Who: Isabela & Hawke What: Waking up from the dreams with the Arishok, and Isabela manages to drop the bomb about something When: This morning Where: Bela's beach pad Rating/Warnings: Crude humor and language, as always - with a dash of feels Status: Complete!
Hawke dreaded sleep. To mourn his mother there, to mourn his mother here - it was as if someone made a lovely concoction of salt and lemon juice and tossed it into the gaping wound it had all left, and it was if that same blasted someone decided to rub it all in with sandpaper and take their bloody merry time. He knew things were unraveling in Kirkwall, and it hadn’t just been the mages turning to the forbidden arts for salvation, or the Templar Order being particularly suspicious (not to mention entirely asinine) in their ‘treatment’ of said mages.
It was the goddamn Arishok and his literal military. It was the relic. It was Isabela leaving. Varric had warned him about her, didn’t he? That handsome dwarf - with the most majestic bush of chest hair Hawke had ever laid those mossy green eyes upon - had pulled him aside once, provided his sage input on the entire matter merely as a concerned friend. And while it was appreciated, he’d thought it was unnecessary. Bela wasn’t by any means in possession of white wings and a halo but, fuck, none of them were perfect. But she wasn’t an absolute shite like she insisted, either.
Even when she left. And took the Qunari relic with her.
It all started coming undone after that. Aveline’s pressure with the fugitives, the Arishok demanding to know where the relic was (and a stubborn fool in love, he wouldn’t tell him), and then the city began to burn. A situation in which, of course, the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander found the opportune moment to argue but a little fed up with just about everything, Garrett had managed to quiet them both and take the reigns on his own - best listen to the Fereldan immigrant than to force two people that absolutely detested each other to come to an agreement of their own. Hostages were on the line, things were still being eaten away by fire, why dilly-dally around with thumbs up their bums?
Of course when the confrontation came along, things got mighty interesting. Perhaps his heart fluttered and perhaps he swooned at the sight of Isabela returning - her attempt to fix things, make amends, all quite touching stuff until the Arishok demanded him to hand over his pirate or otherwise face him in a duel and, well, of course, one might assumed what had happened. Hawke fought the horned giant - alone - and by the grace of Andraste’s vaginal queefs, he’d won.
Now he understood the ‘Champion’ bit from Trevelyan. A flattering title it was, though the issues in Kirkwall didn’t end there. He was sure of it. Kirkwall became even more divided as time passed, and an apostate mage holding such a prestige name in such a magic-hating community as that, things would surely continue to burn.
But in this world, in this other brand of shithole known as Orange County, Hawke stirred in a bed that was only half his (Bela owned it but he slept in it enough, alright, half his), and the sun rose in orange delight over the calm beach, and that brawny body of his may have been littered in contusions both black and blue, but the physical ache hadn’t stopped him from wrapping around the mouthy thief next to him. As in, yes, he spooned her, and she fit better in this large arms anyway.
Hawke nibbled her neck. “Wake up, you absolutely non-piece of shit.”
Isabela had played her part, certainly, when it came to the troubles associated with that fucking relic - but she hadn’t put a gun to the Arishok’s head and forced him to declare war on Kirkwall. She didn’t force him to stay for so long that he’d snap under the strain and that’s exactly what had happened - he’d snapped under the pressure that was his duty being in conflict with his role in that shithole of a city. The Arishok was meant to be a warrior, not a diplomat, but circumstances pigeon-holed him into a role he did not fit, it didn’t fit under his mandate either.
Rather than admit defeat, admit that he’d failed, he chose to keep digging that hole deeper. And the people all suffered for it - the city burned.
That night, she’d dreamed it too - she’d dreamed of her accepting accountability for her actions, the part she’d played. People’s lives (Hawke’s included, the man she loved but hadn’t quite admitted it yet, stubborn pirate) were endangered and so she returned to pay her dues, end of story. Not like she expected the Arishok’s solution to be her life as a prize in a duel between he and Hawke - but perhaps that Ferelden immigrant was a bit stubborn too, because he’d fought for her. Fought for her life, her freedom, and he’d saved the city from further Qunari-inspired turmoil. What happened after?
