Varric stared. He blinked, then stared, then looked down at his mug. He didn't think he was drunk yet. No, certainly not yet because he was a Tethras, well known for their ability to hold their liquor while still able to spin like a ballerina without falling down, a talent that Varric was more than happy to embellish on with spinning tales rather than dance technique.

Isabela really was standing at the bar of the Hanged Man, mug in hand, as though three years had not passed.

Pasting a jovial smile on his face, the dwarf made his way to her.

"Rivaini! It's been too long."

Isabela turned at the familiar voice, a flirtatious smirk already on her lips. "Varric-"

Varric cut her off before she could continue. "We should catch up. Yes, I really think we should catch up. Did you just get into port? Oh, you probably did because my sources haven't said a single thing about you being back in town, so come up to my room and let's chat about it." Without waiting for a response, Varric turned on his heel and walked to his room.

Tossing a confused look at the departing dwarf's back, Isabela found herself following him to his room. After closing the door after herself, Isabela crossed her arms and smiled, though still looking bewildered. "What's this about, Varric? I really did just get into port, actually."

"Yeah, so you better get right back into the nearest ship and out." Varric rounded on her, eyes hard. "What were you thinking when you came back? Really."

Isabela held up her hands in defense. "Well, I thought I might, you know, visit." She tried for a smile and felt it falter when Varric continued to glare at her. "I thought we were friends."

"Yeah, it's great to see you, Rivaini. I'm sure the kids will be happy to see you, too, except Hawke will probably come down and kill you and if she doesn't finish the job, our favorite guard captain will."

Isabela's face fell. "So, that's how it is now?"

"Of course that's how it is now. The moment you left, that's how it was going to be." Aggrieved, Varric sat down on a chair heavily, shifting Bianca to his lap. "Honestly, Rivaini, why'd you come back?"

Isabela sat across from the dwarf and rubbed her hand over her face. "I don't know. I guess I thought it was time I came back."

Varric snorted and poured himself a drink. "Shit, Rivaini."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Isabela said, taking a swig out of the bottle.

They brooded in silence.

"Is Hawke really... you know."

"Oh, yeah."

"Shit."


Later that evening, Isabela found herself on Hawke's doorstep. She paced a bit, stared up at the great mansion, then fidgeted uncomfortably. If she didn't know better, the estate somehow looked... bigger. And more imposing. All the more to show the great gulf between the pirate and Kirkwall's Champion.

Though she knew deep inside that Hawke wasn't really a noble. That is, she was, but not snobby like a real noble. Hawke was... normal.

Maker's balls, why did her house have to be so big?

"All right, it's been three years. She can't be that mad." Could she?

"Varric was just exaggerating. Being storyteller and all. Nobody can hold a grudge that long." Castillion probably still does.

"Well, we don't know what Castillion thinks, and besides, that involved a lot of coin. No coin involved here." Except Hawke covered your gambling debts and your tab at the Hanged Man and Blooming Rose when she could, even before she got filthy stinking rich.

"Fuck me. Not a guilt trip."

"Madam?"

"All right, that's just mean now."

Bodahn looked bemused as he cleared his throat. "Can I help you, madam?"

Isabela whirled around and nearly tripped over herself. "Shit! Sorry. Didn't know you were, ah, there."

Bodahn merely folded his hands behind his back politely, carefully disguising his surprise when he recognized her. "It's quite all right. Miss Isabela, was it?"

"Just... Isabela," the pirate muttered, wondering how long the dwarf had been standing there, listening to her talk to her bloody self. "I was, um. Looking for someone. Well, Hawke, obviously. This being her giant house."

"Of course. I'm afraid Messere Hawke is not in residence today."

Isabela struggled with conflicting sides of relief, guilt and disappointment. "Oh. Well. Do you know where I can find her?"

Bodahn's passive face didn't register a flicker. "I'm afraid not, madam. If you would like, I can take a message."

"No, I think I'll just come back when she's here, thanks."

Bodahn bowed. "As you wish, madam."

Isabela walked away feeling bereft. Which was ridiculous because it wasn't her fault that Hawke wasn't there. Though it did make her wonder where Hawke could be because where Hawke was, Varric was usually not far behind, along with Aveline. But Varric had long ago passed out from too much alcohol and mutual brooding and that made Isabela consider, just for half a second, finding Aveline, before her self-preservation instincts kicked in.

