Author's Note: This chapter has been cut in half to preserve a 'T' rating. For more information, and a link to the full chapter, please see the author's profile.
Athadra felt nearly naked as she stalked into the Pearl, one of Denerim's finer establishments, according to Sergeant Kylon. More than a week after the Landsmeet had been officially called, Eamon had insisted that she get closer to the man, who headed up the Denerim guard in the marketplace and surrounding districts. The sergeant had been all-too-happy to give her a job that his own men were too scared or too corrupt to perform-rousing a gang of Howe's mercenaries from Mistress Sanga's place of business. Kylon had suggested a bit of discretion, since the men would likely try and kill the Warden at the first sight of her griffon emblem just to claim Howe's and Loghain's reward; Sanga would not tolerate blood being spilt in her place of business, and the sergeant was keen on remaining in the brothel-keeper's good graces.
So, with a bit of trepidation, Athadra had left her Warden Commander plate and Starfang in the arl's care, along with her faithful but all-too-conspicuous mabari hound. She wore hardened leather, as would normally befit a fighter of her stature, and daggers at her hips. Leliana and Zevran were similarly adorned. Alistair had insisted upon accompanying them as well, so he'd traded his gold plate for a jerkin and trousers underlain with chainmail. The house's matron noticed them at once, and inclined her head toward a knot of rowdy men banging on a table. A scared-looking elf girl was in the process of taking off her clothes.
"Been here for two days," Sanga lamented under her breath, when the Warden drew near enough. "Already tried to get a little rough with one o' the girls."
That was all Athadra needed to hear; she sidled up to a man in fine steel platemail, rapping his shoulder lightly. He glanced back at her with a laugh. "Piss off," he grunted. "This affair is for White Falcons only. You can watch...from a distance." His accent marked him out as being from the Northern Free Marches.
Athadra cocked her head. "I hear you've been making some noise that's starting to draw some unwanted attention," she said in a low voice.
Arching a brow, the well-armoured man gained his feet, the elf behind him evidently forgotten for the elf in front. He was even taller than Alistair, so Athadra had to crane her head back to keep his face in view...but her expression didn't waver. "And just who told ye tha', love?"
"Someone who's got the pulse of your employer," she hissed. "Who doesn't like being embarrassed by his agents." That got the swarthy man's attention, and his brow drew down. The Warden's crimson eyes flashed malevolently. "Trust me...you don't want to see what happens to people who embarrass him." Given what Zevran had told her of Howe, Athadra had no difficulty inferring the man's cruelty.
The White Falcon held her stare, but his eyes wavered uncertainly, while the Warden's gaze remained steady. "Righ'," he conceded at last. And then, more loudly, "Boys, party's over. Be'er not to get on the boss's bad side." Despite disgruntled mutterings, the squad moved to obey their leader's command relatively rapidly, and only a few moments later the table was clear of the mercenaries.
"Give Kylon my regards," Sanga breathed, her relief palpable. "Someone should really..."
The woman kept speaking, but Athadra's attention was drawn to a far corner, where a one-sided battle had erupted between a caramel-skinned woman and three larger men. The men wore dirty chainmail and brandished swords, while their opponent wielded an exotic-looking pair of curved daggers but just wore a bodice and boots that seemingly left her little protection and left even less to Athadra's imagination. The Warden stepped forward to intervene on her behalf, but an unfamiliar palm fell upon her shoulder.
"I would n-" The gruff man backed against the wall as Athadra's daggers crossed at his collarbones, the blades just tickling against his throat.
"Don't touch me," breathed Athadra. Her heart hammered in her ears, and her veins ached to feel the man's blood surge within them, but she managed to pull back from the brink when he put up his hands in submission.
"S-sorry," the man stammered. "It is only...the captain, she does not like interruptions, while she works," he explained.
Athadra arched a brow and glanced into the corner once more. One man sat in a chair, blood trickling from his nose, with the woman's booted foot planted firmly between his legs. The other two attackers stumbled away, mumbling. "Begone, Selwyn," the woman purred, drawing one of her daggers against his stubbled jaw. "And be grateful I only took a bit of coin." Athadra didn't see what the woman did next, but the man she'd called Selwyn groaned and yielded. He slunk away, throwing a solitary glare over his shoulder as he left.
The woman replaced her daggers behind her back and turned, a grin curling her full lips. "Casavir, tell the men-" She stopped short when her eyes caught on something just above and behind Athadra's left shoulder. The Warden saw a her expression spasm oddly for half a heartbeat before the woman grinned. "Zevran! What are you doing here?"
The Antivan stepped forward. "I could ask the same of you, Isabela," he countered with a laugh that seemed a bit too enthusiastic. Athadra arched a brow when she saw that his smile looked forced as well, but after a breath his eyes sparked with the same incorrigible lust she'd come to accept.
The Warden arched an eyebrow and looked from the elf to the woman he'd just named. "You two know each other, I take it?" She felt her throat start to dry out when the woman's honey-coloured eyes settled on her, and Athadra found that she could not tear her own gaze away.
"Ahh, yes," Zevran said. "Allow me to make the introductions." He moved toward a fireplace, until the three made an equal-sided triangle, and he nodded to Athadra. "My ravishing companion here is none other than the Commander of the Grey," he allowed.
