A/N: This one shot will lead into a full Male Hawke Isabela story that will be written after I finish my story Grey Avatar. This story takes place in the same universe as The Grey Trilogy involving Carver, as well as my story Love and Legacy, enjoy it gentle readers.
DG
Broken Promise
The City of Starkhaven: 9:37 Dragon Age
The Red Cutlass was one of the worst places in Starkhaven, a dingy, broken down tavern built on the docks of the Minanter River. It was during the winter months now fortunately, the smell of fish was not too bad yet, at least not bad enough to force the people inside the falling down old tavern.
Few were that desperate, with the exception of the poor damned souls that had come to rest here.
The place stank of cheap ale and even cheaper perfume. The sign squeaked loudly as it creaked in the wind, swinging back and forth like a man dancing at the end of a rope. The old peeling paint did nothing to hide the sense of danger and despair this place represented.
This was not the type of place that someone came to live…
This was a place…where someone came to die.
The Red Cutlass was not where someone came to on their way up the social ladder, no matter what side of the law you choose to live on, no…the Cutlass was a place where you went on your way down. The dwarves, elves, and humans that frequented this establishment were those without hope.
Most of them had done something that had gotten them in a great deal of trouble. The Cutlass was a brief stopover for such folks. Eventually the assassins or bounty hunters seeking their prey would come here. There was one cardinal rule in the marches.
Whether you were a hunter or the hunted, everyone eventually came to shore in the Red Cutlass.
The people that frequented the place were either wanted by the law, or seeking those wanted by the law. The owner did his best to keep things from degenerating into complete chaos however. Fights were kept to a minimum, and if you wanted to kill someone, take it outside. If you were stupid enough to kill someone within the Cutlass's walls, the bouncers would make sure that you joined your victim floating face down in the Minanter River.
The owner wanted as little trouble as possible.
Another busy evening had begun, people settled into their card games and their drinks. Whores, most of them too old or scarred to work in the local brothel plied their trade at the bar, some of the damned liked to have a little comfort before death came for them.
Shouldn't a person be allowed to enjoy their final moments in the world of the living?
Four burly men strode into the tavern.
The customer sank down into their chairs; many prayed silently that these men had not been sent for them. The rest prayed that they were…
So many had grown tired of running, all that was left now was an end.
All four were Antivan, they asked around about any new arrivals, especially if they were women.
The old one eyed bartender directed them to the brothel down the street.
These men were not looking for companionship however, they were here looking for a Rivaini woman, pretty, good with daggers, might have asked about the local dueling arenas.
"Does not ring a bell," the bartender said quietly, "What's she done?"
"She has angered our employer Velasco," one of the men responded.
The man pursed his lips.
That name was known around here. Velasco was an attack dog for the Armada, and where you found him…his master was not far behind.
Castillion often referred to simply as the trader.
If you see anyone fitting our description, you send word," one of the toughs said, "Our employer will make it worth your while.
The bartender nodded, "This lass have a name?"
"She calls herself Isabela," the man responded, "If you see her, let us know, we will pay handsomely."
He nodded, returning to clean the cracked clay mugs.
The four men left.
The bartender chuckled, these pricks would never learn.
You want someone in the Cutlass…money up front…always.
"You did not have to do that."
He turned to the speaker, a hooded woman who had stood not six footsteps from the thugs. Her voice was low and sultry…
It was also very intoxicated.
"I give it about two hours before someone in this place rats you out, "he warned her.
She nodded, sounded about right.
"If you leave tonight you might avoid them again," he offered.
He saw her pretty mouth twitch up in a wan smile.
"I'm tired of running sweet thing," she said, "I…I suspect I won't be here in the morning. Here this should cover my expenses…and any mess those boys leave behind."
She laid a sovereign on the bar, he took it, pausing to test if it was genuine…it was.
It was enough to cover her full tab for the last week, with a little left over. She had one final request however. She wanted a bottle of his finest Antivan brandy or at least what passed for Antivan brandy in this dump, and his promise not to disturb her for the rest of the night.
He nodded and pocked the coin.
"Anything you want sent to your next of kin?" he asked.
"Don't have any," she replied, but then, her golden eyes turned thoughtful, a single name looped through her haze filled mind.
"I do have something," she said, "Be right back."
She took her bottle and returned to her room, he went back to his work, a few minutes later she came back with a small package.
He went to take it, she did not release it right away, she gave him her coldest deadliest stare.
"This will be delivered yes?" she asked, If I survive tonight and find out that it wasn't I will be most displeased if these things end up in the local market."
The Bartender chuckled.
"No worries Cap'n," he said, "This is a service of the house, the one service that we absolutely guarantee. Your package will reach its intended."
She nodded, pleased. She tottered off to her room, her steps hindered by the cheap booze. Most of the men still followed her with their eyes. Hopelessness had done little to dull the woman's beauty.
