Just so we're clear? Anything you recognize (and probably some things you don't…) I don't own. I just thank Bioware for being so awesome. :)

Chapter 2

The faces all around me they don't smile they just crack,

Waiting for our ship to come but our ship's not coming back,

We do our time like pennies in a jar,

What are we saving for?

There's a smell of stale fear and it's reeking from our skins,

And the drinking never stops because the drinks absolve our sins,

We sit and grow our roots into the floor,

But what are we waiting for?

-The Bravery, Believe.

The Kirkwall air was always crisp and clean after a storm. The heavy smoke from the city foundries which usually hung in a cloud over Lowtown were gone, swept away by the violent rains from the night before. The reprieve would only be a brief one, lasting a few hours at best before the pollution would once more stake its claim over the city. Isabela cast a glance towards the sky as she walked, admiring the vista of pink and orange light which followed the sunrise. It had been a long time since she had been awake early enough to watch the sun rise. Usually she only woke at noon; once the worst effects of her hangover from the previous night's drinking had worn off, but a lack of coin had resulted in her consuming less alcohol than normal of late, and consequently she found herself able to rise in time with the sun's first rays. The city was still and quiet, most of the residents still comfortably asleep in their beds. The soft crunch of Isabela's boots against the gravel floor was the only sound that pierced the early morning silence. Alert as always, her gold eyes flickered periodically across the empty streets in search of bandits or blood mages who might be wandering the town in these quiet early morning hours. The path to the docks was mercifully clear though, and the former pirate captain was able to saunter through the city without incident.

Three years. She thought with uncharacteristic gloominess as she wandered down the wooden docks. The sight of the moored ships gently swaying against their ties in the still sea waters was enough to plunge her into a well of remorse and despair. Three years spent stranded in Kirkwall. Three years since her precious ship, The Siren's Call, had been destroyed whilst fleeing the Qunari. Three years spent desperately searching for the relic which would free her from this mess. She clenched her hands into fists as the frustration bubbled up within her. Three years had passed and she was still hopelessly screwed.

A passing sailor whistled, calling out a teasing comment as he walked by. Isabela barely glanced up at the man before gesturing rudely at him in response. Even after years without setting foot on the deck of a ship, she was still known and accepted by the sailors' as one of their own. This thought at least gave her some small measure of comfort.

A small gathering of men at the far end of the docks caught her attention, and she quickened her pace, her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she caught sight of the galleon moored at the end of the wharf. Long and sleek, her pristine white sails furled neatly up along her impressive masts, she looked nothing like the cumbersome fishing trawlers that usually occupied the docks. Her wooden hull had been painted jet black, the colour offsetting the rich polished red wood of her deck. The name of the craft, the Kalipsa, was etched into the ebony paint in fine gold lettering. The beauty of the ship was suddenly lost upon Isabela as a thought rang through her mind.

Has Castillon finally found me?

The ship certainly looked worthy of the Antivan merchant, she thought, fear clawing at her insides. She closed her eyes briefly, sucking in a deep breath to steady herself.

"She's a beauty." She commented to one of the bystanders, her voice betraying none of the emotions that were whirling inside of her.

"Aye she is." The sailor replied, without shifting his eyes off of the Kalipsa. "Harbor master says she docked here last night, looking to escape the storm."

"Who owns her?"

"Not rightly sure." The man gave a shrug. "Whoever he is, he's certainly a rich bastard."

That he is. Isabela thought, unable to tear her eyes away from the magnificent ship before her. A ship that big would undoubtedly hold a large crew, she thought. All she needed was to speak to at least one of those men to determine whether or not the Kalipsa belonged to Castillon. With considerable effort, she dragged her eyes away from the galleon and walked back down the dock, her thoughts in a whirl. The Hanged Man should be her first stop, she told herself, or the Blooming Rose. Fresh ale and loose women was the first thing a sailor would seek after many months spent on board a ship. The Hanged Man was closer, so that would have to be her first stop. She could ask Corff – he would certainly remember a large group of new faces invading his tavern. A hand suddenly caught her arm, jerking her violently from her thoughts and stopping her in her tracks. Her head whipped up and she glared at the man who had so foolishly laid a hand upon her. She caught herself a split second before she could inflict any bodily harm upon him, recognizing him as the underground merchant contact she had been using to help her locate the relic.

"Jeremy!"

He instantly released his hold on her at the vicious gleam in her golden eyes and the sharpness of her voice.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He apologized instantly.

"You didn't." She assured him, but he looked less than convinced. "Do you have any news for me?" She pressed him, eager to be away from the docks and the ship she was growing ever more certain belonged to Castillon.

The merchant nodded his head. "Man named Devin Hollins." He said, talking in a low voice. "Word is he has been trying to sell an expensive item. An old book that's apparently worth its weight in gold."