Isabela sighed. Kirkwall wasn't that big and there weren't too many haunts Hawke would go to. Then she began to wonder why she needed to see Hawke that badly when the best she could really hope for was maybe a non-fatal stab wound here and there. After all, this was the perfect opportunity, wasn't it? The perfect time to go to the Hanged Man and drown herself in piss poor ale and even worse company. She was the queen of putting things off until the very last second. How was this time any different?

The pirate queen would have stuck her hands in her pockets if she had any.

Now she really wanted to see Hawke.

Maybe after a drink. After all, she was in Hightown. The Blooming Rose was just a quick stroll away. And she doubted Hawke would be there; Hawke had never frequented the brothel unless she had to.

With that not very convincing argument in mind, Isabela made her way to the Blooming Rose.


"Back to work," Madam Lusine barked irritably, her eyes narrowing on the group of prostitutes who were still gathered around a door. "The Champion is not to be disturbed!"

A chorus of protests came, but the girls quickly fled when Madam Lusine strode to the ajar door. Closing the door behind her, Madam Lusine watched Orana tug a boot off Hawke's prone form. She almost sighed.

The Champion was sprawled across the small bed on her back like a child, snoring lightly through another drunken slumber. Picking up her skirts, Madam Lusine walked briskly to the maid.

"What happened this time?"

The elf almost got up to curtsy before she remembered that Madam Lusine had told her not to do that. "My lady, Messere Hawke recently returned from a trip outside the city and came straight here. Another servant said she found the messere in the taproom with two empty bottles before she fetched a manservant to bring her to her room."

This time Madam Lusine did sigh. "Finish undressing her and then you may leave," the madam said, finding her bottle of smelling salts hidden in her skirts. Normally used for patrons too drunk to leave on their own, Madam Lusine waited for Orana to fold Hawke's clothes away, leaving the other woman wearing nothing but her smallclothes. Orana exited quietly, wincing in sympathy as the madam waved the bottle under Hawke's nose.

"Bugger me!" Hawke squawked, her eyes stinging. She swatted the smelling salts away petulantly and scowled darkly. "Lusine. You're a sight for sore eyes."

"And you as well, Champion." Tucking the bottle away, she settled her skirts on the bed, looking down her nose imperiously. "You've been gone for not a fortnight and you return immediately for the bottle."

Hawke pressed her palm against her pounding temples. "I'd have stayed in the bloody bottle if you hadn't woken me," she growled.

"I must say, Champion, that the drink does not suit you in the least. You drool in your sleep."

Hawke self-consciously checked her chin before she realized what she was doing. "Witch," she snarled. Unperturbed by her relative nudity, Hawke crawled under the covers. "Leave me. I'm tired."

"Have a meal. You know it'll hurt more when you've not eaten a thing."

"I'm damned tired," Hawke muttered, her head already under the covers.

"You won't sleep for a time yet after the salts. I'll have a hot plate sent up."

"Damn it, Lusine," Hawke groaned. Her bloodshot blue eyes appeared over the top of the blanket to glower at the madam. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Of course not. Who would pay us all, then?" Madam Lusine shot back.

"Bodahn probably would," Hawke muttered. "Not like I do a bloody fucking thing."

If those words softened Madam Lusine, she didn't show it. "While I have brought the Blooming Rose to a level of prestige that no other house has reached," she began. "You have brought some level of... respectability, even if your actions do not reflect that."

Hawke snorted out a laugh. "The Knight-Commander begs to differ."

"Champions typically do not own brothels," Madam Lusine snipped, thought there was a slight smirk on her face. She didn't care for the Knight-Commander anymore than Hawke did.

"I'm not much of a champion," Hawke muttered, turning on her side. "Lusine, I'm well and truly tired," Hawke sighed. "I don't think I can stomach a meal in my current state."

"Then rest, Champion, and I will see to it that this house doesn't run itself to the ground with you at its helm."

Hawke simply nodded and rolled on her back, already fast asleep when Madam Lusine shut the door with a soft click.


Inside the Blooming Rose, Isabela had to blink twice. Even the whore house looked bigger. Or was her memory just that bad? Isabela looked again, her eyes sweeping over the luxurious lounge area, filled with more unfamiliar faces than not, then to the gleaming bar. Artwork graced the walls, paintings that looked expensive and tasteful, things that Isabela did not remember seeing. There were even more manservants, the types who, if Isabela's memory was right, usually sat sullen faced in a corner because Harlan had been late in paying them again and who often did not hustle people out until there was already a brawl spilling out into the streets.

