Author`s Note: Found myself in a writing mood, so here's another chapter. More Cullen in the next one.
ASSASSINS
The mage did not leave the Wounded Coast for days—which ended up being a terrible mistake.
Astrid had spent her time in a miserable stupor, unable to forget what Hawke had told her or the pain on Cullen's face. It consumed her and every moment she spent staring out into the sea, desperate for that eventual escape. First she needed to find the Relic, and second, she would need a ship to take her far away to Antiva. Lastly, she could never look back. True to what she told Cullen or whatever excuse she was giving herself to stay any longer, Astrid was here to save Isabela. To return the favor at last, no matter what the cost.
She sighed loudly, watching the last rays of daylight drown at the horizon and the stars sparkle between dark clouds. For once the coast was calm and she was breathing in the cool air, enjoying a night in her shallow cave for once. Astrid grew drowsy as she relaxed, rolling over to welcome her nightly visit to the Fade, even if it did mean having to endure Envy. The mage closed her eyes, but remained wide awake. Perhaps the only good decision that night.
Rocks and stones fell in front of the cave's mouth, a sure sign of movement from above. Astrid twisted herself awkwardly to see through the dark. She waited, assuming to see Isabela come skipping through her makeshift camp and drag her to the Hanged Man. Instead a man jumped into her cove from the ledge above her cave, soon followed by a second. Astrid used the noise to quickly give herself a more relaxing pose as she pressed herself against the cave wall. The men paraded around the clearing and dug through the things she had collected. They noticed her fire, which she had extinguished some time ago, but it would still be warm and enough evidence that this wasn't just another abandoned camp along the coast.
"Keep looking," she heard one order the other, not the accent she was expecting, meaning they were not Castillon's men.
She heard the clink of metal as they found her sword, which she had left propped outside her cave—and now regretted doing so. One man stood there holding her weapon in his fist, squinting into the darkness where she hid. Astrid didn't dare breathe. As long as her presence remained hidden, the men would be discouraged and continue their search elsewhere. It never did go as planned. The superior of the two kept her sword and waved at the other man, "Mage—I need light in here." Astrid's heart leapt into her throat. She only had a second to react as the mage came up to the man's side. The mage would have to go first.
Astrid curled her fingers around a rock, praying to the Maker that it was sharp. Just as the mage rounded in front of the other man, raising his hand to illuminate the cave with a spell, she made her move. Rushing forward, she tackled the mage and crashed him into the ground, purposely landing her knees against his chest. He gasped and choked, stunned enough to give Astrid a moment to kick the leader and knocking him back towards the cave. She felt the mage stir beneath her and reacted. Swinging her arm up for momentum, she brought the rock in her hand down and felt warm blood hit her face. The mage squirmed and clawed at his neck, trying to remove the crude weapon.
Now she had to make her escape.
The apostate scurried up the steep ledge, pulling herself up and rolling down the hill. Astrid could hear the man at he heels, hollering and attempting to follow in her footsteps. Her worry wavered for a moment, for he was just one man and she had plenty of experience running. She finally found her footing in the sand, gaining distance; and as the sky grew darker, Astrid knew it was only a matter of time until she could slip in the shadows. Breathing hard and already congratulating herself on a tasteful escape, she didn't hear the whistle of an arrow. It tore into her calf, throwing her into the ground. Astrid looked at the arrow's shaft sticking out of her leg and tried to ignore the pain. She forced herself back onto her feet and began to run again.
Two more arrows pierced her in the arm before Astrid realized she was outnumbered.
She crumbled to the ground, pushing an arrowhead further into her flesh as she fell on her wounded leg. Astrid failed to smother a cry of pain, a sign of weakness to her assailants. The apostate tried her feet again, knowing this didn't even touch her tolerance for pain, but was immediately met with one of her adversaries. He slashed at her with her own blade, catching her side as Astrid attempted to jump out of the way. Blood gushed from the open wound, over her fingers and pooling at her feet. She looked up, but could barely keep her head up. Aside from the amount of blood she was using, something was wrong. The assassin kicked her back into the ground, returning the favor, and pointed her sword down at her.
"Royce said you might be trouble." In that moment, any resilience Astrid had held onto was fleeing. The man recognized her fear and smirked at the power he finally had over her. "Says we have to bring you in alive," he knelt down in front of her, quivering in pride as she gasped in agony, "but said nothing about us having a little fun first."
Astrid's eyes grew dark and Envy was whispering in her ear, reminding her of the power at her fingertips—literally. She was nearly giving in, when her face was splashed with blood and an arrow protruded from the man's forehead. A shaky sigh came from her trembling lips and she collapsed on her back, not sure if the arrow came from a friend or foe. The apostate felt her vision blur as she looked up into the face of her rescuers, mind dizzy as she failed to comprehend the hands reaching for her. Astrid initially fought them, but there were tan hands on her face and so much gold reflecting in the moon. She coughed a grin, "Your hurting me."
