The Lowtown market buzzed with activity as the midday sun shone relentlessly through the cracks of the sandstone buildings. Dizzying colours played with Clarissa's eyes as merchants lining the hexagonal square flashed scarves and spread open weaves of fabric. Breathing in deeply, she caught the scent of dozens of cheap fragrances worn by the numerous women browsing the stalls, the varying smells banding together to form an overpowering tide of sensation for Clarissa's nostrils. The sound of gemstones clinking against each other blotted out all other sound from Clarissa's ears, save for the hearty laugh of the woman beside her.
Clarissa had chanced upon Isabela as she walked past the Hanged Man on the way to the market. From the looks of her, Isabela had been up all night, doing Maker knows what. Yet despite her obviously hungover countenance, Isabela still managed to draw every pair of male eyes on the street to her. Whispers and whistles trailed her as she joined Clarissa at the door, which reminded Clarissa of Isabela's nickname.
"The Pirate Queen", they called her.
A queen with sparkling, hazel eyes that entranced countless men and women, be it after a rather... eventful night, or before she slit their unfortunate throats;
A queen with shoulder-length raven hair that accentuated her uncanny agility as well as her brazen sexuality, framing her oval face and flying free in the wind under her red bandana, as if daring those who looked on to catch her;
A queen with a voluptuous body that men desire and women envy, curvaceous and flowing at the neck, drawing one's eyes towards her more... prominent features beneath her simple white vest, cut low at the chest for a quick transition from white to a coppery brown, divided only by a tantalizing line that was enhanced by her black leather corset;
A queen graced with toned, muscular arms that told of her skill in battle as well as her time spent taming the seas, as if reining it in with her own slim, delicate fingers, which were equally proficient at undoing dresses and wielding daggers. Long, nimble legs clad in tight leggings showed off her form-fitting curves, cutting off at just the right height to reveal her upper thighs and imposing no hindrance to her movement, enabling her to move swiftly and silently, dashing to and fro in her matching black leather boots.
In fights, Isabela was an agile, deadly fighter, one who was not afraid to employ underhanded tactics so that she could have the final laugh. Her curved, glistening daggers were a menace to her enemies, the speed and accuracy of its strikes unparalleled. Couple that with Isabela's uncanny ability to confuse her quarries of her whereabouts, leaving them bewildered as her blades went through their chests before their swords left their sheaths, Isabela was a force to be reckoned with, especially when she's beginning to enjoy the fight.
When the blades were sheathed, however, Clarissa found Isabela to be the biggest sack of fun around Kirkwall, with every minute spent laughing and clapping each others' backs in futile attempts to stem the tide of guffaws and snickers. Isabela was also a very able drinker, a trait she claimed to have procured while on her ship, the Siren's Call. "They just want to see me naked, but I always end up seeing them naked first." She had joked about it while telling Clarissa about the good old days. Wherever Isabela went, she always carried with her a crisp, fresh scent of the open ocean, and the sound of her assorted golden accessories clinking together was deceptively akin to the waves lapping at the shore, smooth and flowing, yet sharp enough so you could recognize it instantly.
Every aspect of her painted a liberal, carefree image of the Pirate Queen, like an eagle soaring high above the waves, looking on the shifting waters with ease and confidence, knowing that it all belonged to her.
Clarissa felt the scarf she had bought just minutes ago brush against her arm, smooth and slightly tickling her. She brought the red scarf up into the sunlight, struggling to find a patch as she and Isabela descended into Darktown. She never had a good eye about clothes. Why wear blouses and dresses when you can wear armor? Ah, well, damn the Orlesians for their fine silks. If it weren't for that merchant with the fake accent flashing that red silk around, she wouldn't have thought about Bethany's scarf, which had been torn on Sundermount when it snagged onto one of the plates the Revenant wore as armor. She had seen Bethany trying to mend the hole, but it still left a nasty scar on the fabric, a faint line visible to anyone who looked close enough. Clarissa looked a lot closer than that.
Isabela caught her dreamy look as she ran her hands over the scarf and chuckled. "You two are just inseparable, you know that?" She said, "I've seen more than my fair share of sisters ogling after a single deckhand I once had on my crew. Fought each other with tooth and nails for him. They both stowed aboard of their own accord, one hiding in the pig pens, another in a crate." She laughed at the memory. "Imagine their surprise when they saw each other."
"What did you do?" Clarissa asked, partly amused by the story and partly provoked to thought. Her feelings weren't that different, if not a tad more complicated to handle. A tiny, tiny tad.
"What I did? They needed to be taught a lesson, so I took them to my quarters and... educated them in a ladylike fashion." Isabela's eyes turned a shade darker, as it often did. "Not that it wasn't fun, but those girls were... a handful." She laughed and winked at Clarissa. "If you get my meaning..."
