AN: Pirate lingo at the bottom!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"We've been hit, Cap'n!" Bruce cries.

No shit. The Siren's Call shudders and rocks feverously. I'm still gripping the bollard tightly, hands and wood slippery with rain. My crew rallies around me, trying their damnedest to escape the enemy ships that are now less than a league behind us. They aren't just any old boats attempting to sink us either. They're a Qunari Dreadnaught, an elite fleet controlled by a breed of ox-horns who waste their entire lives finding new ways to kill people. As for why they're after us…well…

I untie my sash, reassuring myself that the Relic is still there. This dusty old book is the key to saving my life. If I lose it, my old boss will slit my throat with a grin on his face. These giant bastards won't get their hands on it.

I grab my telescope and jog over to the bow, weaving in and out of my panicked crew. Bruce follows me.

"We canna' evade them much longer Cap'n," he reports.

"Keep trying, Bruce. Unless you want to be the one to tell the Arishok that this is all a complete misunderstanding when they catch us," I retort a bit sharply. While Bruce sputters behind me, I lift the telescope to my eyes.

We have just passed the border into the Free Marches, leaving Antiva behind—along with our lead on the Arishok and his men/oxen. Our starboard side features a long line of rocky cliffs. I've never sailed this part of the Amaranthine Ocean; usually I go further south, towards Ferelden.

Ah, balls.

Up ahead, a storm is brewing, festering slightly to port. Bruce catches this as well.

"Andraste's ass! I rather take my chances with the Qunari than try my luck with a monsoon!" he cries. Ignoring him, I examine the rising waves in front of me. If we go forward, we face the heart of the storm and a long line of rock just waiting to sink us. I look back…to see that the Qunari has halved the distance between us. This is the very definition of choosing between a rock (ship-eating cliffs) and a hard place—the storm or the Qunari Dreadnaught. Take your pick.

Bruce whimpers at my side. "Are they so desperate for our heads that they'll hound us into this?"

I blink and narrow my eyes at him. "You think they will?" I ask quietly. Bruce runs a hand through his long black hair.

"They ain't slowin' down, ain't they?" he barks over the growing storm, flailing his arms at the Dreadnaught. I frown thoughtfully, an idea forming.

"How much experience do you think they have sailing through storms, Bruce?" I ask, refusing to take my eyes off the ambiguously large ships closing in.

"What makes you think I know a damn thing 'bout them rams?" he growls. I barely hear him; the idea has formed. But its risky.

Very risky.

Ah, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as I've always said.

I make my way to the midst of the chaos, leaping on a barrel full of mead. I steady myself by grasping the mainmast and put two fingers between my teeth to blow a shrill whistle. Most of my crew turns to face me. Their eyes are bright with the hope that I'll come through for them, as I have in the past.

"Men of the Siren's Call!" I shout, catching the attention of any stragglers. "Those Qunari vultures are dogging our heels and will soon sink our noble ship!"

The hope fades from my men's eyes. Good. Makes them desperate enough to go through with my plan. The wind picks up and I have to yell louder to be heard.

"We need to lose those ox-horns! And to do that, we need to sail into that!" I wave my arm at the approaching storm. My crew stares at me with expressions varying from doubt to horror.

"Are you out of your mind, woman!" Jacky shrieks.

"We'll get wrecked to bits!" wails Mika.

I lose my patience.

"The next option for the cowards is to grab something that floats and hope you don't drown when you go overboard!" I snap. There are a few grumbles but nobody goes for an empty barrel, so I count that as a consensus.

I smile at my crew, hoping it doesn't look more like a grimace.

"All right, men! Turn her to port, hoist the mainsails, grab something heavy and solid!"

My crew jumps to attention, obeying my orders. A pale-faced Bruce moves to take the helm. I grin for real, now that the decision has been made and put into action.

"Feeling a little sick, are we Bruce?" I crow cheerfully. He makes a vulgar suggestion with his hand and I laugh. I jump down from my barrel and race over to the bow, arms spread to embrace the storm before me. This is what it means to sail the open seas! The wind enfolds me like an old friend.

I reach the helm and push Bruce away; this requires the fine direction of a woman. The waves become rockier and higher. The Siren's Call lifts and rocks dangerously. The wind howls and rips through my body. My hair is flapping wildly and my bandana threatens to tear away. Adrenaline courses through my veins while fear and the Qunari Dreadnaught are forgotten. All I see and feel is my current adversary; the unforgiving storm. Lightning forks into the sea, swiftly followed by the crack of deafening thunder. I throw back my head and laugh a challenge into the sky.

"Come and get me!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Rivaini…hey, Rivaini!"

I jerk awake to the sound of Varric's gravelly voice. I slit open one bleary eye to see the damned dwarf grinning at me.

"Come on, Rivaini!" he says again. "Its past midday and we gotta meet Hawke and Aveline at the Barracks!"

I wince at his loud, happy voice, my head pounding to the beat of my pulse.

"Hawke is a shit-faced slave driver," I groan. Varric bellows, and I begin to feel like my head is about to explode.

"Aww, you don't mean that! Its just the hangover talking."

I sigh and close my eyes, trying to remember what went on last night. Then it comes to me.

"Did I win?" I ask. The dwarf chuckles ruefully.

"Are you kidding? You drank me into submission, Rivaini!"

I allow myself a moment of victory and tentatively sit up. My vision swims for a moment, but I wait patiently and the world rights itself.

Well, at least I'm in my own bed this time.

Varric says, "Times a waistin'! We're already late!"

I glare viciously at him. "I swear, you stubby little dwarf, if you ask me to hurry up one last time, I will make it so you'll lose the ability to have children."

He stares at me with mock horror. "You wouldn't dare! My seed is too valuable," he drawls.

My response is another glare and I concentrate on standing up. Glass bottles clink cheerfully as the bed is relieved of my weight and I stagger a couple of steps. Varric steadies me with a gloved hand.

"Come one, all you need is a good dose of fresh air," he assures me. We begin the slow journey out of the Hanged Man. My thoughts return to my dream—or more accurately, my memory. An unfamiliar feeling of shame pricks at my skin.

"Fearsome Captain of the seas, to a stranded drunk requiring the aid of a merchant dwarf," I mutter. Varric pats my back in a way that can only be described as fatherly and looks up at me.

"Have your pity-party later. Hell, unload your sorrows on me if you want. But today, we need you sharp blades and cunning wit, Rivaini," he says.

I smile down at him, rethinking my position here. I've been in worse spots with worse company.

This'll do. For now.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pirate ship terms:

Bollard: short post on a wharf or ship to which ropes are tied

Bow: front of a ship

Starboard: when facing forward, the right side of a ship

Port: when facing forward, the left side of the ship

Mainmast: sailing ship's principal mast

Mainsail: principal sail on a ship's mainmast

Helm: ship's steering wheel

A/N: this is definitely a slightly more serious Isabela!