Note: the end of this chapter is NSFW.
They rode into Ghislain in mid-morning on a grey, drizzly day. All of them were drooping; even the horses plodded along with their heads down. Zev observed the wooden buildings and the muddy main street of the town with disdain. "Personally, I would not put such a place on a map."
"No soft beds an' even softer women waitin' here," Oghren grunted. "Had yer heart set on the civilities, did ya?"
"Civilities, perhaps not, but ..." Zev trailed off with a sigh.
"It's a remote outpost on the edge of Orlais," Jennie reminded them.
"Yes. Precisely. We are still in Orlais," Zev protested.
"Maybe they have some good wine, at least," Fergus said optimistically.
"We can only hope so, my Teyrn."
A tavern was open about half-way down the street, and Jennie nimbly dismounted and tied her horse to a hitching rail in front. "Let me go in first, and I'll scout out the lay of the land," she said, relieved when none of them bothered to argue with her. Fergus had been pushing them all to ride hard, and what had started off as a light-hearted jaunt was becoming something much more serious. A good long rest was called for before they headed out across the swamp into completely uncharted territory, where the Maker only knew what might be awaiting them. Looking around at the rough buildings, Jennie didn't think Ghislain was going to offer the sophisticated palates of her people much to work with. Of course, most of them had been used to roughing it at one point in their lives or another, but in all cases that had been several years ago, at least. They'd all grown used to a certain standard of living—with the exception of Anders, who continued to live in his squalid clinic in Darktown ... but even he spent a fair amount of his time with Varric, and despite living in the Hanged Man, Varric over the years had managed to bring his suite to a level that might easily be termed 'palatial'.
Jennie opened the tavern door, and immediately found herself the subject of curious—and in some cases hostile—stares. Pretending not to notice, she walked to the bar.
"What is it that you want?" the bartender asked in a thick Orlesian accent.
"Someplace to put a large party up for the night."
"Try the stables, Fereldan," called a voice from the back of the room.
Jennie ignored him, her eyes on the bartender. "Well?"
"Down the road, the White Grape. They can put you up." The bartender spat the words reluctantly.
"Fine. Thank you. Also, my party may be in town for a few days. We number elves and dwarves among our companions, and I expect them to be left strictly alone." She turned, looking into the dark back corner of the room, from which the voice had come. "Anyone who disturbs them will have to deal with me."
"And just who might you be?" asked another patron, closer to the front of the room. "You look like a stiff breeze would carry you clear to Antiva."
"Try it. You'll find I'm a bit harder to blow over than you might think." She ignored the snickers that followed the remark. Here, she was confident she could back up her claims.
Outside, she untied her horse from the hitching rail and mounted. "Down the road," she said, nodding in the direction the bartender had pointed. "Cheer up, Zev, the place is called the White Grape. They must have wine."
Varric chuckled. "Actually, Hawke, I believe Ghislain is known for producing a non-alcoholic grape juice that's used in Chantry ceremonies in the Circles of Magi."
"You must be joking," Fergus said.
"No, he's right," Anders put in. "The Circles frown on mages drinking. Which is why, of course, so much time is spent learning how to steal ale and wine from the Templars' stores." He grinned suddenly. "Irving used to protest loudly in front of Greagoir about how shocked and appalled he was that any mage should stoop to thievery, and how he'd put a stop to it if he ever caught any of us ... but he never actually tried to catch anyone, and often used to sigh wistfully in the presence of the apprentices about how much he loved good wine and how hard it was to get some."
"Didn't the apprentices get in trouble if the Templars caught them?" Isabela asked.
"Somehow or other, they never did. Occasionally Greagoir would shout very loudly 'Here I come, around the corner', if there were particularly loud noises coming from the wine cellar."
"He sounds like a good Templar," Jennie said.
Anders fixed her with a direct gaze, and she could see the blue flare of Justice at the back of his eyes. "There are no good Templars."