Clarissa's mildly depressed train of thought was offset by that, and she grinned and shook her head. She could never match Isabela for her seemingly endless supply of jests, particularly those of a milder nature.
As they walked side by side, trading stories and laughing all the while, the usually deserted streets of Darktown became packed with people. They were many and varied, ranging from men with limbs twisted at unnatural angles to women with swollen bellies and faces contorted in pain.
"Just another day at the clinic." Clarissa sighed and sat down on the curb, gazing at the crowd massed at the entrance of Ander's clinic. Bethany had told her happily that she was going to study creation magic under Anders that morning, and hopefully cure some puppies in the process. "That's an awful lot of homework." Clarissa murmured as Isabela, ever impatient, struck up a conversation with a man Clarissa never knew she knew.
It was a good two hours until the crowd cleared, and Clarissa rose from her hunched position with a grunt. She untied the red Orlesian scarf from her right wrist, letting it fly free in the evening breeze that graced Darktown at just the right time. The last of the patients filed away as Clarissa saw through the doors into the well-lit lounge of the clinic.
Anders was there, and so was Bethany. Both were focused on a little boy no older than ten, who was lying on a table, face ghastly white. Bethany stood over him, hands illuminated by the green creation magic she was employing. Anders stood beside her, hands crossed, watching Bethany intently as a teacher would a promising pupil, close to observe but never too close to cause discomfort. Clarissa watched as Bethany adjusted the flow of the magic slightly, blanketing the child in a green glow. The boy stiffened and squirmed at the change, and Clarissa saw Anders tense.
Sensing an improper technique in Bethany's spellcasting, Anders quickly rushed to her side, taking hold of her hands and redirecting them. The distance between them closed, and Clarissa saw Anders' body sidle close to Bethany's.
Bethany visibly flinched at his unexpected intrusion, eyes snapping ever so slightly to Anders, but flashing back to her spell immediately as Anders corrected her mistake. As the boy's grimace softened, Bethany's poise relaxed somewhat, and she cast a grateful glance at Anders for his mentoring. Anders smiled back, and at the distance from which Clarissa was staring at them, she thought she saw a glint in his eye as their gazes parted.
A surge of emotions roiled in Clarissa, focusing her attention on the mages, now hefting the boy off the table and onto the dirt-packed floor. Uncommon anger burned in her veins as she watched Anders put a hand on Bethany's shoulder, commending her skills. It was a simple enough gesture, one made from a mentor to his star pupil. Nevertheless, it froze Clarissa in a cold rage she never thought she possessed. She felt blood rush to her cheeks and her jaw lock in place. Her hands clenched in a vain attempt to disperse the urge to draw her blade and slice apart the very air between them.
You're overthinking it. It's just a gesture. And a friendly one at that. A voice in her head cautioned, obviously displeased at her lack of control.
Yet no one has been that close to her sister before. No one, outside of her family, has ever come so close to Bethany without getting past her. No one has ever taken Bethany's hand in her own as she had; No one has ever planted soft, comforting kisses on Bethany's brow as she cried, balking in terror at the storms battering at their window.
Revisiting images flowed without inhibition before Clarissa's eyes, overpowering her normally logical and reasonable demeanor. She tried to avert her gaze, to ebb the tides of thought that threatened to blossom out of control. She couldn't.
The inevitable truth was that with each passing day, her picturing of herself as an older sister faded bit by bit. Looking back, she had always felt a need, an obligation to be her younger sister's shield, her protection against the perils they faced. What replaced it was far more feral, far more emotional, a Clarissa Hawke splintered from her soul and painted crimson by her aching heart.
With her watchful eyes, she had cautioned away many a young suitor, for fear that they might discover Bethany's hidden talent.
With her enviable frame and lovely features, she had charmed many a templar into ignoring the nervous, twitching maiden behind her back, closing the door then holding Bethany tight in reassurance. She had done all those things to protect her, to safeguard her from the world. Now, she wasn't sure if it was just her wanting to keep her Bethany all to herself.
A sense of betrayal surfaced in Clarissa's mind, of Bethany's and hers, overwhelming her and drowning her last rational thought.
Many a summer had Clarissa watched amusedly as her father, Malcolm Hawke, patiently schooled a young and eager girl as she lit her first flame, froze her first puddle and grew her first sapling. She had always walked over and taken Bethany into her arms, hugging her tightly as a warm congratulation.
Many a night had Clarissa tiptoed to Bethany's side to find her head buried between the pages of a certain tome, soft breathing and lidded eyes fluttering as if reliving what she had read. Smiling, Clarissa would always bring a chair and a blanket next to her, draping the warm fabric over her in a way only she know, a way that would not wake her.