Maker, things had changed while she was away.

Deciding that a drink was probably the best thing she could do with, Isabela went to the bar and ordered a very large mug of ale. The pirate examined the pale gold liquid suspiciously, then allowed herself a sip. Her eyes widened.

Even the mediocre ale she remembered was different. It was actually good.

All the changes were a bit unnerving.

Sliding the mug away as though it was potentially lethal, Isabela turned to rest her elbows on the bar top to watch the whores ply their trade. There were quite a few that she recognized, male and female, but there were more that she'd never seen before. Antivan, Orlesian, Rivaini, the range of nationalities were far greater than what the pirate remembered. And they were all better dressed, too, Isabela realized, serving clientele who weren't boisterous or rude and who looked quite pleased to be there. Then her eyes landed on an elegant lady with silver hair and a fine gown who was looking back at her with recognition in her eyes.

Isabela grinned. At least something didn't change. Madam Lusine was as elegant and fashionable as ever. The madam dismissed the serving maid she'd been speaking to and walked to Isabela, a gracious expression on her face.

"My dear captain," Madam Lusine smiled. "Welcome back. Have you just returned?"

"Still not quite a captain, Lusine," Isabela grinned back. She and Lusine had always got along well for some reason, probably because Lusine didn't have to wonder often if Isabela was going to make good on her tab or how she often broke up fights when the hired help decided their meager pay wasn't worth a broken bone or two. "Need a ship still. But yes, I did just get back. The place's changed."

"All for the better, I believe. It has been some time since you were here, hasn't it? What are your thoughts, my dear?"

"It looks wonderful," Isabela admitted. "Looks like the place has gone up a few steps. Harlan must have paid a fortune for the renovations."

Lusine looked at her strangely. "He didn't."

"Oh? Has business been that good that you did it on your cut?"

"While business has been much better, it wasn't that." Lusine crossed her arms now, a frown on her face. "You truly are not aware?"

Feeling a bit confused, a sensation that was starting to be a little too familiar, Isabela only shook her head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Harlan is no longer a part of the Rose."

That gave Isabela a shock. "Really? I didn't think the Coterie would have let this place go, even when Harlan didn't pay the bills."

"They would not have, but there was quite a bit of... persuasion involved."

"I'd wager on that," Isabela laughed. "So, it's just you, eh? Looks like you've cleaned it up well."

"Not exactly." Lusine folded her hands together. "The Champion of Kirkwall now owns the Blooming Rose."


Isabela didn't know what she was doing. The instant she found out that Hawke was in the Blooming Rose that very moment, she was seized by an overwhelming need to see her. She absolutely had to see Hawke. After getting it out of Lusine where Hawke was, Isabela charged up the grand staircase and found her room. In the back of her mind, she'd been a little surprised at how unobtrusive the door was, so unlike the other ornate doors, and wondering if perhaps it was a service entrance or the door for the servants' quarters. But she opened the door anyway, half expecting Hawke to not be alone because after all, she owned the damned place now. What else did wealthy nobles with remarkable amounts of spare time do when they owned the city's highest end brothel?

She swung open the door, mildly surprised that it wasn't locked because Hawke was as paranoid as she was about being surprised in her sleep, and stared.

There was no decadent fixtures, no fine furniture or even finer courtesans lounging about like she expected. The room was dark and from what she could make it, it was practically spartan. Only a desk, a bed, some chairs and bookcases. And in bed, looking quite lonely, was Hawke.

Sleeping.

Hawke was sleeping alone. Curled on her side, covers pulled up to her chin, looking innocent and... Hawke-like.

Yes, Hawke-like because Isabela couldn't find the words to describe her. She found herself standing by the bed and examining the Champion's fine features. Hawke was unmistakably feminine, but there was always a dashing quality to her even when she was only a Ferelden refugee. Something about Hawke that drew people to her, made them loyal to her and willing to sacrifice for her. Was that what drew all of them to her side, made them shrug off the danger of death and probably lots of pain like it was nothing? And Hawke was hardly selfish, returning favors with such ease, waving off payment so carelessly that Isabela had to wonder if Hawke had known what fortunes lay ahead of her.

