Who: Isabela & Hawke What: Anniversary shenanigans - Bela gives him daggers, he pulls a prank before the grand reveal When: May 12 Where: A marina Rating/Warnings: Language, but that's it Status: Complete!
Unsurprisingly, Isabela loved the beach. She’d been awake, on the day of her and Hawke’s first wedding anniversary, ever since the sun rose like a bright yellow lollipop in the sky - of course she’d shagged him, and she would shag him again after she gave him his present, no doubt. It was just inevitable.
But first, that trip to the beach - after packing a picnic lunch, delicious things like sandwiches with marmite and butter and actual crisps stuffed between slices of bread (Americans thought it was odd, but Bela didn’t care - she liked Indian food just fine but was well in touch with the strange things her English side would crave), veggies, and of course chocolate to negate all that, she was off. Following his instructions. In her cherry red convertible, driving like a maniac - but really, she was fine behind the wheel! So what if she liked to go fast? It meant her luxurious ebony hair blew in the breeze, or at least, the strands of it that had slipped free from the handkerchief she’d used to tie it up flew freely.
The small seafront shoppes were preparing for a day of customers bustling in and out, and she drove past the one she and Hawke had cleaned out during that bounty hunting job with a sense of fondness. Aw. It smelled like salt and the sea and thick white sunscreen out here; she really couldn’t wait to set up closer to the water, get all that sand between her toes.
“Tell me where to go, love, I’m eager to give you your present - “ Which she had stashed in the trunk, mind you, all boxed up and ready to go. “Ooh, just missed that light.” Well, it had been red for two seconds before she zoomed through - but that was alright, three second rule. Or something.
Oh, balls, the three second rule didn’t bloody exist - not when it came to food being dropped on the ground, and certainly not when blasting through a red light and Hawke may have seen a flash of sorts briefly (meaning, there was a camera and they’d get a fifth ticket in the mail). Early on, back when they were in the beginning stages of being so-called lovebirds, he would ride in terror but now after so long exposure, he simply sat, buckled in, lips pursed, and an expression that irrevocably meant: This is my life now.
Worth the tits and ass, he supposed.
Dog wasn’t with them during this grand, grand adventure - instead he stayed behind with those employed at their tavern, holding the forte with the rest of them, as he didn’t precisely care for their anniversary shenanigans to be doused in noble canine slobber. Though, perhaps, he’d learn to regret that. There was a good chance that Bela would stab him before the actual gift was unveiled. Extra protection wouldn’t have hurt but, well. They’d see.
“Slow down before you miss the - slow down, woman, in the name of - yes, there, take that road to the left, at the stop sign.” It’d lead them a couple miles down to a view of boats, very impressive ones, including none other than the Jolly Roger itself. Hawke was unable to bribe his mate to buy the damn thing off him however. Didn’t matter how many complimentary ass grabs he offered in payment, alas.
“Oh, relax, you’re such a nervous nelly backseat driver,” Bela huffed, but she followed instructions and took the road Hawke indicated - going past the boats, the big boats, nearly had her drooling. She was quite envious, especially of the actual pirate ship - but if it were hers, she wasn’t sure an unlimited supply of bum grabs would be adequate payment either, sorry darling.
She traveled along the road until there was no where left to go - unless she wanted to drive off and take a dive into the ocean, but all of this piqued her curiosity because obviously her dearest husband had something in mind.
“Here we are!” The convertible was brought to a very graceful stop - or more like a jerky one, hitting the brakes hard, but she just had to keep Hawke on his toes, that was all.
Indeed, he had something in mind. Something he’d been meticulously planning for the past couple months or so, knowing this wasn’t exactly a thing he could pull from his oh so attractive bum. It involved deposits, inspections, finance contractions, a bit of haggling for the overall price - when push came to shove Hawke could be an intimidating presence, but between characters such as Captain Hook and Pete Wisdom in tow when it came to sealing the final deal, well. He had the bestest mates ever, friendship bracelets and hair braiding all around.
But before the grand gift was to be revealed he had to fuck with his beloved wife at first. Just like she was fucking with him, with her disastrous driving and her preference in stopping hard and hell, how lucky he was that the seatbelt prevented him from catapulting through the windshield!
And to think, he was giving her a boat to traverse open water with. Garrett was practically encouraging her.
