They had been wandering around Lowtown for what seemed like an age. Marion was getting tired of Fenris and Anders bickering backwards and forwards.
Mages this. Templars that. Slaves this. Tevinter that.
"Guys, please. I have a splitting headache and you two are driving me insane. Don't make me shock you." Varric sneered at the mage, but avoided the eye contact of Fenris; that man unnerved him.
And so, they continued traipsing the streets. It was late afternoon when they found themselves in Darktown, on a hunt for yet more mercenaries. Hawke had taken it upon herself to start searching barrels and abandoned crates. After smashing one in a fit of anger, she had found herself a particularly shiny dagger which brought a few extra coin to her cause – or rather, another round in the Hanged Man.
Unfortunately, for both Hawke and her unwilling companions ("You can't expect me to walk around by myself, can you?" Guilt-tripping was one of her vices), she had found barely anything of any value. Torn trousers? I wouldn't even give these to Sandal. Close to punching something, Marion stumbled across an empty crate. It was broken and thrown into the corner of an alley.
She dashed off, towards the dingy corner, and lit the area with a small fireball. "Anders! Come hold this light for me!" She didn't hesitate to hide the excitement in her voice. As the flame left her hands, she bent over the crate carefully moving the planks of wood. Anders peered over her shoulder, his arm at an awkward angle over her head. His stretched his back as to not knock her as she searched.
The grin on Hawke's face grew as she pulled out a set of blood red, velvet robes. Gold stitching, elaborate patterns, completely unscathed. Her eyes shone.
Varric whistled, "They'll get a pretty penny at Jean Luc's." Fenris shook his head, "I don't think we're selling these."
Anders was just about to put out the fire he held when he noticed Fenris and Varric staring over his shoulder. He turned and immediately his jaw dropped. Hawke had removed the belts and sashes around her waist and was starting to unbutton the back of her current robes.
"H-Hawke? Do you know w-where-.." Anders' words faltered and then stopped as Marion lowered the top half and let it rest on her hips. The, now faint, light from Anders' grasp highlighted her curves; all of them. She looked up to the speechless men surrounding her, eyebrow raised and her head cocked to a side.
"What are you staring at? You all look ridiculous." She was right: Anders had turned a very deep, almost burning shade of red, Varric was doing his best to look any other direction with his head, while his eyes darted to and fro from Hawke's – barely – underwear-covered breasts, to the back of Anders' head. Fenris didn't look much better; his cheeks were tinged with pink and he was biting his bottom lip so hard, she was sure he would draw blood.
"Really? I can't change without you idiots turning into stuttering fools? I didn't realise I still had such an impact; and after all this time." Making full use of the situation, Hawke shifted her weight to one leg and placed her hand on her hip. "Surely you're all used to the sight of women by now?"
This was only partly true. Varric had been desensitised by the sheer amount of women he entertained while staying at the tavern, he had no real reason to be feeling so awkward. He just didn't realise how.. shapely Hawke was. Her previous robes (which were now slipping lower every second) were dark and unflattering, leaving everything to the imagination
Anders and Fenris, however had lost all use of their other senses and could do nought but stare as Marion shook off the remainder of her robes. Neither of them moved, but both wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
Anders had spent the last three years lying awake at night, hoping that every moment outside the clinic was Hawke stopping by for a chat. He had wasted hours meandering the streets of Lowtown, hoping to catch her shopping in the Bazaar.
Fenris had complained every time she asked him to come along, arguing that he couldn't stand the mages she associated with, but admiring her every action, her fighting style, the way she managed to keep order all over Kirkwall.
Somehow, through the distraction, Anders had managed to keep the fire in his hand alive and, although faint, it still lit up Hawke's now de-clothed body. She slid into her new robes and finished tying her various belts and sashes around her waist.
She extinguished the fire that had lit her quick-change and swept past the speechless men.
Varric laughed heartily as he noticed that both Anders and Fenris hadn't moved from their positions and were still a dark shade of pink. "C'mon boys, your Champion is waiting."