Dragon Age Fic: Stranger Things Have Happened 1/2
Title: Stranger Things Have Happened 1/2 (AO3)
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: Soft R for references to sexytimes
Warnings: Reference/discussion of abortion, f!preg, girlpeen. Spoilers through Act II of Dragon Age II.
Word Count: ~13600
Disclaimer: If Thedas and all accompanying lore and characters were mine, all of the promo material would feature female protagonists. Just saying. But seriously, they're sadly not mine. That honor goes to BioWare and a whole score of developers and writers and fancy people like that. I did come up with the idea of Tevinter sex magic, though (at least this incarnation of it, and at least as far as I know).
Summary: Isabela returns to Kirkwall to find things...very different than she left them.
Bloody coward, Isabela berated herself as she stared at the ornate carvings on the door to the Hawke Estate. She'd been here hundreds of times before; and, well, all right, she'd rarely even used the front door, let alone knocked on it, but that shouldn't matter now. The fact was, Hawke had asked her to come, and she damn well owed it to the woman-and no one could say that Isabela didn't honor her debts (well, some could, but they were all dead, and that was besides the point).
She'd barely been back in Kirkwall for a full day before Hawke had shown up; not that Isabela had expected anything less, after all the shit she pulled way back when. What she hadn't expected, though, was for Hawke to be so flaming civil. She had steeled herself for an angry rant, possibly a fight, even-Maker forbid-a total emotional breakdown, complete with tears and strangled pleas for some sort of explanation. She'd even managed to convince herself to stick around, no matter how ugly and complicated it got-at least for long enough to hear the other woman out. Hawke deserved that much.
But Hawke had done none of those things. She'd simply walked in to the Hanged Man, somehow managing to look humble in that fancy Champion getup, and leaned up against the bar next to Isabela, cracking a bad joke just like old times. Well, almost like old times. She'd been more subdued, with something indefinable in those glittering blue eyes: regret, or disappointment, or longing-Isabela hadn't been able to quite put a finger on it, and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to.
It had been entertaining to see Hawke fumble over a simple dinner invitation-especially given the brazen way she used to proposition Isabela for sex. Isabela found herself almost thinking it adorable, in a way-and that led to thoughts she wasn't entirely comfortable with, feelings she'd spent three years trying to bury. So, in classic Isabela fashion, she'd deflected with a joke about how being revered by the masses was turning Hawke soft, demonstrating her point with a poke to the woman's side-which was, in fact, softer than it had been.
Everything about Hawke was changed, Isabela had realized when she'd finally taken the time to consider it. Her face had filled in, her sharp features softened; if Isabela wasn't mistaken, even the woman's breasts were slightly larger than she remembered-and she was never mistaken about breasts.
It was a curious thing; almost as curious as the way Hawke looked nervously away rather than countering Isabela's lighthearted jest. There was something going on here, beyond simply getting lazy and putting on a few pounds. And, well, maybe that was why Isabela ended up accepting the dinner invitation, more than any noble desire to make amends. Oh, she wanted to do the right thing, as bizarre as it felt; Hawke never failed to bring out that maddening sense of morality Isabela never thought she had. If doing the right thing happened to sate her curiosity about just how her former sometime lover had spent the last three years, all the better.
Of course, she wasn't going to get anywhere just standing here staring at the blighted door. Forcing out a frustrated sigh, Isabela raised her hand, curled it into a fist and rapped firmly on the wood. There, it's done. No turning back now.
Moments later, she heard two sets of muffled footsteps hurrying closer, and Bodahn's voice calling out a harried "Messere!", followed by the last sound Isabela expected to come from behind Hawke's door-a high-pitched giggle, of the sort that couldn't have belonged to a grown person. When the heavy door finally slid open, Isabela found herself looking down at the grinning face of a toddler barely the height of her boots, dressed in a miniature version of the finery Hawke always wore when she was at home.
Straight, inky black hair fell messily over the girl's face, not quite managing to obscure her pointed features. Her toothy grin melted into an open-mouthed sort of awe when Isabela came into view. There was no doubt about it; this was clearly Hawke's child, despite the rich caramel complexion of her skin and the wide, honey-brown eyes that peered up at her with wild curiosity.
Isabela's heart froze in her chest. Of all the possibilities she'd considered, none had come anywhere close to this. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she thought of what she'd gotten herself into. If there was a child, there was also a father. She had no right to begrudge Hawke any happiness, she knew that, but that didn't mean she was ready to spend an evening as a spectator to her domestic bliss. The very thought of it made Isabela feel sick in a way that had little to do with her own opinions on family life.
"Bethany!" An exasperated voice tore Isabela from her thoughts, and her eyes snapped up to see Hawke appear in the doorway to the foyer, blue eyes firmly fixed on the child.
"The young messere was eager to greet your guest," Bodahn explained, a nervous chuckle sounding in his throat as he worried his hands in front of him. Isabela almost smiled; it was nice to know that not everything had changed.
"I can see that," Hawke replied with an authoritative edge to her voice. There was a time that tone would have done deliciously naughty things to Isabela; now, she just watched numbly as Hawke swept forward, scooping the toddler up into her arms. The stern expression on the woman's face wavered as she met the child's gaze, a fond smile tugging at her lips. There was such pure, unsullied love in that look; Isabela felt something clench uncomfortably in her gut at the sight of it. "What have I told you about the door?"
The child was clever enough to at least appear chastened, sticking out her lower lip in a way that could conceivably be contrite. "Bodahn gets it," she said sulkily, fidgeting with the collar of her mother's shirt.
"That's right." Hawke smiled indulgently, tucking a finger under the girl's chin to look her in the eye. "And why do we let Bodahn get the door?"
Isabela wasn't well-versed in children or parenthood by any means, but she got the impression that this exchange had happened before. Bethany inhaled deeply, meeting her mother's gaze with a serious look on her face. "'Acause there's bad people."
"Exactly so. And those bad people would love to steal away a beautiful little girl like you." Her voice cracked a little, a shadow flickering through her eyes, and Isabela knew she was thinking about all of the family she'd lost.
Maker, it was positively stupid how much Hawke still got to her; how just thinking about the woman being in pain was enough to spark a traitorous ache in Isabela's own chest. She didn't do emotional stuff-avoided it like the Blight really-so why did it take nothing more than a sad sigh to make her want to pull Hawke into her arms and hold her until the pain subsided?
She shouldn't have come here tonight. She should never have even returned to Kirkwall-would never have done it if it weren't for that stupid niggling conscience that Hawke had somehow awakened in her. It may have taken her three bloody years, but in the end she knew she owed Hawke some small amount of closure, if nothing else.
Briefly, Isabela considered turning around and leaving. It would seem that Hawke didn't need the closure as much as Isabela had expected (which stung, but she would never admit it). Clearly the right thing, the good thing to do here would be to leave her former lover to her happiness; to get as far away from it as possible, because the farther Isabela was from it, the less chance she had of somehow mucking it up. The moment was short-lived, however: the second Hawke's piercing blue eyes locked onto her own, Isabela had about as much chance of leaving as Anders had of getting that massive mage-shaped stick out of his ass.
"Sorry about that," Hawke said softly, noticeably more awkward now that she was addressing Isabela herself. Her mouth twisted into a sheepish little smirk. "She gets away from me sometimes. Little escape artist." She punctuated her last words with a gentle pinch to the girl's belly, and the somber mood of a few moments before was swept aside by a delighted squeal.
Isabela couldn't remember ever being this lost for words. She floundered for a moment, opening her mouth and closing it again, before finally forcing words to her lips. "I-it's fine." Maker's hairy balls, Isabela, you can do better than that.
Hawke just smiled, that charming affectionate smile she'd always had for Isabela alone, and gestured with her free hand. "Please, come in. Orana's almost got dinner ready."
Taking a deep breath, Isabela steeled her resolve and stepped inside. Bodahn moved dutifully to close the door behind her, sealing off her most likely escape route, and a flash of panic seized her; she forced it back. She had decided to face her punishment; she couldn't back out now just because it wasn't the fun kind.
The child was staring at Isabela again. She gnawed a little on her lower lip, a sort of wonder shining in her eerily familiar eyes, before she turned back to her mother, tugging at the collar of her shirt. "Mama," she murmured, cupping her hand dramatically over Hawke's ear as she whispered into it.