Fenris shifted in his saddle, clearing his throat, and Varric groaned. "Elf, we all know where this argument leads, and neither of you is ever going to win it. How about we don't start the same old, same old right now, while we're all tired and cold?"
The elf grunted in response, but made no further comment. The martial blue light faded from Anders's eyes, as well, and Jennie cast a grateful glance in Varric's direction.
The White Grape was a moderate-sized building set just a little way out of town, but it offered a warm stable in the back, which was more than Jennie had expected. Oghren volunteered to bed down in the stable and keep a watch on the horses, to the great relief of all the other men in the party.
Fergus took the lead as they walked into the inn, flashing his charming smile at the plump innkeeper. She simpered at him. "Why, my lord, what brings such a fine gentleman to my establishment?" Her voice was high and nasal.
"I'm told the White Grape is the best place to stay north of Val Royeaux, and that it rivals even many of the establishments in that fair city," Fergus said, bowing to her. "In addition, the kindness and open mind of the innkeeper is legendary." He didn't motion to the varied group behind him, but his meaning was clear.
The innkeeper's smile faltered a bit as she took in the looks of Fenris, Zev, and Isabela. "No trouble, I hope? I don't want any trouble."
"No trouble at all. All we want is a quiet place to spend the night. Quietly," Fergus reiterated with assurance.
"Well, then ..." She led him to the desk and pulled out the ledger, not without a couple more wary glances at his companions. "How many rooms?"
"Four."
Jennie ran through the sleeping arrangements. Herself and Isabela, of course. Zev with Fenris, she thought. Fenris and Anders couldn't be trusted in a room alone together, and it was laughable to think either one would get any sleep under that circumstance. Additionally, Zev and Anders seemed to have some kind of tension between them, and while perhaps they needed to be locked in a room together to work through their trouble, Hawke didn't particularly want that to happen in an unfriendly town on the edge of civilization. So Zev and Fenris, Varric and Anders, which would leave Fergus in a room to himself. He'd probably appreciate that, she thought. He couldn't be used to being in the midst of all these people all the time.
"Fergus, would you and Anders and Zev mind seeing that our belongings all get in the right rooms?" she asked. "I'll take Varric, Fenris, and Isabela and we'll go see if we can pick up some supplies in town."
"Sounds fair to me. I can't wait to stretch out on a real mattress again," he said.
Quietly, she gave him the suggested sleeping arrangements, to his approval, and the two groups split up.
The single street was lined with shops and businesses, most of them looking as though they were on their last legs.
"What do we actually need?" Jennie asked.
Varric, their supply master, consulted his list, which seemed rather long.
"Let me see that," Isabela said, snatching it unceremoniously out of his hand. "What's this? Truffled nug sausages, five hundred thread count sheets, thick cream-colored card stock ... This sounds more like plunder than overland travel supplies. Someone's planning to live high on the nug."
Varric grinned at the dwarfism, plucking the list out of Isabela's hands. "A man can dream, can't he? Besides, that's the wrong list. This would be the simple, rough fare you're looking for." He handed her a different piece of vellum, one with much less writing on it.
"Yes, this sounds more like it," she said, with a wistful sigh. "You're right, Varric. Truffled nug sausages beat jerked beef any day of the week."
"Not a decent vintage of wine to be found, either," Fenris chimed in unexpectedly, after a disappointed perusal of a shop labeled "Vun". "At least, I assume that must be what this establishment purveys," he added, with a glare at the misspelled sign.
"Really, what did you all expect?" Jennie snapped. "You're all acting like spoiled children."
Isabela grinned. "Sorry, Mother."
Jennie led them to a small shop that sold general goods. They worked their way down Varric's list, finding almost everything they needed to replenish. Fenris lounged by the door with his arms folded, glaring at anyone who came in, an attitude that the shopkeeper didn't seem to resent, oddly enough. After a first interested perusal of Fenris's markings, she appeared to have turned her attention completely away from him.
