A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favourites guys. You make my day =)

Chapter 11

Breath in,

Holding, holding,

Go on,

Begin to let go,

'Cus there's no reason,

I'm turning myself,

Into somebody else,

Calm down,

Calm down,

Calm down.

-Holding a Heart.

A hand gently grasped her shoulder, shaking her awake. Isabela's eyes flickered open and for a moment she could only stare uncomprehendingly into Tristan's vivid cobalt eyes. The last thing she would have ever expected to wake up to was the Hero of Ferelden sitting at the edge of her bed. He grinned down at her, a world of mischief in that all too handsome smile. Isabela groaned loudly, snuggling herself a little deeper beneath her bedcovers.

"It's too early," she grumbled, closing her eyes.

"I have a birthday present for you," he told her, his voice holding a child-like eagerness. His words were like a bucket of cold water over her head, instantly bringing her out of her warm drowsiness into full startled awareness. She sat up, her golden eyes narrowed as she glared at him.

"How do you know it's my birthday?" she demanded. She had never told any of the rest of the gang her birth date. To her, birthdays meant aging and the last thing she enjoyed thinking about was the passing of time. Without a birthday each year painfully reminding her that she was growing older, she could quite cheerfully remain ageless in her own mind. Tristan's grin widened a little at the look on her face, and despite her irritation, she couldn't help but begrudgingly note how gorgeous he looked that morning. His raven hair was messily tousled, a few wayward strands falling casually into his vibrant eyes. He looked like he had simply clambered out of bed and thrown on some clothes, without bothering to fix his appearance before he left. She curled her fingers into a fist, resisting the desire she suddenly had to brush her fingers across his forehead and shift those black strands away. She imagined how soft his hair might be to touch, how easy it would be to thread one hand through his messy hair and draw him closer to her… She shook her head. Andraste's tits! What was wrong with her? She needed to pay an immediate visit to the Blooming Rose, she decided.

"I can read your thoughts," Tristan said smugly, causing her to jerk violently. Her eyes widened.

"W-what did you say?"

"You asked how I knew it was your birthday… I can read your thoughts," he folded his arms across his chest, smirking.

Isabela froze, the colour visibly draining from her light coffee complexion.

Dear Maker! The tome! If he can read my thoughts he'll know all about the tome… There wasn't a waking moment when she wasn't reflectively obsessing on how to get it back, and what might happen to her should she fail…

Suddenly Tristan started laughing, distracting her again from her thoughts.

"Dear Andraste, Isabela!" he gasped, barely able to speak he was laughing so hard. "Read your thoughts? Just how gullible are you?"

Relief flooded through her, and she reached forwards, smacking his arm in mock anger.

"You goose! You almost had me there. How did you really know?"

"You told me last night," he told her, still chuckling in amusement. "Don't you remember? You made me sing happy birthday to you at midnight," his eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you were drunker than I was! I thought that alcohol tolerance of yours was legendary?" he added mockingly.

She rolled her eyes. Typical. You could never trust yourself to keep something quiet whilst inebriated. And it seemed that Tristan had the uncanny ability to keep himself sober even after ingesting copious amounts of the Hanged Man's finest – an ability he attributed to a time spent with a dwarf named Oghren.

"A birthday present, huh?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Where is it?"

"You'll have to come with me to get it," he replied, taking her hand and tugging it impatiently. "Come on! Get up! Let's go,"

"This had better be worth it," she growled, slipping out of bed and grabbing her clothing. Tristan quickly averted his eyes as she did so and she belatedly realised that she had stripped her clothes before falling into bed the previous night. Up until now, her threadbare blanket had just managed to keep her modestly covered. She chuckled at him as she slipped her white corset over her head and continued to search the room for her underwear, not bothering to fasten the ties on her bodice.

"You aren't shy, are you Tristan?" she teased.

His blue eyes flickered to hers. "Someone has to be modest for you,"

"How sweet," she chuckled. "Now help me find the rest of my damn clothing,"

Lazily he stood up, crossing the room towards her, scooping up her underwear off a wooden dresser on his way past. He handed them to her and she smiled, quickly tugging them on. He reached for the ties on her corset and she froze to the spot as he quickly tied them, his fingers moving with a deftness that suggested he'd tied and untied many women's bodices before. He was suddenly too close, his breath hot on her cheek as he finished the ties at the top of the corset, his fingers sending shivers across her skin where they accidently brushed against her. Her eyes moved from his fingers to his lips, and without realising it, she shifted ever so slightly closer to him. He finished the last tie, his blue eyes rising to meet hers. Her breath caught in her throat as he stared down at her. Then he smiled inscrutably, stepped back from her and pointed to a spot at the corner of her room.