Well. She felt a bit inferior, like she didn’t deserve such treatment, but it was simply that she wasn’t all too used to having someone on her side.
“I’m awake,” she mumbled, stirring in his arms. Life was too short to not sleep with the windows open, to let in the cool night breeze if you lived on the beach, and she always liked waking up all bundled up in blankets. Helpful, because Bela’s pyjamas weren’t much of anything - a satiny camisole and no knickers, bare bum and bare everything from the hips down. Oh well! “Though I don’t know about that - what happened to you?!”
Isabela had turned enough to see the bruises, and she was alert now. “You look all pulvarised.”
A bit, didn’t he? Hawke didn’t think anything was broken, even if he emerged with a couple more-than-broken ribs when it came to facing such a beast as that Qunari leader, but maybe the dreaming Gods only half-smiled upon him and bestowed only the superficial things. After pulling the strings that led to his mother’s gruesome murder via decapitation, how fucking nice of them.
“The Arishok isn’t the most gentle lover,” he quipped, brows furrowed to add that little dash of comedic seriousness. But all things considered, he felt fine. More than fine, knowing that she’d come back. Remember the part with his manly swooning and fluttering heart? It’s entirely possible those emotions accompanied all the bruising and he kissed her, this time a big juicy one planted right on those sweet lips of hers. “Your entire involvement in that debacle climaxed very non-orgasmically, and was it a little tasteless of me to loot his body?”
Because he did, alright, everything around them had burned and they needed to worry about how they were going to pay for some of the repairs. Not that it was his fault, but Hawke was always such a helpful samaritan.
“Maker’s cock - “ Isabela huffed, breathless from that rather zealous good morning kiss that had her seeing stars. She handled Hawke carefully, fingertips stroking down his arms, probing gently to find any tenderness there - he looked awful, probably worse than he felt, but she still fretted regardless. Funny how that worked out. “Let me take care of those, a bit - though really, you’re like one huge walking black and blue manly man.”
She shifted a little, wiggling out from the confines of bearlike arms and blankets, heading to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of frozen vegetables. That would do, it could go on the worst bruises - what was that? RICE or something?
Granted, the time was also used to gather her wits and think of something to say. She was still caught in the web of sleep, those dreams and their images hazy in her line of vision, wisps of those memories tapering off. “What were you even thinking, fighting him like that?” Bela scolded, settling back on the bed. “Though completely not tasteless to loot the body. He had a lot of good stuff on him.”
Besides, she hadn’t even thought of it at the time - good thing one of them had!
They were rather manly, weren’t they? Hawke technically had a trick when it came to healing wounds of any kind, but this methods were a little more unconventional. And involved a literal blood transfusion fueled by magic, but that extreme wasn’t necessary - he’d also wear these with pride, as they were all for something ridiculously cheesy and sappy. Like the concept of love.
He sat up, shirtless but with a pair of soft sweatpants, and pushed his hair back with his fingers. “He challenged me to a metaphorical cockfight, how could I ever refuse? I’d rather bruised ribs than a bruised pride,” Garrett snorted. There wasn’t any other option but to succumb to the medicinal abilities of cold produce in a bag - there goes that morning boner!
Then he continued, all jokes aside for a moment. “Then I also suppose there was this bit of the other option being to surrender you, which wasn’t an option at all, really.” Maker, fuck that entirely. Isabela had come back - why the hell would he ever give her up after that?
“What if I deserved to be surrendered?” Isabela asked rhetorically, pressing the makeshift icepack to a particularly nasty bruise on Garrett’s side - the chill would help with the pain, and reduce the swelling. Unfortunately, it would also reduce the swelling in his cock region but not like she ever had a problem helping him rise to the occasion when necessary. So talented, you see. “But, well...now you’re this Champion of the People and I’m the snake of a thief who will never be as good as you. Why you’re still mixed up with the likes of me, I don’t know.”