When the girl finished talking, Hawke laughed, glancing back at Isabela. "Yes, she's a pirate. Bethany, this is Captain Isabela," she said, turning the child to make a proper introduction.
"Not much of a captain anymore," Isabela replied almost bitterly. She hadn't set foot on a ship in almost seven years. Blighted Qunari. Blighted Castillon and his blighted slaves. Void take the lot of them.
Hawke rolled her eyes, and Isabela could practically hear her voice echoing through the years; a memory of a time when things were simpler, before everything predictably went to shit. "Bela, you'll always be a captain, even if you never sail again. I think I've known you long enough to see that."
It had been one of those ridiculously romantic things that Hawke said sometimes, that always put Isabela on her guard-not because of what it said about Hawke's feelings, although that was certainly a concern, but more for the terrifying warmth that flared in Isabela's chest at hearing it. Simple comfort, freely given, asking nothing in return; Isabela didn't understand it. And she didn't trust things she couldn't understand-or most of the things she could, for that matter.
For a moment it seemed as though Hawke was hearing it as well; her expression softened, and the air between them seemed to grow heavy with the shared memory. It was unnerving how easily the years apart fell away, leaving Isabela back in that terrifying place that she'd worked so hard to run away from. Panic clutched at her chest; she couldn't feel this way again, especially not now that Hawke had so clearly moved on.
Inhaling roughly, Hawke gave her head a slight shake as though to clear it. "Isabela, this is Bethany," she said, her gaze skittering away, eyes clouding over with that same vague something Isabela had seen back in the Hanged Man. "My daughter."
"Well, a blind nug could see that." She'd meant to crack a joke, ease the tension, but the words came out harsher than she intended. Cursing inwardly, Isabela forced a smile to her lips to soften the blow. "It's...nice to meet you, Bethany," she said, the words stilted and awkward. Andraste's saggy tits, how does one talk to a child?
"Nice to meet you, Cappen Bela," Bethany said with a shy smile, after a coaxing nudge from her mother.
She should move, Isabela thought, or say something-anything to break the uneasy silence that fell over them then. She was Isabela, pirate and scoundrel extraordinaire, always ready with a well-timed quip or inappropriate comment. But all of her confidence and wit seemed to slip away from her now. She felt like a sodding fool.
Hawke was the one to put an end to it, clearing her throat nervously as she adjusted the child's weight in her arms. "Come on, then. I'll bet it's been ages since you've had a proper meal," she offered, the forced lightness in her tone impossible to miss. "And no, Corff's mystery stew doesn't count."
Isabela chuckled as she followed Hawke in through the main hall, picking her way through the maze of toys that littered the carpet. "Hey now, there's something to be said for consistency."
"Not when it's consistently inedible," Hawke shot back, grinning at Isabela over her shoulder. Maker, but that grin still did things to her. "Besides, I'd have thought you would find consistency boring."
Oh. Well, there was that. "I like knowing what to expect," Isabela said feebly, crossing her arms over her ribs in defense. Her eyes traitorously darted to the child on Hawke's hip, and she was only grateful that Hawke had turned back around as they neared the dining room.
The meaning of the words wasn't lost on Hawke, though, and she glanced back at Isabela with something sad and vaguely apologetic in her eyes.
Shit. That's not what I meant. Except it was, really, and Isabela found herself once again grasping for words. "So," she finally breathed, attempting to sound as casual as humanly possible. "Will the lucky man be joining us?"
Fine, dark eyebrows furrowed as Hawke stopped in her tracks, confusion muddling her features. "Who?"
Void take the woman, she was going to make Isabela say it. "Your-" she would have said "husband", but something about Hawke's reaction made her reconsider. "The, uh, father."
"Oh." Realization dawned, and Hawke smiled weakly. "No, it's...just me and Beth."
A flash of righteous anger surged in Isabela's chest. She had half a mind to hunt down the blighter who would saddle Hawke with this responsibility and cause him a great deal of pain. True, not everyone was cut out for family life, but this was Hawke, damn it. She deserved more than that.
Like you could do so much better? Isabela scowled at the insistent voice in the back of her mind. Tamping down the familiar self-doubt that always seemed to surface when it came to Hawke, she shook her head, retreating back to a safer topic. "So, what are we eating?"
***
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair, to say the least. There was plenty for Isabela to catch up on, of course-Varric's latest stories, Aveline's wedding, Hawke's continued concern for Merrill and that blasted mirror-but somehow every topic they discussed found its way back to the circumstances surrounding Isabela's departure. She managed to dodge Hawke's too-casual questions about what she'd been up to during that time, but the years weighed heavy on the conversation.
Isabela found herself grateful for the child; once she got over her initial shyness, Bethany had plenty to say, even if Isabela didn't understand the majority of it. She was a charming girl, bubbly and innocent-although Isabela supposed that could just be her age; she hadn't exactly met very many toddlers-and brought to mind the wide-eyed young mage she'd been named after.
The younger Hawke sister had been a sweet girl, equal parts intrigued and scandalized by the pirate's many exploits-that Isabela, of course, recounted in explicit detail, if only to see that impossibly adorable flush steal over pale cheeks. She'd been tempted, once or twice, to educate Bethany in a more...hands-on sort of way (she had a thing for blushing virgins, what could she say?), but Hawke's fiercely protective glares managed to warn her off of that particular idea.
It was a shame, what had happened to the poor girl in the Deep Roads. A bloody awful way to go, killed by her own sister to save her from dying slowly from the taint. The years had not been kind to Hawke, gradually claiming every last relative the woman had-save for a surly, lecherous uncle, but who counted him anyway? It was comforting, in a way Isabela would never actually acknowledge out loud, to see Hawke smile so effortlessly with her child. At least the Maker (or fate, or the universe, or whatever-Isabela had never been the pious sort) had seen fit to return some semblance of family to her.
When Orana came in to clear the dishes from the table, her eyes widened at the sheer volume of food the child had managed to cover herself in. Isabela had to laugh at it, herself; she'd seen men falling over drunk who were neater about their eating habits.
"Orana," Hawke said with an exasperated sigh, rubbing ineffectively at Bethany's face with a napkin, "can you do me a favor and get her cleaned up?"
"Of course, Mistress." The elf bowed her head, pausing with a stack of dishes in her hands. "Would you like me to take these to the kitchen first?"
Hawke gave Orana a kind smile. "Don't worry about it, I'll take them. Just see if you can find my daughter under all that gravy."
"Rana!" Bethany cried out happily, holding sticky hands out toward the elf.
It seemed that Orana's submissive demeanor was reserved for Hawke alone; she smiled openly at Bethany as she put the dishes back down on the table and scooped the child up into her arms. "Let's go, little one," she said fondly. Turning back to Hawke, she tilted her head respectfully. "I'll have her back down shortly, Mistress."
Shaking her head, Hawke watched elf and child disappear through the doorway. When they had gone, she rolled her eyes and rose to collect the dishes. "I've told her not to call me that."
"Aw, what's the matter, Hawke?" A smirk played at Isabela's lips as she stood, leaning a hip against the table. When in doubt, flirt. "If I recall, you rather liked the title when I used it."
She was rewarded with a furious blush. "Yes, well, there was a leash involved," Hawke shot back, shoving a pile of dishes into Isabela's hands. "And I don't think of my servants in quite the same way."
"Well, you're no fun."
Hawke raised an eyebrow, gathering up the other half of the dishes before meeting Isabela's gaze. There was that damned crooked grin again. "That's not how I remember it."
For a moment, Isabela just watched as Hawke spun around and sauntered out of the room. A pleasurable warmth stirred in her belly at both the sway of the woman's hips and the memories her words had evoked. She smiled hungrily as she pushed off of the table to follow. This night was definitely looking up.
***
"Look at you, all domesticated." Isabela was leaning casually against a cupboard in the kitchen, watching as Hawke scraped leftover food into the refuse bin and stacked the dishes neatly in the washbasin. Things between them may be awkward, painful even, but she couldn't deny how downright entertaining it was to see the mighty Champion of Kirkwall doing something as mundane as housework.