"Athadra," the Warden supplied, her breath catching in her throat for just a moment as her eyes finally broke free of the woman's stare, though they landed on the solid gold ornaments wrapped around her impossibly long neck. Athadra spied a smattering of Selwyn's blood resting innocently on the curve of a heavy breast, and her fingers clenched at her sides.
Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. "And this," he continued, sweeping a hand to the enticing-looking woman, "is Isabela-Queen of the Eastern Seas, and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn."
"Captain Isabela," she stressed, laying a hand on her hip. "I see you've already met my First Mate, Casavir." She inclined her head to the scruffy man whom Athadra had very nearly decapitated a few moments before. He nodded curtly when the Warden threw another glance in his direction. "And we're here to stock up on supplies and...other pleasures," Isabela sighed, smiling to herself. "Before the Blight swallows us all up."
Athadra's brows rose when she caught the captain's eyes giving her a once-over, but she blinked herself back to focus. "Who taught you to fight like that?"
"What, that?" Isabela looked back to the corner where she'd handily disarmed three men. "That was just a bit of sport." She shook her head, nodding to Athadra's daggers. "You probably could have done the same."
"I'd have killed them," Athadra admitted with an irrepressible smirk.
The Antivan spoke up once more. "A ella le gusta la sangre," he explained, gesturing to the crimson splashes which soaked into the captain's off-white bodice.
"Really?" There was a twinkle in the woman's eye when she looked at Athadra again. "What else does she like?"
The Warden swallowed, her heart beating a half-tick faster. "Wouldn't you like to find out?" The tinkling of golden bangles sounded in the elf's ears as Isabela drew back her head in a full-throated laugh.
"Oh, I like this one," the captain told the assassin. "Her friends are cute too," she added, eyes raking over Alistair and Leliana, both of whom decided to take a few steps backward. "We'll call for a drink, and you'll honour me with a game, then."
"Wicked Grace?" Athadra ventured, her eyes flitting to the assassin for a moment.
Zevran snickered. "I may have given her the basics, Isa," he admitted.
The captain heaved a sigh, and Athadra couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the sight of the woman's breasts pushing to escape the confines of her bodice. "Damn," Isabela lamented. After a moment's consideration, her head canted to one side. "Did you have something else in mind?"
Athadra looked around her, from Alistair's concerned face to the silent bouncers who'd been too intimidated to clear off the White Falcons. "You've got a ship, aye?"
Isabela's eyes glinted as she swept a glance at Zevran. "Indeed," she confirmed. "The Siren's Call," the captain sighed. "Why?"
The Warden's eyes skimmed over the deep crimson still drying on the captain's skin and clothes. "I've only ever been on one ship before, but it were just for Lake Calenhad. I'd like to see a proper ocean-going vessel, I think."
The swarthy woman's cheek dimpled with her smirk. "We could arrange a tour of the captain's quarters, if you liked."
Alistair coughed pointedly. "Tell me those two aren't naughty-talking," he pleaded. Athadra could feel the heat coming from his ears already, and she couldn't hold back a barked laugh when she caught his expression over her shoulder.
"We're not," the Warden assured him, her lips curling into a grin. "Yet."
"But..." Alistair's brow drew down as he looked from Isabela to her first mate and back. "And don't get me wrong, I'm sure these fine, upstanding mariners wouldn't know anything about it, but...remember what Eamon told us a few days ago?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.
A chill crept down Athadra's spine, and she turned back to the captain and Zevran. "Aye," she sighed. "Got a bounty on me head," she announced, not bothering to keep her voice down. "Five hundred sovs, so I hear." She felt her heart skip again when a shimmer of greed passed just behind Isabela's eyes.
"That's a lot of rum..." She purred, though she didn't alter her stance. "What did you do to deserve that?"
"Loghain turned his back on us," Alistair said, coming to stand firm beside the elf. "Left King Cailan to die, and pinned it on us."
Athadra snorted. "He pinned it on me, you mean," she growled. Her fingers twitched just a hair closer to her daggers again. "And I ain't exactly sure I'd do different, in his boots." Before Alistair could protest on her behalf, she pressed on. "If you're interested, you should try to collect soon. I've already seen the bastards once since I came to town," she sighed, still lamenting that Loghain and Howe had simply strolled away from her as though she were an inconvenient pet. "Next time I see 'em, they won't be fit to give out their prize." Her blood whispered again, and she felt the warmth between her legs grow more intense at the prospect of even more blood flowing.
The captain's eyes hitched at Athadra's hips and she swallowed, pushing at the golden stud of her lower lip. "I don't think my hold has room for a chest," she lamented with a sigh, bringing that honeyed gaze back up to meet Athadra's stare. "Casavir," she called without turning.
"Captain," the man clipped, looking both disappointed and relieved.
"Tell the men that shore leave's going into tomorrow..." Isabela let on, her tongue swiping over her dark lips. "...evening," she decided, casting Zevran another look.
"Aye, captain," came the response.
"Good man," Isabela replied, swaying her hips as she stepped away from the wall toward the Pearl's dockside entrance. Athadra's breath caught in her throat when she spied the stretch of caramel skin between the top of the captain's thigh-high boots and the hem of the bodice's undertunic. The Warden hardly noticed that Zevran was just a few paces behind the other woman. Isabela cast a glance over her shoulder. "You coming?"
Athadra found her voice and moved to follow. "I certainly hope so," she breathed. Almost as an afterthought, she called, "See you tomorrow," back at her two remaining companions.
