Chapter 6

Everybody's watching you,

Everybody waits for you now,

What happens next,

What happens next?

-Switchfoot, I dare you to move.

It had to be the single most beautiful ship she had ever seen. The brief glimpse she had snatched of the Kalipsa the previous day, caught between the crowd of curious sailors that had pressed around her, was nothing in comparison to actually being able to stand on the ship's polished decks. Isabela felt her heart thud painfully in her chest as she cast a discreet glance around the galleon. It was nothing like The Siren's Call had been. Her old ship had been rough and rugged, and you'd have been hard pressed to find an inch of her wooden frame that wasn't age worn or pockmarked or blood splattered. To compare the two ships was to compare a thoroughbred to a carthorse. The Kalipsa was sleek and shiny, every inch of her mahogany frame pristine and perfectly maintained. But despite these differences, the galleon felt more like home to her than the room in the Hanged Man which she had lived in for the past three years.

"I take it you like my ship," Tristan said in amusement. Isabela glanced back at him, startled to find that they were now standing alone together. Parish had walked back down the gangplank and was standing on the docks, talking to another sailor and gesturing impatiently towards the crates of oranges which were stacked near the Kalipsa.

"She's beautiful," she told Tristan honestly, smiling. The Hero of Ferelden returned her smile warmly, and she took an instant liking to him. There was something about his charming smile, his easy confidence and the mischievous glint in his intensely blue eyes which drew her in like a moth to a flame.

"So," Tristan said, staring at her expectantly. "Where are we going?"

"Excuse me?" Isabela asked, laughing. "What do you mean?"

"You came here looking for me, I presume," he said.

Not really... She had come down to the docks with the intention of reassuring herself once and for all that the Kalipsa was not under Castillon's command. Bumping into Tristan Amell was nothing more than a rather handsome bonus. Isabela didn't bother trying to explain it all to him.

"Yup," she lied cheerfully. "I came down here looking for you."

"Good. Because I don't feel like getting lost again," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Once was enough. Come on," he motioned her forwards with one hand and began to descend the gangplank. "I need to find the harbour master. You know where he is right?"

Isabela laughed again as she fell into step beside him. "You're telling me you can't be trusted to find your way from your ship to the harbour master's office?"

He chuckled, his confidence seemingly unruffled by her taunting. "I grew up in a Circle. Maps and directions are a pretty foreign concept to me,"

"Well then its lucky I happened to come along. This way," she added, leading him through up the weathered stone steps that lead to the harbour master's office. As always, her golden brown eyes flickered across the yellow stone street towards the Qunari compound when as they drew near, and she felt a shudder of unease run through her. She placed a hand on Tristan's elbow, deliberately steering him in the opposite direction.

"There's the harbour master," she pointed the man out. Tristan withdrew a document from a pouch at his waist and approached him.

"It appears my ship has suffered some minor damages in the storm. I'm going to need to dock here for a while longer," he explained. He handed the document across. "Here's my shipping manifest. I trust you'll find everything is in order?"

The harbour master nodded his head absently, sparing the manifest only a cursory glance. "Yes, yes. Everything is fine. Thank you Messere,"

"So that's it then?" Isabela asked as Tristan returned to her side. She raised a brow and smirked. "Anywhere else you need me to take you?"

"Anywhere but back to my ship," he told her. "I think I'm starting to get cabin fever,"

"Hanged Man, it is," Isabela decided.

Tristan shook his head despairingly. "What is it about that place that everyone here seems to love? Maker knows it's not the ale,"

"Sometimes you just want to go where everyone knows your name," she replied, leading the way out of the docks.

"That will make Parish feel so much better," he said, following after her with a sigh. Isabela smirked, her thoughts flickering back to the love-struck Orlesian sailor.

Poor girl, she thought. Tristan doesn't have a clue.

…..

"Isabela, my dusky goddess!" a drunken voice assuaged her as she reached the bar. The pirate gritted her teeth, sent a silent plea to the Maker she didn't believe in for patience, and ordered herself, Tristan and Varric each another round of ale. She spared a momentary glance back at the table where the two men sat, her lips quirking with amusement as the dwarf eagerly pressed the Ferelden hero for details about his adventures. Varric had a nose for good stories, and at that moment he was sniffing around like Tristan Amell like a bloodhound after a rabbit. Tristan was leaning back lazily in his chair, balancing it on the back two legs. Sensing her gaze, he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the man standing next to her. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

"You have buried yourself into the flesh of my heart like a worm in a red, red apple…you heart worm you…" the drunk continued, leaning a little closer and leering down at her breasts. Ordinarily, she would have let him continue his tirade for a little longer before getting rid of the letch, but at that moment Tristan was stalking across the tavern towards them, his blue eyes fixed upon the poor, unsuspecting fool in irritation.

"Oh look, my friend's here," she said quickly, giving the man a slight shove and sending him reeling backwards.

"Need help carrying those drinks?" Tristan offered as he approached. He raised one eyebrow, inclining his head towards the drunk, but Isabela shook her head quickly. No need for this to get messy, the poor sod was harmless enough.

The drunkard took one glance at Tristan's face and decided it was time to make his escape while he still could. He staggered back across the tavern, joining a group of his equally inebriated companions.

