A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews and story alerts and favorites. Hope you will continue enjoying this. Shit's getting real! As a random aside, the title of the story is based on Covenant's 'Call the Ships to Port'.
"I really don't understand what this is all about. What are you not telling me?" Hawke's voice was concerned yet suspicious at the same time. She was leaning against her dresser, watching Isabela rummage around it. "Merrill gave me this really convoluted story about flowers, a nasty man and majordomo Beladana. What the fuck was that about?" She had an angry line above her nose, poking Isabela in the shoulder.
If Isabela really thought about it, Hawke was number 2 on the list of people she cared about. Their relationship was not as endearing and sweet as the relationship with Merrill, but she did care. She was happy that such a cunning, talented, charismatic person was taking care of her kitten, who truly deserved not being lonely in her life. Didn't everyone deserve just that? Even Aveline. Even I...no, not going there.
Isabela pulled a blue robe out of the dresser. It had cut out shoulders, a tight corset, and otherwise demure sleeves. The perfect mix of innocent with a hint of flesh and hidden pleasures. "I wish you were bustier, Hawke, but I think this laced corset should fit me. Help me." She had no reservations getting undressed in front of Hawke. Very early on they had had a short but tumultuous love affair that Isabela only ended once she started to notice the way Merrill was looking at Hawke and vice versa. It was probably the least selfish thing she had done in her life.
Hawke just waited and stared at Isabela until the pirate finally threw her hands up in the air. "You never give up, do you? It's complicated, I really can't tell you all. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know?" The corset of Hawke's mage robe was very tight, but it fit. Barely. Yuvar would have something to ogle. The cutout fabric revealed some of her bronzed flesh. She let out a sigh. "Listen, Aveline asked me a favor."
This made Hawke snort and shake her head. "What's going on, did you just say Aveline? You are working for the city guard? Okay, now I know something smells fishy here."
Isabela sniffed at the air. "I bathed this morning, you know? I love your bath tub." Nothing could distract Hawke right now, so Isabela tried the flirtatious manner. "I just need this dress to impress a man. Can't you understand this? Wouldn't you dress up for lovely Merrill?" She pressed herself against Hawke's side, purring in her ear. "Where's kitten anyhow? Are you two having a lot of fun? She never tells me anything, she is all too blushing and enamored. I would love to hear more about your...adventures."
Hawke gently pushed her aside. "I know your tricks, 'bela, don't you forget that. Something weird is going on, and you're not telling me. Aveline is strange these days too, keeps mentioning she's working on an important case and has no time to travel with me. Call it my sixth sense, but something's going on that I am not comfortable with."
Neither am I, Hawke, neither am I. Isabela tugged on the robe and whirled around. "Do I look lovely or not?" Her hair was carefully piled up, with just a few alluring strands falling loose of a braided bun. She wore very unostentatious jewelry that she had also borrowed from Hawke, and did indeed look lovely. There was a certain softness on her face as Hawke nodded at Isabela, tucking a loose strand of the pirate's hair behind her ear.
Sometimes Isabela wished she had been more selfish. Only sometimes. It was for the best she hadn't been though. But sometimes...
She leaned forward to kiss Hawke's cheek. "I'll be careful, mom. Aveline is looking after me too, so what could possibly happen?" Instead of being reassuring, this only brought Hawke's worry-lines back on her forehead. "I'll return your things later. Off I go!"
Before Hawke could say anything else to stop her, or before Merrill could come bouncing in, Isabela departed the estate. It was almost time, and Isabela had to think about how the night would go. She had no idea what would be happening.
Jaques' Winery was one of the few taverns in Hightown. Though tavern was maybe not the right term. It was a cute little restaurant serving Orlesian fare. In other words, pretentious slop that was thoroughly overpriced. The wine selection was supposed to be excellent, finest wines from Orlais and Antiva. Aveline was patrolling the small square where the winery was located, nodding to other guards in the area. It was evening now, almost time.
The guard-captain could not deny she was nervous. Isabela's message had been incredibly brief, but Aveline sensed something between the hurried words, a touch of fear. Maybe it was her own fear that she projected onto Isabela's words. Aveline angrily tugged at her scarf, frustrated at herself. Serve and protect, protect and serve, that was her motto, and she felt unhappy that she had laid her task into the most unreliable hands she could possibly imagine.
At least that's what she kept telling herself as reason for her unhappiness.
Said unreliable hands were actually walking towards the Winery now, looking quite lovely and demure, and not just the hands. She was wearing something that looked vaguely familiar, like a discarded mage robe of Hawke's, but Aveline wasn't sure. She looked calm, full of poise and quite charming. She looked nothing like the Rivaini pirate that Aveline knew.
It didn't seem like Isabela saw her, which was probably for the best. She headed into the Winery, perfectly on time for her dinner date. Yuvar had not arrived yet, at least not as far as Aveline was able to tell.