Hawke offered her a strained smile, her face lined with tension. "Not exactly by choice." With a nervous sigh, she swept past Isabela, leading them both toward the study. After a few steps, she spoke again. "Beth...wasn't exactly planned."
Isabela got the distinct impression the other woman was trying to avoid eye contact. She picked up her pace a bit, slipping her arm through Hawke's as she fell into step beside her. "So, do I know him?"
The question was posed in such a casual way that even Isabela herself was surprised-and a little impressed with herself. She could hear her pulse roaring in her ears, feel her stomach lurching violently like a ship in a storm.
At first, her only answer was the tensing of Hawke's bicep against her chest, the clench in Hawke's jaw as she searched for words. "You...could say that," she said slowly, pulling away from Isabela to stand before the fire.
Well that settled it-there was definitely something Hawke wasn't keen on sharing. Isabela huffed, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. "Is it some sort of big secret, then? Shall I start guessing?"
Hawke's shoulders rose and fell with a shaky sigh, and then she sank into one of the plush armchairs by the fire, dropping her head into one hand. For a long moment, she was still, and then a dry, mirthless laugh escaped her lips. "Maker...I thought it was obvious."
Isabela was increasingly sure that she didn't like where this was going. Her mind was racing, trying to picture all of the men she and Hawke both knew-even cataloguing every single whore she'd ever known to work at the Blooming Rose, but none of the faces she could summon seemed to fit.
"Come on, Hawke, out with it," she said uneasily, crossing over to sit in the other chair. "Don't keep a girl in suspense."
When Hawke looked up, her eyes shone with a warring combination of hope and fear. She inhaled deeply, clasping her hands together tightly in front of her. "Isabela...she's yours."
Her first reaction was to laugh, quick and sharp. "I think I'd remember that." It wasn't as though she could simply blank out on carrying a child for nearly a year, not to mention the birth itself-and how would that explain the child's resemblance to Hawke?
"No, that's not-" Hawke stopped, fumbled; her voice trembled as she clarified. "You're the father."
The idea was so absurd that Isabela half-expected Aveline to jump from the shadows, with a smug smirk and a "Got you, whore". Varric would be right behind her, taking notes for the no doubt hilarious story he'd be telling for the next few months at the Hanged Man, and Merrill would peer out from the very back, wide-eyed and smiling proudly at successfully staying quiet until the joke had played out. Later, Fenris would assure Isabela he'd had no part in it, but a smile would tug at the corners of his mouth, giving away the fact that he'd nonetheless been amused by it. As for Anders, well...Isabela was sure he didn't know what a joke was anymore.
When no one appeared for several moments, Isabela eyed Hawke apprehensively. "Do I need to explain the birds and bees, sweet thing?" She leaned back in the chair, gesturing broadly toward her decisively female form. "I'm sure you've noticed, I'm lacking some rather important equipment for that job."
Hawke's mouth fell open, her eyes widening in mock disbelief. "Don't tell me you've forgotten," she said, her tone somewhere between amusement and accusation. "It was your idea."
Recognition struck Isabela then, pooling cold and thick in the pit of her stomach as memories flashed through her mind.
Merrill smiled brightly as she opened the door, waving a hand to welcome Isabela inside. "It's so nice to see you, Isabela. I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you. Oh, I may still have some of those biscuits in the cupboard-"
"Relax, Kitten." Isabela held up a hand to stop her mid-sentence; she was a woman on a mission. She breezed past Merrill to sink down into one of the rickety chairs. "I need your help. With something dirty."
The elf clapped her hands together excitedly, rushing over to sit across from her. "Ooh, tell me, tell me!"
The enthusiasm came as no surprise to Isabela; anyone who thought Merrill innocent was truly delusional. Still, she had to take a moment to smile at it. A brief moment-then it was down to business.
She leaned forward across the table, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "You see, in Tevinter, they have this potion..."
~
Blue eyes raked over her body, widening almost comically as they settled on the new addition between her legs. Isabela would have laughed, if not for the dark flash of hunger in the gaze. If she hadn't already been hard, that look would have done it.
"Maker," Hawke murmured, licking her lips unconsciously. "I never saw the appeal in those things before now."
Isabela grinned, a predator closing in on her prey. "Don't worry, sweet thing. I'm going to show you just how much fun they can be."
~
Hawke collapsed back against the pillows, struggling to catch her breath. Isabela looked back at her and chuckled, running her eyes appreciatively over sweat-slick skin.
"I told you it'd be worth it," Isabela purred, a smirk playing at her lips. She held the gaze for a moment before returning to the task of hunting for her smallclothes, sliding them back into place now that all her parts were back to normal.
"I'm still not sure I approve of you corrupting Merrill."
The admonition was spoiled by the sated exhaustion in Hawke's voice. Isabela rolled her eyes, offering her lover a fond smile as she reached over to tuck a damp strand of hair behind Hawke's ear, ending the motion with a soft pat to a flushed cheek. "Trust me-she didn't mind a bit."
That was back in simpler times; before everything went crazy, and it all became too heavy and too real. It had only been a month later when Leandra was killed, and a few weeks after that when things with the Qunari came to a head. Then Isabela had left, and returned, and left again, apparently at the worst possible time-or the best, depending on how one looked at it.
The very idea was insane. Completely, utterly loony. Unfortunately, it also made perfect sense.
"Shit."
Hawke had been watching her carefully, looking more and more nervous the longer the silence stretched. Now, she laughed aloud at the way Isabela managed to boil down a revelation of this magnitude to a single word. "That's pretty much what I said." Her shoulders sagged a little as she relaxed back in her chair, a weight visibly lifted from them. "I can't say it's something I ever thought to worry about, given that I don't usually do men."
Isabela met Hawke's wry smirk with a weak attempt at a smile. "And you're...sure?"
"I haven't been with a man since before Lothering. And after," Hawke paused, unease creeping back into her tone, "after everything calmed down, I spent a lot of time with Merrill researching Tevinter sex magic. Fenris even helped out with what he knew. It's entirely plausible, and apparently more common than you'd expect."
Well, it wasn't common in the brothels in Antiva, which was where Isabela had first encountered the sodding potion. She felt like an idiot, now; of course the whores would have known it was a possibility, and taken precautions. She'd just assumed that at the heart of it, she was still female, so it hadn't even occurred to her to ask.
Something bothered her more, though, that made her forget her mortification at being caught ignorant about something related to sex. The last time she'd seen Hawke, before she ran off, nearly two months had passed since their little experiment. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "When did you find out?"
Guilt flashed through Hawke's eyes, and she pushed out of her chair, turning away from Isabela to pace. She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I had just been to Anders' clinic when I came home to find you and Aveline sniping at each other in the front hall. After that, everything got so crazy, and-" she stopped, then, and whirled around to pin Isabela with her gaze. Here was that anger that Isabela had expected, accusation in her hardened eyes. "When was I supposed to tell you, Isabela? While we were rushing to collect your damned relic? Or maybe after the fight with the Arishok, when you stayed only long enough to tell me how stupid I was for standing up for you?"
"It was bloody stupid!" Isabela shot to her feet, coming to a stop a couple of steps away from Hawke. The surge of anger pulsing through her veins was almost a relief. Fighting was easy. Fighting, she could do. "Shit, Hawke, I didn't even know how stupid-you knew about this and you still agreed to duel that giant horned bastard! If you weren't so damned quick on your feet he'd have skewered you!"
She couldn't blame Hawke for not wanting to tell her about the baby-there was a part of her that wished she hadn't come tonight, so she'd never have needed to know at all-but shit, she'd been angry enough at Hawke for putting her own life at risk that night. So much more could have been lost, and Isabela would never even have known it.
Well, that probably wasn't true-no doubt Anders would have taken great pleasure in telling her just how much she'd fucked up.
"I couldn't just let them take you," Hawke said, her shoulders slumping in resignation. The anger had drained from her voice, leaving only bare, honest emotion. Her eyes glistened with what Isabela was sickly certain were the beginnings of tears. "Even if we hadn't been..." she trailed off, struggling to find a word and failing. She gave up and reached for Isabela's hand instead, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Whatever else we were, you were still my friend. No matter what you'd done, I could never have let them haul you off to do Maker-knows-what to you."