She’d asked him something similar in the Hanged Man, during one of their conversations after some of the dust from the Arishok battle had settled. Only for him to respond with how surely there was a heart of gold buried within her - all they had to do was dig it up and sell it. This man.
Sighing, she leaned in and kissed his shoulder, her hair a mess of raven tresses. “Maker only knows what will happen next.”
Doubt would always haunt her, wouldn’t it? Questioning or not whether she was worth the struggle, even three years after the Arishok’s death. Hawke had an estate all to himself, yet Isabela wanted to remain at the Hanged Man beating herself up about what happened. Hawke’s shift was of the uncomfortable sort - last thing anyone ever wanted was to be touched by icy things not long after waking up - but he wrapped an arm around her and tucked her against his bruised side. That twinge of pain was worth it, he thought.
“You came back,” he reminded. “You were free, you were out, and you came back and why the hell would I ever let some zealot take you, when you willingly walked into what you knew was a terrible idea?” Terrible, yes, but her intentions were solid like the gold her heart was made of. Isabela had proven it there with some work, and had proven it here with everyone she’d helped him gone through. His family, for starters. “I lost Bethany to an ogre, Carver the Templars, my mother to a bloody madman - of course I’d fight to keep you.”
Hawke hadn’t been expected to be revered as some kind of hero for what happened - it brought an interesting status, but ruffled quite a few feathers when it came to the Templar Order. A blood mage, the Champion of Kirkwall. Knight-Commander Meredith must be shitting bricks in that armor of hers.
It made him smile.
Isabela made a sound like pffft as she gingerly leaned against Hawke, careful to not press too hard on any of those bruises. The poor thing needed a bath and a gentle massage, and perhaps to take the day off. “It was your damned influence anyway,” she pointed out. Here, it wouldn’t take her six years to realise how deep her feelings for him went - she already knew, and was sort of rolling Pharaoh's golden eyes and how slow her dream counterpart was being - surely she recognised a good thing when she had it?
But the Bela there had done a lot more she wasn’t proud of. The Raiders were a nasty sort, feared by wealthy merchants who would rather just pay the pirates rather than risk their merchandise being stolen. These lawless sorts engaged in bloody battles all the time, and there was no guarantee the various leaders in the faction would ever get along - however, if they were threatened from the outside then they dropped everything to defend each other. It was an odd dynamic.
She’d been to jail a few times. She’d worked for Castillon (until she quit in the very worst way), who dealt in trafficking slaves. For her, it was a lot to repent for - here, she wasn’t dabbling in those sorts of things. Luckily.
“But if you ever need me, I’ll be there. Here too,” she promised, getting her arms around him to cuddle in close (ugh), face pressed to the crook of his neck. “We’ve got the Hanged Man to set up, don’t we?” A rhetorical question, since it was their project. Their baby, for all intents and purposes - something to look forward to, after a period of gloomy darkness. “I wanted to ask you something about that, actually.” Something that made her nervous.
Pffft all you want, Bela, he’d continue to stand by his words regardless. Hawke didn’t think he was the best of people, but he’d never been one to turn down someone in need - especially when there was coin involved but sometimes situations were so dire that asking for a little bit of silver here and there seemed like the epitome of ‘dick move.’ Still, maybe she needed someone to believe in her, as cheesy as it was. Sometimes people needed to have someone else notice the good in them before they noticed it themselves.
So if he was a supposedly good influence, then he was happy to be such as that.
“And you have,” Garrett reminded again, lips against her temple. Considering the recent events here, his mother’s murder, her being there with his family - she’d gone above and beyond. He’d been better for the mere that she was around. “Suppose all that could be a good distraction after all this. Productivity’s better than liver damage, but go on.”
Bela looked worried. Andraste’s tits, why did she look worried?
“Well - “ Isabela sat up, rolling her shoulders, reaching back to work at a knot of tension there. She sat Indian style on the bed, barely clothed, even one of the traps of her camisole falling down - seductive, maybe, or she just looked disheveled considering the mess that was her bed head. “I was just thinking, life’s short - isn’t it? What happened with your mum showed us that. You just never know, and this place can be cruel.”
