Eating Lionfish, part 1

by hoorayforicecream

Foreword: Note, there is a scene of implied brutality and violence, especially towards children. Those who cannot stomach the implication would do best not to read this.

The woman woke to the sound of water dripping. She was beautiful, clad only in a white, silken shift. Her hair was dark and glossy, but unruly and mussed from sleep. Her eyes were a deep blue, but seemed to have difficulty focusing. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the hazy feeling that had parked itself firmly between her temples. Her eyes ached, and she squinted in the dim light. She pushed the sheets aside from the bed and tried to remember where she was. Spots of color bloomed in her field of vision, and she fumbled for her clothing. Her skin felt damp, and she shivered in the chilly air.

"My lord, where are you?" she called out. "What's going on?"

"I had such high hopes for this one," a manly baritone voice said from somewhere in the large domed room."A pity. She was so close, but just lacks that special spark. She remains a pale imitation of the real thing."

A rasping, deep voice answered. "It is no matter. The preparations are complete. A gift for you, ser."

The woman rubbed her eyes, willing the pounding behind her eyes to go away. She heard the sound of jingling, or clinking. A gold chain on leather. She had heard the sound many times before.

The rasping voice continued, "The use is simple enough. It will activate them all upon your death. If you wish to detonate one specifically, choose one and break it."

"Excellent. She will be mine soon," said the baritone.

The woman finally looked up, blinking the spots away. In the dim light, she made out a massive painting framed on the wall. The painting was a portrait of a nude, pale-skinned Champion of Kirkwall with piercing blue eyes, soft, shaggy black hair, and a fabulous figure. The painted Champion was stretched out, lounging on a divan in front of a sparkling fountain of water in a picturesque woodland setting. The woman's eyes widened. The mural was not alone - it was surrounded by smaller paintings, of the Champion in different poses. In evening gowns, in battle, reclining at table, walking down stairs, the paintings covered the walls in one large blur. The woman's mouth opened to scream, but her vocal chords seized up and the only sound was a hoarse whisper.

"And my payment?" rasped the other voice.

"This one should serve until it truly begins," laughed the baritone.

The woman tried to scramble, to escape, but large, strong hands grasped her body and dragged her from the bed. The raspy voice laughed, a cold, cruel sound. Pain exploded in white hot shards along her back as she finally found her voice and began to scream.


"Oh, thank you, Champion! Thank you!" exclaimed a joyful mother as she embraced her young son. The Champion smiled, as the other children reunited with their tearful parents, commoner and nobles alike, in the main hall of the Viscount's Keep.

"I'm just glad that we were able to bring them back safely. Without my companions, I'd never have found the right ship before it sailed," mused the Champion. Hawke stepped back next to Aveline, watching the happy families.

"How on earth did you convince Isabela to help find the right boat? I always thought she hated children," whispered Aveline.

"Ship, Aveline," corrected Hawke. "And she doesn't, no thanks to your antics a few months back. Quite a few of the little girls were thrilled that they had been saved by 'Princess Isabel'. Let's just say that I owe her one, and that she intends to collect very soon."

"I'd pity you, but I think some of her depravity's started to rub off on you. Nonetheless, a job well done. Another batch of slavers that the city won't need to deal with, and another pouch of coin you can pick up once the paperwork's been done," sighed Aveline. "Take care, Hawke, and tell the whore I said hello."

The Champion turned to leave, before a shadowy shape appeared to her left. She turned quickly to face the figure, a feeling of vague uneasiness causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. The shadow belonged to a nobleman she had seen around Hightown, a wealthy Orlesian lord from near Nevarra.

"Well met, Champion," the nobleman greeted, grinning with even, white teeth. He was a handsome man, built with a barrel chest, and an immaculately trimmed black beard. His green eyes sparkled with intelligence, and his brightly colored green doublet was covered with layer upon layer of intricate embroidery and lace. Golden earrings dangled from his ears, and he wore a large golden medallion decorated with differently-colored jewels each the size of Hawke's thumbnail. One of the jewels was notably missing from its setting. His shoulder-length black hair had been pulled back in a ponytail bound in a lace ribbon, and he stood with the easy stance of a man used to getting what he wanted. He shifted slightly, placing one hand on the jewel-encrusted pommel of the thin, straight sword he wore at his waist. He looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Well met, Lord du Gaudet," replied Hawke, inclining her head slightly.

"It was a wonderful thing you did for these families. The city of Kirkwall is once again in your debt," he said grandly. "I would be honored if you would attend my autumn ball a week hence. It will be held in my manor home, just north of the city. All of the finest families will be attending, and you would make me the envy of Kirkwall by escorting me."

Hawke took a deep breath and barely managed to fight back the desire to roll her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lord du Gaudet, but I am afraid I am otherwise occupied that night," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. His smile never faltered, but a brief emotion flashed across his eyes... it looked like irritation. But it vanished just as quickly as it arrived, and the smarmy, inviting glint returned to those hard, emerald irises.

"Forgive me, Champion. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. I just wish to show you the gratitude of the city... and my family," he soothed, bowing with a flourish and sweeping his magnificent feathered cap off of his head for emphasis.

"I'm very thankful. Perhaps another time," nodded the Champion, waving goodbye. "Farewell, Lord du Gaudet."

"Until we meet again, my lovely Champion," smiled the nobleman as the Fereldan woman departed.


Hawke hurried home, offering curt pleasantries and silent waves to the nobles and guardsmen who bade her goodbye as she strolled down the Viscount's Way. She pushed her door open and entered her home, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine outside. She hung her overcoat on a peg in the foyer, then moved on into the living room. Stretching, she gave a contented sigh before she felt hands on her hips. They pressed with gentle pressure, and Hawke felt a warm breeze tickle her right earlobe. She smiled and placed one hand on the warm fingers pressing themselves to her side.

"Bodahn never welcomes me back home like this," murmured the Champion, as Isabela began nuzzling at her neck.

"Bodahn is missing out," breathed her lover, gently pressing herself against Hawke's back. The warmth spread through the Fereldan woman palpably, relaxing her tension away. The pressure was insistent, and Hawke began taking small steps toward the stairwell.

Hawke sniffed the air, detecting a curious scent. "Is that... mulled wine I smell?" she asked.

"Perhaps it is," said the pirate, while continuing to nuzzle. She lowered her hands to Hawke's rear and gently squeezed, while continuing to push the Champion up the stairs.

Hawke smiled and leaned back for a moment, reaching behind her and placing a reassuring hand on the corsair's wrist. "What do you want, Isabela? Shall I fetch the leash and bananas?" she smiled as she reached for the door to her bedroom.

Isabela paused her ministrations for a moment and chuckled, before resuming. "Is it that obvious?"

"I know you. Is it to be the riding crop then?" giggled Hawke.

"I do love how your mind works. But no, you're distracting me from my true purpose while I'm supposed to be distracting you," muttered the pirate, as she pushed her lover through the door and backward onto the bed.

"You're doing a pretty decent job of it," nodded the Champion, pulling off her tunic and casting it aside. The pirate sauntered forward, sashaying her hips from side to side as she unlaced her corset and straddled her lover on the bed.

"That's the last I want to hear out of you for at least an hour," Isabela commanded.


Isabela propped her cheek on one palm as she lay on her side, a lazy, firm smile affixed to her face. She brushed her disheveled hair back, and breathed deeply. The air in the room felt cool against her sweat-slicked skin, a tickling reminder of the strenuous activity that had just taken place. The grinning captain ran her fingers up and down the other woman's arm.

The slender figure of her lover lay before her, gasping for breath and still unable to form complete words. Isabela smiled a bit wider and entwined their fingers.

"That... that was... whew..." gasped Hawke, finally getting her breathing under control.

"I thought you'd like it," grinned the captain. "I just didn't know how much."

"I can't tell you how much I needed that, Isabela. Thank you," breathed the Champion, snuggling closer.

"Rough day, sweet thing?" asked the corsair.

"Just a lot of bottled stress. Nobles who believe the world revolves around them, merchants with business propositions, and people who cannot live without my help," sighed Hawke, squeezing Isabela's hand gently.

Isabela's smile slipped from her face at her bedmate's last comment. "People asking for help are bothersome, aren't they?" she mused quietly.

"Oh, you know I don't mean that. I just do what I can, and wish they wouldn't assume that their concern is the earth-shattering matter I absolutely must make my priority," sighed Hawke.

"Even your friends?" murmured the pirate.

