Leandra and Bethany hovered near the cot. Hawke had been unconscious for three days under Anders' spell. Her color slowly became more normal over the days, but her appearance was far from radiating health and warmth. Her skin was still sallow and deep plum bruises were splashed grotesquely across her body.
Hawke was never without company. Her mother and sister were present as many hours of the day as they could muster, but Aveline would often come by to insist the pair return home to sleep. Merrill would recite Dalish history, and Isabela often snuck in late at night to whisper filthy stories into her friend's ear, only to be shooed out by a grumpy, tired Anders. Fenris sat silently by his friend, always unsure what to do. Varric had collected Hawke's armor and weapons; he paid to have them cleaned and restored.
The pirate queen was rather shocked one evening when she saw a face that clearly didn't belong in the Hanged Man. Leandra had stepped through the door, looking more than uncomfortable. She glanced around, wrinkling her nose at the robust odor that marked a well-attended tavern.
She saw Isabela, lounging at her usual place by the bar, and made a beeline straight for her. This further surprised the Rivaini, wondering what the Hawke matron could want from her.
"Can I get you an ale? Or perhaps something stronger?" She noted the exhausted look that clung to the woman's appearance.
"No, thank you, Isabela."
"What can I do for you, then?"
"Varric has been spinning this wild yarn about dragons, bandits, ogres and all other matter of unsavory heroism. Aveline still can't seem to talk about it, and that elf..." Isabela smirked a little. "You were there. You will tell me the truth. What happened to my dear girl?"
Isabela chuckled at the idea of someone coming to her to hear the truth about anything. Yet, she was oddly touched by the woman's request. "There's always a grain of truth to Varric's tales, I'll tell you that. Sit down, and let me get you something to drink; you're going to need it."
She recited the events that took place at the mine, just without the darkspawn, griffon hatchlings and Antivan assassins that had been sprinkled through the dwarf's version. When she got to the moment where the dragon took Hawke, Isabela had to stop. Tears were running down Leandra's face, and she dissolved against the pirate.
Isabela was incredibly uneasy; comforting weeping women was not her thing, unless it ended in sex. This definitely wasn't the case. The older woman peered up at the dusky beauty in front of her.
Wiping tears away, she said, "You... You saved her! Andraste guide you!"
"I... Well- W-what? I didn't save Hawke. Anders saved her."
"He tells me otherwise, dear. If you hadn't given her the potion, and carried her to his clinic, my Marian would have been..."
"I did what anyone would have done. Don't go thinking I'm some kind of saint... I'm definitely not!"
Leandra smiled at the obviously uncomfortable woman. "You don't need to be a saint to be a savior in the eyes of an old woman and a mother. You made it so my daughter is still breathing. I owe you my gratitude, Isabela."
The pirate shifted in her stool. This was going too far. "You're welcome, but please, don't name any kids or pets after me."
"Fair enough. Let me at least buy you this drink, dear. It's the least I can do."
"I can't say no to free alcohol!"
They drank and chatted for a few hours following, both reminiscing about Fereldan and things they missed or hated about it. Leandra was awfully interested in the fact that the pirate had both met the Hero of Fereldan and taught her how to duel. She was less interested in the threesome she ended up having with her and an Orlesian bard.
Eventually Isabela escorted the slightly tipsy woman home so she could get some much-needed rest. The pirate immediately departed for the Undercity, standing outside the quiet clinic. Anders was asleep, and no one was lingering near any other beds, not even Hawke's.
There was a cloth lying across the rogue's forehead, but it was cold and only slightly damp from having been placed a while ago. She removed it, and dipped it into a kettle of water the mage always kept near the fire.
Isabela gently moved the messy locks of hair that sprung back to cover Hawke's face. As though handling a newborn, she put the freshly dampened towel over her patient's face.
"Why were you such an idiot?" Isabela murmured, settling down on the small stool next to the cot. "Why do you always play the hero? We could have let that stupid dragon burn down the bloody Free Marches, and let Lady Manhands and her blasted guards kill it!" She stared down the motionless woman in the dim candlelight.