Isabela glanced back at Tristan and smiled. "Come to defend my honour, have you? Because if you have I should probably warn you, I have none,"

Tristan laughed softly, his irritation melting into amusement. He started to say something in response, but his words were lost as the door of the tavern suddenly crashed open. Two Templars stood in the doorway, their shiny armor looking strangely out of place in the dirty bar. Silence descended upon the crowd of patrons as the pair of chantry soldiers stepped inside, their hands clutching the hilts of their swords.

"This looks like trouble," Tristan muttered.

They strode into the tavern, heading straight towards the bar. Corff warily stepped towards them, his expression guarded.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"I'm sorry Serah, but I have been ordered to escort you to the gallows,"

What? Isabela jerked in surprise as did all of the patrons inside the tavern. A few men stood up, some muttering in protest.

"W-what?" Corff stammered. "I'm no apostate…"

"Everything will be explained to you once we are back at the gallows," one Templar explained.

"No!" The burly bartender protested loudly, stumbling backwards. Fear was etched across his features. "No you can't take me! I'm no mage!"

The angry mutterings of the crowd of patrons grew louder as more men and woman in the bar rose to their feet.

"Hey! You can't take him!" someone yelled.

"Yea, who's going to serve us ale?" another person added worriedly.

This sentiment drove the Hanged Man into chaos. The patrons pressed forwards as one towards the bar, knocking over tables and chairs in the process. One of the Templars drew his sword, swinging it wildly to keep the panicked people back. Screams and shouts flooded the tavern. Tristan suddenly moved forwards pushing his way to the front of the crowd.

"On whose authority is this man being taken in?" he demanded, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. Silence descended around the gloomy tavern.

"Knight Commander Meredith has ordered that this man be taken in for questioning. This establishment has been known to have harbored blood mages, apostates and criminal fugitives," one of the Templars responded. "He may have insight into a particular apostate that we are currently searching for,"

Angry shouts pierced the tentative silence at his words, and again the Templars instinctively reached for their swords. Isabela wasn't sure that a mere pair of Templars would be enough. At any moment now, she was certain, the fine ties that kept these men and women in one piece would break, and anarchy would reign.

"Do you have a written statement declaring as much from the Knight Commander?" Tristan asked, his voice once more commandingly silencing the crowd. A sea of anxious faces watched the Warden uncertainly.

The second Templar nodded his head and pulled out the document with a flourish. He handed it to Tristan, who narrowed his blue eyes as he scanned it. Eventually he shoved the papers back into the Templar's hands, looking furious.

"Let him go," he said, his voice low with anger. "You won't be needing any information from him,"

"I'm afraid we do," the first Templar insisted. He turned back to the assembled crowd of angry patrons. "If you people know what's good for you, you'll disperse immediately!"

"There's no need," Tristan said sharply. He glared at the Templars who stood beside him. "I am the one the Knight Commander is looking for. Take me into your custody and release this man,"

The Templars acted immediately. One grabbed Tristan's arms and wrenched them behind his back, while the other turned to Corff.

"You are free to go. Your confession is no longer required,"

Corff immediately backed away from them, relief shimmering in his eyes. The crowd surged around him, tittering in relief.

Isabela only spared the bartender a cursory glance before turning her attention back to Tristan, who was being forcibly led through the crowd by the Templars.

They're taking him to the gallows, she thought, an odd feeling of panic rising inside of her.

"Where are you going Rivaini?" Varric called as she began following after him, her feet moving of their own volition.

"Tell Aveline to meet me at the gallows," she yelled over the din of the exuberant crowd. "They can't get away with this!" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and towards the door after Tristan. She pressed through the throng of people impatiently, eventually clambering over the top of a table to reach the doorway. She burst through and instantly caught sight of Tristan again. The Templar who held him was pushing him roughly down the street, but the Warden Commander offered no resistance to his treatment. He accepted it with the indifference that only comes from growing up in the midst of such abuse.

"Get back citizen," One of the Templars commanded as she reached Tristan's side.

"I'm his accomplice," the Rivaini pirate blurted impulsively, the words spilling from her lips before she had even had a chance to consider what she was saying. "If you're taking him in then you'll have to take me too,"

Both Templars suddenly froze, staring at her suspiciously. "Is this true?" one of them questioned Tristan.

He shook his head fiercely. "Of course it's not true!" he replied angrily. His blue eyes held hers firmly. "Stay out of this, Isabela,"

She wished she could. Staying out of things was usually her best survival skill. Good intentions got people killed. But she had just watched him willingly turn himself in to get a man he didn't even know out of trouble and – Maker help her – she couldn't just stand by and watch him be dragged away because of it.

The last time you decided to let your morals get in the way of something, you ended up releasing over a hundred sovereigns worth of slaves and making an enemy out of one of the most formidable underground merchants in all of Thedas. She reminded herself.

Damn her stupid conscience. It always seemed to pop up at the worst possible moments.

"I'm not willing to risk it," the second Templar decided. He grabbed her, roughly securing her arms behind her back in the same manner as his friend held Tristan. "You're coming with us," he declared, in a voice that suggested he'd captured her, as opposed to her willingly giving herself in.

Isabela rolled her eyes as he gave her a shove forwards, mentally listing the dozens of ways she could escape his grasp and have him unconscious on the ground before the hapless fool knew what was coming. Then she gave a loud, dramatic sigh and allowed him to lead her along with Tristan back to the gallows, resigning herself to her fate.