Isabela's own anger abandoned her almost as swiftly as it had come, replaced by a sharp ache pressing against the inside of her ribs, pricking at her eyes. Damn it all, she knew this feeling, and she hated how weak it made her feel, how vulnerable. It was why she'd left in the first damn place. Pulling her hand away from Hawke's, she pressed it to her chest, curling her other arm over her ribs as though she could somehow contain the storm raging within.
"You blighted noble idiot," she scoffed quietly, turning away to stare into the flickering flames. The words lacked any real recrimination; Isabela admired that nobility, if she was honest with herself, but that didn't mean she approved of Hawke's actions. No one would notice the absence of a lying, thieving snake of a pirate captain; the world bloody well needed someone like Hawke.
"Isabela," Hawke said gently, resting a warm hand on Isabela's shoulder. "It's all right. We made it through. None of us was hurt."
"Not for lack of trying," Isabela shot back, turning back to flash Hawke a feeble grin.
Hawke's lips curled up in response, and the hand on Isabela's shoulder squeezed gently. Suddenly, Isabela could feel every bit of distance between them; her body flushed with heat, and a familiar sensation tugged insistently at her. She was no stranger to desire, but this pull was centered decidedly higher north than she was comfortable with.
Before she could do something foolish like sweep Hawke off of her feet and declare her undying devotion-honestly, who did that?-the sound of a throat clearing shattered the moment.
Orana stood hesitantly in the doorway, holding a freshly scrubbed Bethany now dressed in a white linen sleeping gown. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mistress, but she was asking for you."
"Thank you, Orana," Hawke said, her hand falling away from Isabela's shoulder so she could take the child. Absurdly, Isabela found she missed the contact. "I'll take it from here. The dishes are all set to be washed. As soon as that's done, you're free to do whatever you like. I don't think we'll need anything else tonight."
"Of course, Mistress. Thank you." Then, with a polite curtsy, the elf was gone, leaving the three of them alone.
Isabela found it hard to take her eyes off of the toddler. This was her child: she could see it more clearly now, from the darker coloring to the wide almond-shaped eyes the exact color of her own. It had been a lifetime since she had fantasized about what her children would look like, back when she was the poor daughter of a seer in Llomerryn. She'd long since given up on such foolish fancies; she was a lot of things, but a mother was decidedly not one of them.
So why did she feel a tug in her chest at the sight of the girl rubbing at her eyes, mouth opening wide in a yawn?
"Looks like someone's ready for bed," Hawke said fondly, tucking a still-damp lock of hair behind Bethany's ear and pressing a soft kiss into her cheek.
Bethany smiled, but her attention wasn't focused on her mother. Isabela's eyes widened in alarm as a tiny hand reached out in her direction. "Bela!"
Shit. Isabela threw her hands up defensively, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I wouldn't know the first thing about holding a child." She glanced at Hawke pleadingly.
"That's all right," Hawke said reassuringly, "we can work up to-"
The sentence was cut short when Bethany launched herself out of her mother's arms, displaying a level of energy that hadn't been there moments before. Thankfully, Isabela's lightning-fast reflexes kept the child from tumbling to the floor; the downside being, of course, that now she had a blighted toddler clinging to her neck.
And Hawke, damn her, was laughing about it. When Isabela shot her a withering glare, she made an effort to sober up, but a smirk still tugged at the corners of her mouth. "She's a bit of a daredevil," she said with an almost apologetic shrug. "No idea where she gets that from."
Oh, sarcasm. That was helpful. Isabela sighed, awkwardly trying to emulate the way Hawke had been holding the child earlier. The tiny body was surprisingly warm and solid in her arms, the girl's hair soft against her cheek. She smelled clean and sweet, like that flowery soap Merrill liked to mix up sometimes. Isabela tried to think back to when her last bath was; she was sure she still reeked of ale and vomit, and although she'd long been immune to the smell, it seemed wrong somehow to taint the child's scent with her own.
Bethany, of course, didn't seem to mind in the least. Her head was tucked neatly under Isabela's jaw, the curve of her nose brushing against Isabela's throat. Her arms were tight around Isabela's neck; clearly she had no intention of letting go anytime soon. "Well, she sees something she wants, and she goes for it," Isabela conceded grudgingly. "I suppose I can admire that."
The mirth in Hawke's expression had slowly faded, leaving an earnest sort of longing shining in her eyes. When Isabela shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, Hawke shook her head softly, lowering her gaze. "Sorry. It's just not an image I ever thought I'd see."
Of course she didn't. Isabela hadn't left Hawke with any reason to believe they'd ever see each other again. She hadn't actually intended to ever return to Kirkwall; she'd stuck around far too long already, and when you stayed in one place long enough people started to have expectations of you. Isabela prided herself on keeping people's expectations of her as low as possible-that way, it was much harder to disappoint when she didn't live up to them.
Hawke had always seen through her, though; seen something in her that made her believe Isabela could be a better person. More maddening was the way she'd made Isabela believe it too, for a little while at least.
"All right," Isabela said when she couldn't bear the silence any longer. "I think she's well and truly attached. Where am I taking the little demon?"
"Mother's old room," Hawke replied with a smile. "You remember where it is?"
Isabela remembered. It was the one room Hawke had always refused to have sex in. She supposed that wouldn't be changing now. A shame, really; it would have been nice to get a perfect record.
They climbed the stairs in silence, Bethany curled contentedly into Isabela's neck. It wasn't so horrible, once Isabela figured out how best to distribute the child's weight. She was confident that, at the very least, she could manage not to drop her.
Leandra's old room was barely recognizable. A painted forest scene dominated one wall, likely Merrill's work-the woodland creatures poking their noses out between the branches of trees screamed of the elf's influence. The wardrobe was still there, of course, and the bookshelf-although the books were obviously geared toward a younger audience, with large block letters decorating the colorful spines.
Hawke's ever-faithful mabari had followed them up the stairs, and now curled up on a large cushion tucked into one corner of the room. Ever the vigilant guard dog-and now, Isabela supposed, a nursemaid as well. Typical. You can take the girl out of Ferelden...
A small four-poster bed stood against another wall, covered in a fluffy red blanket and an assortment of pillows and stuffed dolls. Isabela made her way there now, reaching up to pry Bethany's arms from her neck. The girl whined sleepily in protest and clung tighter, but Isabela was stronger and perhaps a bit more desperate.
Bethany pouted as she was deposited on top of the blankets, wide eyes glistening with the threat of tears as she looked up at Isabela, just wanting. Isabela was used to people wanting something from her, of course; it was just usually fairly obvious what that something was. Typically, people only ever wanted one of three things-sex, coin, or revenge-all of which were easy enough to either grant or deny.
Hawke had always been different, had wanted things that Isabela hadn't known how to give; things that she'd left behind years ago, scattered among the heartbroken wreckage of the first and only person she'd ever loved. Still, Hawke had never asked for more than Isabela was willing to give; her yearning had been tangible, but always unspoken.
This little girl would have no such reservations. The expression on her face was pure, guileless want; the look in her eyes said that she didn't, couldn't understand why she couldn't just have. A horrifying thought crept into Isabela's mind then: this child would take from her everything she could get those tiny hands on, shaping and molding until Isabela was changed to exactly what she needed-and she would do it without any sort of understanding of what she was doing. Hawke had never asked her to change; this child would demand it.
Stepping away from the bed, Isabela looked over at Hawke, panic making her movements jerky and awkward. Hawke helpfully swooped in, calming Bethany with gentle words and soothing touches as she worked the blankets up and around the child. It was an achingly domestic scene, and Isabela knew that she didn't belong anywhere near it.
"I should leave you to it," she said awkwardly, backing quickly toward the door.
The strained smile on Hawke's face didn't come close to disguising the fear in her eyes as they locked onto Isabela's retreating form. Isabela knew what Hawke was afraid of, and really, she couldn't blame her-a very loud, very insistent voice was screaming in her head to run, to get as far away from here as possible and never look back.
"I'll be down in a bit," Hawke said, a pleading sort of hope in her overly casual tone. "Just have to get through story time."
Balls. It was never any use trying to say no to Hawke, even when she didn't put the question into words. Isabela sighed, her panic subsiding a bit now that she was no longer the sole focus of the child's attention. "I'll just go and see what Bodahn is up to."