A naughty grin spread across face. "You have no idea the things I could do to you right now. No bets, no alcohol and no protests. It's a damned shame that your sister is the only one that gets to sponge bathe you. I bet I could do such a better job."
The pirate began to whisper all the little things that she would do to Hawke if she could put her practiced hands to good use. She was terribly tempted to do everything she muttered into the woman's ear, but Isabela was a tease when it counted. She was just getting to the bits she imagined Hawke would think were the best parts, when the woman's face tilted toward the Rivaini's.
"After all that," she rasped. "I hope you live up to your word." She smiled weakly.
"Maker's great hairy balls, Hawke! You scared the shit out of me," she yelled, startled by the movement of the woman who was supposed to be in a magical coma.
Hawke limped up to the Hanged Man, her arm in a sling and greenish bruises still visible from under the collar of her tunic. When she entered, a raucous cheer greeted her, and she smiled looking at all the people there to celebrate her recovery.
Varric paid for all the food and drink, and no one, especially Aveline, asked where that amount of coin came from. Even Gamlen was there, though everyone suspected he only came for the booze.
Bethany ran up to her sister, helping her as much as the proud sibling allowed. She was seated at one of the only real chairs in the tavern, and not one of the barrels or benches most of everyone else sat their drunken asses on. Merrill had kindly decorated it with little flowers and beaded strings. She ran up to Hawke and put one of the beaded strands around her neck.
"It's for you! Unless, it's not wrong to give gifts to the ailing? We always did that for members of the clan."
"Thank you, Merrill. It's lovely," Hawke said, smiling warmly at the elf.
"Hawke! It's good to see you out and about again. My stories are a little dull without my favorite muse!"
"Oh! Were there really baby griffons?" Merrill's whole face lit up with delight.
"I'm going to end up letting you down, horribly, aren't I?" Everyone chuckled at Hawke's quip.
Hawke sat down and gestured for Anders to come over. "Thank you. You saved my life. I will repay you."
"Hawke, I don't do this for money or favors. You owe me nothing. Saving a life is gratifying enough. I'm still going to need to do some more healing..."
"Is that something Bethany could take care of? She's a good healer."
"I could certainly show her. Send word when you're ready, and I'll come to you. Can't imagine you want to keep going to Darktown."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess that I should get lots of rest and water too? C'mon, Anders, it's a celebration!" He smiled and went back to his seat.
"Hawke. It's good to have you back." Aveline looked stony.
"And leave you to ruin all the fun around the city? Not a chance!"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," the guardswoman chuckled. "I just want you to know that... I let Wesley down, and then you..."
"Ave, stop. I blame you for nothing. But! If you really want to make it up to me, you can bring me a mug and pass that pitcher of ale my way! If you're going to be all guilty and brooding, you and Fenris can go sulk in Hightown." The woman scowled down at her friend, and then burst out laughing, happy to have her sassy companion back.
"Oh just kiss already!" Came the honey-rich voice of the Rivaini sauntering over to them.
"Shut up, Whore."
"That's original, Big Girl."
"Can't you two ever get along!"
"Only when you're not looking, Hawke. And you're always looking," Isabela smirked.
"I hear that I have you to thank for my life, Bela." She tried to meet the gaze of her rescuer, but the dusky woman kept her eyes averted.
"Don't read too much into it. Although..." A sly look passed over her face. "Does this mean that I have earned a night with you?"
"Perhaps, but definitely not tonight."
"I thought it was a celebration?"
"Blessed Andraste, Bela! I can barely walk! What makes you think I could handle a tumble right now?"
"Good point, Hawke. Dead fish are no fun in bed. If I'm to have you, I want you at your best."
"Confident, aren't we?"
"Always, Hawke. Always."
The alcohol flowed freely from tap to mouth that night. No one could have possibly been in a sour mood that night, not with Hawke back among the party. Merrill was flitting about, tucking flowers into Aveline's hair and talking about Dalish legends with Varric.
