Hawke and Fenris sit dazed, leaning against the ships prow, looking up at the hole in the sky. When Isabela drops down beside them, a bottle in each hand, Hawke reaches out for one wordlessly.

"Has the whole world gone mad," Fenris asks, to no one in particular.

"Looks that way," Isabela says with a toss of her shoulder, wine bottle sloshing perilously.

Hawke rubs a hand over her face. "Thank the Maker Varric wasn't there."

"Better to give thanks that you weren't there," Fenris says.

Hawke smiles mirthlessly. "Who knows, maybe they'll find a way to blame me for it anyway."

"You're probably right," Isabela snorts, raising her bottle high.

….

I.

Fenris does not like to be touched.

For Hawke, sex has always been as natural an act as breathing, and almost as necessary. She has grown comfortable with her body, it's various needs and quirks.

Sex with Fenris, however, is complicated. His body is dangerous terrain, one she must navigate with care. There are hidden traps and pitfalls that neither of them can see. One false move, a single misplaced step, and he will go vacant beside her, there and not there.

She has learned not to reach for him, to let him come to her in his own time, his own way.

It was not an easy lesson. The Chantry expounds the virtues of patience, but the last time Hawke heard the chant of light was at the Blooming Rose, where it was being sung by a suspiciously under-dressed sister.

It is not in her nature to wait for what she wants, to lie still and submit to another's touch. But she cannot stand to see his eyes go empty and flat, to know that he is in the other place again. There are things she has learned not to ask of him, no matter how good her intentions.

In her nightmares she sees herself stepping into a dead man's boots, taking up a foul, begrimed leash, pulling it taut across his throat. The shadow of his past life looms long over them both. There is nothing she will not do to keep it at bay.

So she allows him to lead her down an unfamiliar path.

Fenris does not like to be touched. But he likes touching her.

He loves her in the all ways he knows best, the ways he has been taught to love. It is a game they play, seeing how much of his kind of love she can bear.

There are days she hovers on the brink of despair, hating herself for always wanting something more than he is comfortable giving, for the endless need that scalds her from within. It has changed her, he has changed her, and there are some days that she hates him, too.

Sometimes when the pent up pressure of his distance becomes too much for her to bear, she allows herself to get drunk enough to start flirting with strangers.

Sometimes, when her skin is burning up from the inside with equal parts longing and loathing, she does more than just flirt.

But it's not the same anymore, the old game of kiss and tell. Maybe she truly has become conditioned, because the nights she spends with him in anticipation of his touch are more electrifying than anything she has ever felt, and the hands of enthusiastic strangers bring her at best only temporary relief.

Loving Fenris is different then she'd imagined. But she keeps the faith between them, in her own way.

…

II.

Hawke, Fenris and Isabela gathered on the quarterdeck, peering out from the railing. For some time now a strange green light had been winking in and out over the water.

"Might it be a ship in distress?" Hawke asked.

Isabela frowned. "Possibly," she allowed. "But it's rather an odd pattern for a signal. There is no rhyme or reason to it that I can make out."

"It is a most unnatural color," Fenris said. "I recommend we give it a wide berth."

"But what if it's another slaver ship," Hawke said, elbowing him. "You like those, remember? And we could certainly stand to refresh our stores of Tevinter red."

"Your dedication to emancipation is truly inspiring," Fenris said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Isabela tapped one finger on the railing. "Whatever it is, at the rate this wind is blowing, we ought to be upon it within the hour."

And so they stood sentry as the green shape drew closer and closer. Soon enough it revealed itself to be no sort of ship at all, but a shimmering phosphorescence that hung over the waves, humming with a curious energy. The three of them stood transfixed as it twisted and writhed above the sea.

"What in the Void do you suppose it is?" Hawke asked, her eyes wide.

"I've no idea," Isabela said, shrugging. She tilted her head and stared it. "But if you squint your eyes just so, it rather resembles a great green-"

"Look there," Fenris said, leaning forward. "Something emerges."

They watched as three ragged figures appeared, skating airily across the top of the water. Ice crystals crackled to life beneath their twisted feet, glittering and spinning in the frothy waves.

"Balls," Isabela said, just as Fenris spat out "Demons."

Hawke frowned. "Despair demons, at that," she said with a scowl. "Bother." Fenris and Isabela turned to look at her.

"If it had only been a Rage demon," she said, sighing as she stepped back from the railing. She pushed up her sleeves. "Imagine the look on it's face when it realized where it was." At their stares, she gestured out to the limitless sea. "Come on, you mean to tell me you aren't a bit curious?"

Both of them ignored her.

Isabela squinted out at the sea. "We need to put some distance between us and that green business," she said, stepping back. "No telling what else might come through."