It wasn’t just any county that was separated from your worst nightmares by some kind of veil - no, that was strictly Orange County, how lucky were they.
“And since we’re going into business together I’d want things to be as easy as possible. So would it be easier, owning the bar, if we were...married?”
Oh, Maker’s buttcrack, she just dropped a bomb. But it was a valid point - there were probably tax benefits to that or something, being married to your business partner, weren’t there??
Uh -
Hawke may have fumbled and dropped the bag of frozen peas or whatever the processed contents were, and it flopped by his feet. Wait a minute, wait a bloody minute. ‘Married’ rolled off of Bela’s tongue in such an odd way, it really seemed foreign when she spoke of it - almost like she was speaking in some sort of alien dialect.
It was...oddly flattering, but in a way the situation successfully confused almost beyond comprehension. “I’m not going to marry you out of a business proposal, Isabela,” he slowly replied, shaking his head. He wasn’t against the idea of marriage, obviously. Especially under the right circumstance, with the right person, and Isabela was the right person - but he also knew what’d happened to her, and if she never wanted to marry him then he was alright with that as long as the sentiment of being together remained. That was the point, wasn’t it? Being together through sickness and health, for richer or poorer. “That almost seems like an arrangement of convenience and we’re - you’re not that.”
“No, that’s not what I mean - oh, balls,” Isabela cursed herself, a distinct red hue coming to turn her face the same colour of a fire engine. She’d tried to put feelers out there, to see if Hawke was open to the idea in general, but didn’t know how to do it without sounding like...well, without sounding like she was offering a business proposal instead of a heartfelt proposal.
See, she’d already cocked it up! Why could she not do this right?? It really shouldn't be that hard, should it?
Flailing a little, she reached for his hands, taking them in her own - and hers may have been a little clammy, don’t mind the nerves. “I want to, I just...am really awful at asking. But I do want to, not out of convenience, as long as you promise we can just go to Vegas or something - elope, you know, in and out. No church-ey stuff or meeting with pastors or planning for months about what type of alcohol to have, I mean, I just thought if anything I’d get a few barrels of rum and that’d be good enough for a party after the not-churchey stuff is taken care of.”
Finally, she breathed, her teeth just about worrying a hole in her plump lower lip. “If you also wanted to, I mean.”
Isabela, blushing. Such a rare sight to see. It was precious, though, and he listened to her fumbling with an amused quirk of a brow. Never in a million years did he think someone would beat him to a proposal, and never in a million years did he think that someone was her. Hawke had been content doing things her pace, her own way - last thing he ever wanted to do was scare her off, and if she was content then so was he.
“I’ve never been to Vegas,” he thought outloud. And he looked like he was thinking about it so intently, complete with a deep hmmmm as he pushed her onto her back. Hawke made himself comfortable on top of her (and careful with himself, his body still ached), all while making sure his weight was balanced so he wouldn’t crush those bones. “And there’s a certain kind of charm when it comes to an ordained Elvis impersonator making it official for us.”
Nothing fancy. Elopement. Vegas, and a couple barrels of rum. Garrett was more than alright with that.
“There’s the wedding and the honeymoon in one go, see,” Isabela grinned, both legs hooking around her Champion of Kirkwall, ankles locking on his back. She just didn’t want to be so fucking terrified that it took her six years to mature emotionally enough to say that he was her one and only - she already knew that now, and Leandra’s death had rattled her because it was proof that life really was precious.
An elopement she could handle. It was when things got all froo-froo and frilly that she’d probably pump the brakes, then end up hospitalising herself with a case of hives.
But oh, her battered and bruised bearlike mage. “No rush or anything,” she insisted, with a velvety purr, as she brushed her fingertips over his hair and down to stroke the infamous beard. “I’m not sure if proposing in bed counts.”
