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Gareth Hawke’s deadpan gaze never strayed from his mother’s eyes. Her last breath had left her body like a soft gush of wind, and after that was nothing but silence. Hawke had not moved. It was as if he was waiting for something more to happen, perhaps in denial from the horrific truth that lay before him, or perhaps his mother’s last words still rang in his ears and he did not want to let go. The first person to speak would be the one to end their very last moment together.
Isabela did not dare to say a word, though there were no words she thought fit for the situation. She had never been someone for giving comfort - she never said the right things. No, Hawke had always been that person. But this time he was at a loss for words.
But just like that, time started moving again. Varric took a step forward and kneeled beside Hawke. The latter did not respond, however.
“Hawke, we — come on. We can’t do anything. You need to go home — tell the guard what happened…”
“No.”
Varric hesitated and lightly put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Hawke gripped his mother’s hands even tighter and moved away from Varric’s touch.
“Come on, it’s alright. Let go.”
“I said no.”
Hawke closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Only now Isabela noticed his face was wet with tears. She had never seen Hawke cry. Even though she wanted to hold him and comfort him and take him somewhere safe, she looked away. That was when Merrill caught her eye. The small elf wiped at her face and moved to sit in front of Hawke. Her hands held Hawke’s for a moment - then she did something Isabela guessed was a Dalish custom. After closing Leandra’s eyes, Merrill mumbled a few words in Elven. She touched the woman’s forehead and then her own.
Whatever it meant, it seemed it had given Hawke some comfort. His shoulders seemed to tense up less. He looked up at Merrill. When she spoke, her voice was soft but firm.
“They can’t hurt her anymore, Hawke. She’s safe now."
In a way only Merrill could, she gently pried Hawke’s fingers loose from his mother’s hands, and he let her. Though as if letting go of his mother broke his silent trance, Hawke started shaking his head.
“I can’t leave her, not here… This — It’s all my fault. It’s my fault, Merrill. I’m responsible. I can’t just—“ His words trailed off into quiet sobs.
Merrill looked at Varric helplessly, who sighed and held Hawke by the shoulders.
“We’ll take care of it. I will tell Aveline what happened, alright? We just need to get you home. I got you.”
Merrill helped Varric get Hawke back up on his feet, which proved to be difficult: Hawke was larger than the average mage and his armor did not make it any easier. They succeeded, however, and Merrill put her arm around him and gently stirred him away from the horrendous sight that was his mother’s corpse. Once again, Hawke let her.
Isabela felt a pang of guilt in her stomach; she had not moved to help the two friends and now silently walked behind the group. They can do without me, she thought. There is nothing I can do or say to make this better.
But still she kept following them all the way back to Hightown. As difficult as it was for her to witness the situation, leaving Hawke right now would be unforgivable.
It was a quiet, early morning in Hightown. The docks’ workers had been up and running, Lowtown’s merchants had been setting up their stalls, but the nobles had the privilege of sleeping in. The sun slowly crept up behind the tall buildings and shone its light on the white facades.
After they arrived at Hawke’s mansion, Varric left for the guards’ barracks like he promised. He had a look on his face Isabela had only seen once before: when they returned from their Deep Roads expedition. It was a worried and powerless expression - feelings that Varric did not like to admit he had. Isabela made a mental note to buy him a drink next time they got together.
Once inside, Merrill began fumbling with the firewood and retrieved dried herbs out of a nearby cabinet. She hurried outside and returned with fresh water which she had put in a jug. She held the jug in both hands and softly blew on it - steam rose up, and Isabela figured this was the mage’s way of boiling water. After putting the herbs in the jug and swirling them around a little, she poured the contents in a cup.
Isabela noticed how familiar Merrill was around Hawke’s home and wondered how many times she had been invited here. She knew many of them swung by his house regularly, herself included, but she and Hawke had mostly met at the tavern. Probably since it was easier talking to him when she was slightly intoxicated.
Hawke had settled in the nearest armchair and stared at nothing in particular. Merrill handed the cup over to him, but he did not take it.
