Hawke's head was spinning. How had she let Isabela convince her that this was a good idea? Fingering a bolt of linen cloth in the High Town market, she sighed to herself. "Lovely, that's not what you want. You want silk. Or lace. Or velvet...or all of them!" Isabela took her hand and pulled her over to another stand. After inspecting Hawke's wardrobe, Isabela had decided that none of her garments would be suitable for the ball. Hawke's protests that surely, her mother's satin dress would do just fine, had been promptly ignored. Apparently, it was so out of fashion that she shouldn't even consider wearing it unless she wanted to appear to be a jester or madwoman of some sort. "Look at this one, that color would look wonderful on you!" Isabela exclaimed, holding up a bolt of deep crimson silk. "That would look a lot better on you Isa, and you know it," Hawke replied, smiling. Holding the cloth up against herself and twirling around, Isabela smiled back. "Yes, I know. I just wanted to see if you had any fashion sense at all." Before Hawke could make any remark, Isabela went on to state that a woman who rarely wore anything but fighting leathers would not be an obvious fashion expert, and therefore she had to conduct these tests every now and then. Once again, Hawke wasn't paying much attention. She had turned to the crowd behind them, watching it part around a slim figure dressed in skintight leather breeches and armor, and wearing a huge two-handed greatsword on his back. "Fenris," she breathed.
–
Growling to himself, Fenris not so much walked as stalked through the High Town market, people scattering before him like leaves in the wind. "Pathetic," he muttered to himself. Normally, he'd not have come out until nightfall, but he needed a new sharpening stone, and the only place to get one of the quality and type he needed for Lethendralis was here in High Town. He had not counted on it being so packed, however, and despite of people moving out of his path, the going was slow. His ears perked up, however, as he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. "Fenris! Over here! You can't believe what we're doing!" Isabela was waving her hands, grinning like a maniac, while Hawke stood beside her, face turned slightly away, eyes downward. Sighing to himself, he walked over to the two women, nodding his head. "Isabela." Her eyes roamed over him from top to bottom, almost like he was one of the dresses being displayed at the stall they were standing by. Why did she always have to do that? It reminded him of the slave inspections in Tevinter, and he did not like it. Hawke was still looking at the ground though, and didn't say a word."Hawke," he said brusquely.
–
Shit, shit, shit! What on earth was he doing here? And by Andraste's tits, why had Isabela waved him over? She knew Hawke didn't get on well with the broody elf. Their differences in opinion about magic was too radical, and they always ended up arguing, either one of them stomping off, cursing the other. She was pulled out of her darkening thoughts by Isabela chuckling merrily. "We're getting Hawke a dress! Can you believe it? A flaming dress! And for the best reason ever!" Hawke glared at the pirate. If looks could kill, she would be dead thrice over. "Isa, no. Not another word. Or I'll call the entire thing off." Isabela pouted, hiked her breasts up, and tilted her head. "Right. I can't tell you then. But trust me, it's a wonderful occasion. Now, Hawke love, how about this one?" The dress she was holding up was cut scandalously low, a slit going almost up to the hip. Hawke didn't know if she should laugh or cry. Did the woman seriously think she was going to wear something like that? Even at the Rose, that would be considered sleazy. And the color! The entire thing was a silvery blue, with bits of white lace strategically placed here and there to accentuate the already overly daring cut. In the end, she decided upon laughing. "Isa, seriously, I don't have the bust nor the hips to wear something like that. Why can't you just focus on finding something that a lean, boyish little thing like me could pull off?" Isabela was about to answer, grinning from ear to ear, when Fenris coughed, the sound sounding distinctly like "petite". The laughter faded from Hawke's eyes and her mouth turned downwards as she asked: "What was that Fenris? Didn't quite hear you there." He at least had the good graces to look embarrassed. "Petite. You know. Slim, slender. Not boyish. You're very clearly a woman." His ears started reddening. "Oh, I definitely agree," Isabela chirped in. "You might not be curvy the way I'm curvy, but you're definitely feminine. In fact, very much so. I had a friend in Ferelden once that would love your body...preferably several times a night," she winked and grinned. Hawke shook her head. She really couldn't care less, or so she told herself. Turning towards the shopkeeper, she hailed him over and asked him to bring the tailor forth so she could decide upon cut and get the dress measured. The fabrics in her hands were a gorgeous black silk, black lace, and some black, soft gauze. She'd be damned if she'd wear something bright, she preferred dark colors anyway. "Oh no you!" Isabela nearly shouted. "If you get to wear such a dreary color, I'm getting to choose the cut." At Hawke's panicked look, she patted her shoulder, saying "Don't worry lovely one, I won't go overboard. I'm a pirate after all!"
–
Back in his mansion, Fenris took a deep swig of a bottle of wine. What on earth had that all been about? What would Hawke need a dress for? Even at home she wore leathers, though soft leather breeches and a linen shirt, not armor. He knew she was a noble now, but she had never, as far as he knew, he admitted to himself, gone to any parties or functions because of it. Was she going to now?
His musings were interrupted by a soft creak of hinges, and he immediately got out of his chair and grabbed for his sword. "Don't worry Broody, it's just me and the Rivaini," came Varric's voice from the shadows. Fenris relaxed a bit, and put down his sword. "Haven't you learned by now that you should knock?" he growled, sitting back down, bringing the bottle to his lips for another sip."We did knock handsome," said Isabela, coming forward to grab for the bottle, but missed. "Oh, I apologize then. I did not hear you," Fenris answered, draining the remains of the bottle, throwing it at the wall. Varric gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, and sighed. "Look, elf, we just needed to talk to you about something. Are you sober enough to actually remember this in the morning, or should we come back tomorrow?" He didn't answer for a while. He was definitely sober enough to remember, but was he drunk enough to bother listening? Varric went ahead anyway. "You know Hawke hasn't been the same since the Deep Roads." Frowning, Fenris reclined in his chair, running a hand over the armrest idly. "Well. We have a plan. And we're going to need your help. Interested?"
A plan? Leaning forward again, Fenris fixed the dwarf with an intense gaze. "And what will this plan of yours involve then dwarf? If you end up hurting her, I'm not going to forgive you." Varric chuckled. "That's why you should join in Broody, you can make sure everything goes as it should!"