The bartender did not open the package, but if he had, he would have found three things.
First was a fine leather corset, well-oiled and cared for. The kind of gift a nobleman might buy his intended or mistress.
The second was a fine red scarf bearing the Crest of the House of Amell of Kirkwall, yet another favor from her old lover.
The third was a letter, one she had meant to send for almost three years.
Its contents were short, it read:
Dear Hawke,
I'm sorry.
I.
Having tended to her final arrangements, the woman tottered back to her room. She lit a single candle.
Nothing left to do now…but wait.
Wait for Castillion's men to return…
Wait to get her throat slit, she would not go down easy, but she would go down.
Isabela took a long hard pull from the bottle.
She was tired of running.
It was time to stop.
She flopped down on the lumpy mattress, awaiting her executioners.
An execution three years overdue.
Isabela welcomed it.
IOI
Kirkwall: 9:34 Dragon Age
She had been foolish; more than foolish…she had been completely and utterly stupid!
She had been in the clear, all she had to do was walk away, turn the sodding book over to Castillion, and she would have been able to return to her old life.
The sea beckoned, its salty smell, it's cool damp arms…
So different from Hawke's; Garrett's arms had always been so warm and inviting.
Stop it!
Garrett did not matter she reminded herself, he had been a great lay, that was as far as it had gone.
She did not care for him, she could not care for him, she did not care for anyone but herself.
Kirkwall would be destroyed, but what did that matter, she never cared for the place anyway.
Garrett would land on his feet, she was sure of that, he had nothing to hold him to that place anymore, his mum was ashes, he hated his uncle. He wouldn't be stupid enough to try and fight the Qunari.
Hawke was a survivor; he would not be that stupid.
Would he?
She had paused in mid-step; before she knew what she was doing she turned…
She adjusted the pack bearing the heavy Qunari book, she was halfway to Ostwick.
All she had to do was keep walking.
I would never hurt your son Milady. I never would.
That had been a promise she had made almost a year and a half ago, made to a kind old woman who saw something in her that simply was not there.
Something that she could never be.
She did not love Garrett Hawke, she could not love him.
She would never surrender her freedom again!
What did that promise matter now? Leandra was dead; it was not like she could hold Isabela to it.
I would never hurt your son…
All she had to do was keep walking, keep walking and she would be safe.
All she had to do was keep walking.
So that is what she did…she had made her decision, she headed back towards Kirkwall.
Maker save her…she was a damned fool.
IOI
A few hours later she stood on the steps of the Viscount's Keep, Qunari guards flanked her, making sure she could not runaway.
They would not let her go now, she was the prize in contest, she would either be turned over to Hawke after the Arishok's death, or the Qunari would take her after Hawke's.
Hawke…her damned, foolish wonderful…Garrett.
She knew which one she preferred; she would rather spend the next ten years in a Kirkwall dungeon than be taken slave by the Qun.
The Qun had taken everything that Isabela had loved once, her life, her home…her very own mother.
She would sooner die then submit to its will!
The duel had spilled out of the throne room, the combatants rolled down the stone steps.
The Qunari Arishok rose, the huge ox-man panted, he was covered in burn and blade scars.
Hawke gasped, he rose trying hard to breathe, the Qunari's sword had torn a nasty rend in his side. Still…he did not back down, he glanced up at Isabela.
She…she could not hide the worry on her face.
IOI
The last few months played before Garrett's mind, the steamy sometimes violent love affair they had shared. Battle and sex, pain and pleasure, life and death...the two of them had found everything they had desired and more.
He felt his resolve strengthen.
He had lost Bethany, then Carver to the Grey Wardens, and then finally Mother to that mad bastard Quentin.
He would not lose the woman he loved to the Qunari, and yes…he admitted it, he loved Isabela. He would damn himself for her if that is what it took.
She would not be taken from him.
Garrett smiled, he anointed his face with the Arishok's blood, he gestured…
His mage staff jumped into his hand. He spun it in the air before him; he dropped into a fighting crouch.
He sneered at the large Qunari.
"Okay then," he said as he spat blood at his feet, "Lets finish this big boy."
The Arishok snorted.
"Your death brings me no joy Hawke; your name will be honored in the Qun."
"I'm not the one who is going to die," the apostate replied.
The Arishok charged like an angry bull, his roar split the fire filled night.
Garrett dug his nails into his shoulder, his eyes flared red.
It was time.
Had the qunari been watching closely, he would have noticed that Garrett had inscribed a glyph on the ground before him; it had come from one of that bastard Gascard DuPuis's spell books.
Hawke anointed the glyph with both his and the Qunari's blood.
He said the words.
The Arishok charged over the glyph.
The veil tore.
The Qunari howled.
