I simply must know if Michael and Anders get their happy ending. :3
“Waves”
Hawke had fallen in love with the sea.
The smell of salt, the rush of wind in his hair, the call of gulls high above – Isabela had tried to describe the sensations to him innumerable times before, but somehow it had never really stuck in his mind as something desirable. Not until he felt them for himself.
The sun reigned supreme in an empty, vividly blue sky. Its light glittered on the endless waves. A bank of storm clouds lurked on the western horizon, but they were far behind them at this point. There was no danger out here in the open sea – nothing that could not be overcome with a bit of exertion, anyways.
The best thing was that he was not alone. Isabela had found a reasonably respectable crew to serve under her – in every sense of the word, Hawke had no doubt. Amusingly, more than a few of the sailors (for they refused, at least thus far, to be called pirates) seemed to have set their eyes on him as a possible companion. Hawke considered it remarkable that only a few of them were turned off once they realized his claws grew out of the fingers of his hands rather than his gauntlets. Some of them even seemed more interested once they had made this discovery. And one or two of the lads were quite handsome and well-built, appealing enough that Hawke might even have been tempted were he seeking companionship himself. As it was, the hopeful sailors remained disappointed.
Hawke had never seen Isabela so happy. She was at home, at long last, after nearly a decade of wallowing in the cesspool of Kirkwall. It was a cesspool filled with adventure and intrigue, but a cesspool nonetheless. The wind of the sea and the crash of waves never failed to enliven her smile, and the rigging rang with her joyous laughter as she taught Merrill how to climb or amazed the shy elf with the sights she could pick out through her qunari spyglass. Yet every now and then, Hawke found the captain of their ship gazing off to the southwest, eyes distant, her smile dimmed. At these times her lips would move in silent messages cast into the wind, sometimes even speaking the name of the one she had left behind. Hawke’s sensitivity to his surroundings allowed him to pick up nearly every word she said, but even if he had not been able to, he could easily have guessed who it was Isabela missed.
The sailors had been leery at first of accepting an elf as their captain’s first mate, and a surly foreign elf with his strange tattoos besides. Hawke had harboured some concern that they might mutiny over the matter, and while he would relish the chance to spill some blood he was unwilling to slaughter his friend’s chosen crewmembers for the sole reason that they were stupid enough to try. As it turned out, however, no bloodshed was necessary. Hawke was unsure whether it was the authority and respect Isabela commanded from the sailors, or the fact that Fenris consistently defeated anyone who asked to spar with him, but after the first week at sea the muttering and sidelong glances had all but ceased.
Yes, Hawke was happier than he had ever been in his life, but the scenery, the peace and quiet, the camaraderie – all these things were secondary. The one who mattered to him most was at his side, had promised never to leave – not for long, anyways – and that was enough.
“Michael,” Anders said behind him, and Hawke turned, smiling. The mage approached, having just appeared from belowdecks, reaching out to take Hawke by his hands. The loose cotton shirt he wore fluttered in the salty breeze. Hawke purred his pleasure and leaned in to nuzzle against his lover’s neck as Anders’s fingers entwined with his.
“How are you, love?” Anders asked. Hawke responded with a long, lazy kiss, his eyes closing in bliss as he ran his tongue through the familiar contours of Anders’s mouth. Eventually their lips parted.
“Happy,” Hawke murmured, and Anders smiled.
normanee asked
we are Mike, a terminal of humanity.