Everyone was thoroughly surprised when they saw Anders pour a drink for Fenris, who accepted it with grace, and the tiniest of smirks. Gamlen mostly sat by himself, drinking and eating hoggishly. Aveline got too drunk, trying to prove to Isabela that she could go shot for shot with her. The powerful warrior was doing remarkably well, but the pirate was a professional drunk. The poor woman started ranting about how much training the new recruits would need before they came anywhere near her standards. She was complaining about Isabela's "lifestyle," and then she promptly threw up into her tankard.
Thankfully, there was another off-duty guard in the Hanged Man that offered to escort the guard captain back to the barracks. He swore that he would not breathe a word of it to any one else.
Fenris and Varric got into an arm wrestling match, while Bethany, and Leandra practically dragged a very sloshed Gamlen out of the tavern. Hawke promised the two women that she would be able to get home, and if she didn't feel up to it, Varric would let her stay in his suite.
While everyone was distracted with the battle going on between elf and dwarf, Hawke slipped away as well as she could, heading to the upper floor if the inn. She stumped past Varric's room and sidled on into Isabela's.
She had never been in there before, and she paused to look around. It was a small space, unlike the dwarf's suite. There were empty liquor bottles on the floor along the walls and next to the unmade bed. Little trinkets were spread across a small writing table; Hawke assumed that they were items the pirate had stolen from unaware victims.
The scent of Corff's spiced rum and eucalyptus clung pleasantly to the air around her. Bodices, corsets and fancy smallclothes were strewn on and around a tiny, wooden wardrobe. It was exactly what Hawke thought the room would be.
She walked over to the writing desk, and picked up a sheaf parchment, thumbing through the pages of a very graphic friend-fiction involving Aveline and several burly, sweaty male recruits. She giggled, reading some of the scribbled lines, but clutched her side in pain.
The rogue limped over to the bed, sort of spreading out the blankets. She plopped down onto it, inhaling sharply at the angry jolt of soreness that spread along her back. Anders was a gifted healer, but there was only so far that magic could go; the rest would be up to her body.
She relaxed, feeling sleepy from the alcohol and just plain tired from everything that had happened to her. Sleep gripped her like the jaws of a mabari, and it wasn't long before Hawke found herself plagued my memories and guilt.
Carver's mangled body flew through the air, droplets of blood trailing behind him. A long crimson streak stained the dirt as his lifeless form skidded to a halt. Leandra flew to her son's side, caring nothing for the ogre that could come after her next.
Hawke felt a scream rip from her throat, tasting the pure magic that was crackling off of her sister. Little lightning bolts were stabbing the air around the mage, her eyes wide with horror and her mouth agape with a silent cry of rage.
Aveline was the first to act, charging around the blighted thing, yelling at the beast to distract it. Bethany sent a searing hot fireball into its leathery back. The explosion stopped the ogre mid-swing at the redheaded woman.
Hawke finally came to, and, with a roar unlike any she had ever uttered, she sprang onto his still-burning back, not caring about the blazing heat against her skin. She sunk her daggers in on either side of its spine.
"Hawke! For the Maker's sake, woman! Calm down!" Someone was yelling at her, and she didn't like it. Her fist collided with a hard jaw. Hands that were pinning her shoulders down lifted their weight from her as she heard a throaty grunt from above.
Hawke's eyes sprang open. It took her a second to adjust to the dim light, but she saw Isabela straddling her. The Rivaini was cupping her own jaw, wincing slightly in pain.
"Bela? What the hell are you doing?" She tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillow as her achy body protested.
"What am I doing? What was that for?" She pointed at the swelling on her face.
"Oh, Andraste... I hit you?"
"Well I didn't hit myself, genius."
"And why, Isabela, are you straddling me?"
"Well, everyone was looking for you, because you kind of vanished from your own bloody party! I came up to my room, and you were thrashing around, yelling and about ready to break my bed. I was holding you down, and you punched me!"
"Sorry about that..."
