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Chapter 5

I don't think that passenger seat,

Has ever looked this good to me,

He tells me about his night,

And I count the colours in his eyes.

He'll never fall in love he swears,

As he runs his fingers through his hair,

I'm laughing 'cus I hope he's wrong…

-Taylor Swift, I'd Lie.

Sonja Parish woke to a blinding pain across her temples. For a few moments she lay completely motionless, trying to get her bearings. There was a foul, bitter taste in her mouth, a pain in the pit of her stomach and her body ached all over. From the feel of the worn but firm mattress beneath her, and the subtle creak and groan of wood as the Kalipsa swayed against her moorings, she realised that she was back in bed in her cabin. Experimentally, she tried opening her eyes. She groaned loudly as she did so, immediately squeezing her grey eyes tightly shut against the blinding sunlight that streamed in through the small, circular window in her cabin. Rolling over onto her stomach, she pressed her face into her mattress and pulled her pillow over her head. The movement was enough to send a wave of nausea through her and she gagged, grimacing at the taste in her mouth.

"Dear Maker," she growled.

"How are you feeling Parish?" a voice asked her, from somewhere above her head.

"Shut up Luke," Sonja hissed, kicking the wooden underside of the bed above her with her foot. There was a resounding thud next to her as he leapt off the top bunk, landing heavily beside her.

"I am going to kill Tristan," she muttered.

"Tristan?" Luke echoed in surprise. She lifted her head, staring blearily into his dark brown eyes. She had been sharing a cabin with Luke Thorne for as long as she could remember. They had grown up together in Val Royeaux, taking whatever sailing jobs were on offer. He was her best friend and her closest confident, and as such was the only person she had confessed her unrequited love of Ferelden's hero to. Not that it seemed to matter. Sonja was secretly certain the entire crew knew how she felt.

"Why would you blame your dear and darling Warden Commander?" he asked her, smirking at her obvious hang over. "He was the one who carried you back here last night in his arms,"

"He what?" Sonja sat up quickly, wincing at the dizziness that followed the sudden movement.

Luke chuckled loudly. "You were unconscious at the time, so I don't really expect you to remember. It was kind of sweet," he added teasingly. Parish threw her pillow at him and he ducked, laughing even harder. She scowled at him.

"It isn't funny. I should never have passed out in the first place!" she snapped. "How drunk was he?" she added.

Luke shook his head, frowning. "He didn't seem drunk at all,"

"Damn him!" she growled, punching the bed in frustration. "How does he always manage to be so damn perfect?"

"Maybe it's a perk that comes from being a Grey Warden."

"No… It's just him…" she murmured, the anger ebbing from her voice as her thoughts flickered to the perfection and mystery that was Tristan Amell. Luke made a gagging noise and tossed her pillow back to her, before pushing himself to his feet.
"I think I'll leave you to your love struck mooning, if it's all the same to you," he told her, rolling his dark brown eyes.

"Where are you going?" Parish demanded, grimacing as another wave of nausea threatened to empty her stomach.

"The Kalipsa ended up suffering some damage from the storm after all. Minor stuff, but the Captain wants her completely sound before we set sail again. When you're feeling a little better, come above decks and give us a hand,"

Sonja nodded grimly. "Sure thing,"

She waited until he had walked out of their small cabin and pulled the door shut behind him before lunging towards the rough wooden bucket that sat in the corner of the room and emptying her stomach inside of it.

….

It was only hours later that she finally managed to drag herself above deck, glaring daggers at anyone who dared make a comment about her little 'misadventure' the previous day. The fact that she could remember next to nothing about the whole thing only made it that much worse. Sonja cast a glance up at the sky above her as she stalked down the polished wooden deck, relieved to note that the weather had maintained its cheerful disposition. The azure depths above her were marbled with snowy white clouds, boasting a clear and crisp autumn day. She found Tristan at the stern of the ship, casually leaning over the railing and staring out at the docks.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, without turning around. Whether he simply possessed an incredible sense of hearing, or his skills as a mage enabled him to sense other people, Sonja could never figure out. All she knew was that it was impossible to sneak up on Tristan Amell. She leaned against the rail, staring up into his all-too-handsome face.

"Not at all," she grouched. "This is all your fault, you know,"

He nodded his head absently, not bothering to deny it. She glared at him, hating the fact that he didn't look hung over at all, while she was left looking like an absolute wreck. Then a moment later she softened, wondering why he hadn't tried to tease her about this fact.

"What's wrong?"

He finally glanced down at her, causing her heart to beat a little faster beneath his searing blue gaze.

"I just want to get out of this city," he admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

"Luke said the Captain found some damage on the Kalipsa,"

Tristan nodded glumly. "Looks like we're bound to be delayed a few weeks," he sighed. "I guess I'm going to have to start opening old wounds after all,"

She stilled at his words, wondering if he was actually going to open up to her and admit to some sort of inner torment. After all the months she had spent working so hard to become his friend, she still felt like an outsider to him. He treated her like a kid, like the little sister he'd never had. It was frustrating beyond belief.

"Old wounds?" she probed gently, when it seemed he didn't intend to add anything to his strange statement.

Come on. She silently begged. Let me in.

He raked his hand back through his black hair, the familiar gesture revealing the depth of his frustration. His blue eyes flickered over her face, and for a moment she knew he was debating with himself about whether or not he should tell her what he was thinking. Then he sighed again and Sonja knew she had lost. His eyes shuttered and grew distant once more.

