31

HAWKE

1 year later

She brought the brush through her thick, black hair once more. She still wasn't used to the length, and she felt like a stranger as she stared back at herself into the mirror. Orana had begged her to grow it, relishing the chance to style it, and Hawke had obliged her. In truth, Hawke liked it. It reminded her of being a girl in Lothering, when her mother would set about putting her and Bethany in matching braids. And, it did fit in better with her new Hightown lifestyle, anyway.

"Orana?" she called from her bedroom. "I need you to do me up, please."

The elf came hurrying in, lifting her eyes at the last second. "Oh, mistress, you look lovely tonight. Your mama would be so proud of you."

Hawke stared back at herself. Proud. She doubted very much that Leandra Hawke would be proud of what her daughter had become. Hawke felt one of her black moods start to descend on her, and tried to shrug it off.

"Thank you, Orana" she said politely, as the elf started lacing the back of her gown up.

Another banquet. This was the third one this month. She didn't enjoy the things, but she owed these people. The nobles of Kirkwall had been the only thing standing between her and the Knight-Commander after Hawke had exposed herself as an apostate. The friendships that Leandra Amell had fostered during her time in Hightown had proved worthwhile, as the people had rallied around her only living daughter.

"It's good to see you've been eating, mistress" Orana murmured as she struggled to get Hawke's breasts into the gown.

Hawke smiled grimly at the elf in the mirror, before focusing her eyes back on her own reflection. The scar across her nose jumped out angrily at her, still blood red. She felt her veins turn to ice every time she saw it, as the anger ebbed away at her stomach. It really was a wonder that the marriage proposals were still coming in. There had actually been an influx, of all things, after her battle with the Arishok. Hawke had surmised that most of the attraction stemmed from her obvious interest in women, and many young bachelors had jumped at the chance to get a wife that was happy with a three-to-the-bed scenario. Hawke had found the whole thing stomach churning.

Orana finished with her dress, patting Hawke affectionately on the back. "You'll be sure to find a husband tonight, mistress, you look beautiful."

Hawke bit back her reply, giving the elf only the smallest of smiles. She felt sorry for her maid. When Leandra had been alive, Orana had felt a sense of belonging, of family. But being alone with the younger Hawke, who had become nothing but brooding stares and icy responses, couldn't have been much fun for her. At least she gets paid, Hawke told herself, and I don't use her for blood sacrifices. Still, she would have liked to have been that person for Orana, that friend that the elf so desperately needed. She would have to invite Merrill over more often, she decided on the spot.

Hawke straightened out her dress and made her way to the staircase.

He would be there tonight, and she could feel her chest tightening at the very thought. She had no idea what he saw in her. Before the battle, yes, she had been aware that she was blessed with hereditary good looks. The only good thing that had come from her accident of birth, as the magic had proved to be nothing but a curse. But the Arishok had taken her looks away from her. No, Isabela took that, she corrected herself.

She rarely found a way to pull herself out of her black pit, but tonight, she was excited to see him. She still remembered the first time he had taken her. It had been her 18th name-day, and he had met her in the Lothering forest. He'd had a bunch of hand-picked flowers, and the full moon had lit up the clearing. He'd laid her down and been so patient, so gentle, only flinching slightly when her fingertips flared with flames as he took her maidenhood. It had been a lifetime ago. She felt blessed to have a second chance with him.

He had been her source of strength, always visiting and bringing gifts while she went through her agonisingly long recovery. He talked to her for hours, without ever trying to touch her. Hawke had thought he acted out of kindness, and was not interested in her. She had seen what had become of her face, after all, and that was bad enough, but luckily only she, Anders and a few Circle mages had seen the damage to her body.

But then out of the blue, during one of his visits, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. There was nothing behind it. No pushing her against a wall or a bed, no groping hands or insistent tongue. It was just a kiss. And she had liked it, and when he let her go and sat back, she had leaned in for more. She had wanted the light off, but he had promised she could trust him. And she did. The enormous, red scar that bit into the bottom of her right breast and travelled its way to the middle of her back, the mottled burn scar that took up most of her left calf, the skinny, withered appearance that her legs had taken on after their months of disuse, it was like he didn't see any of it. He just saw her. And she had needed that so badly.