Isabela's heart stuttered with relief at the news. "Where is he?"

"Darktown, last I heard. Ask around and someone should know where he is. You know how these things work."

The former Captain nodded her head. "Thanks for the tip." She said softly. Reaching into her purse, she retrieved several silvers and pressed them into his hand. He closed his fingers around the coins, gave her a brief smile, then brushed past her and continued walking down the docks.

Devin Hollins. Isabela repeated the name to herself carefully, memorizing it. A small measure of hope had been granted to her, giving her courage against the frightening thought that Castillon might have caught up with her after all. If she could find the damn Tome, she could return it to him straight away and hopefully avoid the punishment the Antivan merchant had undoubtedly planned to repay her for losing the relic in the first place. She hesitated for a few moments longer, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she debated which course of action to pursue first. She could either go straight to Darktown in search of this man, Devin Hollins, or she could continue to investigate the Kalipsa in order to find out exactly who owned her. It only took her a moment longer to make her choice. She simply had to know whether or not the galleon belonged to Castillon. She wasn't going to wait around for him to drive a dagger into her back.

...

Isabela pushed open a weathered door, stepping into the tavern with the confidence of one who had grown up in such places. The Hanged Man was not the sort of tavern that any self-respecting nobleman should ever be found in. In the light of day it was nothing more than a dirty, blood splattered hovel that was a cesspool for thieves, assassins, mercenaries and whores. Not that it was any better during the night, but at least then the shadows would hide most of the illicit dealings of Kirkwall's underground citizens. Her golden brown eyes flitted across the gloomy interior, taking in the roughly hewn chairs and tables scattered across the room, the blood spattered bar and the bartender, Corff, who stood behind it, cleaning out a mug with a filthy rag. Even in the early hours of the morning the tavern was still comfortably filled with patrons, though most of them were passed out drunk in their own vomit.

"Isabela." Corff greeted her as she approached the bar, a perfunctory smile flitting across his face. Esteemed customers such as herself and Varric were always treated with an extra amount of respect from the bartender. "I haven't seen much of you lately." He added, passing her a mug of ale as she leaned against the bar. She reached to pay for the drink, but he waved her off. "On the house."

"Cheers." Isabela replied gratefully, lifting the mug to her lips. She took a measured sip, no longer even noticing the foul taste of the ale that they served here. With time, one could grow used to anything. "There's a new ship in the docks." She said eventually, with deliberate nonchalance.

Corff nodded his head. "Several of the crew came in here last night." He told her, confirming her suspicions.

"Oh really?" She asked, glancing pointedly around the bar once more. "Are any of them still here?"

The burly bartender nodded his head, pointing out several drunken men that were passed out at a table near the rear of the tavern.

"There's a few of em upstairs too." He added. "They paid good coin for their ale and none of em caused too much trouble." Corff nodded his head in approval. In the Hanged Man, actual paying customers who didn't get blood all over the furniture were considered a blessing. Isabela sighed softly as she stared at the unconscious group of sailors. None of them were going to be coherent enough to be questioned any time soon.

"Any idea of who they're working for?" She asked, turning back to Corff. "By the look of that galleon in the docks it must be somebody important."

He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "They kept to themselves mostly. Didn't happen to catch the name of the man they worked for. The sailors were mostly Orlesian though. From what I can gather they must have come from Val Royeaux."

It doesn't make an inch of difference where the crew is from. Isabela thought irritably. She took another sip of her ale and settled herself more comfortably against the side of the bar, resigned to the fact that she would have to wait until one of the sailors had roused themselves from their drunken slumber before she would be able to get anything useful out of them.

The door to the tavern swung open again, spilling golden sunlight into the gloomy interior. Abigail Hawke stepped inside, followed closely by Aveline and Fenris. A brilliant smile spread across her face as she caught sight of Isabela.

"Drinking already?" She teased, walking towards her.

The former captain swirled the last of the yellowish liquid at the bottom of her tin mug, lifted it to her lips and drained it with a grimace of disgust. Sometimes she was dead certain that there were actual rat droppings in the dregs of her ale.

"There's no time like the present." She answered with a shrug, setting the mug back down on the table before her. She gave Hawke a curious glance. "You look like you're on a mission." She added, jerking her head towards Aveline and Fenris, neither of whom would ever deign enter the tavern unless they were following after Hawke.

"That I am." Abby replied cheerfully. "The Arishok has asked me to find our dear friend Javaris Tintop and figure out whether or not he finally managed to get his hands on Qunari explosives. Or at least what he probably will think is Qunari explosives…" She amended, smirking. "The Arishok is setting him up. But anyway, we're headed to Darktown now to look for him. Want to come?"

Devin Hollins was in Darktown. Isabela reminded herself. She nodded her head. "Sure, I'm in. In fact, there's someone I need to speak with while we're there."