Hawke chuckled throatily and nuzzled the crook of her neck. “I wouldn’t particularly mind a couple days away,” he admitted, but maybe wait a little bit until Carver and Bethany fell back into some kind of routine. Right now they were all getting a little much needed space from the other - but nothing would ever go back to normal, and they’d have to merely adjust without Leandra.
His mother would have loved the news. Maybe urged them for something a little more traditional, and her suggestions would have given Bela hives, but she would have wanted to be there.
“But I insist that Dog be witness.” In a bowtie too, that dapper motherfucker. Garrett missed that hound - right now he was at home keeping Bethany company, but they could drive to Vegas with him in the back of Isabela’s convertible, slobber in the wind.
Of course he would want Dog there - Hawke loved that beast, and if he could go everywhere with the slobbery furchild he would. Perhaps a bit of that Ferelden culture leaking through; they tended to revere dogs as well, looked at them like protectors and warriors. But a Mabari was certainly a warrior anyway, bred for battle - and if he couldn’t bite into something surely he could ‘drool’ it to death.
“I’m sure he’d enjoy that.” Isabela had to laugh at the imagery - it was both ridiculous and fitting. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of days away either, I think we could use them by now. But we’ll wait ‘til the twins feel like you’re not abandoning them or something,” she stroked Garrett’s hair, brushing it from his eyes so she could see them better. He was such a handsome, scruffy mess. “Though Carver’s likely to look sour no matter what.” It was just part of his young adult charm, or something.
Twins came first at the moment - even before his own needs, and Hawke always took the ‘head of the family’ mantle seriously. All the responsibility had fallen to him when Malcolm passed away, his mother only having been able to do so much (she’d been a stay at home mum out of the workforce for far too long), and it’d stay that way. Moreso now than they were down both parents. They weren’t children by any means but if they wanted university, if they wanted a chance to live through those experimental years with as less stress as possible (it hadn’t gone so well at the moment), he at the very least wanted to make sure he could provide that for them.
“Hopefully by then a little less,” he snorted, an eye closed at the stroking - he was like a dog himself enjoying all the pets, but much less slobbery and without the ball licking. “I suppose we can get all that rolling, with the Hanged Man. I saw a couple buildings on Anaheim that might do well.” Also it was by Disney, so there’d be a crowd wanting to visit some more bizarre places.
It was good marketing to put The Hanged Man by Disney, Isabela could get behind that idea. “Maybe those who are into swarthy pirates and Adventureland will find the place charming,” she said, tightening her grip with her legs - but only so she could get the leverage, and flip their positions, like the sneaky rogue she was. Perhaps she was smaller than Hawke, but she could still take him down.
Like now, when she sat straddling him - with her ample bosom practically spilling out of her flimsy camisole nightgown, that really didn’t cover much of anything at all. “We’ll visit those buildings you saw, see which one we like best.” Her trap dismantling and lock picking hands stroked down the front of her current captive, appreciating the ripple of muscle there. “And figure out how we can turn the place into the very best medieval tavern.”
His pirate queen was able to reverse them with ease; all those joints and bones were sore, he wouldn’t struggle much. Hawke would fix himself up later, or at the very least ice his own wounds with that bit of magic - the colder kind that brought frost to his fingertips. “Pick the most rundown place and sanitize it,” he smirked, letting her hands go where they pleased. It wasn’t excruciating pressure against his bruises and felt more like little massages instead. “You know, for that authenticity.”
And do whatever required to pass all sorts of city codes to get them into business. Licenses and taxes, that kind of technical shit. Modern day businesses had a thing when it came to health and safety codes - such a concept was laughable during their times in Thedas in general, and as long as the rats hadn’t shat in your sheets then the bed was good to go. And if there was only rat shit in your ale, then you were also considered very fortunate.
“I’d still like to live in it, most days,” Garrett mentioned, stroking her side through the flimsy nightwear. “As discussed. I’d spend some nights with the twins, but maybe giving them their own space at this age would be best. Our elopement doesn’t mean you have to give this place up, either. Keep it on the side? Rent it out occasionally?”
