Fic: And in Health (F!Hawke/Isabela, Dragon Age II)
Title: And in Health
Author: YukiVampyra
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Summary: Sequel to In Sickness. After Hawke recovers, she and several of her companions play a game of Wicked Grace with interesting results.
A/N: General spoilers for Act II, beginning of Act III. I twisted Isabela’s love confession to fit the story, but the dialogue remains mostly unchanged from that particular portion. Isabela may be slightly out of character towards the end, but I figure that witnessing not one but two instances of near-death for the apparent love of her life would spur her into making some personal changes.
It was almost nostalgic, the atmosphere in the Hanged Man. Varric, Merrill, Anders, Isabela and Hawke all sat around a table (well, Isabela was on Hawke’s lap) attempting a game of Wicked Grace despite the range of emotions surrounding them. It was like old times, but with more animosity between Isabela and Anders and more touching and whispering between Isabela and Hawke.
Anders blamed Isabela for Hawke’s bout of crippling depression and Hawke’s near-death at the hands of the Arishok, Isabela blamed Anders for Hawke nearly dying from the plague that had swept Kirkwall. So the pirate sat, perched upon Hawke’s lap with one arm draped about her shoulders, the other with her cards, dutifully ignoring the surly mage who kept shooting her death glares. She knew, of course, that if she baited him into an argument that there would be no touching of any kind for the next few days, so she paid attention to the game and did everything she could to cheat her way into Anders’ money.
Varric simply sat back and chuckled, content to simply play the game while Merrill watched and lost and Isabela won her back her things. Hawke didn’t play, more because she didn’t want to divide her attention than her pirate’s current position gave her ample view of her cards as well as assets. The warrior simply wasn’t willing to stop her surreptitious looks down the low-cut tunic, fingertips tracing patterns over the bare thighs within reach as she was still drunk on the heady sensation of the Rivaini being hers.
After she had recovered, Isabela had looked at her shamefaced and mumbled something incoherent, something that Hawke had paused in her getting dressed to stare at the woman as a silent urge to repeat herself (louder, with clarity) and when the pirate had simply watched the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world, Hawke took pity on her and cupped the other woman’s face in her hands and tilted it up so that she could look into skittish amber eyes.
“What’s going through your mind?”
“I think I…” Isabela stopped, looked away, and then back up at Hawke with the most tremulous and heartbreakingly hopeful expression the warrior had ever seen. It was dumbfounding and almost frightening, considering who it was wearing it. “I think I’m falling for you. Just tell me, Hawke, if I have a chance with you.”
Blue eyes widened almost to a size that rivaled Merrill’s, her hands stilling against warm skin, throat closed until she managed to choke out a faint joke, heart triple-timing in her chest.
“Didn’t you say love wasn’t for you?”
“Hawke…Marian. You almost died. I couldn’t…it was the most difficult thing. I couldn’t bear it if that happened and I realised…I know why I said it and things are different now.” She had never seen the pirate so inarticulate. It was almost adorable.
“Promise you won’t run off and break my heart.” A soft, playful smile appeared on the warrior’s features, a nudge of a joke to show that she had forgiven her pirate for doing exactly what she’d just asked for a promise against.
“I won’t if you don’t give me a reason to.”
And that is how they ended in the Hanged Man weeks later with Hawke practically feeling Isabela up in a tavern while the pirate and their companions played a card game. She leaned back against the Ferelden and tilted her chin to brush her lips against her ear, purring into it as Hawke’s fingers crept underneath the hem of her tunic.
Anders cleared his throat loudly, expression twisted into one of jealous contempt. Instead of sneering or firing off one of her regular quips, Isabela folded and twisted at the waist so that her upper body faced Hawke’s and melded their lips together, her tongue easily slipping inside her surprised lover’s mouth. The Grey Warden’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood up, throwing his cards at the pirate’s back before stomping out of the tavern towards his clinic. Varric chuckled and gathered the cards, presuming that the game was over as Isabela gave a throaty moan at whatever Hawke’s hands were doing underneath the table.
Merrill simply watched them with rapt attention until Varric asked if she wanted an escort home, which she accepted, reluctantly leaving the pair to their own devices. They stayed there until Isabela pulled Hawke up and walked her back to her room in the back of the tavern, hardly mindful of the drunken catcalls.