And the changes in Hawke... She didn't see much change, only that she didn't remember Hawke looking so troubled in her sleep, her brows furrowed. Then she remembered that she'd never actually seen Hawke sleep, except for one occasion when Hawke dozed off while waiting for a late night smuggling vessel to arrive. But she didn't remember her hair being as long as it was now because Hawke usually kept it short, nor did she remember Hawke carrying those rings under her eyes.

Tentatively, and not really thinking about why, Isabela reached out to brush her fingertips against fine black hair.

Hawke stirred, but soon settled again, sighing softly in her sleep.

Isabela stopped breathing. Shit.

Nothing had changed in three years.

Forcing herself to not think about that, and fighting the urge to bolt like a startled horse, Isabela gently shook Hawke's shoulder. "Hawke."

Hawke didn't budge. Hawke was usually a light sleeper, Isabela remembered, and shook her harder. "Hawke?"

Hawke mumbled something. Isabela leaned in to to try to listen and was struck by the familiar scent of whiskey. "Oh, Maker's balls. You never could hold your liquor," Isabela sighed fondly. Unbidden, her hand shifted to stroke the ends of Hawke's hair, a soft smile on her face. "You didn't let your hair get long either. I bet the nobles must be going mad for you, aren't they? Champion and owning the largest whore house in the city."

Hawke didn't deign to answer her, still sleeping quietly like a child.

"And you're still pretty as ever," Isabela whispered so low that she could hardly hear herself, half wondering if Hawke was really awake. "Wake up, Hawke." Isabela shook her more vigorously. She realized with a vague thrill that Hawke appeared to be naked under the covers.

Hawke remained steadfastly asleep, though she did snore for a moment.

Isabela drew back in surprise, but she kept shaking her. "Hawke!"

Hawke snored again and stubbornly clutched her blanket harder.

"Damn it, Hawke, wake up."

Finally, Hawke's eyes opened. Blue eyes glared blearily at Isabela, the pupils contracting as light from outside the door shone on her. Hawke snarled, nearly making Isabela jump, and pulled her hand up to shield her eyes. "What is it?" Hawke growled in a tone Isabela had never heard from her before. Isabela's heart pounded and felt a feeling that could only be described as panic hit her. Had Hawke already forgotten about her-?

Madam Lusine appeared in the doorway and looked at Isabela with concern evident on her face, but she remained quiet as she closed the door.

"This better be good, Lusine," Hawke barked, shifting her eyes away from Isabela, her voice hoarse. She turned back to Isabela as she sat up, looking ruffled and utterly adorable that the pirate wanted to cry. "And if you woke me up for something trivial, I will butcher you."

All right, so adorable and apparently mean as well. Isabela couldn't really blame her. She hated being woken up from an alcohol-induced sleep as much as the next person. Then Isabela's eyes fell the rest of Hawke's bare body and Isabela didn't quite contain her gasp when she saw the pattern of scars she saw, so many that hadn't been there before. Her throat clutched when she saw a long vertical one where knitted skin met on the left side of Hawke's abdomen. She knew without seeing it that there would be a matching one on Hawke's back. From the Arishok.

Lusine approached the bed, candle in hand. "My apologies, Champion," she said. "She insisted that it was urgent and would not wait..."

Hawke looked at Isabela for a long moment. Isabela's breath caught as she saw the clouds clearing from Hawke's eyes and recognition replace them.


Hawke was floating. She knew she was dreaming. But it was such a lovely dream. She was floating in water, the sun on her face, the world quiet around her. She always liked this particular dream where it felt nothing existed but water and sun. There was no Kirkwall here, no friends to worry about, no people to mourn and grieve over. It was beautiful in its simplicity, that she only had to exist.

"Hawke."

Oh, the dream was going that route, was it? She didn't like this part. She never did.

"Hawke!"

Well, it was terribly insistent this time. It didn't usually nag at her, but she supposed it was about time her mind decided to change it up. So she simply waited for Isabela to pull her out of the water and make her watch her curled around another anonymous lover. Waited for the mocking, taunting smile and for her and her lover to push her head under the water until she drowned or woke up.

"Damn it, Hawke, wake up."

Hawke woke up. Light from the open door hit her eyes, temporarily blinding her. Hawke grunted, dragging her hand up to cover her eyes. Whoever was calling for her was going to get a good beating, Hawke thought irritably.