"Of course not. My friends have a special place in my heart," replied the Champion, closing her eyes.

"I'd like to think I have a slightly more special place than that," smirked Isabela.

"Out with it, Isabela," sighed Hawke. "You know that I'd turn the city upside down for you. Why are you buttering me up? What did you need?"

"While the idea of you slathered in butter is incredibly appealing, I need you for something else," the dusky rogue replied. "A friend of mine has gone missing, and I hoped you could help me find her."

"Of course, why would you be so careful about asking me for help with something like this?" asked the Champion

Isabela took a moment to carefully choose her words. "She's a prostitute."

"Is she a friend?" began Hawke warily, letting go of her lover's hand. "Or a... friend?"

The pirate laughed merrily. "Hawke, you may have noticed that you're the only friend I've spent any quality time with in ages. She and I are friends that met for different reasons than you might think."

Hawke thrust out her lower lip, pouting. "If it wasn't sex, then what was it?" she asked grumpily.

The dusky rogue actually blushed before continuing. "Jillian is... how do I put this? She came to me to ask what you were like."

"Me? What would a courtesan wish to know about me?" asked the Champion.

"Sweet thing, you have to realize how much of a prize you are," smiled Isabela, pressing her palm to her bedmate's cheek. Noting Hawke's confused look, she continued, "You're absolutely stunning. Possessed of beauty that inspires people. Strength that is the envy of nations. You're wealthy. You're successful. Everyone in Kirkwall looks to you for guidance."

"Yes, we've established how much fun that is," muttered the Champion, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and leaning back.

"The legend, the very idea of the Champion is immensely appealing," continued the buccaneer, turning Hawke's face toward hers. Her voice dropped low and throaty. "On many levels."

Hawke's eyes met the dusky pirate's. They widened as Hawke came to a realization. "You don't mean..."

Isabela grinned wickedly. "I do mean. I am but one of many people in Kirkwall who wish you were in their beds," she said. "I just happen to be the lucky one who gets you," she said.

"I still don't understand, what does a friendly prostitute have to do with me?" asked Hawke, blushing.

"Jillian happens to be blessed with a marvelously slender figure, smooth and silky skin, piercing blue eyes, and wonderfully black hair," answered Isabela.

Hawke's eyes widened even further. "You mean she..."

"Not just her, sweet thing. Down at the Rose, they have a veritable bevy of dark haired, blue-eyed, creamy skinned ladies in waiting. And they're all quite popular, too." The pirate went on, "Jillian wished to know more about the real Champion of Kirkwall, and so she asked for my help. She wanted to give a more authentic performance."

"You taught her to be like me?" asked Hawke, incredulous. She narrowed her eyes. "Even..."

"Not exactly like you. But I helped fill in some of the details," said the pirate.

Her lover looked at her sharply.

"What? You can't expect to do that to a girl night after night and not expect her to brag at least a little bit," Isabela said defensively. She sighed, and spoke in a very quiet voice. "This isn't how I envisioned this conversation going. Hawke, some of the other girls at the Rose have asked me for help. Jillian's disappeared, and she's the third girl who's vanished in the past month. They're frightened, Hawke. I need you with me on this. Will you help?"

"Of course I'll help. What's the plan?" asked the Champion. "There is a plan, right?"

"We can start by asking the girls," began the captain. "They must have seen something. They should all be at the Rose tonight."

"That sounds like a fine beginning," nodded Hawke. "We'll go in the evening, just after sunset. We've a few hours till then."

The dusky pirate smiled at her lover with a half-lidded gaze. She looked exceptionally smug.

Hawke sighed and shook her head, but she could not hide the grin on her face. "I know that look. You get the riding crop, and I'll get the butter?"


The Blooming Rose was bustling with activity when Hawke arrived with Isabela. Each table at the brothel's tavern was occupied by laughing patrons and smiling courtesans. The Champion followed her partner silently, as the pirate sauntered through the revelry. Hawke strode confidently, but the feeling of uneasiness crept silently up her spine as she walked toward the bar. She felt a bit jealous of how easy-going Isabela was about all of this; the circumstances that surrounded their visit to the Rose made her feel a little intimidated. The captain leading the way, on the other hand, was comfortable as a duck in water. She was positively radiant, waving and smiling at friendly faces in the crowd. Hawke's breath caught and her cheeks colored at the sight. The corsair made her way to the bar, where Madame Lusine beckoned them closer with a broad smile.

"Captain Isabela, my dear, where have you been? All of the girls and boys have been asking for you. You only come by to drink these days. Surely your new lover can't be that good!" greeted the madam.

"Oh no, not just good. Better," laughed Isabela, waggling two fingers at the bartender. The mustachioed man nodded and reached below the bar, withdrawing a dark bottle of unknown vintage.

Hawke craned her neck to try to hear over the din of the patrons.

"So, are you not here to partake of our services? You're still paid up through the end of the year. Why don't you bring her with you?" suggested Madame Lusine.

"While the idea does have merit, I'm just here to speak with the girls tonight," replied the grinning pirate.

The Champion was so focused on trying to hear that she didn't notice the movement beside her. A fat-fingered hand wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled her roughly to one side. She looked at the owner. A bleary-eyed heavy-set man dressed in orange silks and gold jewelry towered over her, a leer firmly affixed to his face. His sausage-sized fingers were covered in bejeweled rings, and his thick, gray beard reached his chest. He exhaled, and the stench of sour gin on his breath was so strong Hawke had to fight to keep from gagging.

"Alright, I'm choosing you tonight my pretty Champion," he laughed, pulling her toward him with a grin. She tried to shake him off, but the man's grip was like a gold-colored vise.

"Dear Maker, your breath could curdle water!" gasped Hawke, disgusted. She pulled at his hold unsuccessfully, and looked about frantically for some help. The Fereldan caught Isabela's eyes, and the pirate turned quickly toward her. "What have they been feeding you!"

"Yes, yes, you're going to be a good Champion for me tonight," the man cackled, hauling her toward the stairs. She struggled to break free, but his iron grip held her firm. She cast about, looking for some way to get him to release her without having to hurt him.

"Hold it right there!" called Isabela's voice. It was strong and firm, and cut through the chatter of the tavern like her blade through butter. Even her captor stopped to look. All eyes were on the pirate, and she relished the attention. Her hips swayed gently as she swaggered to the pair, and her lips broke into a mischievous grin as she ran a gentle hand up Hawke's neck to her cheek. "This one is mine tonight," she declared.

"Hey now, I saw her first!" rumbled the burly man.

"I was getting drinks," replied the corsair blandly, raising two crystal goblets in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Besides, you don't want this one. She's got a mouth on her, and not in the good way," she continued.

"I do not!" exclaimed Hawke. "Just get me out of this now!"

"See what I mean? Always with the demanding, and the nagging," soothed the pirate. Some of the crowd chuckled. "On top of it all, I think she's touched in the head. Really believes she's the Champion of Kirkwall," added the dusky rogue.

"I am the Champion of Kirkwall! Let go of me!" grated the Champion. Even the brawny captor began to laugh.

"Thankfully," continued the captain, "I have other uses for that sharp tongue of hers. So let me return to my entertainments for the night, hmm? I've booked the dragon room, and I'd hate to see it go to waste."

The man loosened his hand, and Hawke quickly freed herself. She backed away from him, only to bump into Isabela's soft front.

"If you want a good Champion experience, I'd suggest Mirabelle. She'll Champion your cause all night long," winked the captain, grabbing the sputtering Hawke by the belt buckle and pulling her up the stairs.


"Nagging? Really, Isabela?" complained Hawke, crossing her arms under her breasts. She pouted, thrusting her lip out again.

"Come on Hawke, it was just to get that drunkard to let go without having to explain to the ball-breaker of a guard captain why we went ahead and cut up another nobleman," soothed the pirate.

"She was a bit angry at the last one we beat up, wasn't she?" sighed the Champion, as she sat down on the canopied bed.

"It was his own fault. He shouldn't have been trying to sell his servants into slavery," reasoned the pirate as she threw herself onto the bed next to her lover. She rolled onto her belly and began playing with the quilt stitching. "I've asked for Lianne, she was always the chattiest one. She's got a mouth on her worse than any sailor I know, but her information's always good. She'll be here soon," she added, picking at a woolen rose.

"Really? How bad could she be?" mused the Champion. Her only reply was a knowing smile.

Hawke leaned back on her elbows and looked over at the corsair, who remained engrossed in the stitchwork of the quilt. From time to time, Isabela would rub her shoulder, then resume playing with the patterns. Hawke smiled to herself and straddled Isabela's lower back.

