Although Kiara suspected Varric and Isabela's notion of "checking the lay of the land" actually translated to something more accurately called "pub crawl"—especially after two weeks at sea—she let them go. She and Sebastian sat in the inn's dining room, devouring food every bit as delightful as they'd imagined in their wild fancies aboard ship. The innkeeper even managed to find her strawberries, which she ate with a gratitude bordering on hysterical. They weren't as good as the Hercinian berries, perhaps, but they didn't fall too short of the ideal. Sebastian smiled and pushed his portion across the table.
Afterward, bellies full to distended, they settled into a comfortable sort of silence. Without even the entertainment of many other patrons to eavesdrop on, at last Kiara said, "I was wondering…"
"I'm really not going to run off to the palace and demand an audience, if that's what you're worried about. It… hasn't been safe for me to do so for a very long time, Hawke. I'm willing to wait for Varric to do the information gathering he does so well. I had reason to fear I'd only be able to retake Starkhaven at the head of an army."
She raised an eyebrow at his defensive tone. "I wasn't going to ask about that."
"My injury feels fine. All but recovered. Surely you've seen that for yourself—"
Kiara's cheeks heated when she remembered how intensely she'd worried about him only weeks earlier. Sebastian was, indeed, much recovered, and had even begun practicing with his bow in recent days. "I wasn't going to ask about that, either."
"You… weren't."
She shook her head, not quite willing to meet his gaze. "I was… maybe it sounds… I was wondering if you might take me to the chantry. Show me where it is."
Incredulous, he echoed, "The… chantry."
Kiara traced the grain of the wood with a fingertip, following its swirls and knots. Swallowing, she nodded and looked up at him. His brow was furrowed in confusion. "Yes," she replied. "I have respects to pay."
She didn't miss the subtle flinch, but he nodded, she paid, and they stepped out into the streets he knew well and she didn't know at all.
After the first few minutes, Kiara couldn't help noticing Sebastian's agitation. He walked quickly, eyes constantly scanning, the crease between his brows only deepening the farther they traveled. The city itself was beautiful, all white buildings and graceful streets and squares with fountains, but an air of neglect lingered. Piles of refuse dotted the squares. Market stalls were shuttered tight, and the streets were oddly quiet. The few townsfolk they passed kept their eyes firmly on the ground before their feet.
Though she'd been afraid someone might recognize Sebastian, even in his nondescript clothing, the fear was allayed somewhat by the fact that no one so much as looked at them when they passed.
Softly, Kiara asked, "I know you said Starkhaven's no Kirkwall, but… is this normal?"
His expression was dark and his tone even darker when he replied, "Not in the slightest."
When they turned the corner and Kiara saw the great white walls of the Starkhaven chantry rising toward the blue sky, she couldn't help the pang of dismay that struck her. It was nothing to do with too-empty, too-quiet streets and everything to do with remembering a rush of red magic obliterating the sky. Sebastian was halfway up the steps before he noticed she had not followed, and when he looked back at her, she saw her own pain echoed in his expression.
The chantry was empty when they entered it. This, too, gave her pause. Since her arrival in the Free Marches she'd heard Starkhaven spoken of as a pious place, so the lack of worshippers struck her as odd. Even with all Kirkwall's flaws, with its seedy underbelly and its murky world of slavers and politics and mages and templars, she'd never seen the Kirkwall chantry as empty as this one. She wrestled with sudden tears when she looked toward the altar and only the lonely statue of Andraste looked back; for half a heartbeat she'd imagined she would somehow see Grand Cleric Elthina smiling down at her.
"Sebastian?" she asked.
Even in Kirkwall's chantry there had always been noise—templars speaking to one another, brothers and sisters moving about their business and talking of the day, worshippers murmuring prayers—but the Starkhaven chantry was silent. That she could not hear even one voice raised in the Chant was more distressing than she had words to admit.
"I don't understand it." His voice emerged troubled, and oddly loud in the all-pervasive silence of the vestibule. "I… perhaps I did not spend as much time here as I ought to have done when I was young, but I have never seen it like this."
Kiara was just about to explore further—someone had to be around, after all—when a nervous young sister appeared from the upper floor. She was very pale, and her reddish hair was unbrushed. She glanced at them only quickly before fixing her eyes carefully on the ground at their feet. When she spoke it was hardly louder than a whisper, and the words emerged so mumbled Kiara had to strain to make them out.
"You are… welcome to the chantry of Starkhaven. The… the Maker's blessings upon you both."
