This chapter is on the longer side. Hopefully the action makes sense.
Act III:ii
Hawke had once taken Isabela right on Aveline's desk. It hadn't been intentional - at least not for Hawke - but the pirate had been pushing her buttons all day as only she could. When they were suddenly alone in the office waiting for the Guard Captain's return, it was the work of an impulsive moment to hoist the sailor onto polished wood. Isabela had managed to stifle her ecstasy against Hawke's armor (she left bite marks in the leather of her shoulder guard). They did their best to clean up the scattered papers afterwards but the wet ink had stained Isabela's hands and thighs and left surprisingly descriptive marks across the desktop. When Aveline returned it took only a glance at the office, her furniture and her friends to know exactly what had happened. She hadn't said a word. She'd simply given them both a tired glare that promised they'd pay for their crime later.
Isabela was pretty sure Aveline was getting her revenge now. The guardswoman shoved her forward, one hand fisted tight in black tresses to keep control of the pirate as they approached the Qunari guards. Always thought she'd probably like it rough. Isabela winced, the pain in her scalp keeping the smirk off her face.
"I'm Guard Captain Vallen of Kirkwall. I've been sent to deliver a gesture of good faith to the Qunari." Aveline announced with the rich confidence of a commander of men. A kick to the back of Isabela's leg dropped the woman to her knees. Now you're just having too much fun. The Rivaini bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing at the damned woman.
"What do you want, basra?" The guard on the left was unimpressed. Isabela mentally dubbed him Tiny.
"The thief of Koslun: Captain Isabela of the Raiders. We turn her over to your custody." Aveline twisted the dark hair harder than necessary before finally releasing her grip. From the corner of her eye the pirate saw both Qunari draw themselves taller at the familiar name.
"You ball-busting bitch! You can't do this to me!" Isabela shouted, tugging hard on the chain attached to her manacles. She started to rise off the ground to fight but a boot between her shoulders knocked her all the way to the ground. The bound woman made a mental note to pay Aveline back handsomely for that little abuse.
"We had a deal, whore. You were never to set foot in my city again. Now you're their problem." The redhead drew back and tossed the chain to the Qunari. Tiny grabbed it, eyes darting a quick glance to his compatriot. A guttural exchange took place between the two massive guards. Isabela knew enough Qunlat to follow the basic idea. Tiny didn't believe she really was the famed thief, the other felt they couldn't risk letting her go if she was. Tiny lost the argument, unlocking the steel door and hauling the pirate to her feet.
"Panahedan, bas. We will remember." The boss guard gave a small nod of his head, as close as the proud species ever came to actually saying Thank You.
"I'll wait for you to lock her up. I want those shackles back." Aveline pointed to the handcuffs binding Isabela's wrists as the woman was already being dragged through the door.
"Why?" Tiny stopped, he was definitely the more suspicious by nature.
"The cuffs that delivered Captain Isabela to captivity? They'll be my prize trophy." The warrior's laugh was cold as the metal she spoke of. Isabela caught a glimpse of Hawke's shadow just around the corner of the building, surprisingly reassuring with so slight a presence.
"Very well." Boss nodded once more for Tiny to do his job and Isabela found herself drawn completely into the claustrophobic walls of the prison, the slamming door closing off all remnant of daylight.
The corridor was dark and uneven, just as the pirate had hoped. She felt a rough hand shove her forward, pushing her to walk ahead into the shadows. She staggered under the force of the blow, doubling over long enough to get the lock pick from inside the edge of her corset.
"Back off, Ox-man! It's bloody dark!" Isabela spat. The guard ignored her anger, yanking her harshly to stand straight before she was thrust forward again. The impatient prodding against her back fueled irritated bursts of rage behind her eyes. The harder Tiny pushed the more she stumbled. Once, twice, again for a third time until she heard the Qunari curse in annoyance and draw closer to pull her up. That's it, sunshine.
A muffled thud from beyond the locked entry was the cue Isabela had been waiting for. Tiny turned for only a moment towards the sound of trouble and the pirate's heel shot out, slamming with all her might into the back of his knee. Less armor, more momentum. Tiny staggered forward, grabbing harder on Isabela's chain and she lunged into the pull; rolling beneath his swinging fist and shooting up, the top of her head cannoned into his chin so hard she saw stars but heard teeth crack. The stunned Qunari stumbled backward from the force of impact and Isabela pressed her advantage. She had seconds to finish before he gathered enough of his senses to cry out, to alert the other guards.