While Isabela pocketed a few small trinkets that struck her fancy, and Varric and Jennie got down to business pulling lanterns off shelves, the shopkeeper quietly scribbled on a piece of vellum. She handed it to the small child who had been clutching at her skirts, disentangling the fabric from the little fist with some difficulty and gently urging him to go. Fenris looked sharply over at the woman and child as the little boy darted out the back door. The woman refused to meet his eyes, and Fenris straightened up.
"Hawke."
His voice held an unmistakable note of warning. Without looking at him, Jennie jerked her head quickly to indicate that she'd heard him. The pace of her selections speeded up immediately, and she and Varric piled their purchases on the counter.
The shopkeeper began writing up the order, very slowly, and Hawke banged a hand on the counter. "No dawdling," she said sharply. She dropped three gold sovereigns on the worn wood. "This should cover it all, don't you think?"
The woman's eyes darted from Hawke, to Fenris, to Isabela, before settling on Varric. "Messere," she began in a wheedling tone, "I'm just a poor woman, trying to work out what's fair. You're staying right here in town; what's your friend's hurry?"
"My friend doesn't like to waste time," Varric said with an affable smile. "Neither do I." He added one more sovereign. "I'm certain that if you find we've overpaid, you can have the change delivered to us at the White Grape."
There was little the shopkeeper could say to that. Wringing her hands in her apron, she nodded.
"Excellent." Varric collected their pile of supplies, sharing it between himself and Fenris and ostentatiously leaving Hawke's and Isabela's hands unencumbered. "My good lady," the dwarf said, nodding at the shopkeeper as they left.
"What was that all about, Fenris?" Hawke asked.
"She sent a missive to someone."
"Who, do you think?" Isabela asked.
Fenris shrugged. "Does it matter? It was unlikely to be any friend of ours."
"Good point."
They returned to the inn without incident. Hawke and Varric took the supplies upstairs. Isabela hovered near Fenris. "I'm bored," she said, pouting. "I want to do something fun. Let's do something fun, Fenris."
"Such as?"
"I have some very entertaining ideas." Leaning as close as he would let her, she whispered a few of them into his sensitive elven ear, letting her breath brush the delicate edge, and was rewarded by his shiver and the blush that was faintly discernible in his dark skin.
Fenris growled, batting her away. "Do not be ridiculous." He stalked off in the direction of the stables, and Isabela stared after him, feeling triumphant. The emotion under his voice was growing. He was angry now, but once he was angry and aroused all at once ... the very thought made her shiver. She turned away, back to the inn.
The inside of the stable was dim and warm, with the sounds of Oghren snoring and the horses chewing their hay soothing Fenris's disturbed emotions. Could he deny the longings Isabela awoke in him much longer? The pirate was warm and tempting and offering herself so clearly—but she didn't know what she was asking of him, or why her suggestions brought equal amounts of desire and dismay.
His tortured thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the stable door. "Here, elf!" shouted a voice. "Couldn't believe it when we got that note. You're going home to your master!"
Fenris's head shot up, his nostrils flaring as he automatically placed the accent. Tevinters? Here, in an Orlesian backwater?
"Come and get me, then," he said, turning. He was fairly caught in the stable; nowhere to run. He'd have to fight them. But as they set upon him, five of them, Fenris realized that he couldn't fight effectively in here. The low roof kept him from pulling his sword or utilizing it properly, and the skittish horses kept him from using his lyrium abilities. He had learned on the road that his powers startled the horses and made them lash out in fear. An excellent tool, Fenris thought grimly, if the chances hadn't been so good that they would strike him with their flailing hooves along with the bounty hunters. He crouched at bay in the rear of the stable as the bounty hunters approached, lashing out with a strong, sinewy arm and knocking the closest one back into the man behind him. There was a limit to what Fenris could do bare-handed, and it occurred to him that if he got out of this alive, he could do worse than ask Isabela to help him train with daggers.