Isabela's nails had begun to dig into her cheeks, leaving small crescents when the pirate finally pulled away. Her captain instinctively broke off an arrowhead from the arrow sticking out of Astrid's arm, earning a painful groan from the mage. She licked the bloody tip and immediately spat it back out, "They're poisoned!"
"Hawke and I got this," came Varric's voice, although distorted and distant, even though he was right beside her. Astrid felt her unwounded arm being carefully wrapped around broad shoulders as she fought to keep her balance. "Rivaini, you're the fastest—fetch Blondie," the dwarf continued, reloading his crossbow as Hawke broke away from the group and sent a wall of ice to block the rushing attackers. "Broody, take her to your place, we'll meet you there!" Varric called the later over his shoulder as he joined the brawl. Astrid was heaved closer to whomever carried her and back on her feet, but soon lost track of reality as she slipped into unconsciousness.
When she came to, her skin was uncomfortably cold and exposed. Astrid flinched at the feeling of someone's touch at the hem of her robe. She blinked awake and tried to move, hissing as she bumped the arrows still sticking out from her arm. "Don't move," came the sharp tenor of Fenris, who had strategically cut her robe to make it easier to remove. The apostate panicked and used her other arm to furiously claw his hands away.
"Don't—" she couldn't control her emotions, sobbing as she tried to muster a glare, "touch me."
No one can see the ugly beneath her robes, not this elf and not even herself. It was years into her voyage on the Siren's Call before Isabela was even aware she had scars beyond the ones on her face, and even though they peaked through the open button on her robe, that was all she was comfortable showing. Fenris gave her a stern look and continued to ignore her please, even as her fingers dug into his wrist. "I can't help you if I can't get to the wound," he argued, pushing her back down on the table he had cleared to put her on.
She ignored him and forced herself into a sitting position, sick from the pain that plagued her body. Astrid knew Fenris was right, the arrows couldn't be properly removed nor treated if she didn't remove her clothing. The apostate contemplated the situation, wondering if she could avoid exposing herself to anyone else of she just complied. A few minutes passed, and she reluctantly nodded in defeat, tears still streaming slowly down her sand covered face. "Fine," she solidified her answer, stilling as the elf continued his cuts into her robe, shredding her favorite article of clothing.
Piece after piece, more of Astrid's marred flesh was exposed to Fenris. The smooth white scars from the incident at Kinloch Hold stood faint against the newer scars, still healing and rigid on her smooth skin. It was hard to hide his shock. The elf traced each mark with his eyes, curiosity taking over. Skinny marks ran along the curve of her breasts, disappearing behind her bloodied breast-band; a large scar ran vertical along the length of her torso and into her navel; thicker scars from previous encounters with swords were found across her stomach and hip. He was sure there were more, but the lighting was bad and Astrid had collapsed on her back again. "Happy now?" she hissed, finding herself loosing sight again.
"Why would I be?" Fenris was surprised, almost disgusted with the suggestion.
Astrid grinned awkwardly through the suffering, "You were right, were not...the...same."
Fenris saw pale she was and wondered what was taking everyone so long, when he heard the mansion door slam open and Hawke's voice echo through the empty estate. Hawke and his companion's heavy foot falls came up the steps, and into the parlor. Anders was with them. "Astrid?" the healer whispered, immediately stepping up to examine her wounds. "You were right Isabela, she has been poisoned, but I think I can stop it," Anders called over his shoulder, already rolling up his sleeves and looking over the laceration at her side. "This isn't going to be easy—"
"But you can help her?" Fenris interjected, glaring at the mage.
"Yes, I think so, you might actually be helpful," Anders snapped back, surprised when the elf just nodded and stood waiting for direction, "If everyone can just wait outside."
Hawke followed Varric and Isabela out into the foyer, and quietly closed the door behind him. The storyteller had sunk into the nearest chair, sighing and cradling his crossbow across his lap. Isabela was unusually nervous, fidgeting and pacing as they waited. Astrid's cousin glanced at the door. It was an act of the Maker that they had perfect timing in arriving when they did. For days they worried, or at least he had, especially after they way she had abruptly left so many nights ago. Isabela was confident her friend could handle herself, but watching the pirate nervously sitting down and standing back up, Hawke wondered if she was actually more aware of what had just happened then everyone else was.
"Isabela, love," he spoke softly to her, rubbing her shoulders, "What's going on?" The pirate looked conflicted at Hawke and hung her head. He gave her a comforting smile and tipped her chin to face him, "Please Isabela, I need to help her—whatever it is."
The captain looked at the closed door and back at her companion, nodding faintly. She then told them everything, hoping she hadn't just incurred the wounded's wrath.