She gathered the slack of her chain and tossed it around a muscle-bound neck, locking it in place with her opened cuffs. Feeling the choking pressure on his throat Tiny fought back, instinctively tugging ferociously on the iron links in his hands. Isabela slid out of the way as the force of the Qunari's own panic strangled him into unconsciousness. He collapsed against the wall, dragged downward by his own weight. It took both hands and a leg braced against the wall to roll the damned ox-man over but Isabela triumphantly freed keys from his belt and raced back to the entry.
Unlocking the steel entrance revealed an equally comatose Boss lying on the threshold. Hawke and Aveline shoved him into the dark corridor and slammed the door once more. The Champion tossed over the familiar harness with gleaming twin blades. Taking on a Qunari singlehanded and weaponless was pretty bloody impressive but the pirate only cared that she was alive to brag later. Strapping on her daggers was the first thing that felt comfortable all day.
"Right, we have about ten minutes before someone realizes the guards are gone. Move your sweet asses." Isabela commanded, darting ahead of them into the blackness.
"This place is huge; it'll take longer than that to find one prisoner!" Aveline argued even as she followed on the pirate's heels.
"No, it won't. Qunari are predictable bastards. If they can't conquer you, they'll convert you. If they can't convert you, they'll kill you. Our thief is on step two. If she's not, we're already too late." The pirate chuckled mirthlessly as she led their charge deeper into the bowels of prison. She knew what she was looking for. The dark of the stone walls would only make it easier to find. Bleeding up through the stone came the sound of distant voices. A trail to follow.
"Who did you sell the recipe to?" an angry interrogator, always a woman.
"The corner baker, of course. It's going to be the special ingredient in his new scones." A laughing reply cut short by the sound of a fist against bone.
Every level of the prison had another guard at the door but a perfectly flung dagger or rushing attack out of shadow ended each without sound. Aveline easily shoved the bodies aside, clearing a route for their inevitably frantic escape. Finally Isabela saw what she needed. The eerie, silver glow was almost invisible in the dim torch lit halls but there was just enough to lead her to the final stairs. The angry conversation had grown clear and loud, as had the sounds of stifled violence.
"Careful, Horny. I'm kinda getting into this." The taunting voice had to be their prisoner.
"There! This is where they keep the Qamek. She's here." The captain leapt down the stairs, flipping to land on her feet before a door that allowed the faintest hint of unnatural light to escape its cracks.
"Someday you're going to tell me how you know about all this." Hawke was instantly beside her at the door, a little breathless from the race. She brushed the stray hair out of her eyes without dropping either dagger.
"No, sweet thing. I'm not." Isabela corrected with a sad smile. Not even her Champion needed to know what could happen in one of these places. From just beyond the door came the sound of another harsh blow.
"Ashkost kata! You will not be given the escape of death. Last chance, saar-saam. Who did you sell it to?" There was a breathless rage to the threat.
"Taarsidath-an halsaam, you bitch." Hateful dignity laced the words like a final, proud surrender.
Isabela pulled the door open, a painful glow filling the entire corridor with flickering light. The pirate's eyes adjusted first and she spotted the Qamek in the center of the room, two Qunari guards dragging a struggling form towards the ominous orb. If they were distracted by the invasion they gave no sign, single-mindedly focused only on the task at hand. Isabela was barely across the threshold before the prisoner's face was driven into the Qamek, the poisonous light spinning and growing brighter as it enveloped its victim.
"No!" the captain shot forward, straight past the Tamassran and her extra soldiers. She cannoned into the guards holding the thief, two quick flashes of blade slicing the arms and fingers that held the thrashing woman in place.
"Vashedan! You violate our justice?" the indignant cry of the Tamassran roared over the pained howls of the attacked guards. Isabela knew the bursts of clanging metal were Hawke and Aveline taking on the rest of the soldiers as she fought to pull the elf free. She'd already stopped moving, the Qamek pouring itself into her with every breath. The Rivaini ducked a swung sword, retaliating with a blade straight into her attacker's thigh. Grabbing the limp thief's body she rolled them both away from battle.
"Come on, fight it!" She rose over the motionless form, grabbing bony shoulders as though she could shake the cursed poison away. A nearby scream ended with the slam of bones breaking against stone and the shadows dancing across the wall reduced once more. The last of the Qamek vanished, little more than a swallowed light as it faded behind the prone woman's teeth. Isabela could barely feel a heartbeat or breath as she sought life from the body beneath her hands. Too late. She let the woman fall back to the ground.
