Author's note: I don't know why this chapter took so long to write. I already had everything drafted out that I wanted to happen, but I had the worst writer's block fleshing it out. Here's what I finally managed to cook up. Next chapter should be easier (maybe I just don't like peace hahaha). Thanks for sticking with the story until now! It means so much!


SERENA

Excited voices buzz throughout the Hanged Man. Early for a typical night, but it's a welcome change of pace after our long and mostly silent trek back here, from the Duke's chateau.

Hawke, Varric, Anders, Fenris, Isabela, and I all sit gathered around our usual table, chatting amongst ourselves, as the bar's waitress delivers our first round of many presumed drinks this session. A necessary addition to soothe these achy, weary bones of ours.

Varric's going off on another of his spiels, regarding our most recent adventure. This time explaining to Isabela about how much bickering he had to put up with between Fenris, Anders, and Zevran, while searching for Hawke and I when we both went missing. His professional opinion labeling it the equivalent of snarling, quarreling cats.

Sandwiched between him and Fenris, I merely stare down at the mug scooted in front of me and laugh between their quips. I can only imagine how much more chaotic it would be if Zevran were actually here now, to defend himself—or throw more into the pot—and not out following up with his contacts for the next few days, for more coin and missions. But it'd also be a lie to say I'm not a teensy bit enjoying things as they currently stand, especially since I didn't have to deal with it myself.

Hawke stands up at the far side of the table and clears his throat. "Alright! Alright! Everyone!" He holds both hands up in front of him, then lowers them in a wave to shush us.

We all look to him. The conversation at last interrupted.

With a warm smile, he lifts his mug up high in the air, chin held smugly aloft. "To our success and hopefully never getting involved with qunari politics again!"

"Hear! Hear!" We all cheer and clank our mugs together, most of us immediately taking deep sips afterward, as if in hopes to bring the vocal wish to fruition. All except one, that is.

"What are you waiting for, Anders? Drink up." I squint at my fellow mage, the ale's familiar taste of stale bread and thick, foamy froth tingling across my tastebuds.

Anders glares down at his drink. "I should go. I've been away from my clinic long enough."

"Stay for at least a couple rounds, Blondie." Varric waves his mug at him. "We've had a long trip, and you've earned it. Plus, your tab is on me."

"Yeah, Anders. Take him up on that! Maybe tonight's the night you can finally make up for your big loss at Vigil's Keep." I wiggle a playful eyebrow at him, hoping to bait him in with a bit of historical tease.

He quirks one back at me, a lighthearted smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think I made up for that by holding off hundreds of darkspawn the day before, defending its bloody walls. Don't you agree?"

I snicker and bob my head, recalling the puffed-up grin he gave upon claiming responsibility for the piles of darkspawn corpses surrounding said Keep's gates.

"You two and your implausible warden stories," Varric grumbles before taking another sip.

"You think they're implausible? Trying living them . . . Oh wait. I'm pretty sure you already have. Or do I need to go over our most recent experiences? Your haunted mansion being one of them."

"Point taken." He chuckles. "I will say, Blondie losing a Warden drinking contest is at least believable. The only thing you seem to be worse at than drinking is diamondback."

"Hey! I'm not that bad!" Anders sits more upright.

His energy lifts the more he talks. The two continue to throw jabs at each other, Hawke and Fenris soon joining the fray. The good vibes quickly building. The bad feels soon forgotten.

Isabela glances back behind her and slinks out of her seat, over to the bar, with no word to the rest of us.

Strange.

What's with her?

I stand up and follow. She leans against the side of the bar, in her usual spot, head bowed low, thoughts somewhere far off.

"So, what's wrong?" I pop up beside her.

She perks up and angles herself toward me. "What do you mean?"

"You seem out of it." I rest my arms on the bar, next to hers.

Isabela lowers her gaze. "It's nothing, Sweet Thing . . ." she purrs and stares down at her tanned, clasped hands.

But I don't believe her for a second.

There's a tinge of sadness to her voice.

