This tiny fic grew out of the idea of a Hawke somewhere in Act 2 (prior to “All That Remains”) who has fallen for Isabela and feels the need to tell someone, but doesn’t see telling her companions as a good idea. As she sees it, Varric might write something and Isabela might see it; Merrill might slip up and say it; Anders is too busy; Fenris doesn’t seem the type to talk romance with; Sebastian would give her a sermon; Aveline does not need to know her love life, and neither does her mother; and she obviously can’t tell Isabela.
So she tells Serendipity. And I would say in this scenario, that would be start a shift where this Hawke starts seeing Serendipity more to talk with than for sex.
Anyway, on to the tiny fic.
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Serendipity ran her fingers through the dark hair of the woman sprawled across her. She’d have to tease Hawke later about how often she fell asleep almost immediately after sex lately. But if even half what the gossip-mill had to say about Hawke was true, she couldn’t blame her. Running all over Kirkwall slaying bandits and Coterie thugs. And there were rumours of dragon slaying, too. That would make anyone tired, if they managed to live through it.
Hawke was a better customer than most, anyway. Everyone in the Rose could attest to that from personal experience. Hawke wasn’t a skinflint, and she didn’t talk down to the prostitutes. She gave Sabina’s brat some coin once, which had managed to keep him relatively quiet for the rest of the day. Hawke also hauled that sleazy uncle of hers out of the Rose once when he was drunk and refused to believe Viveka was just a waitress. Hawke also seemed to manage a bath on a fairly regular basis, which was highly appreciated.
Lately, though, there had been something different about Hawke, as if her mind wasn’t always in the same room as her body. Serendipity wasn’t one to pry; if Hawke wanted to talk, she’d talk. If she didn’t, it was her business. She did have a theory that it had something to do with the way Hawke looked at Isabela when Isabela wasn’t looking. That could certainly be interesting.
Hawke stirred, groaning softly. Serendipity chuckled, and Hawke shifted to look at her, bleary-eyed, not yet moving her head from its resting place on the elf’s stomach.
“Is it morning already?”
“Mm-hmm. Sleep well, blue-eyes?”
Hawke grunted and buried her face against Serendipity. Serendipity smirked and waited to see if the other woman would fall back asleep or decide she had bigger and better things to do than spend all day in bed with a prostitute.
After a few more minutes, Hawke’s muffled voice emerged: “I love her.”
Serendipity didn’t need to ask who this ‘her’ was. “That’s just asking for heartbreak. But I can’t blame you at all.”
The pirate captain–well, former captain–really was a lovely specimen of a woman. And even though it didn’t pay to fall in love her line of work, she could sympathize. The heart was a mystery, and you couldn’t guard it every hour of the day. Things slipped through.
“I know. I laugh it off, when I can. I can live with it being just sex. That’s something, at least. But she’s my best friend, too, and as often as we end up drunk together I’m afraid it will just…slip out some night and she’ll run away.” Hawke went silent for a moment, then added, “I don’t think I could live if that happened.”
Serendipity clucked her tongue at Hawke. “You have it -bad-, that’s for sure. Don’t get so hung up over this that you lose what you do have, though. And on the off chance you get more than you expect, don’t be a stranger. We’d all hate to lose you. Or her.” She gave Hawke a smug grin and a wink when the woman turned to look at her again.
Hawke managed to chuckle. “Me? Stop dropping by to see you? Perish the thought.”
Kirkwall Was Totally Built On a Hellmouth 