"What are you-" began Isabela, starting to turn over, but Hawke placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Oh. Oooh. Oooooooh," she moaned as Hawke began massaging her shoulders and back with strong fingers. The Champion pressed and rubbed the knots in her lover's muscles, as Isabela relaxed and became more and more pliant. The pirate folded her arms and lay her chin on them, a warm smile firmly affixed to her face.

As Hawke kneaded her back, the captain would occasionally give a low, throaty moan, encouraging the Champion to press further. Hawke worked her way across the pirate's shoulders, then down between her shoulder blades, releasing the knots she found on her way down.

"Oh, I had not realized that you already had someone, Captain Isabela," a woman's voice called from the door. Two pairs of eyes looked to the doorway, where a slender girl stood. Her shaggy black hair was dull, rather than glossy, and her blonde roots had started to grow out, but her dark blue eyes sparkled and she had a strong look on her angular face. She wore silks, the same sort that Hawke liked to wear at home, but with the Blooming Rose emblem on her breast, and the front was cut wide to emphasize her bosom. The skirt was cut higher, with a slit up one side to emphasize her legs. She narrowed her eyes, looking Hawke up and down as if sizing her up, and put her hands on her hips.

Hawke stopped her massaging and stood, eliciting a small whimper from Isabela. The captain stretched like a cat before rising to a sitting position on the bed.

"Are you double booking tonight, Captain? Madame Lusine didn't say that the new girl would be here as well," Lianne said, still eyeing Hawke critically. "She's a little wide in the ass and her breasts aren't big enough, but the hair and eye color's right. How's her attitude?"

"I beg your pardon? I didn't come here to be examined like a horse at auction!" exclaimed Hawke indignantly.

"Oh, that's good. The real Champion's got a bit of a stick up her ass too, this one'll do fine. How's she on her back?" continued Lianne.

"Oh, she is fantastic," giggled Isabela, watching Hawke redden. "And I think her tits and ass are perfectly sized. Her tunic just isn't very flattering, that's all."

"I see what you mean," nodded the harlot, looking the Fereldan up and down appreciatively. "Is this outfit home-made? Why isn't she wearing the Rose's costume? No matter, she'll get one soon enough. So are we getting on with it, Captain? What do you fancy tonight? One on each side? Nevarran Cowgirl? Orlesian Bakeshop?" asked Lianne as she stripped her tunic off, revealing her bare breasts.

"Just some information, Lianne. You won't be getting any rug burns from me tonight," replied Isabela.

"Just information? I heard you had finally come back and asked for me by name. You'd always treated me kindly before," the whore said, almost wistfully. "I was hoping you'd bend me over and have me eat the honeyed walnuts tonight."

"We just need information," said Hawke a little tightly, her cheeks blooming with color.

"We?" asked Lianne, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Isabela, confused.

Isabela's grin never left her face. She nodded briefly, glancing at Hawke.

"We," declared Hawke, planting one fist on her hip.

Lianne's eyes widened, and she stumbled back, falling into a plush chair. "Andraste's flaming pubic hairs, I'm sorry Champion! I misspoke, please don't tell Madame Lusine!" she blurted, beginning to cry.

Hawke softened and looked at Isabela.

"You do have that effect on people sometimes," quipped the captain, winking. "Relax, Lianne. We won't tell anyone."

Lianne continued to ramble, "I didn't mean it... I mean I had heard rumors that Captain Isabela had taken up fingering the Champion's giblets, but nobody really quite believed it, you know? There were also rumors that the Champion had been stuffing the corn into the captain of the guard, or flogging the pink pony with one of a dozen noblemen, or that she was even a mage on the run from the Templars. You just listen to the rumors, you don't believe them, right?"

"I've heard that she does this trick with her tongue you wouldn't believe," smirked the sea captain.

"As fascinating as my love life is for everyone to speculate over, there is another matter at hand. Jillian is missing. What do you know about her?" asked Hawke, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Lianne took a few deep breaths before composing herself. Hawke retrieved the sniffling woman's tunic and handed it to her. She quickly covered herself, shivering slightly, before beginning.

"Jillian was more popular than a one-legged whore that spat perfume out of her peach pit. She almost always had a queue of clients waiting for her every night. Her 'Champion' act brought the nobles' weapons to bear better than the actual Champion," began Lianne.

Hawke exhaled sharply.

"Make no mistake, Champion. What I mean is that she's playing the romantic fantasy of you. The sort of elaborate character you'd see in a story, or those pulpy serial stories like 'Hard in Hightown'. She's strong-willed, but vulnerable. She's courageous, but demure. And most important, she knows when the clients wish her to be dominant or submissive. She could make them want to bend her over and stuff her like a Feastday turkey, or lick her toes and beg for a spanking," the whore continued. "The nobles, the men especially, love it when their Champion acts tough until they start brandishing their royal scepters."

Isabela burst into laughter. "They don't know you at all, do they?" she giggled.

"Shush, you," grinned Hawke. "So what happened to her before she disappeared? Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"She was always the most popular. So much so that the other girls started getting jealous. I noticed that she started wearing more jewelry. Golden earrings here, a bracelet there, a shiny necklace with jewels. I thought that she was working on the side, maybe she had some rich patron filling her flesh purse with shinies," answered Lianne. She thought for a moment. "There are three clients whom she made the four-armed abomination with most regularly. Compte Mont-Renaud, Comptesse La Croix, and Lord du Gaudet."

"Did you just say Lord du Gaudet?" asked Hawke, putting hand to chin.

"Something the matter, sweet thing?" Isabela inquired.

"He tried to invite me earlier today to a ball he was hosting next week. He was very insistent," answered the Champion. "I didn't pay it much heed at the time, but it might be important. Lianne, did you confront her about the jewelry?"

The whore nodded and finished dressing. As she draped her tunic across her chest, she began, "I asked, but the bitch refused to tell me. Madame Lusine frowns on us moonlighting apart from our time here at the Rose. I got suspicious, so I followed her one morning, after we both got off shift. She didn't go home... she met with a cloaked stranger who looked very familiar with her. He was all touching her, rubbing her shoulder, things like that. She went with him, and they went into Darktown. I tried to follow them, but I lost my nerve. That's all I know."

Hawke shared a glance with Isabela before saying, "We should probably go look for any signs of her in Darktown, then. Thanks for your help, Lianne."

"Are you sure you don't wish to try a Nevarran Cowgirl, Champion? I'm... interested in seeing if those other rumors are true," asked Lianne.

"Other rumors?" asked Hawke, raising an eyebrow at the dusky rogue.

"Oh, they are," laughed Isabela from the bed. "Especially the one about the tongue."

"No thank you, Lianne. We'll see ourselves out," replied the Champion, raising her hands.

"Pity," Lianne sighed. "Now you've got me curious."

As Lianne gathered herself and left the room, Hawke reached her hand out. Isabela took it and Hawke helped the pirate to her feet. "So," Hawke began, "We should probably bring in a few others for this."

The captain held the door open for her lover, and said "I'm guessing you want to bring Messere Man-chin along."

"It is a missing person. Aveline will want to know," nodded Hawke, as they walked down the steps. "And one more, I think."

Isabela glanced at her and sighed. "Does it have to be him? Can't we bring Kitten or Varric along instead?" she asked.

"Nobody knows Darktown better than he does, and the patients at his clinic may have seen something. A bejeweled woman and a cloaked man are probably fairly memorable," replied Hawke.

"I know, I just... " the pirate sighed in frustration. "Never mind. You're right. We need to find Jillian."

Hawke took Isabela's hand in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "Come on. It's too late to get the others tonight. Let's get some rest and start early tomorrow morning."

"I'm all for starting early, sweet thing, but tonight we're going back to your place and you are finishing what you started before Lianne arrived," smirked the captain, pulling Hawke toward the doorway.

"Whatever my lady desires," Hawke replied grandly.


"Remind me again why I am helping the whore look for other whores in the sewers?" grumbled Aveline as they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Darktown toward the clinic. "Will she be rejoining the whore hive? Perhaps assume her rightful place as queen? Lead the other whores into a golden age of enlightenment and itching?"

"Aww, did someone fall into the chamber pot again this morning while still half-asleep?" cooed the pirate.

"You do seem particularly sharp-tongued this morning, Aveline," added Hawke. "I hadn't expected the sniping to begin until after we arrived at the clinic."

"I... it's nothing, Hawke," the armored woman answered, looking away.