Stunned, Kiara realized the woman sounded petrified, and a little as though she'd drawn the short straw in having to speak with them at all. Nothing about the tone was welcoming, and Kiara fought the urge to immediately turn and leave. Before Sebastian could speak and give himself away by his accent, Kiara's hand darted out and closed tightly around his wrist.
"Thank you, Sister. We have only just arrived in Starkhaven," Kiara said, trying not to cringe as the silence threw her words back at her in an eerie echo. "Your… welcome is appreciated."
The sister raised her eyes but only long enough to glance around shiftily, as if expecting something to burst from the walls at any moment—an abomination, an army, Andraste herself. She looked so edgy Kiara could hardly keep from feeling jumpy herself.
"I must admit," Kiara said, "I am… unfamiliar with the city's customs. It seems quiet."
"Oh," the sister said. "Aye. Of course. Of course. You are not from here. That makes… Well. Aye. It is a… special day. Though of course you would not know."
"Like a feastday?" Kiara asked, dubious. "Where I come from feastdays are noisier, not…" She drifted into silence, and a gesture the sister did not look up to see took in the empty expanse of the chantry.
Sebastian shook his head, a muscle in his clenched jaw jumping.
"You are unfamiliar with our customs. As you said. Perhaps… perhaps it is best you leave."
Kiara raised her eyebrows sharply. "Leave the chantry? Are we not welcome to pray here?"
The sister looked up then, meeting Kiara's baffled gaze. The woman's eyes were bright with fear. Adamantly, she whispered, "Leave the city."
Kiara very nearly reached out to the woman, but the sister wrapped her arms tightly around herself and glanced away again. "Why?" Kiara asked. "Is there something wrong? Perhaps something a… concerned visitor might help with?"
The sister laughed nervously, and took a backward step toward the altar and its lonely Andraste. "Oh, no. Nothing wrong. You've happened upon a day of… prayer. That's all. It's bound to be quiet. On a day of prayer." As if realizing the ridiculousness of her words, the sister glanced around the empty nave. Stuttering slightly, she added, "A-all residents of the city are encouraged to… to stay home. To p-pray. On this day."
Kiara felt Sebastian tense the instant before he spoke.
"You are lying, Sister. Before the very eyes of Andraste? In the house of the Maker Himself? My friend may be unfamiliar with Starkhaven's customs, but I assure you I am not, and I have never known the city to hold a day such as the one you've dishonestly described just now."
The sister visibly cringed at the sound of Sebastian's voice—the Starkhaven accent was unmistakable, of course. Then the woman looked at him—truly looked at him—for the first time. Her eyes widened and whatever faint color her cheeks had held completely drained away. Shaking her head, she stumbled another step backward, nearly falling. "Those eyes," she gasped. "Are all the Vaels come back from the dead?"
Then, without preamble, she fainted. Sebastian managed to catch her before her head hit the stones.
"What in the Maker's name is going on here?" he growled.
No one answered, of course. The woman stirred almost at once, but squeezed her eyes shut as soon as she looked up and saw Sebastian hovering above her. "Please," she begged. "Please, go. Before they come. Before they take me. Please. Before they think it's me who raised you."
"Before who—?" Kiara began, but before she could finish, the sister shakily got to her feet and stumbled away. Before Sebastian could follow, Kiara shook her head. "No," she said. "The poor woman's terrified. Leave her be. Let's… let's see if Varric and Isabela have learned anything we can use to make sense of this."
For a moment Sebastian looked prepared to argue. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gave a reluctant nod and they left, followed by the sound of their own footsteps on the flagstones, echoing in the chantry's silent rafters.
#
Apart from the silent streets and the terrified sister and the empty chantry, Kiara knew something was wrong—terribly, horribly wrong—because Sebastian was drinking. Sebastian rarely drank. She suspected it had a great deal to do with the role alcohol played in his oft-alluded-to but rarely-explained-in-detail wild years. Even on the rare occasions Sebastian joined them for a night at The Hanged Man, he might play a hand or two of cards, but he rarely took more than a single glass of wine over the course of the evening.
It wasn't even that he was drinking copiously, or that he was in any way drunk: he wasn't. But upon their return to the inn, his first action was to order a bottle of wine from the innkeeper, pour himself a glass, and begin drinking it. For ten minutes, Kiara watched him slowly sip the ruby liquid. He said nothing at all—not a single word—but his face darkened and his brow furrowed and he… drank. She watched a war rage across his face, and was afraid because she did not know the stakes, or even which sides were fighting for dominance.
Kiara helped herself to a glass of wine from his bottle and sat down opposite him. For another ten minutes, they nursed their respective drinks in absolute silence.
After a time, he finally looked up at her and asked, "Why would she lie? So blatantly? So badly?"