Part Two
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: Soft R for references to sexytimes
Warnings: Reference/discussion of abortion, f!preg, girlpeen. Spoilers through Act II of Dragon Age II.
Word Count: ~13600
Disclaimer: If Thedas and all accompanying lore and characters were mine, all of the promo material would feature female protagonists. Just saying. But seriously, they're sadly not mine. That honor goes to BioWare and a whole score of developers and writers and fancy people like that. I did come up with the idea of Tevinter sex magic, though (at least this incarnation of it, and at least as far as I know).
Summary: Isabela returns to Kirkwall to find things...very different than she left them.
Bloody coward, Isabela berated herself as she stared at the ornate carvings on the door to the Hawke Estate. She'd been here hundreds of times before; and, well, all right, she'd rarely even used the front door, let alone knocked on it, but that shouldn't matter now. The fact was, Hawke had asked her to come, and she damn well owed it to the woman-and no one could say that Isabela didn't honor her debts (well, some could, but they were all dead, and that was besides the point).
She'd barely been back in Kirkwall for a full day before Hawke had shown up; not that Isabela had expected anything less, after all the shit she pulled way back when. What she hadn't expected, though, was for Hawke to be so flaming civil. She had steeled herself for an angry rant, possibly a fight, even-Maker forbid-a total emotional breakdown, complete with tears and strangled pleas for some sort of explanation. She'd even managed to convince herself to stick around, no matter how ugly and complicated it got-at least for long enough to hear the other woman out. Hawke deserved that much.
But Hawke had done none of those things. She'd simply walked in to the Hanged Man, somehow managing to look humble in that fancy Champion getup, and leaned up against the bar next to Isabela, cracking a bad joke just like old times. Well, almost like old times. She'd been more subdued, with something indefinable in those glittering blue eyes: regret, or disappointment, or longing-Isabela hadn't been able to quite put a finger on it, and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to.
It had been entertaining to see Hawke fumble over a simple dinner invitation-especially given the brazen way she used to proposition Isabela for sex. Isabela found herself almost thinking it adorable, in a way-and that led to thoughts she wasn't entirely comfortable with, feelings she'd spent three years trying to bury. So, in classic Isabela fashion, she'd deflected with a joke about how being revered by the masses was turning Hawke soft, demonstrating her point with a poke to the woman's side-which was, in fact, softer than it had been.
Everything about Hawke was changed, Isabela had realized when she'd finally taken the time to consider it. Her face had filled in, her sharp features softened; if Isabela wasn't mistaken, even the woman's breasts were slightly larger than she remembered-and she was never mistaken about breasts.
It was a curious thing; almost as curious as the way Hawke looked nervously away rather than countering Isabela's lighthearted jest. There was something going on here, beyond simply getting lazy and putting on a few pounds. And, well, maybe that was why Isabela ended up accepting the dinner invitation, more than any noble desire to make amends. Oh, she wanted to do the right thing, as bizarre as it felt; Hawke never failed to bring out that maddening sense of morality Isabela never thought she had. If doing the right thing happened to sate her curiosity about just how her former sometime lover had spent the last three years, all the better.
Of course, she wasn't going to get anywhere just standing here staring at the blighted door. Forcing out a frustrated sigh, Isabela raised her hand, curled it into a fist and rapped firmly on the wood. There, it's done. No turning back now.
Moments later, she heard two sets of muffled footsteps hurrying closer, and Bodahn's voice calling out a harried "Messere!", followed by the last sound Isabela expected to come from behind Hawke's door-a high-pitched giggle, of the sort that couldn't have belonged to a grown person. When the heavy door finally slid open, Isabela found herself looking down at the grinning face of a toddler barely the height of her boots, dressed in a miniature version of the finery Hawke always wore when she was at home.
Straight, inky black hair fell messily over the girl's face, not quite managing to obscure her pointed features. Her toothy grin melted into an open-mouthed sort of awe when Isabela came into view. There was no doubt about it; this was clearly Hawke's child, despite the rich caramel complexion of her skin and the wide, honey-brown eyes that peered up at her with wild curiosity.
Isabela's heart froze in her chest. Of all the possibilities she'd considered, none had come anywhere close to this. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she thought of what she'd gotten herself into. If there was a child, there was also a father. She had no right to begrudge Hawke any happiness, she knew that, but that didn't mean she was ready to spend an evening as a spectator to her domestic bliss. The very thought of it made Isabela feel sick in a way that had little to do with her own opinions on family life.
"Bethany!" An exasperated voice tore Isabela from her thoughts, and her eyes snapped up to see Hawke appear in the doorway to the foyer, blue eyes firmly fixed on the child.
"The young messere was eager to greet your guest," Bodahn explained, a nervous chuckle sounding in his throat as he worried his hands in front of him. Isabela almost smiled; it was nice to know that not everything had changed.
"I can see that," Hawke replied with an authoritative edge to her voice. There was a time that tone would have done deliciously naughty things to Isabela; now, she just watched numbly as Hawke swept forward, scooping the toddler up into her arms. The stern expression on the woman's face wavered as she met the child's gaze, a fond smile tugging at her lips. There was such pure, unsullied love in that look; Isabela felt something clench uncomfortably in her gut at the sight of it. "What have I told you about the door?"
The child was clever enough to at least appear chastened, sticking out her lower lip in a way that could conceivably be contrite. "Bodahn gets it," she said sulkily, fidgeting with the collar of her mother's shirt.
"That's right." Hawke smiled indulgently, tucking a finger under the girl's chin to look her in the eye. "And why do we let Bodahn get the door?"
Isabela wasn't well-versed in children or parenthood by any means, but she got the impression that this exchange had happened before. Bethany inhaled deeply, meeting her mother's gaze with a serious look on her face. "'Acause there's bad people."
"Exactly so. And those bad people would love to steal away a beautiful little girl like you." Her voice cracked a little, a shadow flickering through her eyes, and Isabela knew she was thinking about all of the family she'd lost.
Maker, it was positively stupid how much Hawke still got to her; how just thinking about the woman being in pain was enough to spark a traitorous ache in Isabela's own chest. She didn't do emotional stuff-avoided it like the Blight really-so why did it take nothing more than a sad sigh to make her want to pull Hawke into her arms and hold her until the pain subsided?
She shouldn't have come here tonight. She should never have even returned to Kirkwall-would never have done it if it weren't for that stupid niggling conscience that Hawke had somehow awakened in her. It may have taken her three bloody years, but in the end she knew she owed Hawke some small amount of closure, if nothing else.
Briefly, Isabela considered turning around and leaving. It would seem that Hawke didn't need the closure as much as Isabela had expected (which stung, but she would never admit it). Clearly the right thing, the good thing to do here would be to leave her former lover to her happiness; to get as far away from it as possible, because the farther Isabela was from it, the less chance she had of somehow mucking it up. The moment was short-lived, however: the second Hawke's piercing blue eyes locked onto her own, Isabela had about as much chance of leaving as Anders had of getting that massive mage-shaped stick out of his ass.
"Sorry about that," Hawke said softly, noticeably more awkward now that she was addressing Isabela herself. Her mouth twisted into a sheepish little smirk. "She gets away from me sometimes. Little escape artist." She punctuated her last words with a gentle pinch to the girl's belly, and the somber mood of a few moments before was swept aside by a delighted squeal.
Isabela couldn't remember ever being this lost for words. She floundered for a moment, opening her mouth and closing it again, before finally forcing words to her lips. "I-it's fine." Maker's hairy balls, Isabela, you can do better than that.
Hawke just smiled, that charming affectionate smile she'd always had for Isabela alone, and gestured with her free hand. "Please, come in. Orana's almost got dinner ready."
Taking a deep breath, Isabela steeled her resolve and stepped inside. Bodahn moved dutifully to close the door behind her, sealing off her most likely escape route, and a flash of panic seized her; she forced it back. She had decided to face her punishment; she couldn't back out now just because it wasn't the fun kind.
The child was staring at Isabela again. She gnawed a little on her lower lip, a sort of wonder shining in her eerily familiar eyes, before she turned back to her mother, tugging at the collar of her shirt. "Mama," she murmured, cupping her hand dramatically over Hawke's ear as she whispered into it.
