Chapter Text
It had been a day and an afternoon since Hawke had awoken under the most feared man Kirkwall’s furs. A shame really- that she couldn’t remember the horn groping she supposedly took part in. Or the fairy tale. Or how she had gotten a giant purple bruise on her ribs, and another on her shin- those parts weren’t in the retelling. She’d had to go home that morning without one of her stockings- it being lost in her drunken meandering. And she had to sit through every painfully embarrassing detail in the Arishok’s booming voice over a cup of miracle hangover-be-gone tea.
Not that she regretted any of it.
***
Bodahn had received a message from Varric, who verbally relayed it to Hawke about a group-meeting at the Hangman. Hawke set off, having retrieved her axes from an extremely grumpy Fenris the afternoon after her mischievous tromp. She passed through Hightown, gathering looks as she went along. Not the good kind of looks either- the kind you get when you get your entire family exiled from a small village by showing your horse a questionable amount of affection. Yes, those looks. By the time she descended the stairs that put her in view of the glorious tavern that was the Hanged Man, she heard her voice called from her right and turned to see Fenris leaning against a wall, surprisingly well hidden in the shadow of an abandoned merchant stall.
”Don’t go in there.” He stated before she made it halfway to him, which made Hawke pause midstride, which awarded Hawke more looks, which caused Fenris to pull her by the elbow into the shadows.
“Why not, if I may ask?” She hissed pulling her elbow from his gloved vise, and looked to see a very worried elf.
He answered simply, “Isabela.” He interrupted her snide remark, “She’s gained knowledge of your drunken romp,” Hawke shot him a hateful look and he gave her a rare half-smirk, he continued in a hushed tone, “And your night with the Arishok. From Varric, I believe.”
Hawke inhaled deeply and looked to him, “Oh, goody. Well,” she continued slowly, “best get it over with now. Or I'll spend the rest of my life avoiding her.” She was attempting to make her way down the stairs when Fenris pulled her back into the shadows, “What?” she asked impatiently.
“You don’t understand. I came to know of it through her,” Hawke could feel a whimper from the voice in the back of her head, “She believes,” he paused and looked down quickly before meeting Hawke’s eyes once more, “You slept with the Arishok... and myself.”
He was staring into her soul now and she felt as if she was about to turn into a horde of butterflies , “No more puppy eyes please,” he gave her a ‘what the hell’ gaze- furrowed brow and all, “I don’t claim to remember what happened that night but I would not have left my girls,” she pointed to the axes over her shoulders, “at your house if I’d had sex with you Fenris,” she saw him flinch and smirked, “I wouldn’t have left your house at all.” How she loved to watch him squirm, “I’m a cuddler.” She said with a genuine, crooked grin.
“Is that why you spent the entire night at the compound, then?”
“Fenris!” she chided.
“So it is not true, then, neither of us?” He sighed a mysterious sigh and Hawke couldn’t figure out if relief, doubt, or a ‘why not?’ was behind it, he looked up to her with a bit of aggravation, “What ‘puppy eyes’? There are no ‘puppy eyes’. You've been spending to much time with the blood mage.” He said with disgust.
“You know,” she paused and watched him try and fail to find words. She waved her finger in a lazy circle half-pointing at his tattooed face, “The thing you do when-“ there was obviously something wrong, Hawke just couldn’t put her finger on it, “What’s the matter, Fenris? You-”
“Hawke!” Oh goody, thought Hawke, speak of the Sea Devil. Isabela had the uncanny ability to appear if her name was spoken within a 12 mile radius of herself- any part of Lowtown, included. She looked away from Fenris for a moment to see Isabela’s tell-tale hip sway accompanied by a flimsy wave of her tan hand and a shrill giggle. She turned back to see an abandoned merchant stall.
“Fenris?” she scanned around frantically before spying a white scruff of hair and the hilt of a Sword of Mercy disappear behind a far-away corner- at least he was still within earshot. She cupped her hands around her mouth, “What a pal! Thought you had my back… broody!” she chided with spite, and saw a gloved hand appear, wave and disappear.
“Would you happen to be insulting our lyrium-endowed friend?” Isabela spoke from behind, tapping Hawke on the shoulder.