He was eager to unbuckle and exit the vehicle, fix is his disheveled hair (it was always stylishly shaggy but Maker, the wind cocked it all up) and then sighed, dramatically, almost like he just wanted to get this over with but that was the ‘I’ma be a little shite’ act he had up. Build up her aggravation and whatnot until she almost believed he didn’t care about their blessed union, hah.
“Ah, where is it again…” Hmmmm. He tapped his chin, squinted in two different directions and then pointed over to a direction. “Come, come, I think it’s this way - you’ll know until you see it. It’s something you’ve always wanted it.”
It wasn’t far down from the fabled Roger herself, and Bela would recognize her prize the moment she laid her two beautiful honeycomb eyes on it. A pirate vessel, meant for large children but he supposed they could be cozy on it and spoon in the sun, yes?
So romantic.
This was what she always wanted. This? A fucking inflatable pirate ship? It even had a skull and crossbones to be extra cheeky, taunting her! In a ‘yes, here we have a five-year-old’s version of a sailing vessel.’ It wouldn’t last five minutes in the ocean, clearly it’d get snagged on something or crushed by a mighty wave. Andraste’s tits, it wouldn’t even last in a bloody kiddie pool.
“You arse,” she whacked Hawke on the shoulder, and then of course did what any loving wife would do - she grabbed his balls and twisted, though it wasn’t necessarily what one should do during a handjob. This was you’re two seconds away from losing these, irritated wife twisting. “I don’t even want to give you your present now.”
But alright, she would anyway. The bonus was that she hadn’t brought any of her daggers with her, so these might do - she’d test out Hawke’s gift. On him, the fucker.
And while mages typically didn’t use daggers, Bela personally got all the materials to have these made anyway - silverite and onyx, mined right from the Deep Roads beneath a seemingly innocuous Orange County park and chock full of things to kill. She’d given him daggers (replicas of the Left Hand and Right Hand of the Carta) for a reason, because sometimes he didn’t always have a staff with him when they were bounty hunting or otherwise dealing with OC madness. Sometimes he even needed to draw his own blood, quickly, and the sharp point would do it well enough. Plus, these had their initials carved on the blade, beautiful work with I.H. and G.H. (Isabela Hawke, naturally, she’d changed her name recently - at first she didn’t want to, but then she eased into the idea on her own time as she did with most things) and dicks carved on the handle.
Dicks. A symbol of their love.
“But here, let me use one to kill you,” she said as she handed him the box.
Andraste’s tits and arse, was that really necessary? His potential offspring were in those precious nuts, thank you - but yes, this is the price he paid for a good, hearty laugh and a story for the future, didn’t he? His hands were still cupping his delicate spank banks when she presented her offering to this blessed celebration and with a wince, grit teeth, and a lot of hesitance he slowly took the box.
“Whatever happened to ‘it’s the thought that counts,’” he grumbled, thankful that the pain had distracted him from smiling in his trademark shit-eating way so his plans wouldn’t be revealed so quickly. Hawke opened it with fearful curiosity, however, and was simply amazed.
Because those dicks held a lot of artistic detail. It was truly impressive. His own set of daggers! And with materials he recognized, too, ones he’d seen far too often. “What a beauty, these two - they’re almost as pretty as you,” was his charming response, and he leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.
Under the assumption the woman let him, and he also almost expected her nails to slash him across the face from her fury.
It was their beautiful anniversary, so to her credit, Isabela wouldn’t follow through on her promises to murder her husband for fucking with her. Nor would she damage him to the point where she couldn’t have fun with him later - because really, how was that fun for her? It wasn’t, when you thought about it.
“Almost,” she grinned, turning her head so she caught her darling’s mouth in a kiss instead. No biting, even, wasn’t that impressive! “Glad you like them, love. If you’ve decided to just troll me for our anniversary, I suppose we ought to get down to having lunch, then.” She was sort of surprised that the gift wasn’t a paper boat - wasn’t the customary present for that first wedding anniversary supposed to be something paper? Twenty-five was silver, fifty was gold.
Maker help Hawke if she made it fifty years and married to him. A perfect match, these two.
Death by her hands would be a privilege, or a tragicomedy - but no, they were seriously not about to climb onto that bloody raft for a picnic. It’d topple over from his weight alone. Hawke let out a happy sort of chuckle, draping an arm around Bela’s shoulders. “I suppose we ought to,” he agreed, and then hummed in suspicious thoughtfulness. His finger was circling the air, like he was preparing to point at something.