When the girl finished talking, Hawke laughed, glancing back at Isabela. "Yes, she's a pirate. Bethany, this is Captain Isabela," she said, turning the child to make a proper introduction.
"Not much of a captain anymore," Isabela replied almost bitterly. She hadn't set foot on a ship in almost seven years. Blighted Qunari. Blighted Castillon and his blighted slaves. Void take the lot of them.
Hawke rolled her eyes, and Isabela could practically hear her voice echoing through the years; a memory of a time when things were simpler, before everything predictably went to shit. "Bela, you'll always be a captain, even if you never sail again. I think I've known you long enough to see that."
It had been one of those ridiculously romantic things that Hawke said sometimes, that always put Isabela on her guard-not because of what it said about Hawke's feelings, although that was certainly a concern, but more for the terrifying warmth that flared in Isabela's chest at hearing it. Simple comfort, freely given, asking nothing in return; Isabela didn't understand it. And she didn't trust things she couldn't understand-or most of the things she could, for that matter.
For a moment it seemed as though Hawke was hearing it as well; her expression softened, and the air between them seemed to grow heavy with the shared memory. It was unnerving how easily the years apart fell away, leaving Isabela back in that terrifying place that she'd worked so hard to run away from. Panic clutched at her chest; she couldn't feel this way again, especially not now that Hawke had so clearly moved on.
Inhaling roughly, Hawke gave her head a slight shake as though to clear it. "Isabela, this is Bethany," she said, her gaze skittering away, eyes clouding over with that same vague something Isabela had seen back in the Hanged Man. "My daughter."
"Well, a blind nug could see that." She'd meant to crack a joke, ease the tension, but the words came out harsher than she intended. Cursing inwardly, Isabela forced a smile to her lips to soften the blow. "It's...nice to meet you, Bethany," she said, the words stilted and awkward. Andraste's saggy tits, how does one talk to a child?
"Nice to meet you, Cappen Bela," Bethany said with a shy smile, after a coaxing nudge from her mother.
She should move, Isabela thought, or say something-anything to break the uneasy silence that fell over them then. She was Isabela, pirate and scoundrel extraordinaire, always ready with a well-timed quip or inappropriate comment. But all of her confidence and wit seemed to slip away from her now. She felt like a sodding fool.
Hawke was the one to put an end to it, clearing her throat nervously as she adjusted the child's weight in her arms. "Come on, then. I'll bet it's been ages since you've had a proper meal," she offered, the forced lightness in her tone impossible to miss. "And no, Corff's mystery stew doesn't count."
Isabela chuckled as she followed Hawke in through the main hall, picking her way through the maze of toys that littered the carpet. "Hey now, there's something to be said for consistency."
"Not when it's consistently inedible," Hawke shot back, grinning at Isabela over her shoulder. Maker, but that grin still did things to her. "Besides, I'd have thought you would find consistency boring."
Oh. Well, there was that. "I like knowing what to expect," Isabela said feebly, crossing her arms over her ribs in defense. Her eyes traitorously darted to the child on Hawke's hip, and she was only grateful that Hawke had turned back around as they neared the dining room.
The meaning of the words wasn't lost on Hawke, though, and she glanced back at Isabela with something sad and vaguely apologetic in her eyes.
Shit. That's not what I meant. Except it was, really, and Isabela found herself once again grasping for words. "So," she finally breathed, attempting to sound as casual as humanly possible. "Will the lucky man be joining us?"
Fine, dark eyebrows furrowed as Hawke stopped in her tracks, confusion muddling her features. "Who?"
Void take the woman, she was going to make Isabela say it. "Your-" she would have said "husband", but something about Hawke's reaction made her reconsider. "The, uh, father."
"Oh." Realization dawned, and Hawke smiled weakly. "No, it's...just me and Beth."
A flash of righteous anger surged in Isabela's chest. She had half a mind to hunt down the blighter who would saddle Hawke with this responsibility and cause him a great deal of pain. True, not everyone was cut out for family life, but this was Hawke, damn it. She deserved more than that.
Like you could do so much better? Isabela scowled at the insistent voice in the back of her mind. Tamping down the familiar self-doubt that always seemed to surface when it came to Hawke, she shook her head, retreating back to a safer topic. "So, what are we eating?"
***
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair, to say the least. There was plenty for Isabela to catch up on, of course-Varric's latest stories, Aveline's wedding, Hawke's continued concern for Merrill and that blasted mirror-but somehow every topic they discussed found its way back to the circumstances surrounding Isabela's departure. She managed to dodge Hawke's too-casual questions about what she'd been up to during that time, but the years weighed heavy on the conversation.
Isabela found herself grateful for the child; once she got over her initial shyness, Bethany had plenty to say, even if Isabela didn't understand the majority of it. She was a charming girl, bubbly and innocent-although Isabela supposed that could just be her age; she hadn't exactly met very many toddlers-and brought to mind the wide-eyed young mage she'd been named after.
The younger Hawke sister had been a sweet girl, equal parts intrigued and scandalized by the pirate's many exploits-that Isabela, of course, recounted in explicit detail, if only to see that impossibly adorable flush steal over pale cheeks. She'd been tempted, once or twice, to educate Bethany in a more...hands-on sort of way (she had a thing for blushing virgins, what could she say?), but Hawke's fiercely protective glares managed to warn her off of that particular idea.
It was a shame, what had happened to the poor girl in the Deep Roads. A bloody awful way to go, killed by her own sister to save her from dying slowly from the taint. The years had not been kind to Hawke, gradually claiming every last relative the woman had-save for a surly, lecherous uncle, but who counted him anyway? It was comforting, in a way Isabela would never actually acknowledge out loud, to see Hawke smile so effortlessly with her child. At least the Maker (or fate, or the universe, or whatever-Isabela had never been the pious sort) had seen fit to return some semblance of family to her.
When Orana came in to clear the dishes from the table, her eyes widened at the sheer volume of food the child had managed to cover herself in. Isabela had to laugh at it, herself; she'd seen men falling over drunk who were neater about their eating habits.
"Orana," Hawke said with an exasperated sigh, rubbing ineffectively at Bethany's face with a napkin, "can you do me a favor and get her cleaned up?"
"Of course, Mistress." The elf bowed her head, pausing with a stack of dishes in her hands. "Would you like me to take these to the kitchen first?"
Hawke gave Orana a kind smile. "Don't worry about it, I'll take them. Just see if you can find my daughter under all that gravy."
"Rana!" Bethany cried out happily, holding sticky hands out toward the elf.
It seemed that Orana's submissive demeanor was reserved for Hawke alone; she smiled openly at Bethany as she put the dishes back down on the table and scooped the child up into her arms. "Let's go, little one," she said fondly. Turning back to Hawke, she tilted her head respectfully. "I'll have her back down shortly, Mistress."
Shaking her head, Hawke watched elf and child disappear through the doorway. When they had gone, she rolled her eyes and rose to collect the dishes. "I've told her not to call me that."
"Aw, what's the matter, Hawke?" A smirk played at Isabela's lips as she stood, leaning a hip against the table. When in doubt, flirt. "If I recall, you rather liked the title when I used it."
She was rewarded with a furious blush. "Yes, well, there was a leash involved," Hawke shot back, shoving a pile of dishes into Isabela's hands. "And I don't think of my servants in quite the same way."
"Well, you're no fun."
Hawke raised an eyebrow, gathering up the other half of the dishes before meeting Isabela's gaze. There was that damned crooked grin again. "That's not how I remember it."
For a moment, Isabela just watched as Hawke spun around and sauntered out of the room. A pleasurable warmth stirred in her belly at both the sway of the woman's hips and the memories her words had evoked. She smiled hungrily as she pushed off of the table to follow. This night was definitely looking up.
***
"Look at you, all domesticated." Isabela was leaning casually against a cupboard in the kitchen, watching as Hawke scraped leftover food into the refuse bin and stacked the dishes neatly in the washbasin. Things between them may be awkward, painful even, but she couldn't deny how downright entertaining it was to see the mighty Champion of Kirkwall doing something as mundane as housework.