"What's nothing?" asked a male voice. Anders stood in the doorway of his clinic, hefting his staff in the sling on his back. "Hawke, Aveline, Isabela," he acknowledged each of the women with a nod of the head.

"Never you mind. We're here because Hawke's investigating some missing women from Hightown," announced Aveline.

"And you think they've come down here? Who are they?" asked the mage, scratching at his stubble.

"We're looking for prostitutes from the Blooming Rose. The most recent victim was last seen meeting with a cloaked stranger, and was tailed into Darktown," explained the Champion.

"That sounds familiar. I had heard rumors of well-dressed women coming down to Darktown - they're a rarity down here, after all. I hadn't looked for myself, but they were spotted near the sewers in lower Darktown, south of Carta territory," Anders said. "I remembered I took care to avoid the area. No point in inviting more scrutiny down here than necessary, right?"

"Come on, Hawke. Let's go," said the pirate shortly, hooking her arm around Hawke's and pulling her away from the mage.

Anders watched as the two walked on ahead, before looking at Aveline. "Well that was rude," he said.

Aveline sniffed. "Calling her an ungrateful, undeserving whore in front of Hawke that last time hasn't exactly endeared you to her," she said as she moved to follow.

"But you call her an ungrateful whore all the time!" argued Anders, huffing to catch up with her. "And how did you know I called her that? Did Hawke tell you?"

"No, Hawke didn't tell me. She did," sighed Aveline.

"But I thought you two couldn't stand each other!" Anders exclaimed.

The warrior did not reply but merely kept pace and glanced carefully from side to side, mindful of the side tunnels.

"I don't understand what the big deal is. Isabela's like a side dish, she just comes with a meal. You know that," said Anders.

"Perhaps Hawke might disagree," replied Aveline evenly. "They've always been practically inseparable."

"When Isabela's actually staying around, perhaps. And look where it's gotten Hawke. Attacked by Raiders, buried in a cave-in, in a duel with the Arishok, in conflict with the Imperium and the Qunari... Hawke deserves better," he went on.

Aveline scowled, but kept her silence.

"I'm only telling the truth, you know. She'll eventually get tired of Hawke and move on, or she'll just leave like she did years ago," he continued.

"And you think that this is a good thing?" asked the redhead. "If she were to leave again, Hawke would be devastated."

"For a time, perhaps. But Hawke's tough. With the right person to comfort her, she'd recover. Someone to show her real love and devotion," he mused.

The guard captain stopped abruptly. Anders nearly bumped into her armored frame as she turned to face him.

"Meaning you?" asked Aveline, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"I... I just... well, that's up to Hawke to decide, isn't it? Surely she'll see that I've always been there for her," said Anders.

The armored guardswoman gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed Anders by the collar. She yanked his face to hers, and glared directly at him. "I don't think you understand, Anders. You like these grand romantic gestures, but you miss what is right in front of your own eyes. When Leandra died, did you go and comfort Hawke?"

"I... I didn't want to intrude... It was very a personal matter, I wanted to find the right time-" he began.

"Isabela did. I know, because she asked for my advice before going," replied Aveline evenly. "Did you ever ask Isabela why she left?"

"Wasn't it obvious? She was just scared of being tied down. I bet the thought of staying with someone as long as she had scared her right into the nearest brothel," he snapped.

"She left because she feared that Castillon would kill Hawke after she gave the relic to the Qunari. Many of her old friends had all been killed, and she feared Hawke was next," continued Aveline. "Did you know why they got buried in that mountainside?"

"Chasing some stupid treasure, no doubt," sniffed Anders.

"She planned the entire excursion for Hawke. The whore planned the entire thing because she was afraid Hawke was burning herself out with her Champion duties. What have you done to help lighten that burden?" asked the guard captain.

"I've... the plight of mages has occupied my time. It is larger than just one person. You can't just expect-" stuttered the mage.

"Yes, yes, the plight of mages. We know," sighed Aveline, releasing him. She furrowed her brow, and closed her eyes."But do you really think that you can wholly focus on both Hawke and the mage issues? Do you really think there's any sort of future in this for Hawke?"

"I..." began the mage, but he trailed off. He looked at her helplessly.

"She's already told me about their plans to sail the world together, after Hawke agreed to join her on her ship," said Aveline flatly.

"Hawke agreed... to what?" asked Anders, seemingly dazed. "How do you know all this? I've heard you speak to Isabela, you can't stand her!"

"If you don't even understand that, you'll never know why Hawke chose Isabela over you," she said with finality. She brushed by him, and resumed walking.

Anders stood for a moment and watched her form grow distant, concern etched on his face. He felt a familiar itch in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it.

"Have I really been so blind?" he whispered to himself.

THIS IS A DISTRACTION.

The itch grew stronger, and spread down his neck and across his back like a warm breeze.

"But... how could I have missed these things?" he asked.

THEY DID NOT MATTER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

Each thought was punctuated by a small burst of blue light in front of his eyes.

"She understands our plight though! She helped me with my manifesto!" he argued.

SHE WILL NEVER TRULY UNDERSTAND US. SHE WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THE CAUSE. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The bursts of light helped bring the world into better focus, throwing the grimy surroundings into sharp relief.

"But..." he stammered.

WE KNEW THERE WOULD BE SACRIFICES. WE MUST NOT WAVER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The anxiety slowly drained from his body, and he exhaled. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. The feeling of peace washed over him, and the world felt like it was in harmony again. A tickle went up his spine, the same feeling whenever Justice recognized something he didn't.

LOOK.

Anders looked at his feet. His right shoe was stained with some sort of white powder. He touched it with two fingers and examined them. The powder was actually made up of tiny crystals. He rubbed the crystals between his thumb and index finger, remembering the passages in the Qunari texts he had managed to cobble together. He couldn't quite remember what it was, but something clicked in the back of his mind.

THIS MAY BE USEFUL TO THE CAUSE.

The tickle in the back of his mind flexed, and dispersed. Anders blinked.

"Anders, we've found something. Come on," commanded Aveline from far ahead. Anders, jolted out of his reverie, wiped his hands on his pants and hurried to catch up. As he rounded the corner, he saw the pirate squatting on her heels, examining several large rotted planks lashed together and leaning against the wall. The Champion stood a short distance back, looking over Isabela's shoulder carefully, while Aveline stood with shield drawn, vigilant for enemies.

"Is it very complicated?" asked Hawke.

"Just give me a moment. You're such a slave driver," she said with a smirk, as she slid a long, thin blade from her boot. She flicked the blade almost imperceptibly near the doorway once, twice, and a third time, cutting nearly-invisible triggering mechanisms before replacing the blade back in her boot. She rose and gave the planks a gentle push; the rotting wood fell inward, revealing a hidden passage behind them. "You happy now?"

"I would be if I knew what you just did," shrugged Hawke.

"Tripwire that activates poisoned needles in your foot when you open the door. Next time I can let the trap bite you in the ass, if you prefer. I hear fleshrot poison is quite popular these days," said the sea captain, standing up. She glanced over her shoulder at Anders, and the smile melted from her face. "Let's move on, sweet thing" she said, disappearing into the tunnel.

The Fereldan woman waved the others to follow, and entered the corridor herself. The narrow passageway had a low ceiling, forcing Hawke to crouch down to get through. As she stepped through the tunnel, she noticed a tingle in her nose. It was slight to begin with, a tickling sensation that smelled very slightly sour. It didn't stand out among the other, more disgusting odors, but the scent grew stronger and more acrid. The tingling in her sinuses grew as she approached a turn in the tunnel. Her vision began clouding over, and she felt unsteady on her feet. She held up a fist, and she heard the movement behind her stop. She wobbled for a moment, and the world went topsy turvy. The floor started to melt into strange, globular shapes. She dropped to her knees, before strong, steady hands were at her shoulders and back.

Hawke coughed as the hands pressed something wet to her lips. Cloth of some sort, damp and still warm. She recognized the aroma, it still smelled strongly of the pirate. The hands quickly tied the fabric around her mouth, then massaged her back gently until she took a breath. The woozy feeling in her head immediately began to clear, but she felt a creeping sense of warmth radiate from her chest. She looked up, confused.

"Come on," commanded Isabela, through the blue bandana tied around her nose and mouth. "Cover your noses and mouths before you start stabbing each other. It's that same Qunari poison gas," she called.