She hobbled down the stairs, her legs still clumsy after their 6 month paralysis. She was suddenly eager to get there, to feel his gaze upon her once more.

Their eyes met across the room, which was decorated elaborately and filled to the brim with Kirkwall's finest. She felt her skin prickle under his stare, and her feet started walking in his direction. His feet did the same, two magnets drawn together. They met in the middle, and he kissed her on both cheeks.

"You look beautiful, my lady" he whispered in her ear.

She squirmed under the false compliment, but appreciated its intent. "You look good too" she breathed back, as his scent hung in the air. They both felt the stare boring into them from the woman on the other side of the room.

"I need to see you" he said quietly.

Hawke gave a small nod. "I need you too" she murmured, "meet me in the garden in ten minutes."

Their eyes met, and they broke apart, as he made his way towards the back of the manor, and Hawke circled the room, giving handshakes and air kisses to all of her mother's, and now, by association, her friends.

The cold night air hit her as she ducked out of the servant's back entrance. She had taken longer than she had expected, getting lost in conversation with Dulci De Launcet. She hoped he was still out there.

He stepped out from behind a tree. "I feared you wouldn't come" he said quietly, reaching out to hold her.

"Not here," she whispered, stepping further away from the house, "come with me."

She led him down the back of the property, and under a large, sturdy oak. She was sure there would be no prying eyes this far from the feast. It would be the death of both of them if they were caught. She guided him against the trunk, kissing his lips with hunger. He kissed her back, taking her in his strong, muscular arms. She switched their positions, pulling him against her as she pressed her back into the tree trunk.

"We need to be quick" she whispered, expertly unbuttoning his pants.

"We don't need to do this, my lady" he said quietly, moaning softly as she took his manhood in her hands.

"I haven't seen you for a whole week. I need it" she said, stepping out of her underwear and lifting her dress.

He picked her up and braced her against the tree, guiding himself inside of her while kissing her gently. It had become an addiction for her. He had come back into her life like a knight in shining armour, and filled all the gaping holes in her heart that Isabela had left there. The only time she felt anything close to happiness, was when this man was inside of her.

Feeling his pressure on her hips, his weight against her, his stubble against her neck, it was so different to being with Isabela. He was everything that the pirate was not. Warm, affectionate, loving, transparent, constant. But it didn't feel the same. Hawke doubted that she would ever again let herself feel what she had felt for Isabela. Would she fight an Arishok for him? Probably not. But maybe it would be nice to have somebody who was willing to fight an Arishok for her, for once.

Hawke cursed herself. Him. Any other man in Kirkwall, but it had to be him. He could never truly be hers. He broke his vows with every moment he spent with her, and the other woman in his life would watch them both hang if she ever found out.

He knew Hawke's body, and anticipated her perfectly as she clenched her thighs down tightly on his waist. He covered her mouth as she reached her climax, and she screamed into his hand. He followed her a moment later, moaning deeply into her shoulder. They paused for a moment, breathing in synchronicity, and then he leaned in and kissed her. She touched the side of his face, feeling her hand glide along the strong jaw. He lowered her gently to the ground, and did his pants up. She retrieved her undergarments from beside her and put them back on.

"I wish I could dance with you, just once" he said sadly, as he started to walk back towards the feast.

"You say that only because you've never seen me dance. It's not pretty" she said lightly.

He sighed. "You know what I mean."

Hawke nodded. "I do. But we can't. She already suspects us. We can't do anything to confirm it for her."

"Fuck her" he grumbled.

Hawke chuckled. "Maker, I hope you're not fucking her…"

He reached out and touched Hawke's hand, their fingers tangling momentarily. "No, you're the only one for me, my lady."

Hawke smiled bitterly, cursing her horrible luck. Isabela, and now him. She had picked the two most unavailable people in Kirkwall to fall in love with. "No, I'm not. She's always going to rule your life, and I'll never be able to be a part of it. But I'll take what I can get. You are a remarkable man."

He looked at her sadly, and gently kissed her hand. "And you are a remarkable woman, Champion."

They dropped each other's hands as they went back inside, taking separate entrances. Hawke went back to mingling, and watched from across the room as he went back to her side.