He blocked a blow, getting a gash on the arm in the process, and kicked the knee of one of the bounty hunters. The man groaned, hobbling back from the fray, but he raised a crossbow to his shoulder, bracing himself against the wall. Fenris dodged the bolt, which put him in line for a heavy blow from a mace that caught him full in the chest, throwing him back against the wall with a heavy thump. The blow knocked the breath out of him. These men were trying to take him alive, which opened up some possibilities, Fenris thought, and then he groaned as the mace made contact with his stomach. He doubled over, fighting the urge to vomit.
"Hey!" shouted a voice suddenly, and Oghren burst from the pile of hay he'd been snoozing in, his axe springing to his hand as though it had been forged there. He made a strange but fearsome figure, standing there with the wickedly sharp axe and pieces of hay sticking out of his sleep-tousled hair and beard. He seemed to take in the situation rapidly, however, and he advanced on the Tevinters, shouting. "You want him? You gotta take out Oghren first!"
The bounty hunters exchanged glances. Fenris remained where he was, gathering his strength, with one wary eye on the all-too-competent mace-wielder. Oghren was among them now, his axe swinging and smashing into the weapons and armor of the Tevinters. Fenris blinked as a figure dropped down out of the rafters and stabbed one of the Tevinters in the back. Isabela. Where had she come from? And where had she been while they were using him for a punching bag? he thought ungraciously.
Between Oghren's axe and Isabela's daggers, the Tevinters couldn't stand for long. The horses moved skittishly, unnerved by the scent of fresh blood, and Isabela went quickly to quiet them, her calloused hands gentle on their necks. Fenris watched the strong, sun-browned hands stroking the horses, gentling them, and he wondered what it would be like to be comforted by the touch of another person.
"Elf, ya shoulda hollered if ya needed help."
Fenris pushed himself painfully away from the wall. It hurt to stand up straight, and he suspected he might have a broken rib. "I ... appreciate your assistance," he said stiffly. He had grown accustomed to being aided since meeting Hawke, but he had never managed to be comfortable expressing gratitude. "I am in your debt."
Stiffly, he moved out of the stable, brushing past Isabela.
"Fenris!" She followed him, her hand circling his wrist. He flinched at the burn that came with the touch of her bare fingers on his markings, and yanked his arm from her grasp. "You're hurt."
"I will be fine." He kept walking, wanting her to leave him alone, and yet not wanting that, either.
"I can help, so that you don't have to go to Anders."
Fenris stopped, looking at her in surprise. Isabela usually espoused practicality, and scoffed at his rejection of magic healing. "Why?" he asked, his voice dark with suspicion.
She blinked. "I—"
He shook his head. No doubt this was another of her attempts at seduction. "Leave me alone. I do not require your assistance, nor do I wish it." He stalked off without another word or a backward glance, leaving her standing there.
Isabela bit the inside of her lip, stifling the hurt she couldn't deny that she felt. Who did that lanky, stubborn, beautiful bastard think he was? And why did it bother her so? You couldn't cast all the lures she did without drawing the bait back untasted more than a few times, and she'd long since gotten past taking it personally. But Fenris throwing her help in her face stung.
She stormed into the inn, where Varric and Hawke were relaxing by the fire with cups of the local spiced grape juice.
"Come and join us, Isabela," Hawke called out.
"This stuff isn't bad," Varric said, taking another experimental sip.
"You may want to go check on your elf," Isabela said, with one boot on the stairs to the second floor. "Tevinter slavers ambushed him in the stable. Oghren and I took care of it, but I think he was injured." Let him escape Hawke's ministrations, she thought. Hawke rarely put up with that nonsense from any of them, although she generally let Fenris go without a reliance on Anders's magic for healing.
Isabela didn't bother to knock on the mage's door. She kicked it open, the lock splintering, and with a swift glance to determine his location, threw her daggers, neatly pinning his arms to the wall by his coat sleeves.
"What are you doing?" Anders asked as she grabbed a chair and shoved it against the door in place of the broken lock.
"I want you," she said bluntly, "and no spirit of the Fade is going to stop me from having you."