The unsteady Champion laughed a bit to herself as she leaned against the pirate. Isabela's tunic draped loosely about her rear; the waist sash that usually held it in place was missing. She glanced behind her, noting Aveline and Anders raising scarves to their faces. She stood and let the swarthy captain lead her forward.

The pirate hefted one of Hawke's arms around her shoulders and helped her hobble to her feet. The two women moved as quickly as the Champion could. Isabela pointed at the floor, where the corpse of a dark-haired woman lay sprawled out and face down. A pool of blood had dried and stained the ground black about her pale skin. More darkened stains were spattered on the walls. The corsair knelt to examine the body, turning it over to look at the corpse's face.

Hawke looked at the kneeling buccaneer questioningly. The pirate nodded her head.

"It's her. It looks like she died from a gut wound. She didn't die quickly," said Isabela grimly, quickly searching the body. She slid a small knife out of her boot and cut the chain on the woman's necklace. She tossed the bejeweled amulet to Hawke. "She won't be needing this anymore. Come on, there's a door up ahead."

The door had nearly been torn from its hinges, and hung awkwardly. The wood had deep scratches running its length, and there was dried blood in the grooves. A heavy padlock lay smashed near the portal. There was blood on the lock. The pirate pulled the door to one side, and raised a hand to her mouth in horror at the sight that greeted her.

Corpses covered the floor, many of them dead in the throes of violence. Sticks, boards, and other crude clubs were clutched in several bloodied hands, and many of the bodies had large bruises and crushed limbs. Many of them were women, four had short dark hair with fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Her breath caught when she saw the children. Fierce grimaces were still affixed to their faces even in death, and brutal bite and claw marks dotted their bodies. She involuntarily stepped backward, bumping into the woman behind her.

Hawke placed a reassuring hand on Isabela's shoulder, and the two exchanged a significant glance.

"The gas didn't have anywhere to go, they were all locked in here," the captain whispered, taking Hawke's hand in hers. "It made them kill each other."

"The Arishok said that the gas drives people mad, makes them kill each other in a frenzy. These people tried to escape. Someone did all of this intentionally," Hawke replied grimly.

"These people deserve better than this. She deserved better than this," said Isabela. "Burn it down, Hawke. Burn it all down."


"The fire should be contained within the compound," said Aveline, arms folded. She stood, watching the pyre burn from a distance. "Everything should be safe."

"The flames should consume the gas too. After the fire dies out, this place should be safe again," added Anders, squatting and mopping his face with his handkerchief.

"Who would do such a thing?" asked Hawke aloud. "What would anyone have to possibly gain from killing a group of men, women and children?"

Isabela sighed as she leaned against a wall. "Does it matter? They've died. It's terrible, but it's done with," she mused. "We should just be glad that we didn't fall prey to the blighted gas and start stabbing each other."

"Always looking on the bright side. Did you at least find any clues on the bodies?" grumbled Aveline.

"Just this," replied the swashbuckler, holding up the amulet she had retrieved. A beautiful gold medallion with small rubies set in the face in the shape of the Amell crest dangled on the end of the gold chain. The silhouette of the city of Kirkwall was etched into the face of the medallion. On the rear side of the amulet, the words "For my Champion" were engraved in flowing script.

Hawke took it from the pirate and examined it. "It looks like my family seal. But I don't remember mother ever having anything like this before," she said, frowning. "Why would this be among the dead? A thief?"

"No. It's not from your fortune, sweet thing. Look at the inscription," said the pirate. She pointed at the script on the golden necklace. "Think about who we found it on. There must be some connection between whoever did this and Jillian. There's no way she would have worn jewelry like this in Darktown without reprisal."

"You're being awfully cavalier about this. Wasn't she your friend?" accused Anders, getting to his feet. "Don't you want to see justice done? Don't you want her death avenged?"

"She's dead. Nothing you or I do will bring her back," Isabela replied, shrugging. She turned to leave. "Catch her killer or not, she'll never be there to appreciate it."


The world was pleasantly spinning. The low roar of the bar patrons had melted into a gentle rushing sound, and the only thing Isabela could see clearly was the bottle of blue Llomerynn whiskey in front of her. Her head felt pleasantly warm, and her cheeks were flushed dark from the alcohol. The effects were helping, those annoying feelings of fear and loss had dulled to a small, uncomfortable lump in the back of her head. She no longer saw face after face of pallid, lifeless images of her lover's when she closed her eyes. All that remained was to get to bed and pleasure herself until her body forgot the disgusting, roiling feeling deep in her innards. Had the circumstances been different, she would have found a lover for the night; anyone would do. But those feelings belonged to a different Isabela, one who seemed a lifetime away. She craved physical satisfaction, however, and was looking forward to getting it one way or another.

The other patrons gave her a wide berth; when she had started, they had crowded around like normal. A few contusions and bruises convinced them to leave her be. She leaned on the bar and unsteadily raised her cup to her lips again. She tilted the cup up, but the contents were dry. Confused, the pirate peered into the mug to verify it was indeed empty, before uncorking the bottle and pouring the last of the liquid into the cup. She was about to quaff its contents when a slender gloved hand deftly plucked the tumbler from her grasp. She stared at her hand for a moment, as if she couldn't quite believe that the mug was missing, before turning to see who had dared to take her drink from her.

"I thought I'd find you here," Hawke said, putting the empty tankard down on the bar. "Llomerynn whiskey? Did you drink that entire bottle?"

The pirate squinted at the vision before her. "Hawke? Isshat you?" she slurred. "How come there'sh three of you? I think I've had thish dream before..." She muttered, her foggy memory firing. It was one of her favorites.

"Come on, I think you've had enough for tonight," soothed Hawke. "Look, the bottle's empty."

The corsair peered at the bottle blearily, before sighing gloomily. "It'sh fine. I wash done with it anyway." She stood unsteadily, wobbling on her feet. The floorboards rose and fell like the sea, and it took her a moment to find her footing. "When did the Hanged Man get sho wavy?" she asked, suspicious.

The Champion pulled one of the Rivaini's arms about her shoulders and started walking the rogue toward her room. "Are you alright, Isabela? You're more drunk tonight than I've seen you in a while." The lanky woman's back felt warm and strong against the pirate's skin.

"Mmm fiiine... I would rather have sheksh tonight anyway," the drunken rogue declared. Her breath was thick with the smell of alcohol. "We're shtill alive... enjoy life while we can," she added, hiccuping.

The pirate pushed the thoughts of fear and horror back once more, as she tried to focus on the sensations of warmth and the thoughts of the night's pleasures. She refused to think about the bodies again. She refused to think about losing Hawke in such a way. Instead, the inebriated buccaneer seized an opportunity and began nuzzling the Champion's neck as the two made their way through the patrons toward Isabela's room in the rear of the establishment.

"Isabela, come on. Let's just go to your room, and-" began the Champion.

The pirate reached with her right arm, looped about the Fereldan's shoulders, and began massaging the Champion's right breast. She started off with gentle strokes, but began pressing her nails into the soft flesh. Her victim gave a little squeak of surprise, and the dusky Rivaini woman took it as further encouragement. The rogue caressed her lover's thigh with her left hand in an upward motion, before raking her nails down. She scratched hard enough to cause marks in the skin of the flustered Fereldan.

Isabela grinned as she felt Hawke increase her pace towards her room. The distracted noble half-heartedly tried to bat away the captain's wandering hands, soundly slapping them once or twice . As they neared the door, Isabela slipped away from the Fereldan and onto her feet, silently cursing the world for swaying unsteadily beneath her heels. The lanky noble felt the weight lift from her shoulders and straightened. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, confused, before she felt a slap on her ass. She squeaked in surprise and spun, only for the lusty rogue to pounce on her, both women stumbling backward into Isabela's room.

The Champion staggered backward, bumping into a small bookshelf filled with dog-eared tomes and publications. The top of the shelf dug painfully into her back as she felt the dusky corsair's strong hands grasp her collar and tear her tunic open, exposing her creamy skin to the cool air. She lurched to her feet, but the canny duelist simply threw her weight to the side, sending both of them onto the floor in a heap.

"Need you," growled the pirate, as she climbed on top and straddled the dazed Fereldan. The swarthy woman ground her hips against her pinned paramour as she leaned down to nip and bite almost painfully at the Champion's exposed flesh. "Need to feel it," she snarled, squeezing her lover's breasts hard enough to leave red finger marks.

The rushing sound in her ears drowned out the other sounds in the room. The buccaneer vaguely felt something touching her arms and shoulders, but the sensations were faint - detached, as if she was experiencing things secondhand. She pondered it for a moment, and the roiling dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had spent all night combating began to spread through her chest and lungs again.

