fic: the invasion (dragon age 2)
FLUFF. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.
the invasion. dragon age 2. pg-13. 1,612 words.
They are everywhere. isabela/m!hawke.
They are everywhere.
Little faces glance up at her with gaping curiosity, drooling mouths and broad eyes, fingers pointing as though she were the Arishok--and she might as well have been; they are tiny. Feeling fat was one thing but feeling immensely tall was another matter entirely. She shooes them as much as she can but they scatter like thugs or the darkspawn horde. Yes, that was it; they were miniature darkspawn with black corruption and evil in their eyes, threatening to tear her asunder.
Hawke relishes the attention they attract, merely wandering in Lowtown, browsing what little wares there were. Isabela knows Hawke doesn't like it here, but thankfully he's silent, understanding her peculiar love of this place. He never complains or opens his mouth when she halts to simply breathe in the smell of the sea and tar, he stops with her, looking her over and smiling with something that resembled affection; Maker knows she doesn't comprehend the concept. When her guard was down as the scent wafted through her nostrils, that was when they attacked. They huddled around her legs like insistent mabaris and just stood there, wanting something she didn't know how to give.
"What do you want?" she exclaims loudly and they scamper away, whimpering.
Hawke laughs from her side. "They appear to be enamored with your, uhm, attire."
Isabela rapidly glances down at her body, her white outfit and thigh-high boots, Hawke's token twined with lazy care around her arm. She always wears this, and she's been in Lowtown an excessive amount recently; surely her clothes weren't that odd to the eye. But Hawke is shaking his head and pointing to her face, to the large necklace adorned on her neck and the button beneath her lip and he nods lightly at the sash in her hair.
The Infants Invade, she thinks with a smile.
She plants her hands on her hips indignantly. "Are you implying something, Hawke? You do realize I have daggers, several of them in very varied locations, as I'm sure you're aware." Hawke groans; good.
"I'm just saying that your outfit 'catches the eye'."
"Catches a lot more than eyes, let me tell you--"
"I don't need to hear the details," he says quickly, holding up a hand.
More of them gathered around her feet like a campfire while she was distracted, shouting palaver in their own language and she briefly wonders if Fenris would know what they are saying. The elf doesn't live that far away, anyhow--
A small tug interrupts her and she stares down; a little black-haired boy with the largest eyes she had ever seen, not to discredit the elves Hawke is so fond of. The boy looks up at her, his lower lip swallowing his other. "D-d-d-d-d-d-do y-you have a-a ship?" he asks.
"She has a little one in a bottle," Hawke comments and Isabela gives him a glare.
"Unfortunately, I'm stuck inland, surrounded by water and idiots like him," she tells the boy, pointing over her shoulder to Hawke.
The boy's face drops at her response. "Why?" she adds, crouching to match his impossible height. "What's the matter?"
"T-t-there's g-good work on ships, i-isn't there?"
Her frown resembles Hawke's; complete and utter confusion. "Why do you want to know?"
"I-I c-could help m-mother i-if I w-worked, serah."
An ache overwhelms her to help the poor boy, a feeling none of the drunkards or the other pleading men and women hording the streets could wring out of her. Isabela stands and points to the coinpurse nestled at Hawke's waist, he gives her an eyebrow raise to which she scowls mildly and nods at the boy with the hung head. Sighing, he opens it and retrieves three gold pieces, careful to hide them for view, and places them in her expectant palm.
"There," she says, smiling and handing the coins to him. "That should be enough to get you on your way."
The boy hugs her leather covered leg tightly, eliciting a surprised oof from the woman above him. "T-thank you. M-m-ay t-the B-baker watch o-over y-y-you." He runs off to a woman in the far corner of the bazaar; a ragged, aged old thing and gives her the coins, beaming like the sun. The woman smiles and ruffles his hair before they fade from sight.
Before she can breathe with newfound liberty, Hawke is behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and chin resting on her shoulder. "I've never seen you like that," he mutters, hands moving against her skin. Her own arms cover his on instinct, leaning back.
Normally she doesn't allow this sort of open affection but she allows it just this once. "Like what?"