"Wait, why? I don't think this is a good idea," Anders protested. She could practically hear his heart pounding as she crossed the room, ripping open his shirt as she sank onto his lap. He struggled against the knives holding his coat, but she had thrown well, and the wooden walls held.
Isabela slid her hands into the tear in his shirt, stroking the firm, warm skin there. "Can Justice come out and play?" she asked, shifting backward on his lap so she could unfasten the buttons on his trousers. "Mm," she said, pulling his semi-hard length out of his pants and stroking it. "Justice is large."
"That is not Justice!" Anders protested, but he moaned, too, and couldn't resist thrusting himself into her skilled hands. "That is a perversion of Justice!"
On her knees in front of him now, she looked up with a wicked grin. "Why, as a matter of fact, it is. But are you really going to complain?" And he couldn't, not with her warm, wet mouth closing over him and her tongue dancing along his hardening flesh.
The crackling blue light began to flash around him, and Justice's voice intoned harshly. "Mages are downtrodden enough. Leave this one alone! Cease to play with his foolish flesh!"
Isabela was unperturbed. She focused on the very tip, swirling her tongue around. "Should I? Can't you feel this, Justice?" She took the whole length in her mouth, sucking, and he moaned again. It was hard to tell whose voice made the sound. "Shouldn't you focus on what mages want justice for, instead of simply spouting rhetoric?" Isabela stripped off her tunic, climbing onto his lap and letting her large breasts dangle in front of him. His face contorted, desire and frustration and outrage and curiosity flashing across it in a nearly comical way.
Bending slightly, she let her soft breasts brush his throbbing erection, eliciting strangled moans in both voices.
"Please," he gasped. "Isabela."
"Hm." She smiled in triumph, viciously shoving the image of Fenris's pain-filled face away from her as she sank down on Anders's hardness, letting him fill her. She rocked back and forth, enjoying the struggles he made as he tried to free his hands to touch her, and reveling in the gasps and moans that came from him. It quickly became clear to Isabela that her peak was going to elude her, so she would take her pleasure from bringing him to his. She moved her hips steadily, long, slow rises and deep falls, until Anders's face flushed, his eyes closing, and he cried out, jerking his hips against her.
He slumped against the wall, panting, the blue light gone, and Isabela looked at him with predatory delight.
The door opened behind them, the chair she'd shoved against it scraping along the floor.
"Rivaini, really? You could at least have opened the door like a normal person," Varric complained. "I have to sleep here, you know."
She stood up, running her hands over her body and lifting her breasts enticingly. "Jealous, Varric?"
"You've clearly never seen Bianca when I take her apart."
"Some day I'm going to get you alone and then we'll see how your crossbow stacks up," Isabela promised. She pulled her tunic back on and yanked her knives out of the wall. Anders grunted, shaking his hands as the blood rushed back into them. "He's all yours," she said to Varric.
As she left the room, she heard Anders say, "I don't know what I did to deserve all this, but I wish they'd give me some warning."
Varric's reply was amused. "I don't think you have to worry about that from now on, Blondie."
Isabela smiled, but her eyes were drawn to the door down the hall. She could just make out the low rumble of Fenris's voice and Hawke's, slightly higher. For a moment she thought of getting righteously drunk and giving a tumble to every man in town, but the idea made her feel ill. Instead she ran from the inn out into the dark Orlesian night, longing for the carefree salt breezes of the ocean.
Thank you all for your patience - I've been struggling to get my mojo back. It seems to have left me entirely there for a while. Next chapter we move into uncharted territory. If you have any speculations on what might exist in the Tirashan, I'd be interested to hear them.
Special thanks to my reviewers: naomis8329, Isabeau of Greenlea, Oleander's One, suilven, Ladyamesindy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Shakespira, Enaid Aderyn, Biff McLaughlin, TheCrimsonZephyr, and DragonRunner22. And to my incredibly supportive and talented beta, WellspringCD.