"Your boots are over there,"

Biting back a wave of disappointment and fighting against the almost overwhelming urge to grab him and press her lips against his, she turned around and headed towards the spot he had indicated, slipping her cold feet into the soft leather of her boots.

You're doing this for Abby, she reminded herself firmly. She would never forgive you if you hurt him,

Isabela shot a glance back at him as she strapped her leather gloves in place, wondering if it was even possible to hurt him. He seemed so damned self-assured and confident.

Better not try, she sighed inwardly.

"Sweet burning Andraste," Tristan complained, impatiently tapping one booted foot against her wooden floor. "How long does it take you to get dressed?"

"I'm done. I'm done," she sighed, turning back to him. "This birthday present had better be brilliant,"

"You're going to love it," Tristan replied cheerfully. He pushed her door open, giving her a mocking bow. "Ladies first,"

She rolled her eyes at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him along after her as she strode out the door and down the steps to the tavern below. The Hanged Man was suspiciously quiet – save for a single drunk who was passed out cold on the floor, there was no one in the bar. Even Corff was absent. They picked their way through the room, heading towards the front entrance. Isabela gaped as Tristan opened the door, staring up at the dark sky overhead. The inky blackness above was only just starting to fade at the horizon. Dawn was slowly re-establishing the divide between sky and land which the darkness had blurred. A blood red line formed along that divide as the sun began to creep its way upwards, its tender rays starting to give shape and form to the buildings surrounding them.

"The sun hasn't even risen!" she whirled around to face him, glaring. "What birthday present would require you to wake me up at this Maker-damned hour?"

"If you keep walking, then you'll soon find out," he told her, his voice somewhat exasperated. She huffed irritably, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she stared up at him.

"Will you at least tell me where we're going?"

He reached one hand forwards, his fingers brushing against her hip as he gently undid the shawl that she had tied around her waist.

"A blindfold?" she giggled, as he secured the band of blue material across her eyes. "How kinky,"

"Hush," he murmured, his lips now close to her ear as he deftly tied a knot behind her head. He shifted his grip on her hand. "Try not to trip," he cautioned her, as he pulled her gently forwards.

She followed him through the streets of Lowtown, listening to the crunch of their boots on the gravel as they walked, and the soft whistling of the cool wind around them. At first she tried to keep note of the direction he was leading her in, but after the seventh turn he made she was utterly lost and could do nothing more than allow herself to be led at his whim.

"Are we there yet? It's bloody cold this early in the morning! You had better not be leading me around in circles Tristan Amell," she added warningly.

He chuckled softly. "Stop complaining, we're nearly there,"

The piercing shriek of a gull followed his words and Isabela suddenly smiled, realising exactly where they were. A deep breath of fresh sea air confirmed her suspicions.

"The docks? You're taking me to the docks?" she guessed.

"We're going a little further than the docks," he murmured. He stopped walking and turned towards her, reaching up to remove the blindfold from her eyes. Isabela glanced around curiously, her golden brown eyes almost instantly falling upon the Kalipsa which rested just ahead of her. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the sailors who were busy unfurling the ship's white sails. She turned back to Tristan, feeling slightly panicked.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Tristan nodded his head, grinning. "I need to take the Kalipsa on a test run to see if she's still sound to sail. She should be alright after the repairs Captain Reynold has had done on her, but I'd rather be sure,"

Isabela nodded her head in understanding. "It's always best to be safe," she said cautiously, still uncertain as to why he had led her down here.

"I thought so too. So, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

Tristan's grin grew wider in the face of her obvious confusion. "I gave my Captain the day off today. I was hoping you might sail her for me."

Isabela sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes darting back to the beautiful galleon that rested before her.

"You want me to…?" she trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. The very thought of sailing such an exquisite ship left her breathless with excitement and anticipation. Not even The Siren's Call, which had once been her pride and joy, could measure up to the beauty, power and sleek grace that the Kalipsa so effortlessly possessed.

"Happy birthday Bela,"Tristan whispered in her ear. "Try not to crash my ship, okay?"