He shrugs, shifting against her. "Tender and, dare I say, sweet."
"It. . . was an investment!" she lies. "Yes, that's what it was. When he's older, he is going to pay me back tenfold and we'll see who's sweet, then."
"You do realize that it was only three sovereigns and it was my coin, right?"
"That--that is completely irrelevant."
"How so?"
"Oh, just. . . shut up, Hawke."
He chuckles behind her and kisses the side of her neck, swaying them side to side like a ship rocking in the breeze. They stay like that for a while, finding solace in the silence. Until he had to open his stupid, stubbled mouth.
Hawke's hands smooth over her lower belly delicately, as though it was something to be treasured. "I want one," he murmurs, glancing over her shoulder at his movements.
"You can't have my lady bits, Hawke. I know they're nice but you just can't have them."
"No," he says, never taking his hands off her stomach except to point a finger at the circle of children ahead, playing some nonsense game, of course. "One of them."
"Kidnapping is illegal, Hawke. Aveline hasn't arrested you yet but I think snatching someone's child will be the last straw--"
"You've never thought about it? Having children?"
"Never," she lies.
"Would I not be the exception?"
She's already made a myriad of exceptions for him, isn't that enough? Giving back the Tome of Koslun was meant to be a one time thing, a mere oversight of feelings and self-preservation, but she can't help it; he does things to her, makes her feel warm and fuzzy and loved and is patient with her. I've waited years for you, he'd told her, earnest and enduring.
She would have to give up a great many things; her jewelery, her clothes (oh, maybe a motherly summer dress to substitute?) her dangerous and brazen lifestyle. Zevran was only a few years older than her, and he managed to settle down--
What am I thinking?
Her lover is still tracing mindless shapes on her covered skin, calloused fingers rubbing a place that someday could be swollen with his child and maybe he would still be doing what he is now, smoothing thick hands on her belly. Oh, but what if he left? What if he grew tired of patience and pushing and went for someone more receptive to his advances? What then?
I've waited years for you I've waited years for you I've waited years for you--
"What?" he says. "Do I have something in my teeth?" Hawke plucks a hand away from her and digs a nail into his bottom set of teeth, scratching and searching, causing an uncharacteristic giggle.
She rolls her eyes. "Andraste's tits, it's like being forced to follow the Qun; submit or die."
"I'm not ready to do this, either. I'm just saying that, y'know, I'd like to know that someday it would be possible. We don't have to start right away or anything, lest we scar these people for life."
"I-I don't know, Hawke--"
"That's the Champion!" a voice shouts into the air.
Children of all sorts race towards him, making him release her entirely. They tackle him to the ground, shouting and screaming and yelling excitedly for some reason. Hawke merely laughs and scoops one of them up; a little girl with long brown hair and dark eyes and dusky skin. He balances the girl on his hip as she laughs and mutters inane things.
"Will you play Arishoks and Champions with us?" a young boy inquires, hopping up and down as though on lyrium.
The Champion chuckles. "Only if I can be the Arishok."
"O-of course, messere!" the crowd of children yells in unison, grasping for his hand and pulling him over to a desolate area of the market where seats and wooden swords had been fashioned, presumably, customarily.
Isabela watched for a time as Hawke sat in the pathetically small throne and played the Arishok, saying "No" in monotone to everything the young ones asked, eventually it ended with a mock duel between him and the boy that asked him to play. Hawke allowed him victory, falling to his knees and collapsing in a pile. The boy laughed and the other children cheered, running off to surely irritate someone of lesser note.
"Help me!" he yelled to her. "For I am vanquished!"
She kisses him as he lies upon the ground, holding the sides of his neck as his hands reach out for her hips, pulling her atop him, heedless of witnesses. She wants this, she thinks as he sighs in her mouth, she wanted this more than she wants air, more than she wants a sodding dagger made from Blue Steel, more than she's wanted for anything.
It isn't until later--much later--when Hawke is snoring into her ear behind her, Hard in Hightown open by his side, that she lifts the Talisman of Fertility hanging from her neck, murmuring a quick prayer.
the invasion. dragon age 2. pg-13. 1,612 words.