Aveline tensed as she heard some commotion towards the other end of the square. "Thief! Someone stop this thief! Who would dare steal in Hightown!" All her instincts kicked in, and Aveline quickly jogged over to where a scuffle had begun. Without considering any risk to herself, Aveline reached for the shield on her back and pushed in to separate the combatants. One of them was a wealthy looking Hightowner, and his assailant appeared to be a relatively young elvhen boy, of maybe 13. The boy held a knife and dropped the Hightowner's pouch on the ground, as soon as Aveline showed.
The guard-captain expected him to run, because that's what happened countless times, every damn day, right here in Hightown. Merrill was probably the only person in the world who found the Kirkwall disposition for muggings exciting. However, this boy was different. He did not even try to run. His large eyes focused on Aveline. In the fraction of a moment that things were happening, Aveline thought that something did not seem right with him. He moved like a dreamer, asleep while awake, his gaze completely unfocused, and yet so intent on his task. His knife was a slashing flash, driven towards Aveline's arm. The red-head was as always wearing her full plate armor, but part of her armor was leather, covering her arms, plate only protecting her elbows and shoulders. The knife sliced through the leather of her right arm, cutting the armor right by the crook of her elbow. It was a shallow cut, but it bled profusely. Aveline bashed the boy with her shield, and he staggered, falling onto the ground. From there, other guards grabbed him, finally having arrived on scene.
It all happened within a minute at most. As soon as the elvish boy was in the hands of the guards, Aveline finally looked down at her arm, cursing at the ruined armor, blood still seeping from the cut. It was not that it hurt, but it was entirely unexpected. She hated surprises like that. A concerned citizen offered her a kerchief, and without even looking up, she accepted it, pressing it against the cut. Soon, it stopped bleeding, and she let out a long breath. The owner of the kerchief surprised her by yanking it from her fingers. Aveline looked up and gazed into the cold, grey eyes of Yuvar. He smiled thinly, clutching the bloody cloth.
Aveline's skin was crawling with unease. This was not a simple gesture to assist a city guard, it felt like he had been targeting her specifically. She opened her mouth, wanting to call for the aid of the other guard on scene, but Yuvar was already preventing her from it. The shout died at the back of her throat. Aveline didn't know magic, but she knew when it was used. She had spent too much time around Anders, Merrill and Hawke to not see the signs. He held her blood-soaked kerchief and wielded magic, still smiling, utterly repulsive. The bloody bastard is using blood magic. That's how he is doing all of this, Maker.
She felt herself swallow, and then wandered over to the Hightown nobleman who had been stolen from. Aveline felt herself going through the motions, reassuring the nobleman, telling her guardsmen to take the prisoner to jail for later interrogation. She heard herself say that she needed a moment to calm down. She felt his voice oozing through her mind, like cold slime, like stepping on a slug with bare feet. She felt him ordering her to go to the Chantry, and that's where she went. Panicked thoughts filled her mind as she felt trapped inside of her body, and the one thought that kept running through her mind was a name. Isabela.
Isabela felt strangely relieved. He wasn't at the Winery. She would just have a nice glass of Antivan wine, and then end this charade. She would go find Aveline and tell her to stuff it. No slaver was worth this much time and effort without considerably more coin in for her than what the city guard would probably pay her as result. No simple favors amongst friends for her, no matter how much she actually liked Aveline.
There was some sort of commotion outside, and Isabela pondered to use the distractedness of the waitstaff to make a run for it. It's always more fun to actually swindle yourself to a nice treat like this really excellent wine than being a stuffy burgess paying for what she bought. She was just about to rise and head out when the door of the Winery opened and Yuvar walked in. He immediately zoned in on her, heading to her table by the door.
"I hope you weren't waiting too long," he murmured softly, bowing to her, before he sat down. "There was a mugging right outside, and I assisted the guard. Terrible. Those elves, they should not be allowed in Hightown at all. They should stay in the alienage, don't you think?" Yuvar's voice was incredibly soft, and repugnant to Isabela. This close to her he seemed even less attractive than he had earlier.
He sat down across from her, with a small smile on his lips. "You look lovely." Isabela felt tongue-tied like a young maiden, which was totally not her. She'd just have to tell Aveline that she couldn't go through with this, it was too much.
She smiled brightly. "I didn't wait too long at all. I am glad you are here. I was getting quite lonely." Isabela laughed coyly and then raised her glass to him. "I started without you, I hope you don't mind. This golden Antivan wine is quite amazing."
Yuvar tilted his head, studying her cooly now. His thin smile was gone. "You didn't say yet, about elves. You don't think they should be here in Hightown, do you? Or in Kirkwall? What's your opinion?"