Hawke offered her a strained smile, her face lined with tension. "Not exactly by choice." With a nervous sigh, she swept past Isabela, leading them both toward the study. After a few steps, she spoke again. "Beth...wasn't exactly planned."
Isabela got the distinct impression the other woman was trying to avoid eye contact. She picked up her pace a bit, slipping her arm through Hawke's as she fell into step beside her. "So, do I know him?"
The question was posed in such a casual way that even Isabela herself was surprised-and a little impressed with herself. She could hear her pulse roaring in her ears, feel her stomach lurching violently like a ship in a storm.
At first, her only answer was the tensing of Hawke's bicep against her chest, the clench in Hawke's jaw as she searched for words. "You...could say that," she said slowly, pulling away from Isabela to stand before the fire.
Well that settled it-there was definitely something Hawke wasn't keen on sharing. Isabela huffed, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. "Is it some sort of big secret, then? Shall I start guessing?"
Hawke's shoulders rose and fell with a shaky sigh, and then she sank into one of the plush armchairs by the fire, dropping her head into one hand. For a long moment, she was still, and then a dry, mirthless laugh escaped her lips. "Maker...I thought it was obvious."
Isabela was increasingly sure that she didn't like where this was going. Her mind was racing, trying to picture all of the men she and Hawke both knew-even cataloguing every single whore she'd ever known to work at the Blooming Rose, but none of the faces she could summon seemed to fit.
"Come on, Hawke, out with it," she said uneasily, crossing over to sit in the other chair. "Don't keep a girl in suspense."
When Hawke looked up, her eyes shone with a warring combination of hope and fear. She inhaled deeply, clasping her hands together tightly in front of her. "Isabela...she's yours."
Her first reaction was to laugh, quick and sharp. "I think I'd remember that." It wasn't as though she could simply blank out on carrying a child for nearly a year, not to mention the birth itself-and how would that explain the child's resemblance to Hawke?
"No, that's not-" Hawke stopped, fumbled; her voice trembled as she clarified. "You're the father."
The idea was so absurd that Isabela half-expected Aveline to jump from the shadows, with a smug smirk and a "Got you, whore". Varric would be right behind her, taking notes for the no doubt hilarious story he'd be telling for the next few months at the Hanged Man, and Merrill would peer out from the very back, wide-eyed and smiling proudly at successfully staying quiet until the joke had played out. Later, Fenris would assure Isabela he'd had no part in it, but a smile would tug at the corners of his mouth, giving away the fact that he'd nonetheless been amused by it. As for Anders, well...Isabela was sure he didn't know what a joke was anymore.
When no one appeared for several moments, Isabela eyed Hawke apprehensively. "Do I need to explain the birds and bees, sweet thing?" She leaned back in the chair, gesturing broadly toward her decisively female form. "I'm sure you've noticed, I'm lacking some rather important equipment for that job."
Hawke's mouth fell open, her eyes widening in mock disbelief. "Don't tell me you've forgotten," she said, her tone somewhere between amusement and accusation. "It was your idea."
Recognition struck Isabela then, pooling cold and thick in the pit of her stomach as memories flashed through her mind.
Merrill smiled brightly as she opened the door, waving a hand to welcome Isabela inside. "It's so nice to see you, Isabela. I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you. Oh, I may still have some of those biscuits in the cupboard-"
"Relax, Kitten." Isabela held up a hand to stop her mid-sentence; she was a woman on a mission. She breezed past Merrill to sink down into one of the rickety chairs. "I need your help. With something dirty."
The elf clapped her hands together excitedly, rushing over to sit across from her. "Ooh, tell me, tell me!"
The enthusiasm came as no surprise to Isabela; anyone who thought Merrill innocent was truly delusional. Still, she had to take a moment to smile at it. A brief moment-then it was down to business.
She leaned forward across the table, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "You see, in Tevinter, they have this potion..."
~
Blue eyes raked over her body, widening almost comically as they settled on the new addition between her legs. Isabela would have laughed, if not for the dark flash of hunger in the gaze. If she hadn't already been hard, that look would have done it.
"Maker," Hawke murmured, licking her lips unconsciously. "I never saw the appeal in those things before now."
Isabela grinned, a predator closing in on her prey. "Don't worry, sweet thing. I'm going to show you just how much fun they can be."
~
Hawke collapsed back against the pillows, struggling to catch her breath. Isabela looked back at her and chuckled, running her eyes appreciatively over sweat-slick skin.
"I told you it'd be worth it," Isabela purred, a smirk playing at her lips. She held the gaze for a moment before returning to the task of hunting for her smallclothes, sliding them back into place now that all her parts were back to normal.
"I'm still not sure I approve of you corrupting Merrill."
The admonition was spoiled by the sated exhaustion in Hawke's voice. Isabela rolled her eyes, offering her lover a fond smile as she reached over to tuck a damp strand of hair behind Hawke's ear, ending the motion with a soft pat to a flushed cheek. "Trust me-she didn't mind a bit."
That was back in simpler times; before everything went crazy, and it all became too heavy and too real. It had only been a month later when Leandra was killed, and a few weeks after that when things with the Qunari came to a head. Then Isabela had left, and returned, and left again, apparently at the worst possible time-or the best, depending on how one looked at it.
The very idea was insane. Completely, utterly loony. Unfortunately, it also made perfect sense.
"Shit."
Hawke had been watching her carefully, looking more and more nervous the longer the silence stretched. Now, she laughed aloud at the way Isabela managed to boil down a revelation of this magnitude to a single word. "That's pretty much what I said." Her shoulders sagged a little as she relaxed back in her chair, a weight visibly lifted from them. "I can't say it's something I ever thought to worry about, given that I don't usually do men."
Isabela met Hawke's wry smirk with a weak attempt at a smile. "And you're...sure?"
"I haven't been with a man since before Lothering. And after," Hawke paused, unease creeping back into her tone, "after everything calmed down, I spent a lot of time with Merrill researching Tevinter sex magic. Fenris even helped out with what he knew. It's entirely plausible, and apparently more common than you'd expect."
Well, it wasn't common in the brothels in Antiva, which was where Isabela had first encountered the sodding potion. She felt like an idiot, now; of course the whores would have known it was a possibility, and taken precautions. She'd just assumed that at the heart of it, she was still female, so it hadn't even occurred to her to ask.
Something bothered her more, though, that made her forget her mortification at being caught ignorant about something related to sex. The last time she'd seen Hawke, before she ran off, nearly two months had passed since their little experiment. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "When did you find out?"
Guilt flashed through Hawke's eyes, and she pushed out of her chair, turning away from Isabela to pace. She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I had just been to Anders' clinic when I came home to find you and Aveline sniping at each other in the front hall. After that, everything got so crazy, and-" she stopped, then, and whirled around to pin Isabela with her gaze. Here was that anger that Isabela had expected, accusation in her hardened eyes. "When was I supposed to tell you, Isabela? While we were rushing to collect your damned relic? Or maybe after the fight with the Arishok, when you stayed only long enough to tell me how stupid I was for standing up for you?"
"It was bloody stupid!" Isabela shot to her feet, coming to a stop a couple of steps away from Hawke. The surge of anger pulsing through her veins was almost a relief. Fighting was easy. Fighting, she could do. "Shit, Hawke, I didn't even know how stupid-you knew about this and you still agreed to duel that giant horned bastard! If you weren't so damned quick on your feet he'd have skewered you!"
She couldn't blame Hawke for not wanting to tell her about the baby-there was a part of her that wished she hadn't come tonight, so she'd never have needed to know at all-but shit, she'd been angry enough at Hawke for putting her own life at risk that night. So much more could have been lost, and Isabela would never even have known it.
Well, that probably wasn't true-no doubt Anders would have taken great pleasure in telling her just how much she'd fucked up.
"I couldn't just let them take you," Hawke said, her shoulders slumping in resignation. The anger had drained from her voice, leaving only bare, honest emotion. Her eyes glistened with what Isabela was sickly certain were the beginnings of tears. "Even if we hadn't been..." she trailed off, struggling to find a word and failing. She gave up and reached for Isabela's hand instead, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Whatever else we were, you were still my friend. No matter what you'd done, I could never have let them haul you off to do Maker-knows-what to you."
