both.
My heart thuds hard against my rib-cage. The room feels like it gets ten degrees hotter.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, the heat swirling, deep within my cheeks.
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about, Hawke." Isabela hums, staring me down. "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."
She points at me, and my jaw drops. I struggle to breathe.
Maker . . .
"I . . . I—"
"Ah, no need to deny it." Isabela waves her hands back and forth at me. "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 a moment.
A lustful look overtakes her expression. It lingers there a second, appearing almost reminiscent—entertained—lost in some secret, far-off memory. And then she's back to staring me down, a new formidable seriousness dwelling in her commanding gaze.
"You need to make your move, Hawke. And soon," she says. "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 my heart and shoulders.
Oh, Maker. She's right.
I've been so caught up with the idea of her and Fenris living alone together, and all the madness that lies between, I hadn't even considered the possibility that there might be others . . . Others, who . . . who are trying to . . . to . . .
My body stiffens.
A lump forms in the back of my throat.
Every part of me feels as heavy as lead.
"Ah, stunned into silence, I see?" Isabela snaps me out of my daze. "I've always liked you shy, innocent types. So much more fun once you get them between the sheets."
She 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 grins. "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 earlier last week, when Serena glared at me back at the market.
Do I even have the right to be worrying about this at all? What if I've reached a point of no return? Or I've really pissed her off for good?
Isabela raises a curious eyebrow at me. "Was there something else?" She tilts 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 squinting from a major 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. Communication could do you both wonders, if you ever hope to get her into bed, that is."
I groan and give her a pointed look. "Why must everything result in going to bed with you?"
Isabela laughs, loud and mirthful. "I am an earthly woman, Hawke," she says. "I know what I want. The better question is: do you?"
Two days have passed since my chat with Isabela at the Hanged Man.
Merrill, Serena, Fenris, Varric, and I are on our way to the Wounded Coast in search of a lost qunari patrol—one the qunari seem intent on blaming me for their disappearance. Not that I would've had the time, mind you. Nor the willpower or ambition. But to be damned with logic. It's not as though tensions are at an all-time high between the qunari, templars, and blood mages as it is. Oh, and of course my family isn't caught right into the middle of it.
I ruffle up the hair along scruff of my neck.
Maybe Varric is right. What if this city really is going to shit? It's starting to feel like it is anyways.
I glimpse over at Serena, who's walking not too far off from my right. The others lead a few paces ahead.
This could be my chance, I realize.
Maybe I should try taking Isabela's advice and talk to her? It would make this a potentially less shitty situation.
I gulp.
No, what am I thinking? Here? Now? While the others are mere eavesdropping distance away?
It's not the worst idea I've ever come up with, surely. Worst case, they overhear, and I never live it down. Especially if I'm rejected. But if I don't take this chance now, then when?
She's been avoiding everyone like the plague for the past two weeks. She hasn't even been coming out to our usual Wicked Grace nights, even when they're at Fenris's place—where she now lives.
I stare down at the ground, debating.
No, I have 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, as Isabela calls it.
"Serena," I speak up and slow my pace.
"Yes?" She looks back at me, slowing down as well.
My heart races.
Maker, I can't even look her in the eyes. Those breathtaking, teal-blue eyes.
"Uh . . . Er . . . Lovely day we're having, isn't it?" I rub the back of my neck and gesture to the cloudy sky.
Lord, kill me now.
Serena furrows her brow, glances up at the sky, and back at me, an amused sparkle flickering in her gaze. "Uh . . . yes . . . ?" she says with a forming half-smile.
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 calls out, interrupting me from up ahead.
Serena and I both face him. The dwarf's squatting low to the ground in front of some type of red cloth. Merrill and Fenris both stand at his sides.
"I think we've found something!" He waves us over.
"Right," I whisper, slumping my shoulders.
I sigh and glimpse over at Serena again. She's still staring at me with what looks like bemused curiosity.
Without commenting back, I stride over toward Varric, grumbling all sorts of inaudible curses and complaints under my breath.
Time, or this city it seems, may never be on my side.