They are everywhere. isabela/m!hawke.
They are everywhere.
Little faces glance up at her with gaping curiosity, drooling mouths and broad eyes, fingers pointing as though she were the Arishok--and she might as well have been; they are tiny. Feeling fat was one thing but feeling immensely tall was another matter entirely. She shooes them as much as she can but they scatter like thugs or the darkspawn horde. Yes, that was it; they were miniature darkspawn with black corruption and evil in their eyes, threatening to tear her asunder.
Hawke relishes the attention they attract, merely wandering in Lowtown, browsing what little wares there were. Isabela knows Hawke doesn't like it here, but thankfully he's silent, understanding her peculiar love of this place. He never complains or opens his mouth when she halts to simply breathe in the smell of the sea and tar, he stops with her, looking her over and smiling with something that resembled affection; Maker knows she doesn't comprehend the concept. When her guard was down as the scent wafted through her nostrils, that was when they attacked. They huddled around her legs like insistent mabaris and just stood there, wanting something she didn't know how to give.
"What do you want?" she exclaims loudly and they scamper away, whimpering.
Hawke laughs from her side. "They appear to be enamored with your, uhm, attire."
Isabela rapidly glances down at her body, her white outfit and thigh-high boots, Hawke's token twined with lazy care around her arm. She always wears this, and she's been in Lowtown an excessive amount recently; surely her clothes weren't that odd to the eye. But Hawke is shaking his head and pointing to her face, to the large necklace adorned on her neck and the button beneath her lip and he nods lightly at the sash in her hair.
The Infants Invade, she thinks with a smile.
She plants her hands on her hips indignantly. "Are you implying something, Hawke? You do realize I have daggers, several of them in very varied locations, as I'm sure you're aware." Hawke groans; good.
"I'm just saying that your outfit 'catches the eye'."
"Catches a lot more than eyes, let me tell you--"
"I don't need to hear the details," he says quickly, holding up a hand.
More of them gathered around her feet like a campfire while she was distracted, shouting palaver in their own language and she briefly wonders if Fenris would know what they are saying. The elf doesn't live that far away, anyhow--
A small tug interrupts her and she stares down; a little black-haired boy with the largest eyes she had ever seen, not to discredit the elves Hawke is so fond of. The boy looks up at her, his lower lip swallowing his other. "D-d-d-d-d-d-do y-you have a-a ship?" he asks.
"She has a little one in a bottle," Hawke comments and Isabela gives him a glare.
"Unfortunately, I'm stuck inland, surrounded by water and idiots like him," she tells the boy, pointing over her shoulder to Hawke.
The boy's face drops at her response. "Why?" she adds, crouching to match his impossible height. "What's the matter?"
"T-t-there's g-good work on ships, i-isn't there?"
Her frown resembles Hawke's; complete and utter confusion. "Why do you want to know?"
"I-I c-could help m-mother i-if I w-worked, serah."
An ache overwhelms her to help the poor boy, a feeling none of the drunkards or the other pleading men and women hording the streets could wring out of her. Isabela stands and points to the coinpurse nestled at Hawke's waist, he gives her an eyebrow raise to which she scowls mildly and nods at the boy with the hung head. Sighing, he opens it and retrieves three gold pieces, careful to hide them for view, and places them in her expectant palm.
"There," she says, smiling and handing the coins to him. "That should be enough to get you on your way."
The boy hugs her leather covered leg tightly, eliciting a surprised oof from the woman above him. "T-thank you. M-m-ay t-the B-baker watch o-over y-y-you." He runs off to a woman in the far corner of the bazaar; a ragged, aged old thing and gives her the coins, beaming like the sun. The woman smiles and ruffles his hair before they fade from sight.
Before she can breathe with newfound liberty, Hawke is behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and chin resting on her shoulder. "I've never seen you like that," he mutters, hands moving against her skin. Her own arms cover his on instinct, leaning back.
Normally she doesn't allow this sort of open affection but she allows it just this once. "Like what?"