“Rent it out occasionally, probably,” Bela mused - and she was going for that because she was greedy. Once a pirate, always a pirate - and perhaps that heart of gold was a thing, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love having money. And all sorts of delightful plunder, shiny gems and doo-dads to put a spark in her eye. “To people I trust, clearly - because I swear if random stranger destroys this place I’ll string them up by their genitals.” Or staple their twat, depending - she wouldn’t run out of threats, and would make good on them when it came to keeping her beach house in good condition.
But the idea of having multiple places to lay their head at night was also appealing. “Who knows, maybe the rest of our ragtag crew of misfits could show up and they’d need a place to stay,” she went on, actually massaging now, working a little at the sore muscles on her manfriend-for-life to relax them. “This house is perfect for that so I’ll keep options open. But the twins having their space and us having ours, above the tavern - it’s not a bad idea.”
They’d all still be a family and everything, but space was something that ironically made people closer, no?
Erm, right. Hanging by the genitals. Noted. It wouldn’t happen to him - Bela liked his very much - but the threat brought ghost pains to his loins. “You like the beach too much to give it up, and if we ever needed a little time away from the business, we have this. To ourselves.” Something quaint and cozy and very much theirs for leisure.
Parties too, if they wanted to have a bonfire on the beach or something like that. But he was sure the threat of balls-in-noose would stand if an idiot broke something in their drunken state.
Ah, this was such a life-changing morning, wasn’t it? He’d woken up beaten and battered thanks to the fucking Arishok, but on the bright side she’d come back in the dreams, somehow had gotten the courage to blurt out the most adorable proposal in existence. Things were still hurting after what happened to his mother but the only way to go was up.
And they were, slowly but surely.
“Alright, before I go ahead and make us some breakfast and treat my very purple self to some ice - bets on what else is going to happen in that damn city?”
Kirkwall already burned once, why not burn again? Things weren’t exactly better. One problem had been resolved, and the next was actually a little bigger than the Arishok and his entire army of men.
Aw, her scruffy mage did need more ice, didn’t he? Bela ought to salvage those frozen veggies too, even if Hawke planned to magically ice-finger himself to a bruise-free being. How sexy of him. “I can handle toast, at least,” she said, swinging her legs around and hopping off of him. May as well throw on an actual pair of boy shorts too, because she wanted to be somewhat decent for breakfast.
“Well, according to chatter on the network which I do read...” The Queen of the Eastern Seas let out a sigh, as her chosen bottoms came up to hug her hips beneath her camisole. “It sounds like a Mage-Templar war. Makes sense, given all that animosity brewing. Something about a hole in the sky too, based on what that bloke from Tevinter said.”
“Oh, hell, that wasn’t a bet! That’s cheating by spoilers,” Hawke huffed with a fake pout. But alright, alright, his assumption was leaning towards that direction anyway. A larger, more violent rift between the mages and templars was among them, and Kirkwall was likely the start of it. Meredith and Orsino were butting heads more than usual now, and thanks to his heroic stunt with the Arishok, he himself was now considered some kind of...beacon for freedom, or something better for mages.
How the fuck he got him and his friends into these situations, he had no damn clue.
But he rose from the bed with a groan, and clapped a hand over that luscious bum of hers. “Maybe we’ll elope there too once it’s all said and done.”
Like Varric said that one time, whenever they were traipsing around in Sundermount or Lowtown or wherever the fuck, he didn’t really get involved in Mage vs. Templar politics because why bother? It was just a bunch of humans in skirts, easily mixed up - and opinions were like testicles. If you kicked them hard enough, it didn’t matter how many you’ve got. Or something along those lines. But really, Isabela found herself in sort of the same situation - she had previously, anyway. She wasn’t a mage, she wasn’t a Templar, but being with Hawke - well, she’d support him and go with him to the edges of Thedas and back. So she knew which side she’d take in a war, if it came down to that.
“Maybe we will,” she laughed, bum wiggling to encourage more shameless grabbing before darting off to the kitchen. “Before it all goes tits up? Or after. Who knows. I’m with you either way, you cheeky bastard.”