"Want you," the pirate urged, leaning down and desperately kissing her lover. She needed to make the feeling go away, needed to run, needed to replace it with something, anything else. She tried to concentrate on the trembling woman beneath her, to feel the soft and smooth skin against her lips, but it wasn't enough. Isabela needed more.

She heard a yelp of pain. It sounded as if it had come from far away, and she paused. Sensations came slowly to her, as if trying to penetrate the fog in her head. She licked her lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She pulled back, confused. She willed herself to look down, and her own sharp intake of breath caused the world to spin even faster in her periphery.

Hawke lay beneath her, breathing heavily and staring at her with her soulful blue eyes full of confusion and tinged with hurt. Her pink lips and pale skin were marred by a brilliant streak of bright red blood, welling up and flowing slightly down her rounded chin. The sight of the blood pierced through the haze in her mind, flooding her with sensation and throwing the rest of the world into sharp relief. Every detail leaped out at her, from the way the lamp light reflected off of the liquid to the deep shade of red set on the pale background. Her heart skipped a beat and began to pound, and the full weight of the emotions she had been trying to drink away, every last bit of the uneasiness and fear, came flooding back through the walls she had been trying to erect around them with alcohol all night.

Her eyes darted from the deep crimson of the blood to the only other source of color in her vision. Hawke's deep sapphire irises were overflowing with emotion - fear, concern, and love. Isabela felt lost in the blue gaze, her cheeks suddenly flushing in shame.

"I... I didn't-" began the captain, fumbling for the words that would not come. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to find the right thing to say. The faces of the dead women appeared unbidden, still contorted in pain and death, superimposed on her lover's face. The image of the Champion's face emerged from the swirling shadows, and she could see every perfect detail. Her cracked, dry lips, her cold, clammy skin, and the haunted, lifeless look in her unblinking eyes. The drunken rogue raised her hands to her eyes, in a futile attempt to stop the rush of emotions assaulting her from all sides.

Warm arms encircled her, drawing her close and holding her in safety and comfort. She held herself stiff for a brief moment, before giving in and melting into the arms of her lover, and clutching her with renewed ferocity. The heat and comfort radiating Hawke's body warred against her fears in the recesses of her mind, and for a brief moment Isabela thought that it wouldn't be enough, that she'd lose her fragile grip on her composure. She closed her eyes, and clung to the woman in her arms for dear life, gritting her teeth and finally letting go of her own meager defenses. The fear flooded in, threatening to envelop her, before crashing and shattering against the feelings she refused to release. The anxiety melted away, leaving her trembling with a sense of warmth and serenity at her core.

Hawke whispered soothing words to the still-trembling woman as she held her tightly. "It's going to be alright," she whispered over and over, stroking the rogue's hair and rubbing her back in small circles.

The words echoed in Isabela's head as she finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep.


When morning came, the Champion cracked an eye open and winced. She was lying on the floor of Isabela's room in the Hanged Man, and a bit of light from the sun had come in through a window and caught on the glass bottle on the pirate's bookshelf. The glare from the shiny bottle was angled just right to shine brightly in Hawke's left eye, and she raised one hand to shield her face from the relentless sun. It was hardly the first time she had awoken in an uncomfortable position, and definitely not the first morning she had spent on the floor of Isabela's room. The Rivaini's bed was little more than simple linen sheets thrown over canvas sacks of loosely packed straw. It was comfortable enough when they used it, though she could deal without the occasional stalk jabbing her in the back when she lay down. The overall comfort level was likely the reason they spent more of their evenings at her estate. She shifted, and the weight pressing down on her shifted with her. She glanced down.

Isabela was still asleep, her head resting on the noblewoman's breast. The slumbering pirate sensed the change in motion; she smacked her lips and rubbed her cheek against the smooth skin, and Hawke felt a brief twinge of discomfort as the side of the pirate's golden earring poked her in a particularly sensitive spot. The Champion traced her index finger along the dusky captain's smooth cheek and jawline, briefly brushing the lip stud, and finally touching the buccaneer's full lips with her fingertip.

The sleeping rogue stirred, licking her lips and raising a hand to rub at her face. She lay her head back down on her breast pillow and looked up at Hawke. A moment later she lazily smiled at her lover, her half-lidded gaze full of comfort and warmth.

"Is... is it morning already?" Isabela mumbled, yawning.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Hawke, stroking the pirate's hair.

The Rivaini rubbed her cheek against her pillow again, before continuing. "Did we... last night?" she asked, unsure.

"I don't think so, despite the state of undress," replied the Champion.

"Then why do I feel so refreshed?" wondered Isabela. Her eyes flew open as the memories returned in a flood of recognition. She bit her lower lip silently, tensing her muscles for a moment. She heard a sound in her ear; the steady, soothing rhythm of the Fereldan's heartbeat calmed her and the tension drained from her as quickly as it had come. She murmured, "Hawke, I... thank you. For last night."

"Next time we do this, I want a real bed. The floorboards are fine for our usual exertions, but I think I'll be walking funny today. And, sadly, not for the usual reasons," replied Hawke in her usual, jovial voice. She stroked the pirate's hair with her right hand, eliciting a pleased sigh from her passenger, before her stomach loudly growled in protest. "You might still be sleepy, but your pillow needs breakfast," mused the Champion.

"Five more minutes?" asked the rogue.

Hawke's stomach gurgled in response, louder this time.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to have some pancakes as well," sighed the pirate, rising from the floor. She raised her arms over her head and stretched out, bending backward and thrusting her chest out.

Hawke sat up and watched, transfixed at the sight for a moment. Her mouth went dry.

"Like what you see?" smirked the dusky sea captain, extending her hand toward the seated woman.

"I look forward to inspecting it more closely later," nodded the Champion, clasping the corsair's hand firmly in hers and standing. "Do you suppose Corff has any bacon this morning?"

"If we're quick about it. Come on, Hawke. I'm positively famished, and you're going to need your strength for what I have planned for you after breakfast."


"So I'll see you tonight then?" asked Hawke as she pulled on her boot.

"Don't go all clingy on me, Hawke," smirked the pirate from the bed. She noticed the Champion stiffen before rising from her bedside, and the corsair smirked to herself. She sat up and swatted the Fereldan on the backside.

The Fereldan gave a little jump before spinning to look at her lover.

Isabela reached out and took Hawke's hand in hers. "Make sure Bodahn sets a place for me at the table," she laughed, gently squeezing the noble's fingers.

"Aye aye, Captain," said Hawke, casually throwing Isabela's tunic at the nude rogue who deftly snatched it out of the air her other hand. "And what shall you be doing today?"

"I'm stopping by my ship for a bit. Varric asked for my help with some of his manuscripts. Factual accuracy, you understand. I also think I might visit that hat shop in Lowtown," replied Isabela. "Perhaps shopping for other sundries as well," she added.

"Well, be good. I've got a mountain of invitations to answer. Will you be coming with me on any of them?" sighed the noblewoman.

"Choose the two with the best food," nodded the dusky Rivaini, releasing the Champion's hand.

"Yes, dear," laughed Hawke as she turned to leave.

"And Hawke..." added the pirate, trailing off.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I mean it."

Hawke gave her a gentle kiss before leaving.

When she was sure Hawke had gone, Isabela dressed quickly and pulled back her blankets. She raised the golden medallion she had lifted from Hawke's clothing and examined it closely. The work was finely crafted, it was no ordinary ornament. Someone had to know something.

"And I'm going to find out who," she muttered to herself, grasping the amulet tightly in her gloved hand. She finished fastening her boots to her legs and slid her blades into the sheaths on her back, before walking out her door.


The interior of the Blooming Rose looked the same during the day as it did after sundown. Most of the windows were covered in thick velvet curtains, or had tapestries depicting erotic acts with mythical creatures hung over them to keep the daylight out. A group of elven musicians ensured that soft music was always playing, and dozens of candles and lamps provided a warm, ethereal glow to the establishment. Isabela smiled as she entered, noting the friendly chatting sounds coming from the brothel bar.

Madam Lusine looked a bit tired from a distance. She was sipping a cup of something from the bar, but brightened and put on her smile when the pirate approached. "Captain Isabela, welcome back to the Blooming Rose. Didn't bring the Champion this time?" she greeted.

"She had more pressing matters," shrugged the Rivaini. "I'm here for myself today."