She pushed her hat up further on her forehead. "Hoy lads!" she called up to the rigging, her voice ringing out like a struck bell. "We've got trouble coming round the starboard! Aft the mainsheet, and loose the topsails! The Queasy Crow sails westward!"

In an easy, fluid movement both her daggers were out, shining brightly beneath the late afternoon sun.

She looked back at Hawke, and pursed her lips.

"Alright, sparkle-fingers. I am temporarily suspending the bucket rule," she said. "Do not make me regret it."

Hawke's face lit up. She turned and looked expectantly at Fenris. He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing.

"I reserve the right to throw you overboard should you pose a danger to yourself or to the crew."

One of the ragged figures let out an unearthly scream, and they all shivered as the temperature dropped noticeably.

"But for now I will allow that the demons appear to be the greater threat," he amended, unsheathing his sword.

"Do you really think so?" Hawke said, grinning her own feral smile, the tips of her fingers already starting to flicker and swell with wild orange light. 'Well, we'll soon see about that."

…

Afterwards they sat drinking on the deck, watching the tear retreat steadily into the distance. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, and the evening light drenched everything in a cascade of pure gold.

Hawke inched further down onto her back, one hand cupping the green glass bottle, the other covertly flaring with orange and blue. Smiling, she let the tiny flames dance across her finger tips.

Then Isabela started singing, low and lilting in the burnished light of the setting sun. Her voice was husky from years of whiskey and saltwater, but well suited to the cadence of the old sea shanty.

*"We are far from sight of the harbour lights,

Of the sea-ports whence we came,

But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites,

And our hearts are turned to flame,

And merry and rich is the goodly gear

We'll win upon the tossing sea,

A silken gown for my dainty dear,

And a gold doubloon for me, love

a gold doubloon for me."

Fenris ran a spiky-gloved hand through Hawke's hair, and she shivered at the pricking of the cold metal. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her blood pumping hot from wine and battle. Slowly, tentatively she reached up with one hand and traced the white line that ran down the back of his neck.

He flinched away, stiffening. She saw him catch himself, watched him force his body back into a casual pose.

It was like being doused in cold water again. She pulled her hand back, ignoring his apologetic look, and closed her eyes. She felt his hand move through her hair again, the metal tracing down her cheek to her neck, her collarbone. She bit her lip, tried to make herself still, push down the roaring she felt in her ears. When she thought she might suffocate, she brought the bottle up to her mouth, took a long draught.

"There's a sea-way somewhere where all day long

Is the hushed susurrus of the sea,

The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor's song,

And the wind's cry calling me, love

The wind's cry calling me."

Isabela's voice trailed off. When Hawke opened her eyes, she could see the ocean stretched out around them, empty for miles upon miles. The last white hot sliver of sun slipped down below the dark waves. Fenris' hand moved lower too, and despite her best efforts she felt herself arch into his touch. She forced her eyes up to the open sky, where the Breach pulsed with a sickly green light, like a bruise gone septic.

She frowned.

Then she sat up, almost knocking over her bottle.

"It's the Fade," she said, her eyes widening in awe.

Fenris and Isabela both looked up.

"So we'd gathered from Aveline's letter," Isabela said. Fenris said nothing, but he drew back his hand.

Hawke felt him withdraw, a frisson of irritation twitching under her skin. "But that dodgy green thing, the tear, it must be a smaller version of whatever's happened up there." Her head cocked, and she looked up in wonder.

"Then there is no telling how many more demons have entered our world," Fenris said, his hand clenching around the bottle.

"But don't you see?" Hawke said, growing animated.

"See what?" Isabela said, absently twirling one of her daggers.

"If the demons came out of it," Hawke said slowly, "doesn't it stand to reason that something else might go into it?"

Fenris and Isabela's heads snapped around as if synchronized, their movement punctuated by the thunk of a dagger hitting the deck. Hawke caught them exchanging a meaningful look over her head. She set her jaw obstinately, crossing her arms.

"We are not going into the Fade," Fenris said, sitting straight up.

"I'm not saying we should," Hawke protested, "But if it were possible-"

"Hawke," Isabela said, staring at her, "you do remember what happened last time we went into the Fade?"

Hawke scowled.

"Bloody right I do," she said. She drew her knees up into her chest. "But I reckon you've got your damned boat now. And Danarius is dead. So maybe I can take a walk through the Fade without two of my dearest friends trying to kill me on a demon's say so."

There was a beat of silence next to her, and then Fenris slammed his bottle down on the deck hard enough to make them all flinch. Without a word he rose and walked away.

Isabela turned to her, one eyebrow raised. "Was that well done?" She looked at Fenris' retreating back. "I rather think you've just bought yourself a week of sleeping on the deck."

Hawke shrugged, reaching out with one arm to snatch up his abandoned bottle. "Nothing new there."

Isabela's eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong with you," she said, nodding in the direction Fenris had left.

"What's right with us," Hawke said, tipping the bottle up to her mouth.