…

Isabela drew in a deep breath of salty air, her eyes flickering closing briefly as she committed the perfect moment to memory. It had been three long years since she had felt so perfectly and completely happy. Three years since she had felt so at peace. She could scarcely believe she had denied herself this exquisite pleasure for so long. Her gold eyes opened once more, expertly scanning the deep blue depths of the Waking Sea which surrounded the Kalipsa. The waters were choppy and rough, white waves driven about by a wind that was as reckless and excited as herself. A cold, salty mist clung to her skin, but the chill was tempered by the warmth of the golden sun high above her head. Isabela leaned against the polished mahogany wood of the wheel, casting an appraising glance at the crewmen that scurried to and fro along the wooden decking of the galleon, each one of them immersed in their task. They were a seemingly competent bunch of men, not nearly as rowdy or as impudent as her previous crew had been, and they followed her orders perfectly. Whatever damages the galleon might have sustained in the storm were non-existent now. The Kalipsa's sleek frame moved through the turbulent waters with the grace of a dancer. The fishing trawlers which dotted the bay around them all looked clunky and ungainly in comparison.

"So?" Tristan asked, stepping up into the wheelhouse beside her. "Is she sound?"

"She's more than sound," Isabela sighed contentedly. "She's the finest bloody ship I've ever seen,"

The Warden grinned at her praise, shrugging. "I wouldn't know," he admitted. "She's the first and only ship I've ever sailed on. But Reynold seems to love her too, so I guess she must be worth her salt,"

Isabela turned her gaze back to the endless expanse of ocean that stretched out before her, feeling the familiar call of the unknown beckoning to her soul. They had been out on the waters for hours already, but deep inside she knew it could never be enough. The very thought of having to turn back to Kirkwall sent a shudder of misery flooding through her.

"You're pretty good at this," Tristan added, his blue eyes gleaming with approval. "In fact I have a sneaking suspicion you're better than my current Captain, but don't tell him I said so,"

Isabela felt her heart swell with the praise. She smiled at him. "That's almost insulting," she teased. "You do happen to realise that I'm the finest Captain in the Eastern Seas?"

"Is that so?" he replied, his brow furrowing. "Because I had heard that the finest Captain in the Eastern Seas was a pirate,"

"And what's wrong with being a pirate?" Isabela demanded, releasing her grip on the wheel for long enough to place her hands on her hips. Tristan laughed softly at the look on her face.

"Pirate's steal ships Isabela. You're not planning on stealing my ship, are you?"

"I'm sorely tempted," she grumbled, turning back to the helm.

Tristan started to say something in response, but the words suddenly died on his lips as he cried out sharply in pain. Isabela turned back to him in alarm.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer her. His face was wracked in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. His hand was clenched against his chest, gripping at something which rested beneath his shirt.

"Tristan!" she called his name sharply, feeling a prickle of unease crawl along her skin.

"Something's wrong," he whispered the words so softly she could scarcely hear him. "Arrrghhh!" he cried out in pain again, dropping to his knees in front of her. His blue eyes opened, wide with pain and panic. "Turn us around," he commanded. "I need to get back,"

"Parish!" Isabela yelled, her golden eyes swiftly sweeping the expanse of the deck in search of her. The girl was already headed towards them, drawn by Tristan's screams.

"What happened?" she cried in alarm as she reached the wheelhouse, her grey eyes locked on Tristan.

"Take the wheel. Get us back to land. Now!" Isabela ordered sharply. She waited only long enough to ensure that Parish was following her orders before kneeling down in front of Tristan.

The Hero of Ferelden's face was ashen and covered with a sheen of sweat. His entire body was shaking. He gritted his teeth, meeting her gaze with fearful eyes. His other hand was now pressed against his stomach. As Isabela watched, a rose of blood bloomed around his fingers, soaking through his white shirt.

"What's happening?" she gasped.

"I need… to help her," he muttered, his every word followed by a hiss of pain. "How far… to land…?"

She turned around uncertainly, casting her gaze to the coastland. She had been following the curve of the shore, so they were not too far away from the beach itself, but getting back to the docks was another issue entirely. Tristan followed her gaze, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as she had. With another sharp hiss of pain he pushed himself to his feet. The hand he pressed to his stomach glowed blue with magic and the steady drip of blood ceased its trickling down his fingers.

"Tristan where are you going?" Isabela demanded, as he stumbled towards the starboard side of the ship. He gripped the railing with his blood-stained hand.

"There isn't enough time," he whispered desperately, before leaning forwards and tumbling over the side.