"What is it?" Hawke growled, squinting to see who she was going to kill.

Someone else appeared in the doorway, a lit candle in hand, their shadow falling over Hawke, and closed the door. The room went mercifully dark, the candle the only source of light. Hawke recognized Madam Lusine as she walked into the room and growled again.

"This better be good, Lusine." Hawke sat up and glared at the unknown intruder at her side. "And if you woke me up for something trivial, I will butcher you," Hawke snapped.

Lusine shone the candle over Hawke's bed. "My apologies, Champion," she started. "She insisted that it was urgent and would not wait..."

Hawke blinked as she found herself looking at Isabela.

Her throat went tight and her fists clenched on the covers. She hadn't changed. Isabela still looked the same, the same olive skin, the same gold eyes, the same piercing and necklace and hair...

Everything about her was the same and yet, not. Three years had changed little, but there were some changes, like the tanner skin from ship life and ever so slightly more lines on her face. Her clothes seemed to be a little looser, as though there'd been weight loss, but she was still Isabela.

Isabela was here.

Very deliberately, Hawke said to Isabela, "You're never here when I wake up. Never."

"Hawke-" Isabela began.

"Never," Hawke said again more loudly. "So I'm going to go to sleep and when I wake up for real this time, you're going to be gone and I'm going to leave Kirkwall again. I will not see you again," Hawke repeated. "Maker, I hate it when I see you. Really. Go away. Now." Hawke spared Lusine a glance. "You're usually not here, though, but go away as well, please."

Hawke rolled on her side and closed her eyes. And immediately fell back asleep.


Hawke found herself awake the next morning in a pisser of a mood. With her head still pounding faintly from the previous night's indulgence, she dragged on a shirt and breeches and made her way to the lower level of the Blooming Rose. The place was thankfully mostly empty except for a few servants cleaning up to ready for another night. All the whores should be in their own beds, alone or otherwise, though Hawke did spy one napping on a loveseat.

She settled on a nearby chair and slouched over the table. Rubbed her hands against her temples. A maid hurried to her.

"G-good morning, Champion," the girl stammered.

Hawke spared her a glance. She had to be a new one.

"Would you c-care for breakfast?" She asked, almost wringing her hands. "Cook said there's t-t-toast and-"

Hawke waved her off. "Whatever's in the kitchen's fine." She paused. "I'm not going to beat you, girl."

The maid squeaked, blushed bright red and hurried off trailing a string of apologies. The whore Hawke had seen had risen and chortled as she watched the maid scuttle away into the kitchen. She sauntered to Hawke and sat next to the Champion, a smirk on her face.

"Rough night, love?" She asked, her voice carrying a Lowtown roughness.

"No more than yours, probably."

The whore -Hawke searched her mind for a name- Aislan, perhaps?- snorted. "Got a strange little lordling. Had a blasted interest in my feet."

Hawke snorted out a laugh. "Let me guess. The lordling liked an audience?"

The whore -Jocelyn, Hawke finally recalled- nodded. "The fool was all over my damned heels and wanted me to keep drinkin' 'til I was tipsy. Probably hopin' for a free ride. Oh, you'll never believe this, but then his damned wife showed up. Maker's everlovin' breath."

Hawke chuckled as Jocelyn recounted the ridiculous story, ending it with how she'd been far too drunk to do much by the end of the evening but crawl into one end of the love seat and sleep it off. "I'm surprised Lusine let you stay there."

"The place was gettin' empty by then and she let me stay for the night."

"Mmm, awfully generous of her. Maybe's she going soft."

Both of them were snorting humorously at the thought when Hawke's breakfast arrived. The maid placed a hot mug of tea at her elbow and escaped before Hawke could so much as open her mouth to say thanks. Jocelyn stole a piece of bacon off Hawke's plate as they watched the maid's retreating back. "Nervous one, that. Lusine found her."

"Indeed?" Hawke swatted her hand away. "This is my breakfast. I haven't had a decent meal in weeks."

Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but gamely savored the smoky meat while Hawke began to eat. "Word is that she had a bastard of a husband and two kids. Bastard was pissin' his coin away while they starved at home. He got rowdy one night and was makin' a mess o' things when the little bit came and tried to drag him home. The rotter started to beat her right there, but Lusine wouldn't have any of that and booted his arse out and put her in one of the quarters." Jocelyn shook her head. "You know, she might really be going soft."