"Whoever you wish, Captain. Jillian still hasn't returned, I'm afraid. Perhaps you would like Vergil the Dragon Layer? Or could I interest you in Cleft-Tongue Nina?" Lusine asked, glancing in her logbook.

"Tempting as those two sound, I think I would like Lianne again. She did such a good job last time, I would like a second helping," grinned the corsair.

"An excellent choice, Captain. Head along to the rabbit room, and she'll be with you shortly," smiled the Madam.

"One last thing... I would appreciate your discretion on this matter from the Champion," added Isabela as she turned.

"Of course, Captain. Consider it done," replied Lusine, inclining her head.


The rabbit room had always been Isabela's least favorite room at the brothel. The room was large, but there were sharp edges and corners from shelves and item racks everywhere, and the bed was covered in a blanket lined with rabbit fur. The paintings on the wall were all themed after hunting. Naked forest nymphs with bows and arrows chased game, virile looking huntsmen grappled with the nymphs, and bearded, deer-legged fauns ravished noblewomen in bowers of trees and heather. Isabela pulled the covers back and flung them to one side of the bed, taking care not to touch any of the stains or matted fur on the lining.

"Ugh, I wish they'd wash this thing more often," she grimaced.

The moments ticked by as the bored rogue played with the things in the room. She began by jumping on the bed. The soft feathers provided an ample springboard, and she laughed to herself as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. It did eventually grow tiresome, as her feet eventually carved a small crater in the center of the bed. She blushed for a moment, embarrassed, before pulling the covers back over the indentation, and turning her pursuits elsewhere.

"I'm sure they'll just write it off as sex gone wild," she reassured herself.

Noting the desk with parchment and ink, she quickly sat down and began scribbling. She drew a smiling Hawke first, and then a pair of glorious breasts. She laughed and continued by drawing a small chest full of glimmering coin. The chest was soon surrounded by a crude sketch of herself carrying the chest in a running motion and laughing joyfully, followed by an angry Aveline, yelling and chasing while spewing fire from her mouth and smoke from her nostrils. She had just begun adding a handlebar mustache to the angry redhead when she heard Lianne clear her throat from the doorway to the room.

"I'm sorry it took so long, my last client was... insistent," the courtesan offered as she entered the room.

"Oh? Someone greatly enjoying the championing of your cause?" smirked the pirate.

"If you can call it that. Refused to leave until I paddled his bottom over a table," she shrugged. "I see you're here without your fur-smoking tuna taster. Shall I show you what tricks I've learned in the meantime?"

"Perhaps later," smiled the sea captain. "First, I want you to tell me everything you know about this," she continued, tossing the gold medallion to Lianne.

The dark-haired prostitute caught the heavy amulet in both hands, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked, inspecting the fine craftsmanship. She turned over the necklace to read the inscription on the back.

"That depends on what you think it is. It's real gold and real gemstones. Someone paid a fortune to have this made, and I want to know who that someone is," replied the pirate, steepling her fingers.

"This was Jillian's. One of her clients gave it to her as a present. I remember her showing this thing around to the others like it was pulled straight from Andraste's dimpled treasure box. She was so proud of it, she'd never take it off..." Lianne trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "What happened to her?"

"She's dead. We found this on her body," Isabela sighed. "You'd best be careful. It's no coincidence she was targeted."

"I thought as much. Stupid rump wrangler should have known better, but the man-mattress was always too good, too popular, too special to listen to the rest of us," spat Lianne grimly. "Splitting your buns in Darktown is asking for trouble. Whoever did it must be sporting a golden truncheon to get Jillian to swallow swords down there. I've done some nasty things for coin, but even I wouldn't go down in Darktown."

"Do you know who gave it to her?" asked the captain.

"Between Jillian's regulars, it has to be du Gaudet. It can't be Comptesse La Croix, she's behind on her payments and hasn't been to the Rose for weeks. Madam Lusine told us to refuse her salt and pepper snapping satchel if she came in looking for us," muttered Lianne, thinking to herself. "That leaves Compte Mont-Renaud, and he's rich, but his family's fortune loses in both length and girth to Lord du Gaudet's."

"Hawke mentioned du Gaudet before. How wealthy is he?" Isabela asked, curious.

"The man has more coin than Itchy Iona has crabs. His family owns a literal gold mine near the Nevarran border. You think your little clam-slamming Champion has coin? Her purse is miniscule compared to the size of the du Gaudet family jewels," said Lianne.

"Something like this wouldn't be much for a man of his stature, hmm?" asked the pirate, retrieving the medallion from the courtesan.

"Likely not. From what I hear, his stature is short, shriveled, and slightly to the left," smirked the foul-mouthed sex worker. "But he's rich, and nobody dares say anything. To his face, anyway. Possessive, that one. I heard he used to play rough with some of his favorites. A real beaver beater, that one."

"I'll keep it in mind," nodded the sea captain.

A silent moment passed. The courtesan glanced at the crude sketches on the sheaf of paper and smirked. The expression on Lianne's face grew sly, as she changed the subject. "So... is it true what they say about the Champion? You must have stories to share," asked the prostitute, leaning in and grinning.

"Oh, I do indeed. Let me tell you about this special Feastday gift I bought for her! You see, I had to have a special lightning rune crafted..." Isabela began, a brilliant smile on her face.


"Ah, you've returned!" The jovial dwarven majordomo bowed with a flourish as Hawke finally walked in through the foyer. "Welcome home, messere. A letter came for you; I've left it on your desk. Captain Isabela also came looking for you. Lovely woman, she is. Reminds me of me cousin, Lanie. She was a noble hunter, you know," he greeted.

"Thank you, Bodahn," replied Hawke graciously.

"Also, Captain Isabela is waiting for you in the great room. At least, I think she is. Will she be joining us for supper tonight? We'll be having some fresh sea bass I purchased today," inquired Bodahn.

"Set an extra place for her. You know how much she likes sea bass," said the Champion, smiling.

"Messere, I wouldn't presume to impose. You've been very kind to my boy and I, and I don't want you thinking I'm speaking out of place about your guests, but... er..." began the dwarf, hesitantly.

"Is this about Isabela, Bodahn?" asked Hawke, arching an eyebrow and smirking. "Please, feel free to speak your mind. She has that effect on people sometimes."

"The good captain has er... proclivities, messere. She likes to carve things. Shapes, specifically," Bodahn replied, looking uncomfortable.

"Ah... I'll see if I can get her to stop. Or at least do so in a less public place," nodded the Champion.

"Very good, serah. Thank you again," nodded the steward, visibly relieved.

The fire was crackling merrily as Hawke padded into the great room. The dusky rogue was leaning on the bannister to the stairs, with a wicked smirk on her face and a blade in her right hand. She carved away on the handrail, lost in her artistry. Hawke loudly cleared her throat as she walked over to the writing desk.

"What sort of atrocities are you inflicting on my poor bannister now, you saucy wench?" asked the noblewoman, a crooked grin on her face and hands on hips.

"I'm simply adding the proper details to your likeness," laughed the pirate, without looking up from her work.

"How would anyone know that's supposed to be me? You only carve your artwork from the neck down," sighed the Fereldan, shaking her head.

"Well, we'll know, and the rest will guess. I think the Captain Cold Cooter suspects," grinned the corsair, adding a few more details.

Hawke idly picked up the envelope on her desk and glanced down at the seal of a charging ram set into the wax. Wondering which noble family had a charging ram on their coat of arms, she broke the seal with her thumb and opened the letter.

"Dear Champion," it read. "Certain matters have come to my attention that require your counsel. They concern the recent tragedy in Darktown. The Guard Captain suggested that I reach out to you. These are sensitive matters that concern the killings greatly. The lives of many depend on your secrecy. Come tonight to the Viscount's Way at midnight, and come alone. Tell no one." It was signed Lord Donovan du Gaudet. She glanced from the parchment to the pirate, carving away at her handrail.

She turned the envelope over in her hand, examining it for any other clues.

"What're you reading?" asked the pirate suddenly from her perch on the stairs.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just another request for the Champion, you know how it is," Hawke replied, refolding the letter. "Did your day go well?"

"It was educational," nodded the buccaneer. "I bought a new chest for the captain's cabin aboard my ship. One with enough room for someone who changes clothes as often as you do," she smiled.

"We'll have to look for some booty to fill it with," nodded Hawke. "Now, if you're quite finished defacing my handrail, I believe I smell the sea bass."

"You always knew I had a taste for fresh fish, Hawke," smirked the pirate, taking the Fereldan's arm in hers and pulling her toward the dining room.