"She's viddath-bas now. A mindless slave. As you and your friends will be shortly." The Tamassran's triumphant voice from behind her made the pirate's spine tighten. She could feel the sharpness of a blade pointing through the air towards her back.
"I wish I had a coin for every blighter that thought I'd be a slave." Isabela chuckled and gathered her daggers with fresh strength in her grip, muscles coiled to spring.
The first hint of movement was the suction of a weapon beginning to swing. The Rivaini rolled backwards, bursting to her feet in time to block a follow-up blow. She danced easily around her attacker, evading the heavy swipes. Nimbly retaliating with her own darting stabs, Isabela carved into Qunari armor, each blow closer to flesh. Hawke and Aveline were close to victory with the rest of the guards but a surprised curse of pain caught Isabela's ear. Her eyes flickered instinctively to the Champion and the distraction was long enough that she was caught off guard by the next kick. A heavy boot hit her in the stomach, slamming the pirate clear to the wall.
By the time she got air back in her lungs Isabela spotted Hawke's daggers dispatching the last guard, oblivious to the remaining danger. The pirate couldn't get to her feet in time. The towering Qunari interrogator had already closed the distance, grabbing the Champion from behind. Hawke struggled but a painful twist of her wrist suddenly had her own razor sharp blade biting the flesh of her throat. The Tamassran's sword edge hovered dangerously across her torso, the promise of evisceration with a single cut. Everyone froze.
"Drop your weapon." The command was leveled first to Aveline. The Guard Captain hesitated, clearly calculating speed, distance, time and reflexes. Warriors didn't surrender their swords. Death before dishonor and all that bilge. But Aveline preferred living with friends to dying with honor. Her blade hitting the stones made a ringing metallic echo throughout the cell. That only left Isabela armed.
"You're going to regret this." The dark sailor glared at the Tamassran. She couldn't even see the Champion's face, the eyes that were warning her not to be stupid. There was only the Qunari and blades and Hawke in the middle, in danger. Again. Hate like a dragon rose and roared through the pirate's blood.
"Not so much as you will if you don't obey. I will rend this woman to pieces and make you clean her blood after the Qamek takes you." The Qunari bit back, her grip shifting just enough to create a trickle of red on Hawke's skin.
The first wound. It had been on Hawke's shoulder before, a glancing blow from the Arishok's blade that tore through her armor just close enough. Then there had been another, and another and the blood flowed freely, spattered and spreading across the floor of the throne room. Isabela remembered fighting restraining hands, threatening, cursing, helpless.
Not this time.
"Drop your weapons. I may be merciful enough to let this one live with her will and memories intact. Or she can die and I'll let you rot in the remembrance of your blame." Qunari laughter never sounded right.
"I am so sick of your voice." The words rising out of shadow dragged the Tamassran's attention over her shoulder. She turned just in time to meet an oncoming fist. It wasn't the blow so much as the sight of the standing thief that momentarily stunned the horned woman. It was a fraction of a second. More than enough time for an angry rogue.
The captain lunged across the cell. Her left dagger hooked into the sword's edge, sending it flying across the stones. Her right slashed upwards, opening the back of the hand that clutched Hawke's wrist. The grip broke and the Champion dove aside as Isabela tackled the Qunari woman and forced her to the floor, following with the full weight of her body. A fraction of a second and the Tamassran was completely pinned.
"I seriously hope you guys are here for me." The elf stepped forward, shaking out her fist. The knuckles had split open where she'd made contact with her torturer's nose.
"We have a job." Hawke nodded confirmation, approaching Isabela to pull her away. The pirate could feel a hand hovering near her shoulder, debating whether to interfere. Go away, Hawke. You don't need to see this. The sailor held her blade tight to the Qunari's neck, watching the eyes beneath her biting with angry acceptance.
"Great. No time like the present!" the thief clapped her hands and darted out the cell door before anything more could be said.
"Wait! Not that – Hawke, she's going the wrong way!" Aveline protested, following the confused prisoner. Isabela felt the Champion's warring instincts: her urge to pursue the mission, her refusal to leave anyone behind.
"After her, Hawke. I'll be right behind." The Rivaini assured, pleased when the Fereldan woman complied without protest. Only when the sound of footsteps had vanished completely up the stairs did she lean closer to her trapped enemy. She wanted to be sure the bitch-priestess of the Qun could read fate in the shadows of her face.