Isabela's own anger abandoned her almost as swiftly as it had come, replaced by a sharp ache pressing against the inside of her ribs, pricking at her eyes. Damn it all, she knew this feeling, and she hated how weak it made her feel, how vulnerable. It was why she'd left in the first damn place. Pulling her hand away from Hawke's, she pressed it to her chest, curling her other arm over her ribs as though she could somehow contain the storm raging within.
"You blighted noble idiot," she scoffed quietly, turning away to stare into the flickering flames. The words lacked any real recrimination; Isabela admired that nobility, if she was honest with herself, but that didn't mean she approved of Hawke's actions. No one would notice the absence of a lying, thieving snake of a pirate captain; the world bloody well needed someone like Hawke.
"Isabela," Hawke said gently, resting a warm hand on Isabela's shoulder. "It's all right. We made it through. None of us was hurt."
"Not for lack of trying," Isabela shot back, turning back to flash Hawke a feeble grin.
Hawke's lips curled up in response, and the hand on Isabela's shoulder squeezed gently. Suddenly, Isabela could feel every bit of distance between them; her body flushed with heat, and a familiar sensation tugged insistently at her. She was no stranger to desire, but this pull was centered decidedly higher north than she was comfortable with.
Before she could do something foolish like sweep Hawke off of her feet and declare her undying devotion-honestly, who did that?-the sound of a throat clearing shattered the moment.
Orana stood hesitantly in the doorway, holding a freshly scrubbed Bethany now dressed in a white linen sleeping gown. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mistress, but she was asking for you."
"Thank you, Orana," Hawke said, her hand falling away from Isabela's shoulder so she could take the child. Absurdly, Isabela found she missed the contact. "I'll take it from here. The dishes are all set to be washed. As soon as that's done, you're free to do whatever you like. I don't think we'll need anything else tonight."
"Of course, Mistress. Thank you." Then, with a polite curtsy, the elf was gone, leaving the three of them alone.
Isabela found it hard to take her eyes off of the toddler. This was her child: she could see it more clearly now, from the darker coloring to the wide almond-shaped eyes the exact color of her own. It had been a lifetime since she had fantasized about what her children would look like, back when she was the poor daughter of a seer in Llomerryn. She'd long since given up on such foolish fancies; she was a lot of things, but a mother was decidedly not one of them.
So why did she feel a tug in her chest at the sight of the girl rubbing at her eyes, mouth opening wide in a yawn?
"Looks like someone's ready for bed," Hawke said fondly, tucking a still-damp lock of hair behind Bethany's ear and pressing a soft kiss into her cheek.
Bethany smiled, but her attention wasn't focused on her mother. Isabela's eyes widened in alarm as a tiny hand reached out in her direction. "Bela!"
Shit. Isabela threw her hands up defensively, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I wouldn't know the first thing about holding a child." She glanced at Hawke pleadingly.
"That's all right," Hawke said reassuringly, "we can work up to-"
The sentence was cut short when Bethany launched herself out of her mother's arms, displaying a level of energy that hadn't been there moments before. Thankfully, Isabela's lightning-fast reflexes kept the child from tumbling to the floor; the downside being, of course, that now she had a blighted toddler clinging to her neck.
And Hawke, damn her, was laughing about it. When Isabela shot her a withering glare, she made an effort to sober up, but a smirk still tugged at the corners of her mouth. "She's a bit of a daredevil," she said with an almost apologetic shrug. "No idea where she gets that from."
Oh, sarcasm. That was helpful. Isabela sighed, awkwardly trying to emulate the way Hawke had been holding the child earlier. The tiny body was surprisingly warm and solid in her arms, the girl's hair soft against her cheek. She smelled clean and sweet, like that flowery soap Merrill liked to mix up sometimes. Isabela tried to think back to when her last bath was; she was sure she still reeked of ale and vomit, and although she'd long been immune to the smell, it seemed wrong somehow to taint the child's scent with her own.
Bethany, of course, didn't seem to mind in the least. Her head was tucked neatly under Isabela's jaw, the curve of her nose brushing against Isabela's throat. Her arms were tight around Isabela's neck; clearly she had no intention of letting go anytime soon. "Well, she sees something she wants, and she goes for it," Isabela conceded grudgingly. "I suppose I can admire that."
The mirth in Hawke's expression had slowly faded, leaving an earnest sort of longing shining in her eyes. When Isabela shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, Hawke shook her head softly, lowering her gaze. "Sorry. It's just not an image I ever thought I'd see."
Of course she didn't. Isabela hadn't left Hawke with any reason to believe they'd ever see each other again. She hadn't actually intended to ever return to Kirkwall; she'd stuck around far too long already, and when you stayed in one place long enough people started to have expectations of you. Isabela prided herself on keeping people's expectations of her as low as possible-that way, it was much harder to disappoint when she didn't live up to them.
Hawke had always seen through her, though; seen something in her that made her believe Isabela could be a better person. More maddening was the way she'd made Isabela believe it too, for a little while at least.
"All right," Isabela said when she couldn't bear the silence any longer. "I think she's well and truly attached. Where am I taking the little demon?"
"Mother's old room," Hawke replied with a smile. "You remember where it is?"
Isabela remembered. It was the one room Hawke had always refused to have sex in. She supposed that wouldn't be changing now. A shame, really; it would have been nice to get a perfect record.
They climbed the stairs in silence, Bethany curled contentedly into Isabela's neck. It wasn't so horrible, once Isabela figured out how best to distribute the child's weight. She was confident that, at the very least, she could manage not to drop her.
Leandra's old room was barely recognizable. A painted forest scene dominated one wall, likely Merrill's work-the woodland creatures poking their noses out between the branches of trees screamed of the elf's influence. The wardrobe was still there, of course, and the bookshelf-although the books were obviously geared toward a younger audience, with large block letters decorating the colorful spines.
Hawke's ever-faithful mabari had followed them up the stairs, and now curled up on a large cushion tucked into one corner of the room. Ever the vigilant guard dog-and now, Isabela supposed, a nursemaid as well. Typical. You can take the girl out of Ferelden...
A small four-poster bed stood against another wall, covered in a fluffy red blanket and an assortment of pillows and stuffed dolls. Isabela made her way there now, reaching up to pry Bethany's arms from her neck. The girl whined sleepily in protest and clung tighter, but Isabela was stronger and perhaps a bit more desperate.
Bethany pouted as she was deposited on top of the blankets, wide eyes glistening with the threat of tears as she looked up at Isabela, just wanting. Isabela was used to people wanting something from her, of course; it was just usually fairly obvious what that something was. Typically, people only ever wanted one of three things-sex, coin, or revenge-all of which were easy enough to either grant or deny.
Hawke had always been different, had wanted things that Isabela hadn't known how to give; things that she'd left behind years ago, scattered among the heartbroken wreckage of the first and only person she'd ever loved. Still, Hawke had never asked for more than Isabela was willing to give; her yearning had been tangible, but always unspoken.
This little girl would have no such reservations. The expression on her face was pure, guileless want; the look in her eyes said that she didn't, couldn't understand why she couldn't just have. A horrifying thought crept into Isabela's mind then: this child would take from her everything she could get those tiny hands on, shaping and molding until Isabela was changed to exactly what she needed-and she would do it without any sort of understanding of what she was doing. Hawke had never asked her to change; this child would demand it.
Stepping away from the bed, Isabela looked over at Hawke, panic making her movements jerky and awkward. Hawke helpfully swooped in, calming Bethany with gentle words and soothing touches as she worked the blankets up and around the child. It was an achingly domestic scene, and Isabela knew that she didn't belong anywhere near it.
"I should leave you to it," she said awkwardly, backing quickly toward the door.
The strained smile on Hawke's face didn't come close to disguising the fear in her eyes as they locked onto Isabela's retreating form. Isabela knew what Hawke was afraid of, and really, she couldn't blame her-a very loud, very insistent voice was screaming in her head to run, to get as far away from here as possible and never look back.
"I'll be down in a bit," Hawke said, a pleading sort of hope in her overly casual tone. "Just have to get through story time."
Balls. It was never any use trying to say no to Hawke, even when she didn't put the question into words. Isabela sighed, her panic subsiding a bit now that she was no longer the sole focus of the child's attention. "I'll just go and see what Bodahn is up to."
Part Two