"I mean it," the pirate said. "You two like a good spat better than a pig likes shit, but that's the first time I've seen you get nasty."

Hawke shut her eyes, rubbed her hands over her face. "I'm only tired," she said.

Isabela looked at her closely. Her eyes widened. She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her face suddenly serious.

"Marion Hawke, I demand to know how many days it's been since you've had a decent fuck."

Hawke studiously ignored her, taking another long swig of her bottle.

Isabela winked."That long?"

"Oh, leave it," Hawke muttered, turning away.

The pirate peered anxiously at her. Then suddenly she sat back with a satisfied expression.

"Ah," she said, nodding. "I see how it is. Contracted the Bedroom Blight, has he? Limbtaker gone Limp? Fog Warrior foundering? Tower turned Tranquil? Hanged man… hanging?"

Hawke choked on her wine. "'Bela," she groaned out.

Isabela brightened. "Oh! Hawke!"

"Bela, don't-"

"Has he gone," she squinted, adopting her best imitation of Varric's rough drawl, "… Soft in Lowtown?"

Hawke put her head in her hands.

"Admit it, you liked that one." Isabella said smugly, nudging her in the ribs.

In truth, Hawke would have liked it very much had it not reminded her that her best friend was currently half a world away, a prisoner in a strange land, subject to horrors unknown. Her shoulders slumped, and she swallowed.

Isabela misinterpreted her movement.

"There, now, don't fret," she said, patting her shoulders. "Why, I've a concoction that will set him stiff as a ship's mast-"

"Have you really?" Hawke said, looking up. She ran a quick hand across her eyes. "You ought to have said earlier. Imagine the fun we could have had with it at Chateau Haine."

Isabela gave her a knowing smile. "Orlesian nobles are sufficiently inclined toward buggery as it is, sweet thing. They've no need of any additional encouragement from us."

Hawke sighed, turning her attention back to the remaining wine. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," Isabela settled down next to her, her face going speculative. "Now, if you're in the market for a proper rogering, I'd recommend the cook." She shuddered. ""Maker knows I don't keep him on for his stew."

Hawke blinked at her. "Not the first mate?"

"What, old Dobbins?" Isabela looked astonished. "Oh Hawke, surely not. The poor man wouldn't know a good lay if it bit him on the arse." She gave Hawke a curious look. "Why? Do you fancy him?"

"No," said Hawke, peering down into the depths of the green glass neck. "Only I rather thought that was how your crew earned promotions."

Isabela pulled back, and stared at her.

"That," she said, "was decidedly uncalled for."

She stood up, and walked over to the ship's railing.

"I'm sorry, 'Bela" Hawke muttered.

Isabela ignored her. She leaned out further, making a great show of contemplating the hole in the sky. "Do you know," she said loudly to no one in particular, and certainly not to Hawke, "I think I should quite enjoy a look inside one of those beastly green things after all?"

Hawke sighed and ran a hand over her bleary eyes.

"Yes," Isabela said, nodding determinedly, "perhaps a nice leisurely stroll through the Fade is what's needed." She raised one hand to her chin, her eyes comically wide. "Wonder if I could get an even bigger boat off a demon."

"Bela-"

"Maybe if I were to trade it for the miserable wretch who has taken the place of my erstwhile friend Hawke? But alas," she sighed, shaking her head. "What demon in it's right mind could possibly wish for such poor company-"

"Oh call it off," Hawke called out to her, scowling. "I said I was sorry, didn't I?" She glared down at the bottle in her hands.

"You'll have to do better than that!"

Hawke stared through narrowed eyes at Isabela's back. She knew she was behaving like an ass, but all the same she felt the heat of an old anger glowing in her chest. She rubbed her side, fingers lingering over old scar tissue.

But what's the point, she thought suddenly. You can't undo what was done. And of course, it hadn't been Bela's fault. Not really.

With a sigh, she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. Clearing her throat, she tried again.

"I am so sorry, dearest Isabela," she called out, walking towards the pirate. "Words cannot express the full measure of my regret. For you are my sea pearl, my ocean goddess-"

Isabela's back twitched. "Do go on."

Hawke came up behind her, and draped both arms around her neck in a sloppy embrace.

"My salt-water slattern, dearer to me than ten pairs of torn trousers," she murmured into her dark hair.

"That many?" Isabela voice was muffled. "Goodness, I must be moving up in the world."

But she wrapped an arm around Hawke's waist.

They were both silent for a few minutes.

"I know it's been hard, sweet thing," Isabela said finally, looking out over the black waters. "But you mustn't give up hope."

Hawke stayed mute, pressed into the warmth of Isabela's side.

They stood like that for a long time, until the last of the purples and blues had faded from the sky and only the Breach remained, it's eerie glow flickering feather light over the vast expanse of water and stars.