A pride demon reached through the tear, it seized hold of the Arishok's arm. Its touch burned the qunari; he lost his grip on his sword.
A second tear formed, several desire demons slipped through they seized the massive warrior's other arm."
The demons pulled tight.
"Parshara!" the Qunari leader snarled.
Garrett watched the seen with glowing red eyes.
The spell was an offering, his words and blood invoked the demons to heal him.
The Arishok's blood…well…that was an appetizer, a taste to whet the demons hunger.
Now…they wanted the rest.
The Arishok, the greatest of the Qun's warriors was done. HE who had murdered the Viscount, and plunged the city into chaos was nothing before their power, their hunger.
He…was a sacrifice…simply a meal.
And it was supper time.
"Hawke," the Arishok snarled, "Bas ra, there is no honor in this!"
"No," Garrett agreed, "Just victory, my victory," he smiled wickedly at his enemy.
The demon's pulled tighter.
The Arishok struggled mightily, but it was no use, he was starting to lose.
The demons would tear him apart.
He glared at Hawke.
The apostate could not stop smiling, where was that Qunari strength now?
Now…all the ox-man knew was struggle.
"Struggle is an illusion Arishok," he sneered, "Victory…is in the FADE!"
The Arishok gave one final defiant cry.
The demons did what Hawke had called them for; they had been drawn by the Arishok's pride and desire for perfection.
It was time for them to feed.
They pulled the ox-man apart, the tears closed as what was left was drawn through into the fade.
Garrett sighed heavily; the left over magic healed his injuries.
He glared at the Qunari guarding Isabela.
They looked at him with renewed respect, and perhaps…a bit of fear.
"She is mine now," he proclaimed, "Take your damn book and get out of my bloody city!"
The Quanri said nothing, one of their officers gestured; with the military precision that only the Qunari could perform…they began to withdraw from the City of Kirkwall. It would take the rest of the night, but they would leave.
Kirkwall was safe.
Garrett limped back into the Viscount's Keep, Isabela at his side. The nobles had missed the end of the duel; the Qunari had not permitted them out, believing that they might try to run.
They knew nothing of Garrett's blood magic, which was for the best.
Hawke was greeted like a conquering hero. Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino arrived a few minutes later. The Templar woman glared daggers at Hawke, the man who had saved Kirkwall before she had had a chance to do so herself.
Her eyes promised a dark and terrible vengeance one day.
But that was for another day.
The nobles declared Hawke Champion of Kirkwall.
They surrounded the apostate, offering thanks and tears of joy.
Isabela slipped away, she left the city much as she had arrived four years before.
She had arrived like a thief, and she left the same way slinking out in the middle of the night.
It was better that way.
Hawke had Kirkwall now…
He did not need her anymore.
IOI
Starkhaven: 9:37 Dragon Age
She had run for three years after that, staying one step ahead of Castillion. Hiding, drinking, and surviving. She took no lovers during that time that part of herself was behind her. She had a very large death mark on her head. Castillion knew that she had given up the relic to the Qunari; he would not stop now until he saw her punished, and he was not alone. More than a few nobles had lost family in Kirkwall. They blamed her for the Qunari invasion, if she had not taken that damn book in the first place…
They were probably right.
So she wandered and hid, waiting for Castillion to catch up with her, send her to that pit in the void she likely deserved.
She welcomed that end now.
She tried to keep tabs on Hawke during her travels. Her old lover was, and always would be, a trouble magnet. He inspired the nobles and intimidated the Templars, Knight-Commander Meredith had blocked all attempts to replace the dead Viscount. She feared the people might put Garrett on the throne.
A reasonable fear, knowing what she knew about Hawke, he never wanted to rule himself, but he certainly did not want that Templar cow sitting on the throne.
Women passed in and out of his life. She was not jealous of them, simply curious. She and Garrett had never been exclusive, even though they became that, other lovers simply ceased to be interesting. Only one of his new women had drawn her attention.
Last year he had had a beautiful red haired elf on his arm, the two had attended some society event in Orlais together.
Isabela smirked.
That had ended with the death of the Empress's favorite cousin, and threats of war between Orlais and the Free Marches.
Isabela had smiled at that.
A typical night for Garrett Hawke.
Her eyes had grown heavy; she sighed deeply and snuggled against the pillow.
The brandy was stronger than she thought.
She drifted off into a drunken sleep, she…she did not expect to wake up.
That was okay…she was tired of running.
IOI
She had strange dreams that night.
She was sitting in the kitchen of the Amell estate. Leandra Hawke sat across from her.
The older woman gave her the saddest of looks.
"You lied to me," she said quietly.
"I lie to everyone," Isabela quipped, "Makes things easier."
Leandra shook her head.
"You lie to yourself as well, about Garrett, about what you feel."
Isabela snorted.
"It wasn't anything personal."