My thoughts race. I struggle to pinpoint what could've possibly brought this on. The only thing coming to mind being that it must be related to something from the past with someone else here.

I glance back at everyone at the table. All of whom are still laughing, chatting, and drinking, without a presumable care in the world.

"Did something happen between you and Hawke?" I ask, my conclusions coming up empty-handed otherwise. "I thought you guys talked everything out, after what happened with Castillon."

"We did." Isabela snickers. "He gave me a Rivanni fertility talisman, too, and everything as consolation."

I giggle at that.

Yep. That definitely sounds like Hawke. Although, more than likely accidental.

"So then, what is it?" I persist at a loss.

If it's not that, I have no idea what else it could be.

Isabela sighs. "I don't know," she whispers. "I suppose I'm just having a hard time adjusting—to the calm and what not. It's funny . . . Getting a ship now just doesn't seem as important."

"Oh, really?" I drawl and reach into my pocket. "Then, I suppose you wouldn't want . . . this?"

I pull out a piece of folded paper from its depths. Something I picked up on our way here, when dropping some things off at home. I wave it at Isabela and pass it to her.

She unfolds it, and, skimming over the scribbled script inside, her brow furrows then lifts. Her beautiful brown eyes widen to size of saucers. "You . . . bought . . . Castillon's ship?" she gasps. Her gaze darts back to me again.

"Ehh." I shrug haphazardly. "You said you like it, didn't you?"

"Wait. Hold on." Isabela steps back, throwing a hand up. "You bought it? For me?"

"Isn't that what the deed says?"

Isabela blinks wildly with her mouth wide agape. "Why?"

"It'd be a shame for her to just rot at the dock, without a skilled Captain, don't you think? And besides," I frown, the solemnity of my truer intentions flooding over me, "depending on how things go in the coming days, we may need a swift escape out of here. Me especially."

Isabela stands still for a second. Her penetrating stare grows vacant, hinting at she's probably running calculations faster than I can witness.

Leaning against the bar next to me again, she cranes her head in close. "Did you have another vision?" she whispers quiet enough for no one else to overhear, her serious scowl now matching my own.

"No," I shake my head. "But one doesn't have to have visions to sense trouble brewing or think it's best to come up with a back up plan of action."

Isabela hums in mute agreement.

"Thank you," she mutters, after a long pause. Tilting her head at me, she smiles ever so slightly. "You're the best friend I've ever had in . . . in a very long time."

My pulse flutters at the unusually soft appreciation in her sparkling eyes and tone. The feelings mutual, but put into words? From her? Unexpected. "Sh! Say that when we're alone." I bump her playfully in the hip. "We wouldn't want Zevran to walk in and hear you!"

"Why?" she grins mischievously. "Would he be jealous of me? Or you?"

"Probably both," I laugh, just imagining his dramatic, feigned-hurt expression.

Knowing him, he wouldn't let it go for days, either.

The two of us chuckle amongst ourselves. Isabela then glimpses back at the table. "You three make a cute thriple, by the way." She winks at me.

My heart skips and cheeks flush.

Crap. I should've known she'd pick up on the clues. I've never been very good at hiding these things, and Isabela's more observant than most.

But Mythal's mercy . . . I wasn't ready to talk to her about it yet. And if she knows . . . Oh gods. Varric does to.

Pushing a stray hair nervously behind my ear at the thought, I peek back at the others. Fenris notices, mid-sip, and offers a tender half-smile—the warmth reaching eyes.

It's enough to light my nerves aflame, to fill me to the brim with tingly, giddy energy.

Here's hoping we can keep this peaceful happiness up.

Decent back up plans or not, it'd be a shame to disrupt it without good reason.


FENRIS

"And that's game!" Serena declares the second the abomination collapses, face first, atop the table—one hand still grasping at his most recent foaming tankard.

The two have been locked in a pointless drinking match for hours now, leaving only Hawke and I to watch the grand finale. Its result as expected, despite Serena's earlier shots of whiskey with Isabela at the bar.

Serena finishes her drink and slowly slumps down against my shoulder. She mutters something else indistinguishable under her breath, indistinguishable, and her eyes shut. I glance down at her.