They shared another laugh together before falling into a companionable silence. Hawke was finishing her plate when Lusine found them.

"Good morning, Champion," Lusine greeted, looking with approval at Hawke's empty plate, though she didn't say it.

"And you, Lusine," Hawke said amiably. Good food usually put her in a good mood and her headache was slowly receding.

Jocelyn also nodded a greeting and rose to hunt for her own breakfast in the house kitchens. Hawke gave her an absentminded wave and frowned when she saw the heavy ledger under Lusine's arm. "Damn it, Lusine. I don't want to go over the books. I told you that."

"You should take at least a passing interest, Champion. This is your coin that keeps the roof above our heads."

"And I'm sure you're doing a fine job handling all that," Hawke said. "I'm not a penny pinching idiot like Harlan was."

"I didn't say you were," Lusine said with a tilt of her chin. She opened the book and flipped to the most current additions. "But I won't bore you with the minute details. I simply wanted to tell you that the Blooming Rose is doing quite well this quarter. Especially with the addition of the gaming gallery."

"Lovely how the coin from gamblers and adulterers keep the place afloat," Hawke said with a smirk. "The Chantry must despise me. Halls of sin and vice and whatever else."

Lusine raised an eyebrow. "Feeling repentant?"

Hawke let out a bark of laughter. "Never." After a moment, Hawke asked, "How were things while I was gone?"

"As well as they could be, as I said. The Rose is doing well. You're getting a lovely return on your investment."

"You know I don't really care if I get a return or not," Hawke said with a shrug.

"Nevertheless. I have a few proposals for more improvement, if you're interested."

"No. I trust your judgment, Lusine," Hawke said, her tone even. She looked at Lusine, her expression serious. "You don't need to run to me for permission."

Not for the first time, Lusine felt a tug in her chest when she felt those blue eyes look at her ever since the Rose had changed owners. On that fateful evening, Harlan, head of the Coterie, had gotten roaring drunk and was being, as usual, a bastard. Manhandling unwilling and terrified girls while throwing a party for his lieutenants. Well, as much a party as it could have been called. Lusine still winced when she remembered the state of the Rose the next morning after one of his 'parties'. And, of course, Harlan didn't expect to pay for a bloody penny of it. Lusine had hated him more than she ever had.

And that was what the Champion of Kirkwall walked in on that night. Lusine still shivered when she remembered the look on her face. But the night had ended with the Rose in the hands of a new owner and a neutered Coterie and for that Lusine was eternally grateful for. Even if the mess had taken far too long to clean the next day. But the Champion was quite generous with her coin for the upkeep of the Rose and, much sooner than anyone had expected, the house was turning out a profit for once with Lusine overseeing renovations and various changes. Though Hawke never stayed in Kirkwall for long, preferring long jaunts and stays in the surrounding lands, she always returned and Lusine always made sure there was a soft bed and a hot meal waiting for her. It was, in all honesty, the least she could do.

And yet, she wasn't sure what possessed her to say what she did.

"Do you remember last night?"

"I remember being asleep," Hawke said.

"You don't remember me? In your room."

"I remember your damned smelling salts," Hawke said with a scowl. "And you trying to kill me."

"You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," Lusine said without thinking. "You don't remember Isabela?"

Hawke stiffened. "Isabela?" Her eyes narrowed. "What about the whore?"

Lusine managed to control her flinch at the sharp tone. Barely. "She's in Kirkwall. She was here last evening."

Hawke went blank. Lusine thought she hadn't heard her until she saw Hawke's fist around her knife, knuckles white. Carefully, Hawke released the knife, setting it next to her plate. Rising, she gave Lusine a curt nod as she turned to leave.

"I'll deal with her."

Lusine tried not to quail at the soft deadly tone. And wondered if she should warn Isabela.


Author's Note: Doing all sorts of updates recently... So, yes, this fic is also not abandoned. I find myself lacking severely in time and energy to write, but I do know how I want this to end and will try to get more posted in the coming weeks. This particular chapter isn't really new as, I believe, most or some part of it was posted on the DA kink meme (wherever that is now). Anyway, I hope you will kindly leave any thoughts/suggestions/feedback/etc. Happy Easter!