He shrugs, shifting against her. "Tender and, dare I say, sweet."
"It. . . was an investment!" she lies. "Yes, that's what it was. When he's older, he is going to pay me back tenfold and we'll see who's sweet, then."
"You do realize that it was only three sovereigns and it was my coin, right?"
"That--that is completely irrelevant."
"How so?"
"Oh, just. . . shut up, Hawke."
He chuckles behind her and kisses the side of her neck, swaying them side to side like a ship rocking in the breeze. They stay like that for a while, finding solace in the silence. Until he had to open his stupid, stubbled mouth.
Hawke's hands smooth over her lower belly delicately, as though it was something to be treasured. "I want one," he murmurs, glancing over her shoulder at his movements.
"You can't have my lady bits, Hawke. I know they're nice but you just can't have them."
"No," he says, never taking his hands off her stomach except to point a finger at the circle of children ahead, playing some nonsense game, of course. "One of them."
"Kidnapping is illegal, Hawke. Aveline hasn't arrested you yet but I think snatching someone's child will be the last straw--"
"You've never thought about it? Having children?"
"Never," she lies.
"Would I not be the exception?"
She's already made a myriad of exceptions for him, isn't that enough? Giving back the Tome of Koslun was meant to be a one time thing, a mere oversight of feelings and self-preservation, but she can't help it; he does things to her, makes her feel warm and fuzzy and loved and is patient with her. I've waited years for you, he'd told her, earnest and enduring.
She would have to give up a great many things; her jewelery, her clothes (oh, maybe a motherly summer dress to substitute?) her dangerous and brazen lifestyle. Zevran was only a few years older than her, and he managed to settle down--
What am I thinking?
Her lover is still tracing mindless shapes on her covered skin, calloused fingers rubbing a place that someday could be swollen with his child and maybe he would still be doing what he is now, smoothing thick hands on her belly. Oh, but what if he left? What if he grew tired of patience and pushing and went for someone more receptive to his advances? What then?
I've waited years for you I've waited years for you I've waited years for you--
"What?" he says. "Do I have something in my teeth?" Hawke plucks a hand away from her and digs a nail into his bottom set of teeth, scratching and searching, causing an uncharacteristic giggle.
She rolls her eyes. "Andraste's tits, it's like being forced to follow the Qun; submit or die."
"I'm not ready to do this, either. I'm just saying that, y'know, I'd like to know that someday it would be possible. We don't have to start right away or anything, lest we scar these people for life."
"I-I don't know, Hawke--"
"That's the Champion!" a voice shouts into the air.
Children of all sorts race towards him, making him release her entirely. They tackle him to the ground, shouting and screaming and yelling excitedly for some reason. Hawke merely laughs and scoops one of them up; a little girl with long brown hair and dark eyes and dusky skin. He balances the girl on his hip as she laughs and mutters inane things.
"Will you play Arishoks and Champions with us?" a young boy inquires, hopping up and down as though on lyrium.
The Champion chuckles. "Only if I can be the Arishok."
"O-of course, messere!" the crowd of children yells in unison, grasping for his hand and pulling him over to a desolate area of the market where seats and wooden swords had been fashioned, presumably, customarily.
Isabela watched for a time as Hawke sat in the pathetically small throne and played the Arishok, saying "No" in monotone to everything the young ones asked, eventually it ended with a mock duel between him and the boy that asked him to play. Hawke allowed him victory, falling to his knees and collapsing in a pile. The boy laughed and the other children cheered, running off to surely irritate someone of lesser note.
"Help me!" he yelled to her. "For I am vanquished!"
She kisses him as he lies upon the ground, holding the sides of his neck as his hands reach out for her hips, pulling her atop him, heedless of witnesses. She wants this, she thinks as he sighs in her mouth, she wanted this more than she wants air, more than she wants a sodding dagger made from Blue Steel, more than she's wanted for anything.
It isn't until later--much later--when Hawke is snoring into her ear behind her, Hard in Hightown open by his side, that she lifts the Talisman of Fertility hanging from her neck, murmuring a quick prayer.