Which he did, gasp. Though not at the inflatable toy. At the vessel next to it, rather, as it was sleek sports yacht, built for speed and overall comfort with cush seating atop, plush bedding underneath, a kitchenette, private bathroom and bench nook for Dog to laze on. Small gatherings or romantic getaways, it was a very versatile vehicle to cut through the seas with.
And it was Hawke’s actual present to his wife. Somewhere to have their picnic on. Its white paint was untarnished with a name - which meant Bela would have to pick one so they could set the paint job up.
“Though I do recommend we have it on there, perhaps?” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, that is yours. Killian’s ship meant I’d be an indentured sex servant, so I had to shop around for something a bit more modern.”
Whaaaaaaaat?
Alright, just forgive Isabela for a moment here - because she was having a heart attack. This pirate, this raider Admiral, had been without a ship for so long, it almost felt like having a limb missing or something. In her dreams, during the whole Kirkwall era, she’d already come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to get an elusive ‘big boat.’ After the debacle with Castillon, and basically ending his life plus his slave trafficking business (for now), there was no taking the easy-and-shady way out and bargaining with him for a ship. Especially if it meant that the slave trafficking was still going on.
Bela didn’t want that. She resolved to do better, to be better - and, you know, not having a ship wasn’t the end of the world as she’d realised.
But having one now, apparently? That was rather nice. “Garrett, you handsome git!” she gasped, just about wiggling with joy - and she jumped on him, latching on like a limpet. “You really got this for me? Oh, but you hate sailing! You said you’re terrible at it!”
Even so, she was pulling him toward that beauty. Which Isabela would name before their maiden voyage - but no harm in exploring now, because she was curious.
Eager, wasn’t she? Good thing the keys has been fished out early to put in her skilled, thieving hands - he had to balance the box of daggers, of course, and maneuvering onto the boat itself. It had that new, pristine smell too, almost like a car did when it was freshly driven off the lot because of course, his beloved wouldn’t simply just get something used.
It had to be something big and expensive that put a metaphorical hole in his pocket, but, well. If she was happy, then he was happy.
“I’m bloody awful at it, which is why there’s a bed downstairs that I can sleep on while you take us places,” Hawke laughed, smothering her mouth with a kiss before he let her explore her present like the eager beaver she was. “We’ll be paying monthly installments but I figured this was a good investment for us, and I know how much of the sea is part of you. A pirate can’t always thrive on land.”
“No, not always,” Isabela agreed, shiny white shark’s teeth bared in a grin. “And you can bet I’ll get proper mileage out of this sea queen - besides, perhaps on one of our voyages we’ll find some treasure and pay her off in one installment!” Hey, a girl could dream. Pirates craved treasure like humans craved oxygen.
She hopped onto the deck of the boat, stepping aboard and looking around with her eyes all lit up, shiny gold. “Ooh, the deck is teak! This is lovely - let’s go look at the lounges,” she encouraged, shouldering the cloth grocery bag with their picnic packed away inside. She wanted to test out the bed too, to bounce on it a little and see how comfy it was.
All the appliances were stainless steel with wooden mahogany furnishings draped in white fabrics and cushion - the decor taste was simple yet elegant, but also open for any alterations. Hawke thought it was perfect the way it was but what would he know about boats anyway (aside from the basics of maintenance, and he’d have to enlist Killian to walk him through a couple things) but overall, she was something of a vacation spot over waters.
There was a window over the bed as well that let them see the sky, whether the stars or sun were out. Bela would find out that it was a bouncy area, indeed.
“I stocked it with water already, and some Rat’s Droppings, and of course, rum,” he informed. Obviously. Couldn’t be a pirate ship without their most sacred poison, now could it. “Sadly, no canons. Or a plank. I’m sure we can improvise, however?”
“Arrrr!” That was Isabela’s joking agreement that they could improvise - especially when it came to scallywags walking the plank. Dog would get his fur all over that white fabric, but no matter - it was also possible that Bela would add a few things, just to give it a splash of her personal touch, but she really did like everything the way it was. Such a pretty, pretty boat (and so big - she always did enjoy the big ones).
Heading for the bed, she set their romantic picnic down onto one of the tables and flopped onto the mattress, giving it a bit of a test by bouncing and then laying back - sprawling there, kicking her shoes off and making invisible snow angels in the sheets. Ahh, it felt so luxurious. “Come here and snog me!” she demanded, also contemplating whether now would be a good time for celebratory Rat Droppings or not. Oh, hell, it was always a good time for Rat Droppings.
“And bring the ale too!”
