I could already tell this was going to be a disaster. I think I get along with less than half the people in this room, and I know they feel the same way about me. At least Merrill is pestering Fenris about the plight of the elves. It distracts him from needling me on the issue of mages. Maker knows I am going to try and hold my tongue tonight, as difficult as that may be.
We should not fear to speak the truth.
Justice has no concept of proper dinner etiquette.
Not that I am going to hold my tongue to be civil for them, it is more for Issac and his family's sake. I am sure his uncle would be very unhappy to find his home in flames when he returned from whoring. It is true what I say after all, never taunt a mage. My eyes dart around the room. Varric is trying to talk Avaline into helping him acquire the Hanged Man, good luck there. Merrill exasperatedly still trying to get Fenris to care about 'their people'. Well at least there is one thing she is good for, riling up that bastard. My eyes travel the table, of course they sit across from me, the Maker has a dark sense of humor.
Isabella already has flushed cheeks from the wine consumed here, and the ale consumed before at the Hanged Man. Not that it bothers Issac, of course not. How could it bother him, her tits are practically busting out of her top. I am reminded again, chided by the whispers in my own mind.
Distraction.
She couldn't even bother putting on anything decent! We were all meeting his mother for Andraste's sake! I feel the jealousy burn inside, but no, who am I to judge. I look down at my coat, patches covering holes, the bottom showing frayed thread. I guess I do look the part of a poor disheveled Darktown refugee. I regard them once more, he gazes longingly at her, as she weaves another yarn of stories on the high seas. I do feel the craving in her voice to go back to that life, for a brief moment I feel a kinship. Isabella values freedom above all else and I strive to set my fellow mages free. That feeling is quickly erased as I watch Issac place a nervous hand on her leg just above the knee. She flashes him a wicked grim, he blushes, whore.
I feel I may choke on my misguided emotions, but I am offered a reprieve. Issac's mother Leandra and Bethany appear from the kitchen bearing large pots of a greyish substance, oh how wonderful, the old Ferelden stew recipe, I laugh to myself. Issac removes his hand from the strumpet's leg hurriedly. At least I don't have to watch that anymore.
"We've almost got enough you know, coin for the expedition." Issac tells his mother excitedly.
"Its true," Varric chimed in, "And we expect to make a small fortune from the expedition." A roguish grin spreads across his face. Bethany sits down next to me.
"I just worry Issac. The Deep Roads? It sounds so dangerous." She looks sad, almost fearful. Issac and Bethany had told me of their loss. Their brother, killed by darkspawn like so many during the blight, of course she wouldn't want to go through that again.
"But I'm taking Anders, he was a Grey Warden. They kill darkspawn for a living!" He beamed at me, and my heart leapt. "Anders, what kind of things are down there?" My mood soured.
"I doubt it is proper dinner conversation. Let me just say that what we could face should not be taken lightly." I hoped the answer would suffice and the conversation turn to more pleasant topics, but of course I am never so lucky.
"Is the little mage afraid to go back to the Deep Roads?" Fenris attempted so say under his breath, but I heard it.
"You have no idea of the horrors I have seen elf." My voice is much louder than I anticipated. Oh if only my glare could set him ablaze!
"And you have no idea of the horrors I have lived, subjected to by your people!" He spat. Emerald eyes threatened, practically screaming an invitation to bring this to blows.
"You two forget yourselves, and your company!" Avaline hissed. She was right, hadn't I told myself I would attempt to be civil. Poor Issac, he looked mortified, and Maker what his mother must think of me now.
"Do your friends always get on so well?" Leandra asked meekly. Issac mumbled something about how we all usually were too busy fighting bandits to chat. I stared down at my stew, not meeting anyone's eyes. Awkward silence, my head swimming from anger and shame, thank the Maker Varric decided to indulge the group in recounting some of Issac's adventures, adding his own fabrications to the mix. At least some were entertained, and the attention was not focused on me anymore.
"But Varric, I was there! Issac never punched a bear in the face."
"Oh Daisy, why do you have to go ruin a good story like that?" Varric chuckled.
"Kitten, sometimes adding a little spice to a story is what makes it worth telling." Isabella said through lighthearted laughter. Issac laughed too, it was nice to see he wasn't dwelling on the unfortunate turn in conversation beforehand. I felt a sudden presence at my feet. Chester, Issacs Mabari hound, looked up at me from the dirt floor. Slowly I lowered my bowl allowing him to lap up its unwanted contents. The stew reminded me of the circle, they served it to us at least twice a week. I know I've chastised Chester before for not being a proper pet, but in this instance I am glad that he is a slobbery hungry dog.
When the meal is done Issac and Bethany kindly assist their mother with gathering up everyone's empty bowls. How they treat their mother with such care...I am bitter. My thoughts turn dark remembering my own mother, clutching me, begging the Templars not to take her only child. They ripped me away, one of them struck her, demanding that my father control his woman.
It was a grave injustice.
And this is what we fight for, so all of us can share such moments with loved ones, and so no mage will ever again be torn from their mothers arms.