The noble woman drank deep of her tea.
"And yet…here we are, back at the beginning."
Isabela fidgeted under the woman's cool gaze.
"I would never hurt your son, Milady, I never could," Leandra spoke those words in Isabela's own voice.
The pirate queen was about to quip how that was a great trick, but the dead noblewoman's gaze stopped her cold.
For the first time in her life of hedonism and depravity…
Isabela felt shame.
"I hold you to your promise," she told the pirate, "My son needs you."
Isabela could not meet her gaze.
"He is better off without me."
"He is in danger," Leandra said, "Kirkwall is about to explode, you know this…you have heard about this."
Isabela nodded, she had heard, the Templars were squeezing the mages tighter and tighter. More and more Garrett was getting drawn into their problems. Not that the mages were entirely innocent either, many had turned to blood magic, her contacts had informed her, and they blamed one man for their troubles, the one who would not stand with his fellows.
They blamed the Champion.
"He won't accept my help now," she whispered.
Leandra gave her a sad smile.
"I think he will," she replied, he cares for you; I saw that every time the two of you were together."
Isabela frowned.
He deserves better," she said, "He deserves a woman who can sire him a whole flock of noble heirs, give him a good and proper name."
Leandra laughed.
"My Garrett is not a good man," she said, "He tries to be, but…he will never be welcome in my world, the world of nobles because of his magic."
Isabela nodded, she and Leandra had had this conversation years ago, right before that mess in the Vimmark Mountains had blown up. Right before Carver and his little love barbarian had come home.
He was not welcome in their world…did that mean he was welcome in hers?
Was she welcome anymore in his?
She had run for years from that question.
Well…she was tired of running.
Isabela shuddered…maybe…maybe it was time to find out the answer.
Leandra gave her a warm smile.
"Wake up, dear," she said, "You are under attack."
IOI
Isabela opened her eyes.
Castillion's man was standing over her.
She pulled him down on top of her, blocking his attempt to cut her throat.
Backstabber emerged from beneath her pillow.
She stabbed the bastard four times.
His three allies cursed, they tried to get in close with their knives, but the room was too small to surround her.
She kicked their dead friend at them, they got lost in a tangle of limbs,
Isabela flipped to her feet despite her hangover, her daggers flashed in front of her.
She glared at Castillion's men.
"Boys," she sneered, "I'm hung over and I'm pissed, neither is good news for you."
They managed to untangle themselves from their dead colleague.
"Whore," one of the Antivans shouted, "You are dead!"
"Bold words, sweet thing," she purred wickedly, a wolfish smile splitting her face, "Let's see if you can back them up?"
She leapt forward.
The three moved to meet her.
The shadows filled with screams and blood.
Less than a minute later…it was done.
IOI
The next morning the Bartender went to Isabela's room to clean up her body.
The sight that met his eyes surprised him.
All four of Velasco's men lay dead on the bed. Blood splattered the small room.
The bartender shook his head.
Andraste save him, he really needed to find a better job.
He called for the bouncers to remove the bodies before anyone saw.
He headed back downstairs; he still needed to mail the pirate queen's package.
He was not surprised to find it gone, in its place was a single gold sovereign and another note,
He picked it up and read it:
Sorry about the mess.
I.
The bartender laughed.
IOI
Isabela whistled a merry tune as she made her way down the road back to Kirkwall.
Her patched up boots were polished, her daggers were shined, the leather corset Hawke had given her was back in place. She had suffered a few minor scrapes and cuts during the fight with those thugs, but they were nothing she had not faced before.
She had thought she was ready for death, that she was ready to pay for the sins of her life.
She had been wrong; the combat had awakened the huntress in her, the part of her that thrilled at violence.
Last night…it…it had been fantastic!
For the first time in months…she felt alive again.
Isabela would not reach Kirkwall before word reached Velasco about the death of his boys that did not bother her much.
She was tired of running.
If Castillion and Velasco wanted her, they would know where to find her.
She wondered if her old room in the Hanged Man was still available.
It would be nice to see the old gang again, Varric, Fenris, her big girl Aveline, not to mention the Kitten…
Her thoughts turned to Garrett.
A wicked smile split her lips.
Would he take her back? She did not know; three years were a long time.
Still she owed it Leandra to try.
I would never hurt your son Milady, I never could.
She had lied then, but maybe…just maybe she could make up for that!
And if she found gold and giggles along the way…why not?
It would not be an easy journey back to Kirkwall, but she was not worried.
She had plenty of naughty memories of Garrett to keep her warm, at least until she saw the real thing again.
Maybe then…then they could make some new memories.
Come and get me Castillion, she thought with a smile.
She would have friends waiting when he did; at least…she hoped so.
It had begun in Kirkwall, and that is where it would end.
She had made a promise.
The time had come to honor it.