Well, someone was certainly happy. Hawke was pleased with her reaction, and couldn’t stop grinning - must feel like Christmas, hm? But this was a wish that was actually staying, not pissing off into nothingness after several days. He opened the fridge to retrieve that cooled bottle of rum (something pricy, of course, for their celebration because he might have well gone big for this thing) and met her on the mattress.
For the snogging, of course. Kirkwall’s Champion kissed his pirated sweetly and held the bottle over her head, waving it a little. “I did good for our first anniversary, then?” Hopefully she didn’t expect an endless supply of boats from every anniversary going forward, but he thought it was an excellent way to come together for surviving their first year. From the moment he had stopped her from getting on that flight to the airport, what happened to his mother, getting lost in the Fade and so forth.
Isabela kissed him in return, throwing her arms around her most darling husband. She never thought she’d be married again, ever, but seeing how things turned out a world away? That lit a fire under her bum in the present. Receiving that letter from Varric, just about dripping with sorrow, and speaking of Hawke’s death - it was Bela’s worst nightmare. She didn’t want to be without him, and she knew what it was like - she’d already experienced it, and not again.
They were going to die together, side by side, in rocking chairs on their front porch at the age of ninety. Or actually they were going to die together after a shag that stopped their hearts at the age of ninety - yes, much better.
“You did great, my handsome do-gooder,” she promised, with a husky chuckle, sitting up a bit to dig for a knife (of course she had one on her - even a penknife, why wouldn’t she?) and pop the cork from that bottle. “I love you, by the way. And you love me, even though I’m a dirty rogue?” Hey, some things you just couldn’t change entirely.
A bushy brow of Hawke’s poked upward like he was bloody offended. “You word it as a question,” scoffed the mage, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck to kiss that tawny skin, her clavicle, then up to that soft earlobe. “Don’t be silly, love, of course I do even if you’re a pain in the arse sometimes.”
No one was perfect, and no perfect marriage existed but sometimes people were perfect enough for one another. He saw it in his parents, saw it in his friends and saw it in their own relationship, because trials and hurls would always happen but they’d be fine as long as they got over it together.
With a little bickering, too. It was a marriage staple.
“I even bought myself a matching barf bucket for when you take this girl sailing. It matches the interior.”
“A matching barf bucket, how sweet,” Isabela crooned, and she quickly took a swig of booze straight from the bottle - like they needed glasses, fuck that. To first year anniversaries! Married people cooties was one of the perks of this whole deal anyway. “I promise I’m better at steering a boat than I am a car.”
She paused, considering that. Because, well. The Siren’s Call had been steered into a storm but that was on purpose, to evade the pursuing Qunari, even if it wasn’t a gamble that paid off. Even so, it figures she’d be a terrible driver in her do-over life here.
“Our maiden voyage will be as soon as possible - you can even bring your bum-grabbing friend if you want,” she chuckled. “Though I might find it difficult to resist a shag in this cabin. Hopefully he’s got earplugs.”
Oh, it’d probably be wise to bring him along anyway - the damn bloke new more about navigating modern ships than they did, Maker knows that. “So classy,” he retorted at the idea of shagging, though knowing Killian he’d go up man the wheel to make sure they don’t, say, run into a bloody iceberg or whatever like the Titanic.
Extreme scenario, except all their home knew was extreme.
“The two of you can talk boats or whatever you pirates talk about too, and there’s a manual of this thing around here - somewhere.” That way they wouldn’t go at it blindly, and he grabbed the neck of the bottle to down the equivalent of a shot and hell, he picked well with this one. Went down smooth and sweet, and didn’t burn down his throat like an STD. “But let’s eat, love, before we christen this bed? My balls still need a little bit of recovery after you so rudely mishandled them.”
Isabela had grown up on ships, thanks to her absentee Royal Navy officer father (which meant she learned to sail relatively early), but the lessons in her childhood were sort of cloudy. It would do them all good to have someone else on board who was more up on everything, and you can bet she’d read the manual in preparation too. She was all into reading sometimes, especially when it involved a gorgeous, gorgeous vessel such as this.
A vessel that was hers. Mmmmmmm. That just did her twisted heart a whole world of good.
“You deserved it, you bloody troll,” she snorted, rolling over to sit on Hawke before sliding off of him and subsequently the bed. “Come on, then, we’ll devour this romantic picnic lunch and then I’ll devour you.” It was a special day, after all! May as well enjoy it in all facets.