Isabela woke as she detected the movement in the bed. Hawke had seemed distracted during their usual bedroom enjoyments, which only confirmed her suspicions that something had been bothering her normally-enthusiastic lover.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt her favorite pillow move, attempting to extricate itself from her arms and legs. She loosened her grip and felt Hawke wiggle a bit, edging towards the side of the bed. The Champion moved an inch at a time until she finally got free of the dusky hands that had been wrapped around her moments before, breathing a small sigh of relief that the pirate had not visibly stirred. The noblewoman attempted to pull her leg from the coverlet and shifted her weight awkwardly.

The pirate winced when she felt the weight in the bed shift as Hawke fell onto the rug, pulling the blankets with her. She heard the woman quietly mumble curses and swallowed her chuckle as the cool air caressed her freshly bared breasts.

Hawke quickly rose from her position on the floor, and peered carefully at her apparently-sleeping lover. The swarthy rogue gave a small, sleepy-sounding moan and rolled over in the bed, turning her naked back to the silent observer. The relieved noblewoman gave the pirate a light kiss on the cheek and pulled the covers over her softly breathing form, before dressing quickly and carefully and leaving the room.

As soon as she was sure Hawke had left the room, Isabela immediately tossed aside the blankets and pulled on the special outfit she had set aside for such an occasion as fast as she could. Eschewing her usual white tunic, instead she donned a black linen bodysuit. She tied her hair back with her headscarf and buckled her sheathed blades onto her back.

"She's got a long way to go before she'll be able to sneak away from me," Isabela muttered to herself as she finished strapping her boots on. The pirate paused for a moment and sighed. "And I've got a long way to go before I leave well enough alone," she added before quickly moving out the door.

The Amell estate seemed eerily empty in the flickering candlelight. The shadows of the furniture danced along the high ceiling, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the manor. However, Isabela's practiced eyes were immediately drawn to the movement by the foyer. The Champion of Kirkwall tiptoed to the door and carefully slipped out. The pirate silently padded down the stairs and silently opened "her" window. She vaulted over the window sill to the outside, landing on the balls of her feet. Closing the window behind her, she silently crept to follow the noblewoman through the darkened streets.

The sea captain stayed at a good distance, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight. Hawke moved with a brisk pace through the narrow alleyways and passages, looking back and forth for movement in the empty streets. The crescent moon cast unsettling shadows from overhead; the cheerful orange light cast by burning braziers fixed at each manor home provided a sharp contrast to the silvery glow of the moon. The Champion solemnly made her way up the great steps leading to the Viscount's Way, and paused.

A hooded figure stood in the center of the Viscount's Way. It was a man, powerfully built and sporting a thin, straight sword at his hip. He bowed to the approaching Champion, and pulled his hood back to reveal his curly black hair and well-trimmed beard.

Isabela flitted to the nearest column, taking care to keep out of sight. She watched carefully as the Fereldan woman spoke.

"Alright, I'm here. I suppose you didn't call me here for tea and discussing Lady Janice's latest hairdo, did you?" Hawke asked, hands on her hips.

"Always so flippant, Champion. I do admire that about you. The ability to throw caution to the wind for the sake of a joke," the man said, his voice thick with amusement. He stepped closer to her, circling her slowly as if examining a newly-purchased horse. "And so beautiful... the paintings and song really do not do you justice," he continued.

She looked at him sharply. "The killings, Ser. You asked me here because you had information on the killings," she said, the irritation evident in her body language.

"And so focused. I can see why you were able to earn the respect of the Arishok," he cooed, placing a large hand on her shoulder. The Champion shrugged it off quickly, the unease evident on her face. He chuckled and the sinister sounds echoing through the broad corridor. "You needn't act so coy, Champion. I've had my eye on you for a long time, ever since you saved the worthless nobility of Kirkwall from that horned monster. You're a fine prize. My greatest prize."

Isabela couldn't quite see Hawke's expression from her vantage point, but the Fereldan's stiffened shoulders and folded arms told her that those icy blue eyes were narrowed and disapproving.

"This isn't a date, and I've already got someone I care for. If you're through wasting my time-" Hawke began, before the Orlesian man raised his hand and barked a laugh.

"I did not lie. I called you here because I know all about the killings. You see, I had them all killed. I needed to show you how serious I am," he said, as if talking about buying a bag of turnips.

"You what?" demanded the Champion, reaching for a weapon. Isabela tensed, one blade halfway out of its sheath already. If this man had planned on ambushing Hawke by herself this night, he'd be disabused of that notion before he could blink.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Champion," he replied smoothly, raising a finger.

"Or what, you'll have a large number of mercenaries leap out of the shadows and kill me?" growled the angry noblewoman. "I've killed more mercenaries than the Orlesian army."

"Aye, that you have. I'm well acquainted with your list of exploits, my dear. Your rise to power, your indomitable spirit, and your uncanny knack for survival. That's what I find so attractive about you. I know that any mercenaries I hire would simply fall before you like what before a scythe," he said, holding up his hands.

"Then why are we doing this song and dance? Give yourself up, we'll go see the guard captain, and I can be back home and getting some much-deserved rest before anyone else knows I'm gone," nodded Hawke amenably.

The hidden rogue strained to hear the villain's response.

"I said that you were my prize, and that it was a matter of life and death, and I meant every word," replied du Gaudet. "You see... there are more canisters of that abominable Qunari poison gas hidden throughout Kirkwall. Four more, as a matter of fact," he continued.

He raised his heavy golden medallion, sparkling even in the moonlight. He pointed at it. "Four gems, four canisters. Each placed in a location for maximum exposure to the common, ordinary folk you seem to love so much," he said, the smugness rolling off of his tongue.

Hawke lashed out with one hand, trying to snatch the amulet from him. A flash of light enveloped her, and she screamed as jagged lightning arced from the amulet through her body. She fell to the hard stone in a heap, and struggled to rise again.

"I am not an imbecile, Champion. This is no ordinary control device. It is bound to me, as surely as your strength and skill is bound to you. I can activate the canisters whenever I wish," he murmured.

Hawke's hand went for her weapon as quickly as Isabela pulled her dagger back to throw at the man's neck.

"Ah, before you think of simply stabbing me and relieving me of my life before I can activate the canisters," he interrupted quickly, holding up a finger, "the amulet is not merely a mechanism to control the canisters, it draws the power from my very life force."

"Blood magic," spat the Champion, rising to her feet.

"That's right, princess. If I breathe my last, they all go," he said with a smile, tucking his amulet back into the front of his doublet. He buffed his fingernails against his chest and looked at them.

"You're mad," growled Hawke.

"Oh, on the contrary. I'm actually quite pleased with this turn of events. I've done what no demon, monster, mage, or mercenary could do. I've bested the Champion of Kirkwall," he laughed.

"What do you want?" snarled the Champion.

"You, Champion. I want you, by my side. You'll be my perfect consort, body and soul. You'll be mine, and all those innocent people will be yours," he said, the sinister glee dripping from every word. "I know it can be a lot to take in. I'll even give you some time to get acquainted with the idea and make your arrangements with that filthy lowborn guttertrash you call a lover."

Hawke stiffened, and refused to look at him. Isabela's chest tightened, and she fought back and she fought back the urge to stab the man in the gut and enjoy his last gurgling breaths.

As he brushed by the stricken Champion, he added in passing, "Come to my autumn ball as my date, four days hence with your answer. Dress appropriately, and tell no one of our arrangement... You know what will happen if you do."

The last they saw of him that night was his back as he descended the steps, whistling a merry tune to himself.

To be continued...


Author's Note:

Happy Holidays! I wanted to get this done before my trip to Asia, and I hope everyone enjoys it. I'm not dead! This story began as a high concept piece, and grew a bit naturally from that. You'll have to be content with waiting to see what happens next. I know that I was a bit harsh with Anders in this one, and I know he has a lot of fans. You'll have to wait and see what happens in the next one, I promise it will be addressed.

The title refers to lionfish - an extremely delicious, but fatally poisonous fish. It may be eaten, but only when prepared just right.

Shout outs to my prereading crew, for their always-useful tips and suggestions.

Lots of love to grapey, who helped shape the concept for the story.

Finally, the Isabela of Snacking fame has begun her own blog. It's mostly an ask blog, where internet denizens may ask her anything they wish and she will answer. You may find it at .com. Should you be curious as to what she thinks of things, feel free to ask a question! You may find her response amusing.

Cheers!