"You have no honor." The Tamassran spat, despite the pressure of death on her throat.
"That's Hawke's department," Isabela felt a cruelness creep into her smile, "And you were dead the minute you touched her."
Never again.
The barest flick of her wrist opened a river of blood, streaming onto her blade and fingers. The body bucked as life leaked away, struggling to fight even to the end. Captain Isabela watched with stony satisfaction, rising only when she knew there was nothing left beneath her but worm food.
She climbed to the top of the stairs, turning swiftly to follow her allies. She'd barely taken a dozen steps when the sound of rapid footfall began racing to meet her. Out of the shadows the white of a triumphant grin was the first thing she saw.
"I needed my shit." The elf laughed as she ran past, both hands clutching satchels. Behind her followed Aveline at the same frantic speed. The guard captain didn't even bother to say a word, just shook her head helplessly as she went by. Last of all was Hawke.
"She needed her shit." The Champion echoed the explanation, just as confused. She didn't slow for a second, only grabbed Isabela's arm and pulled her to match pace, smiling as they hurried toward another impossible escape. Over the noise of their own pounding steps Isabela could make out the sound of angry yelling and many, many more feet. All coming after them.
We need to get out of here. Shit.
Cassandra Pentaghast's was a black and white mind. She spent the first 18 years of her life hating mages. From her countrymen that were so obsessed with spirits of death, to her uncle the Mortalitasi, to the maleficar that had cut down her brother: she had many reasons to want all magic destroyed and its users locked away. Everything turned inside out when she'd had to rely on an entire Circle of mages to save the Divine. She shocked herself by falling in love with Regalyan, making a mage her first (and for many years only) lover. She was entrusted by Divine Beatrix with the sacred task of protecting the Chantry from all threats and learned there were far more dangerous corruptions than magic.
Her thoughts and judgment bounced back and forth rapidly with the chaotic events of recent years. Anders blew up the Kirkwall Chantry: mages were bad. The Templar's broke free from control and went on a killing rampage: mages were good. The explosion at Haven was clearly magical: bad. Mages helped seal the rift: good. Corypheus was a magister: bad. Ancient elven magic destroyed him: good.
Traversing such distant mental extremes was exhausting.
Her time with the Inquisition forced Cassandra to understand that the world wasn't black and white. They walked through a hundred shades of grey each day. The Inquisitor, in particular, helped her find that balance within herself; a perspective where good and bad weren't absolutes. Ten – no, even five – years ago Seeker Pentaghast would never have pledged to follow anyone but a Divine. She couldn't have tolerated the thought of being in a relationship with a superior. She wouldn't have considered being with a woman, not because it wasn't right for others but because it just wasn't right for her. Then Inquisitor Trevelyan came along and she was right. For everything. As a leader, a friend and love; nothing with Eve felt wrong. Not even taking the Maker's name in vain from behind the altar of an empty chapel. That woman shattered the last of Cassandra's dichotomous ideas and cast black and white to the winds.
Truly, she'd come a long way and made incredible changes to her thinking and life. One tiny problem remained: she still didn't like mages.
It wasn't even a personal objection to magic anymore, she'd set those prejudices aside. It was the fact that mages were so bloody impossible to trust! For every honest, open and useful magic user she met, there were a dozen more just on the brink of setting you on fire or surrendering to the demons. Even within the Inquisition! Solas had lied to them all. Vivienne had her own political agenda. Morrigan pursued her personal mission. Fiona sat on a mountain of secrets. The only mage Cassandra felt vaguely comfortable around was Dorian and that comfort was vague indeed, given the sort of questions he liked to ask.
Mages were just plain difficult and the Seeker had given up trying to pretend they weren't. The woman riding alongside herself and Trevelyan now was yet another example. Solace refused to make any promises about support or alliance but she agreed to journey to Val Royeaux and meet with the Divine. Any time Cassandra or the Inquisitor asked questions about her Tranquility or the Rite of Reversal she evaded, carefully replying with polite but useless answers. She would not reveal how she broke Tranquility, or when, or with whom. It was aggravating since she was so candid about all other topics in her life.