"It's nothing,"

She clenched her hands into fists, wishing she could push him to say something more, but not knowing how. After a few more minutes spent standing in strained, awkward silence next to one another, she decided she couldn't take much more of it.

She simply didn't know how to handle him when he got into these moods.

Stepping away from the rail, she walked back down the deck towards the bow. The rest of the crew winked and chuckled as she passed, leaving Sonja to wonder at exactly how drunk she was the previous night. A small smile danced across her lips as she remembered Luke's words.

He carried me back, she thought. It made every inch of her hang over worth it.

"Parish!" Reynold's voice called her sharply as she passed the gangplank. He was standing on the docks, a large wooden crate cradled in his arms.

"Yes?" she replied, stepping off the ship and walking towards him.

"You okay?" he asked her, frowning.

She nodded her head, wishing she could die from shame. Did everyone know she had ended up blind drunk last night? "I'm fine Captain," she replied coolly.

"Good," he replied, seemingly convinced by her answer. He inclined his head to a stack of wooden crates that were lined up on the wooden dock behind him. "Then do me a favor and haul these up on deck,"

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped onto the gangplank and headed back up onto the Kalipsa, whistling tunelessly to himself. Sonja grimaced, considering the idea of going back on deck and finding Luke to help her. The crates were filled with oranges and would no doubt be heavy.

"Need some help?" a voice asked from behind her. Sonja whirled around, staring in surprise at the olive skinned Rivaini woman who stood just behind her. She was dressed in a short, corseted white shift and thigh-high leather boots, her ebony hair held back by a patterned blue bandana which matched the blue sash that hung loosely around her waist. She had the kind of figure that Sonja had always envied, one that was undeniably curvy and feminine and left Parish feeling awkward and boyish beside her. The woman suddenly smiled, her gold eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Hey! You're that girl from yesterday!"

"I am?" Sonja asked, feeling bemused.

The Rivaini nodded. "Your name is Parish, isn't it? You wouldn't remember me… You were unconscious at the time," she explained, her smile turning into a smirk.

"So I keep hearing," Parish growled, scowling.

Gold eyes dancing with amusement, the woman stuck out a gloved hand. "My name is Isabela," she offered.

Sonja took her hand after a moment's hesitation and shook it.

"Here, let me help you," Isabela said quickly, lifting one of the crates of oranges into her arms. She cast a pointed glance towards the Kalipsa. "We're taking these over there, right?"

Sonja nodded her head as she picked up another crate, shifting its weight more comfortably in her arms. She had been right – the crates were heavy. She could feel the muscles in her forearms straining beneath the weight.

"Thanks," she muttered, suddenly grateful for the help. She led the way back up the gangplank, with Isabela following close on her heels.

"She's beautiful," the Rivaini woman sighed as they stepped onto the deck of the galleon, glancing around with obvious admiration.

"The Kalipsa is the fastest ship on the Eastern Seas," Sonja replied, unable to resist a little bragging. "You won't find another like her,"

She set the crate of oranges down with a grunt, and motioned for the woman to do the same. She would get Luke to help her move them into the hold later on, she decided.

"Isabela wasn't it?" Tristan's voice called out teasingly. Sonja jerked her head up in surprise as he approached them.

How the hell does he know her name? she wondered, suddenly feeling irrationally angry towards the Rivaini woman standing next to her.

Isabela turned towards him, a warm smile spreading across her pretty features. "Tristan, wasn't it? Or was it Dirk? Or maybe Dagger…?" she taunted, her hands on her hips.

Tristan chuckled loudly, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Hey, I was drunk," he protested. "People tend to forget their names when they get inebriated,"

"You two know each other?" Sonja interrupted, unable to keep the coldness out of her voice. Tristan glanced at her curiously.

"We met yesterday Parish,"

"And she already knows who you are," Sonja snapped, narrowing her eyes at Isabela, who looked startled by the sudden vehemence directed at her.

"Hey," the Warden protested. "I tried using your little alias and it didn't work. Reynold came along and exposed me five minutes later,"

If he wasn't her Captain, Sonja might have seriously entertained the idea of inflicting grievous bodily harm upon Reynold at that moment.

"I thought you were going to be carefulwhile we were here! Not run around getting drunk and telling everyone exactly who you are!" She ranted, her voice growing louder and louder with each word, until she was practically screaming at him.

"Parish," Tristan said, his calm tone at startling odds to the hysteria in her voice. "You need to calm down," he placed a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Isabela isn't a Templar. She has no interest in turning me in. And even if she did, it wouldn't matter, because I am a Warden Commander and the Hero of Ferelden for the Maker's sake. No one is going to lock me away, so calm down,"

She took a deep breath, nodding her head slowly as she stared into his brilliant blue eyes. She was uncomfortably aware of his hand on her shoulder, warmth seeming to seep into her skin from his palm.

"Are you going to stop screaming at me?" Tristan asked after a few moments.

Sonja nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good," he pulled his hand away from her shoulder and grinned at her. "Now would you please stop acting like a complete and utter psychopath?"

She sighed. Damn him, he was right. She was acting like a psychopath… How did he always manage to do this to her?

"Okay, okay… Just promise me you'll be careful," She begged.

"I'm always careful," He replied, winking at her. Sonja rolled her eyes.

"I'll look after him for you, kitten," Isabela added teasingly. There was something in her eyes as she glanced over at Sonja, something almost knowing. Sonja glared back at her.

Maker damn it all! she screamed in her head, suddenly recognizing the glint in Isabela's golden brown eyes. How does everyone seem to realize how I feel about Tristan except him?