“Isabela! What a surprise. But what if someone comes looking for you? You’ve abandoned your post at the ale counter.” Hawke turned around and plastered on an innocent smile fit for meeting the Maker, or a busty human brewery who’d just obtained the gossip of a lifetime.
Isabela ignored her with a frown which rather quickly turned upside down, “Speaking of being endowed, you would not believe what I’ve just heard,” she said with another giggle. Hawke swallowed and Isabela took a place beside her, throwing her arm around Hawke’s shoulder and leading her into the Hanged Man. The confidence she’d held a few moments ago fled with Fenris, probably assisting with his brooding, and now, here she was with only the voice in her head playing ‘I told you so’ on loop.
They entered the Hanged Man, Isabela more or less leaning on Hawke, ‘guiding’ her up the stairs to Varric’s humble abode. “This ‘thing’ you’ve heard, I take it that your rumor mill consists of all of Kirkwall?”
“You know me Hawke. I get around.” She answered with a smile, causing Hawke to smirk inwardly, No doubt. She led her to Varric’s too-big table and sat across from her, “Guess what it is that I’ve heard Hawke,” she finished off a mug of ale on the table and propped her feet up, crossing them at the ankle and grinning.
“Always a guessing game with you- the relic,” Hawke stopped, “Who’s the father?” Isabela reached across the table like a wildcat and smacked Hawke on the cheek, “Deserved that.”
“Damn right,” Hawke let her mischievous smirk dissipate and leaned onto the table, motioning with a finger for her to come closer. Hawke brushed a piece of hair off Isabela’s shoulder, leaving a trail of tan goosebumps, and spoke in a sultry whisper, “I take it you’ve caught wind of my oh-so steamy threesome with our lovely Fenris and the delicious Arishok?” She heard Isabela choke and leaned back with a bark of laughter, holding her bruised rib. Isabela leaned back with a slight frown of betrayal and a huff and called for Varric, who appeared a few moments later.
“You’ve heard what I’ve heard right, Varric?” Isabela called, assuming her previous laid-back position.
”Nice to see you, too Rivaini,” he glanced between Hawke and the pirate, affording Hawke a nod, “What are you doing up here?” He asked, puzzled, but he had a small idea nagging at him.
“Can’t believe Bianca let us sneak up on you.” Hawke spoke, he glanced over his shoulder and his lips formed a grin but when he opened his mouth to speak, Isabela beat him to the chase.
“Varric?” He shook his head and took his place on his high-backed chair- his Throne, as Anders called it.
“Apparently I slept with Fenris and/or the Arishok and I was told you may have something to do with it-“ she threw up her hand, “But first Bodahn said you sent for me, a big group-meeting or something,” she paused and gestured around the room, “Am I too early or too late?”
Varric looked at Hawke then smiled at Isabela, got up, and strolled casually down the stairs towards the bar, “That was me.” Isabela said proudly, raising a hand. Twice today she’d been abandoned and left to fend for herself against Isabela’s rumor mill. Twice. Perhaps the Arishok was onto something – poisoned, weaponless, and left face to face with a too-chatty ex-pirate.
“Isabela, I did not sleep with the Arishok- the most feared man in all of Thedas? A worthy and... tempting goal but no.” Isabela ignored her.
“How big is it, Hawke- honestly? If those horns are any indication I have no idea how you’re able to walk-“
“You know, Isabela, I had a dream while under the Arishok’s furs. You were in it.” She spoke with yet another misleading tone.
“Ooh. Did it involve whipped cream, leather handcuffs? Did I ‘satisfy a demand of the Qun’? Your Qun is probably much more enjoyable.” She smiled seductively.
“None of those actually. A blade was involved though,” Isabela leaned forward, somehow even more interested now.
“Pain before pleasure then, my dear Hawke? You know, my room is right down the hall… I could get you acquainted with-“
“I stabbed you in the neck for your inane prattle.” Isabela froze, “I find it quite satisfying when dreams come true. Do you?” Hawke tilted her head and smiled triumphantly when Isabela frowned another frown, identical to her earlier display of distraught-ed-ness.
As Isabela straightened up, Varric ascended the stairs carrying three mugs full of the Hanged Man's famous piss-poor ale, “So, what did I miss, Rivaini?”