Not only was Anders replacing her as a mentor, he was replacing her father as well. Perhaps it's time. The voice of reason broke through. Growling, Clarissa pushed it away, hiding it in the depths of her jumbled thoughts. Returning her gaze to the clinic, she saw Anders and Bethany engaged in conversation, grinning and laughing as they gathered up leftover herbs and poultices. The sight of them sharing the mirth in their eyes made her blood boil in red hot rage and her heart hammer in indignant protest.
No one else can make her laugh. Except me. She thought. She felt herself letting go of her sanity and agreeing with the throbbing screams of her heart.
No one else can hold her in their arms. Except me. She thought. Just thinking the words felt good, like her wayward heart had finally found the missing shard it had yearned for for so long.
She felt herself moving forward, her legs developing a mind of their own. Her heart was winning, wrestling her failing mind for control and beating it back as she took a step. Then another. Her eyes, originally wild and unfocused, regained its determination and her blurred vision became clear, revealing a startling image that brought her heart to her throat.
Bethany was on her tiptoes, leaning forward as she pressed an appreciative kiss to Anders' cheek, giggling as his stubble tickled her lips, which moved as she spoke. Whether she was thanking him or flirting with him, Clarissa could not tell. She did not care. Tears flooded her eyelids, threatening to break her. Strength left her limbs, leaving her feeling vulnerable and defeated. The red silk scarf she had held in her hands for so long feel unceremoniously onto the dirt as her hands went numb.
She kissed him.
Why?
Maker, why?
Her heart broken, Clarissa turned to see Isabela watching intently, eyes flashing between her and the duo, now separating to tidy the rest of the clinic. The myriad emotions coursing through her must have been obvious. Isabela went to her side and lead her to a nearby alleyway as the first tears broke through her defenses.
Slender arms encircled Clarissa as she cried, much like Bethany used to cry in her own arms. Isabela, unsure of what to do, simply ran her hand up and down Clarissa's back in a vain attempt to stem the tide of sobs and moans. Tremors racked Clarissa's body as she cried, the walls of discipline and strength she had put around her collapsing, revealing her true self to the world. Pain dominated her senses, throbbing and pulsating in her head, in her chest, and in her shattering heart.
In all her time with Bethany, she had never thought of this moment, this moment where her grown-up, mature younger sister would finally leave her side. She had never prepared for such an eventuality, and it struck her like a hammer blow to the chest.
She had watched as Bethany leaned on their tree, sound asleep, eyelids fluttering, lips soundlessly smiling. She had planted a kiss on her forehead as dawn approached, as the day they had dreaded came to be. She was off to join the King's army, and it may very well have been their last night together.
Her heart had taken over, and she had leaned forward, and pressed her lips against Bethany's, conveying what words could not, confessing what she could not. Although there was no response, the tentative contact had been enough to make Clarissa's heart flutter, her cheeks redden, and every bone in her body melt. In a single touch, she revealed everything she had tried so hard to keep hidden. In a single kiss, she bade her what may have been her final farewell. She had felt Bethany's lips slowly part, and realized that she had been smiling.
Did she know?
Watching as Bethany stood on her tiptoes, the lips only she had touched meeting Anders' skin. Seeing her smile reflected in Anders' smile, merry and guileless. The single act, reserved for her, and her alone, given to another.
Why?
"You're not weeping in joy, are you? Because if you are, this thing doesn't make sense at all." Isabela said, sighing in relief as Clarissa removed her head from her shoulder.
"It... It's nothing." Clarissa said, trying to mask her emotions. Isabela cocked her head and smiled mischeviously. "Oh no you don't, Hawke. I've been around enough heartbroken people to tell that there's more between the two of you than you let on." Isabela said, and it struck Clarissa that she might have witnessed a lot of similar outbursts.
"Really. It's nothing. I just need to be alone for a while." Clarissa forced out, even though her body and soul yearned to let it all out, to confide in someone before she lost control and exploded. Isabela shrugged at that, feigning nonchalance but unable to contain the sparkle in her eye. Clarissa felt her trailing behind as she exited the alley, turned her back to Anders' clinic, and started walking. She didn't notice her boot trampling over the red silk scarf lying on the dirt.
In the dark alleyway, the shadows themselves moved, materializing into figures with naked blades and nocked arrows.
Moving as one, they headed towards to clinic, where scant laughter and giggling could still be heard.
/Hello there.
A particularly tricky chapter, I might say. I hope I presented it well, but I digress.
Yes. It's a cliffhanger. Yes. Not everyone likes it. But what better way to pique your interest? Wait, pretend I didn't say that.
I am truly and heartily sorry if the updates and new chapters are coming slower than usual, but the drug overdose known as school has finally kicked in and I am swimming in homework.
Hope you've enjoyed the angsty ride so far. Keep reading and R&R!/