Was that his motive? Hatred for elves turned into slavery? Isabela laughed, albeit nervously this time. "I am not exposed to many elves regularly, aside from Messere Hawke's...friend. The one you found earlier. Don't they make good errand runners?"
Yuvar didn't deem this worthy of a response. He flagged a waiter and ordered a glass of wine for himself as well, but no food. A rude date, for certain. Isabela tried to make smalltalk with him, but he seemed completely resistant to her charms. Instead, he quietly finished his glass of wine, then pushed it towards the center of the table.
As if meticulously planned, Isabela watched him push a finger hard against the glass, toppling it. It shattered on the table, into a myriad of fine shards. Exquisite Orlesian handiwork, now broken upon the table. Isabela shied away from the table, but he reached for her hand, rolling it in the shards. His grip on her wrist was surprisingly strong. Her wrist would bruise. The pirate gasped at the pain, the back of her left hand being cut multiple times from the tiny bits of glass. Tears came to her eyes, but still he forced her hand, rolling it around. She was just about to cry out, when she felt him use magic on her. He lifted his free hand and she saw droplets of blood rise from her cut hand.
"You all think I am foolish, don't you? Beladana, majordomo of Hawke. Everyone knows Hawke has a pirate slut companion. Everyone knows she has the guard-captain in her pocket. I know what you were looking for. There will never be proof. I am too powerful for the likes of you. I cleanse the dregs out of the terrible barrel of wine that is Kirkwall. I sell the dregs and clean my world. From the likes of you." Yuvar spoke with this soft voice of his, his face devoid of emotion.
His face changed when a waiter approached and he smiled apologetically, holding Isabela's bleeding hand. "We don't know how this happened. It just shattered." The waiter fawned over them, offering them a different table, but Yuvar declined. Instead he covered their bill, and rose, Isabela rising with him with no volition of her own.
Outside, her steps fell in line with his, but she was still unable to speak. She did not know where he would lead her, but soon there was no doubt. Kirkwall's Chantry, it was.
Isabela stumbled into a dimly-lit room in the Chantry. She was no expert on the Chantry whatsoever, though she had lived through some naughty moments in the building with a partner or two. So wicked and illicit, to have fun in the house of the Maker. But that was then, and this was now. Yuvar had led her into this small room and then she had heard the sound of a door being locked.
When her vision adjusted to the dimness of the room, Isabela saw that it was a small chamber reserved for praying. There were candles everywhere, and prayer benches. A small altar showed the symbol of the Maker and also had a small sculpture of Andraste herself. Right by the altar, there was a kneeling form, another woman held inside this room. She did not turn around nor did she give any sign that she paid heed to her arrival.
Isabela pushed herself up, and then dragged herself over to the other woman. Her body was filled with a deep lassitude. Her hand was prickling with pain, as if the cuts were still fresh. She fell on her knees right next to the other, and then murmured her name. "Aveline. He got you too."
The guard-captain turned her head. Isabela had never seen Aveline so grim and above all so seething with rage. "Yes, he did. The bastard. Blood mage." Isabela saw the dried blood stains on Aveline's arm, and held out her hand. It felt like little bits of glass were still under her skin. "He's using the chantry for this whole thing. How sick and perverted." She angrily drew breath, sharply. "The worst is I can't even run, when I head to the door, I can't move. He's got us trapped."
Her hands were balled into fists. "Earlier, when I came in, there were a couple girls here, and one boy. All of them around 12, 13. They looked hungry, reed-thin. Darktown children, most likely. Fereldans, one elf. They were here, it looked like they were praying. I looked at their faces, and they were blank slates. Like the boy who stabbed me on the square." Aveline pounded the floor in frustration. "Why would anyone doubt him? He has children sent to the chantry. He takes their blood, controls them, and when it's time, they leave, seemingly of their own will, heading straight to their pickup point. The perfect plan. No one ever the wiser."
Isabela closed her eyes which were burning. She felt more trapped and more helpless than she had in years. With a frown she reached under the robe, and got one of her daggers from a belt she wore around her thigh. "I'll stab him when he comes back. I'll gut him like a pig. Not only does he sell people into slavery, he uses and controls them with blood magic. He is less than a pig."
Aveline shook her head. "Don't you understand, Isabela? He'll make you slash this dagger across your own throat if you even try. Do you remember this blood mage whore at the Rose who almost had Hawke slash her own throat? That's us now. Only that we have no one to break the control for us." She chortled, bitterly. "He didn't even take our weapons. No one will hear us scream. We're trapped. Who will help us now?"
Outside, evening mass was starting, the final gathering for the day. Isabela closed her eyes as she listened to the choir of female voices outside. None of them knew that a blood mage was using the chantry for his own dark purposes.
Both women closed their eyes, lost in their own thoughts, the choir outside the only anchor at this time. A choir full of longing, for escape, for freedom, for mercy for those children, in their minds.