Author's Note: This is a short intro to my first Dragon Age fic. Written yesterday on my iPod, purely for my own amusement at work, so I'm struggling to take any of this too seriously.
Timeline: I'm trying to keep spoilers and unnecessary details to a minimum so that you've more freedom regarding when you assume this little quest took place.
Beta(s): No Beta, and with only one playthrough under my belt, I'm certain to have missed a hundred things and dug some pretty deep plot holes for myself. All mistakes are my own, so please point them out. Reviews, comments and especially brutal criticism are very much appreciated.
Disclaimer: Oh, BioWare, you have such pretty things, and never shall they be mine.

"Admit it, big girl," Isabela smirked. "You. Need. My. Help." she gloated, punctuating each word with a sharp jab to Aveline's chest plate.

The former soldier sighed as she slumped down into her seat at the table Isabela had secured for them next to the dying fire. Well, when she said table, what she really meant was a rotting barrel with a shabby tablecloth draped over it. And when she said tablecloth, what she really meant was a heavily stained scrap of material that she wouldn't make even a nug set its meal on. Probably the sail of some ill-fated ship dredged up at the docks, she mused, burying her face in her hands as the pirate also pulled up a chair.

Here she was, Captain of the bloody Guard, reduced to asking this slattern for... for help.

With weary resignation, Aveline washed down her pride with a large gulp of brandy and nodded at the woman opposite. She had a cast-iron rule to keep a clear head while on duty, but this wasn't official business. Nor was it pleasure; that much was clear, but she was running out of options, fast. He was going to strike again, and soon.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm simply thrilled to be of service to the city," Isabela drawled into her pipe, "but why have you come to me? Fallen out with Hawke, have we?"

"It's because of your services to the city that I need you," Aveline told her dryly.

"Oh, so you need me now, do you? And the plot thickens," Isabela winked, swinging her legs up to rest on the tabletop.

"Shut up, whore."

"I have better things to be doing than taking cheap shots from you, you know. I could just leave if you'd like," Isabela frowned, but then crossed her boots at the ankles. Lady Man-Hands can be the one to piss off.

"I don't doubt that you have other things to be doing. What I do doubt is that they could ever be described as better," the Guard-Captain scoffed before casting a wary glance around the dingy tavern. "But leaving does sound like a good idea, now that you mention it."

"Does this establishment not meet your high standards? Oh, I do apologise, Captain." Isabela mocked. As much as she hated to admit it, the former sea captain had a lot of respect for Aveline, regardless of what she said about her. Of course, that didn't stop her feeling bitter about the weight Aveline's title carried in comparison with her own. Without her ship, people saw her as nothing. She was beginning to feel like nothing. Perhaps she should hear Aveline out and - who knows? - maybe even do a little good. Given that the price is right, naturally.

"You know it's not that," Aveline shook her head. "Although..." she began, tilting her head in the direction of a drunken patron who was... was he? Yes, he was pissing against the bar. "Lovely," she cringed. Isabela simply laughed.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Not too popular with the cut-throats and cut-purses around here, are you? Not that I blame them. I wouldn't like to see a righteous, red-haired golem hulking towards me down a dark alleyway, either," the Rivaini shook her head, ignoring Aveline as she rolled her eyes, though she paid enough attention to notice that the captain didn't bother to come up with a retort this time. A victory, however small, she smiled.

Unfortunately, there was a rather large element of truth to what Isabela had said. Since her promotion, Aveline had really turned things around in Kirkwall – respect and morale amid her guardsmen was at an all-time high, and increased patrols to areas that actually needed them ensured that citizens and refugees alike were a lot safer, even if they were being saved from each other. Maker, even the Alienage's residents were starting to realise that the guards kept out more trouble than they tracked in.

But there were some people who liked trouble.

Cracking down on crime earned Aveline no favours from the shady characters of Lowtown, and it showed. Everywhere she went, people either turned their backs to her or outright stared, and the treatment she received here at the Hanged Man was no different. Not that she expected a warmer welcome here, of course. In fact, she'd already taken this into account, but she couldn't leave an anonymous letter instructing Isabela to come to an abandoned warehouse, alone, in the middle of the night, could she? And neither of them would be overjoyed at the prospect of discussing this back at the barracks – it was difficult enough to make Isabela set foot in Hightown without leaving a trail of sovereigns for her to follow, let alone drag her into a building full of armed guards. No, if Aveline wanted Isabela on board with this, she'd have to show a little initiative and venture into the pirate's squalid territory, no matter the sizeable dent it put in her pride.

"Wait, you're actually worried about being overheard, aren't you?" Isabela's eyes lit up as she watched Aveline's suspicious gaze flicker over the tavern's colourful clientèle.

"That obvious, huh?" Aveline offered a sheepish grin. "I just don't want to cause widespread panic before I know what we're dealing with. You know how fast rumours spread down here and, judging by people's enthusiastic recitation of Varric's tall tales, folks will believe anything."

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?" Isabela asked. "My room's paid up until the end of the year, might as well make good use of it."

"I... I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that," Aveline blinked.

"What? I didn't mea- ughh!" the pirate shuddered. "Yes, I never said that."

"Said what?"

"That's my girl."

The Guard-Captain finished the last of her drink and rose from the battered chair, taking one last look around before heading towards the door. Isabela followed suit, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Antivan brandy from the table on the way. Waste not, want not.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Aveline exhaled as she exited the filthy inn. The air was stale, and merely a different breed of foul, but at least there was a refreshing chill to it.

"Whatever this is... it's bad, isn't it?" the Rivaini asked as she stepped out into the darkness with her companion.

"Yes, Isabela. It's bad."