“You’ll feel better, please,” she pleaded. He only shook his head. The elf set the cup aside and fidgeted with the hem of her moss-colored tunic. Isabela noticed it was stained with blood. She could barely imagine they had been fighting reanimated undead and a crazed blood mage less than an hour ago. Usually a good fight got her blood pumping and made her want more. It was different this time. She did not even remember if it was a good fight.
She looked at Hawke’s hunched figure, took a deep breath and finally spoke for what seemed like the first time in ages: “Kitten, go home, get cleaned up. I’ll stay with him.”
“Are you sure?” Merrill tilted her head slightly to one side. “I can—“
“I’m sure.”
Merrill smiled faintly and looked at Hawke. She nodded. “Make sure he drinks his tea, it’s - it’s very calming, so…” She trailed off. “Right.” She made a heel-turn and made way to the door. Isabela followed.
Merrill hesitated in the doorway. “It’s hard, you know? Losing family, I mean. When I left my clan, it felt like that. But… I found Hawke. And you, and Varric, Aveline, even Fenris and Anders. I was never alone.”
Isabela cracked a smile. “You’re too sweet, kitten. Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
Isabela closed the door behind her, still smiling.
Hawke was now struggling with the straps of his armbraces. He could not seem to undo them and mumbled nothings under his breath. Merrill’s tea was left untouched on the table, and was now joined by a newly opened bottle of liquor.
Isabela rolled her eyes. “Merrill said the tea would help calm you down, but I figure a stiff drink will make you hit the floor faster.” He did not answer, still trying to loosen the straps. “Oh, come here.” She walked towards him. Hawke reached out his arm to her, allowing her to take them off.
He nodded as a way of thanks, and he sat back down in the armchair. He poured another glass of liquor and downed it at once.
Isabela realized how terrible he looked. His face was pale, almost tinted grey, except for a few reddish spots left from crying. He had dark circles under his eyes. It seems like he has aged ten years in one night, she thought.
“You don’t have to stay, you know. I know you’re not good at this - emotional stuff.” His voice sounded like his own, only with a hint of bitterness.
“You’ve been through hell,” Isabela sighed. “I feel like I should at least… say something.”
Silence engulfed the hauntingly empty mansion. Isabela felt selfish for wishing she had left with Merrill. This was not for her. Hawke did not even want her around. They had nothing special, as she tried to tell herself over and over.
But he was her friend, the one who had always been there. Not only for her, but for everyone. He never made anyone feel uncomfortable, he knew when to say the right things. Under that witty persona was a genuine good man, the only person who had made her feel worthy of someone else’s time. And Isabela despised the world - the Maker, the universe, whatever - for taking away someone so dear to him, yet again.
She kneeled on the floor in front of where Hawke was sitting. He did not meet her gaze, instead his eyes stayed fixed on the fireplace.
“I’m an orphan now.”
There was no bitterness in his voice this time; it was a statement. And Isabela saw him as she had not seen him before: lost in this large, unforgiving city, and not a single person left to help him find his way home.
Then she thought of what Merrill had said, a faint smile returning on her lips.
“You know, family isn’t just the people you’re related to by blood. There are other people who care about you.”
For the first time that night, Hawke’s eyes met hers, and she got that all too familiar feeling. That feeling she had been trying to ignore, to swat it away like a stray dog who kept begging for attention. And like a nervous child, she averted her eyes and felt heat on her cheeks.
“Like… Aveline.” She spoke softly, as if afraid of the walls hearing her every thought.
Even though grief seemed to have numbed him, Hawke still managed to smile a little, and grabbed her hand. “You’re here.”
It was a gesture which made Isabela feel as if the early morning sunshine woke her with gentle heat, and light through her bed sheets; as if she hit an ice patch in winter and slipped, but with Hawke she never fell. It was debilitating, but at the same time exhilarating: a never-ending high. She did not want to come down.
And after all had been said and done, Isabela damned well knew what that feeling was, though she dared not speak the word. But for now, she settled for safe. She settled for home.