"Remind me never to wake you up again. You also owe me for that hit! You better be careful, Hawke. Your favors are starting to stack up!"
"Great. Thank you, though, for waking me."
Isabela slid off of her guest, and sat on the edge of her bed by Hawke's knees. "What were you dreaming about?" she casually asked while starting to undo the buckles on her boots.
"My brother... The day he died. I have nightmares about it too often. It's been over a year, and that day still haunts me like a Shade."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the pirate responded, not looking up from her boots. "Need a drink?"
Hawke chuckled, "No, thanks. I think I've had enough for one night. There is something I did want to talk to you about."
"But talking is so boring. We could be doing much better things." She fixed her honey eyes on the woman in her bed. Hawke was sorely tempted to take her up on the offer, especially now that she had a lovely view of long, toned copper-skinned legs.
The rogue finally sat up, wincing from the movement. Isabela leaned on the arm she suddenly placed by the Fereldan's hip, offering up a tantalizing sight of her bosom, daring Hawke to take the bait.
"Maker, you don't make this easy, but I do have to talk to you." The other woman rolled her eyes, but stayed awfully close. "You saved my life from that dragon. You could have left Aveline or Fenris to carry me, but you didn't."
"Not you too! Didn't I tell you earlier not to fuss about that? I know you're all honor-bound and such, but why can't you-"
"Bela, let me finish. This isn't something I can toss aside. For thanks, I have a gift for you." One of the Rivaini's brows arched in interest. "Here. It's not weighted right for my style. I considered pawning it, but I think you'll put it to good use."
Hawke pulled the dagger she had taken from Hayder's body the night they killed him. She had a feeling her comrade would appreciate the present. Isabela looked at her with surprise.
"This was Hayder's! The bastard was always so clumsy with a dagger. He didn't deserve this beauty. Made from Orlesian Aurum. You know how they like their shiny things. It's a gorgeous weapon that needs a proper history." She was smiling with joy, feeling the weight of it in her hand. "Do you know what he called it?"
"Can't say that I do. We didn't exactly have tea and talk about our prized possessions, now did we?"
"That we didn't. Hayder called this one the Bodice Ripper. Ugly bastard probably never got to use it for that." She flashed a look at Hawke.
"Well, I'm glad that no willing woman gave him the chance!"
Hawke was smirking when a blazing hot kiss landed on her lips. Isabela had pounced, pushing her prey back onto the bed with surprising gentleness. The pirate's mouth was fiery and open, inviting the Fereldan to come play.
She returned the embrace with equal fervor, exploring her partner's enchanting mouth. Isabela's tongue lightly brushed against Hawke's, sending a tiny shiver through both of them. That small contact wasn't enough for the rogue, and she took command of the kiss, showing the beauty above her that she wasn't to be toyed with.
Mercifully, Isabela kept her hands planted firmly above her companion's shoulders, knowing that Hawke was still too sore. However, she was positively itching to find out just what caresses on which areas of her body would drive the woman wild.
But the Rivaini's own body was perfectly unharmed, and had been left untouched for far too long. Hawke reached up and slowly took one of Isabela's breasts in her hand. She delighted in the supple flesh that was regrettably housed underneath that cotton tunic. A deep throaty moan slipping into her mouth answered the action.
The sable woman broke the ardent embrace to trail kisses and tormenting little bites down Hawke's throat and shoulder, while the other woman's hands continued their tantalizing movements against her chest. She moved back up to the Fereldan's bare lips, leading with her fretful tongue.
She moved to press herself against her companion when Hawke cried out in pain. "Shit! I forgot... I'm sorry," she said, springing off of the bed.
"Don't worry about it." Hawke's face was scrunched with the lingering ache that settled through her. "You know what, I should go."
"You're joking!"
"Nope. Here." She tossed the cross woman a sovereign while slowly getting out of the bed herself. "I just can't, right now. Get yourself someone who wasn't mauled by a dragon at the Rose. I'm sorry, Bela. Another night." She hobbled out of the room without another word.