In the hours of their ride out of the Frostbacks they learned about the unhealed scars across her back from fighting with fellow apprentices as a child. Along the Imperial Highway she disclosed the events of her Harrowing, a confusing encounter with both a Desire demon and a spirit that claimed to be Faith but her instructors felt was more likely Pride. Passing Montsimmard sparked a conversation about The Nightflower Garden and her friends there. On that subject she shared far more than Cassandra cared to hear and the Seeker glared daggers at Trevelyan every time she asked another question. Really? They had to argue about which feathers were best for an Orlesian Tickler? (She did make a few mental notes during their discussion of oils, though.)
"You clearly had extensive freedoms for a Circle mage. Why keep running away?" The Seeker managed to redirect the conversation as they finally stopped to set camp for the night.
"Less rules isn't the same as freedom. I still didn't have a choice about being in the Circle." Solace frowned, turning the place into her own personal curse. Eve led the horses to a clearing of sweet grass and began unpacking their supplies. The Inquisitor was content to let her Seeker poke for truth.
"But you stayed after the war began. You could have left any time, many of the Tranquil did." Cassandra watched for the hint of discomfort that flickered across the mage's face anytime Tranquility was mentioned. It was a subtle twitch of her mouth, like the urge to bite her lip being desperately resisted. Could she answer without giving away the timing of her Reversal? Had she been Tranquil through the entirety of the war or only a portion?
"If they were needed, they went. Mostly it was the ones who thought their only useful future lay in staying with all the other mages," the blonde put a sarcastic twist on 'useful' as well, "A Circle isn't a building but the people running it. I had always resisted the rules and suddenly those were gone. No more Templar control, no more mage hierarchy. Not to mention that outside the walls of the tower Templars were losing their minds and mages were being slaughtered. We were left alone. Staying seemed wise."
"So long as the Templars didn't return." Cassandra nodded understanding, masking her annoyance.
"But, as soon as you thought they did . . ." Eve unfurled her bedroll, an appreciative whistle denoting the speed with which Solace had fled yesterday.
"Swords and armor mean 'guard' to a criminal, Templar to a mage and money to a whore. I reacted on instinct." The blonde gave a small shrug of apology as she dropped onto a tree stump and rummaged in her satchel
"And we lost two days. I suppose it could've been worse. There's still plenty of the Chant to be sung." The Inquisitor had her own brand of relationship with the Maker, one that seldom included listening to hours of holy words. Cassandra might once have found such an approach offensive but on Trevelyan it was oddly endearing. She held faith in her own way and supported anyone else who did the same. Never once did she take issue with the Seeker's own more passionate and traditional devotion. Though, she had confessed that she loved watching the Nevarran pray. That was what led to the altar incident.
"They should be through the Canticle of Benediction by now. Erudition will begin tomorrow." Cassandra mentally reviewed the days of the Chant, an exercise that kept her mind from wandering too far.
"Ah, the origins of spirits and demons. Not exactly adequate preparation for meeting any of them." Eve pointed out, clearly recalling the first time she'd come face to face with a Pride demon.
"Fortunately you were both adaptable and intrepid." Cassandra smirked. She could vividly remember that same day, watching the Maker's Chosen do battle while simultaneously sealing a rift. If Eve had been overwhelmed by the armored monster that descended on them she gave no sign. Not until collapsing into the Seeker's arms. Stubborn and dramatic even then.
"I had to be. That thing wasn't half as scary as you or Leliana," The Inquisitor shot her a wink, then turned to the mage to explain, "The future Divine Victoria. You're going to enjoy meeting her."
"I highly doubt that." Solace's laugh didn't sound right.
Someone else might have been startled or confused by the words but Cassandra was a warrior; her first instinct was always to fight. Danger prickled the hair on her neck before she even saw Solace's hand in motion, releasing a projectile in the air. Her sword was drawn in an instant but the runestone hit the ground with a thump and a low whine of magic. The invisible spell had no sensation as it washed over Cassandra but she felt her fingers go numb, sword dropping to the grass. Just yards away she saw the Inquisitor sliding to the ground, surrendering to gravity as she could feel her own muscles doing. The world tilted upwards, then away, then vanished to black as her eyes gave into the weight of their own lids. There was no pain when she hit the ground, body numb and heavy as rock. With her last sense she heard the clatter of hooves stampeding into the distance. Andraste's bloody sword! I'm going to kill that damned wench . . .
I didn't have the time I usually like to do an extra edit. I'll go back through to clean up but wanted to post rather than wait. If you see any gross errors or inaccuracies please let me know. As always, your feedback and comments are appreciated. Moving into the plot to share the OC stories should never take away from the true cast!