"Looks like she's out for the count at last, too," Hawke comments, lifting his ale to his lips.

"So it would seem." I smirk.

He sighs and looks right at me. "You two have gotten . . . comfortable." His focus drifts down to Serena for the briefest of moments. His implications clear. Obvious. "Are you two together now?"

I gulp. "It is . . . complicated." I go for another swig of my ale, finishing off the last of the batch.

"I've thought as much." Hawke chuckles. "I've seen how the three of you have been acting together. Add in how often I'm finding you all at the mansion, and what happened back at the chateau, and . . . Well . . ."

He smiles and lowers his head.

"I'm happy for you guys. Really," he says.

And I can feel it in his voice.

In his gaze.

He means it. Truly.

It is strange. Because in this moment, I can genuinely say I feel happy, too, as unfamiliar an emotion it may be.

"You . . . might want to take her home now, though." Hawke points at her, interrupting the reflection on the good mood. "Wouldn't want to get on the Crow's bad side."

I smile and snort through my nose. "Agreed."

Taking that as my cue, I stand up, and lift Serena up into my arms. She does not fight it. In fact, she welcomes it, grasping at my chestplate immediately. Hawke waves us off, still not moving from his spot, appearing content to milk his drink unaccompanied. More than likely delaying the inevitable of having to take care of Anders, which often falls to his or Varric's responsibility.

Pushing my way around the emptying crowds, I kick open the tavern's front door and step out into the filthy, familiar slums of Lowtown. A biting night breeze instantly nips at my face, sending goosebumps rising across my skin. Serena cuddles in closer. Still fast asleep, but clearly aware enough to feel the cold through the gaps in her warden armor.

I suppose we will have to settle for her alienage accommodations tonight—the cold serving as one motivator; the other being that, although I am not drunk, I am not sober, either. The buzz prickling throughout my mind and limbs wouldn't be wise to test all the way up to the mansion. Not with one of us already out of commission. So closer option it will be.

The walk to the alienage is silent, uneventful. Nary a soul tarries the streets at this late hour, save for the usual beggars and homeless. Few if any wouldn't dare be foolish enough to go against the renowned Warden and her companion. Hung or not. A gratitude I have to King Alistair's public slip up in front of the nobles.

Stumbling down the alienage steps, up to her front door, Serena jostles awake. She slides out of my arms the second I fumble open the door and close it behind us, her body still wobbling but pressed fast against me.

"Ma serrannas," she whispers, stroking a slow, light hand up the center of my chest.

The gentle touch makes me shiver . . . and not from the cold.

Serena appears to notice and, smirking, giggles—a mischievous glimmer entering her eyes. "My hero." Her cunning, exploratory hand continues its leisure path up, stopping to cup my cheek—her cool fingers on my skin akin to setting ice on top of a fire.

Standing up on her tip toes, she grasps onto my face with both hands and kisses me softly on the lips. I hold her at the waist and bow my head into the mounting, tingling sensation. Content to melt in it. To consume it. As much as she will let me.

Serena pulls away after a good minute.

The breathless, dreamy expression on her face makes me chuckle darkly.

Her game is now clearly forgotten. But I am not about to let her retreat just yet.

Happy to take a bit of control, I drape one of her hands over the top of my shoulders, behind my back. "Privacy at last," I growl and bend forward to kiss her again.

Our lips resume their caressing dance against each other. Each tender pass becoming more heated and desperate than the last. Deepening with a firm press of the tongue.

With a muffled moan, Serena falls limp into it. Her fingers lower and tug at the fastening to my belt. An action that may be unwise, with possible undeniable consequences, should the Crow disapprove and return earlier than expected.

However, in this moment, I cannot summon the willpower to care.

It would be foolish for outsiders to engage the Warden. This remains true. But I would be a fool to refuse her, when I have her in this place, in this temporary peace, all to myself.

One can never know when such peace would cease in our line of work, with our luck. And I plan on living this moment, with her, to the fullest. Consequences for my actions or not.