Author: YukiVampyra
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Summary: Sequel to In Sickness. After Hawke recovers, she and several of her companions play a game of Wicked Grace with interesting results.
A/N: General spoilers for Act II, beginning of Act III. I twisted Isabela’s love confession to fit the story, but the dialogue remains mostly unchanged from that particular portion. Isabela may be slightly out of character towards the end, but I figure that witnessing not one but two instances of near-death for the apparent love of her life would spur her into making some personal changes.
It was almost nostalgic, the atmosphere in the Hanged Man. Varric, Merrill, Anders, Isabela and Hawke all sat around a table (well, Isabela was on Hawke’s lap) attempting a game of Wicked Grace despite the range of emotions surrounding them. It was like old times, but with more animosity between Isabela and Anders and more touching and whispering between Isabela and Hawke.
Anders blamed Isabela for Hawke’s bout of crippling depression and Hawke’s near-death at the hands of the Arishok, Isabela blamed Anders for Hawke nearly dying from the plague that had swept Kirkwall. So the pirate sat, perched upon Hawke’s lap with one arm draped about her shoulders, the other with her cards, dutifully ignoring the surly mage who kept shooting her death glares. She knew, of course, that if she baited him into an argument that there would be no touching of any kind for the next few days, so she paid attention to the game and did everything she could to cheat her way into Anders’ money.
Varric simply sat back and chuckled, content to simply play the game while Merrill watched and lost and Isabela won her back her things. Hawke didn’t play, more because she didn’t want to divide her attention than her pirate’s current position gave her ample view of her cards as well as assets. The warrior simply wasn’t willing to stop her surreptitious looks down the low-cut tunic, fingertips tracing patterns over the bare thighs within reach as she was still drunk on the heady sensation of the Rivaini being hers.
After she had recovered, Isabela had looked at her shamefaced and mumbled something incoherent, something that Hawke had paused in her getting dressed to stare at the woman as a silent urge to repeat herself (louder, with clarity) and when the pirate had simply watched the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world, Hawke took pity on her and cupped the other woman’s face in her hands and tilted it up so that she could look into skittish amber eyes.
“What’s going through your mind?”
“I think I…” Isabela stopped, looked away, and then back up at Hawke with the most tremulous and heartbreakingly hopeful expression the warrior had ever seen. It was dumbfounding and almost frightening, considering who it was wearing it. “I think I’m falling for you. Just tell me, Hawke, if I have a chance with you.”
Blue eyes widened almost to a size that rivaled Merrill’s, her hands stilling against warm skin, throat closed until she managed to choke out a faint joke, heart triple-timing in her chest.
“Didn’t you say love wasn’t for you?”
“Hawke…Marian. You almost died. I couldn’t…it was the most difficult thing. I couldn’t bear it if that happened and I realised…I know why I said it and things are different now.” She had never seen the pirate so inarticulate. It was almost adorable.
“Promise you won’t run off and break my heart.” A soft, playful smile appeared on the warrior’s features, a nudge of a joke to show that she had forgiven her pirate for doing exactly what she’d just asked for a promise against.
“I won’t if you don’t give me a reason to.”
And that is how they ended in the Hanged Man weeks later with Hawke practically feeling Isabela up in a tavern while the pirate and their companions played a card game. She leaned back against the Ferelden and tilted her chin to brush her lips against her ear, purring into it as Hawke’s fingers crept underneath the hem of her tunic.
Anders cleared his throat loudly, expression twisted into one of jealous contempt. Instead of sneering or firing off one of her regular quips, Isabela folded and twisted at the waist so that her upper body faced Hawke’s and melded their lips together, her tongue easily slipping inside her surprised lover’s mouth. The Grey Warden’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood up, throwing his cards at the pirate’s back before stomping out of the tavern towards his clinic. Varric chuckled and gathered the cards, presuming that the game was over as Isabela gave a throaty moan at whatever Hawke’s hands were doing underneath the table.
Merrill simply watched them with rapt attention until Varric asked if she wanted an escort home, which she accepted, reluctantly leaving the pair to their own devices. They stayed there until Isabela pulled Hawke up and walked her back to her room in the back of the tavern, hardly mindful of the drunken catcalls.