Kiara shrugged a little helplessly. "Fear makes people do… strange things, Sebastian. And she was clearly terrified."
Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of what? Even the coup that killed my entire family did not silence the streets or empty the chantry."
"We'll figure it out—"
Sebastian's voice rose to drown hers out, "And a Chantry sister! Starkhaven is a pious place. To see the chantry empty? To see its people too frightened to turn to Andraste? To hear lies fall from the lips of the Maker's servants? It is an atrocity, Hawke."
After a fortifying gulp of wine, Kiara said, "Perhaps… perhaps it is only distress about… about what happened in Kirkwall."
Sebastian pushed his glass away and put his head in his hands. "Perhaps. Perhaps it is only that. Perhaps it is only… repercussions."
She said gently, "We knew there would be."
Peering up at her, the torment in his eyes was all too visible. "But where is their leader, Hawke? Who reassures them?"
"Sebastian…"
Slamming his fists to the table, the bottle of wine wobbled but remained upright. His glass was not so lucky and it tumbled, shattering, as a red stain spread ominously across the white tablecloth. "Something is wrong here. Something is beyond wrong. This is not the Starkhaven I know. This isn't even the Starkhaven I saw under Goran. It is wrong."
The innkeeper waddled over, looking around nearly as shiftily as the poor sister in the chantry had done. In a very quiet voice, he said, "I'm afraid I… have to ask you folks to clear out."
Baffled, Kiara huffed an incredulous laugh. "I'm sorry?"
"Can't have this kind of thing," the innkeeper said, though his wave took in nothing more serious than the spilled wine. "Can't have the attention."
Strangled, Sebastian half-rose from his seat, "Attention?"
Kiara reached across the table and covered his fist with a soothing hand; after a moment he subsided and sat again, though his expression remained rather closer to murderous than serene.
She said evenly, "It was an accident, serah. We'll replace the glass. I'll even clean the mess, if I can borrow a rag."
The innkeeper rubbed his hands against his apron and shook his head. "Can't do it. Like I said. Afraid you folks gotta leave. Now, if you please."
Kiara tilted her head and fixed him with one of her more persuasive glares. "We've paid through the week, serah."
The innkeeper was having none of it. He shook his head again, this time more firmly, and crossed his arms over his substantial chest. "And I'll gladly return the coin. I-I just can't have you here. It's not safe."
Sebastian's fist was trembling under Kiara's hand, and anger brought high color to his cheekbones. "Do you have any idea who you're—"
The innkeeper interrupted before Sebastian could finish, "I do, messere. It's—forgive me, but it's why you need to go."
Through gritted teeth Sebastian growled, "You would dare insult the rightful—"
And this time it was Kiara's turn to interrupt. Fixing Sebastian with a look positively drenched in meaning—where the meaning ran something like shut up right now—she said pointedly, "Ahh, forgive him. He doesn't know what he's saying."
It was the pointedness that brought Sebastian's gaze up to meet hers, and whatever he saw there silenced him at once, though his color remained high and his anger was barely—barely—held in check.
"Perhaps we have had enough," she said to him, before looking once again to the innkeeper. "Forgive us, serah. We will be out of your hair momentarily."
Not quite trusting him—or his anger—to be left alone with the evasive innkeeper, Kiara dragged Sebastian behind her as they retreated above stairs to gather their belongings. After a brief internal debate, she also gathered Varric and Isabela's things—the man downstairs seemed unlikely to allow anyone connected with them to stay in his establishment, and she didn't trust him not to simply abandon the packs as soon as they were out the door.
She made a point of getting the full amount of coin back from the damp-palmed innkeeper, and he cringed away from her when she glowered.
Just as they moved to exit, the door pushed inward and Varric and Isabela spilled into the taproom. By their flushed cheeks and bright eyes, their mission appeared to have met with some success. Varric, however, noticed them right away, and his brow furrowed as he took in their faces, the piles of packs, and the discomfited innkeeper.
"Don't tell me," he groaned. "We've got to go back to the sodding boat."
Kiara grimaced; she was no more looking forward to a return to the gently rocking beds on board than Varric. "Might be the best place to regroup, yes."
Varric sighed, plucked his pack from Kiara's arms, and swung it over his shoulder. Once they were outside, he asked, "Do I want to know what you did back there?"
"Nothing," snapped Sebastian. Kiara glanced at him, but he was not looking at her. His gaze scanned the empty streets, as though expecting an ambush.
Isabela snorted. "Nothing doesn't get you barred from respectable establishments, Princess."
Kiara shook her head. "What did you learn? Other than how ale tastes in Starkhaven, of course."
It was telling that Varric didn't so much as smile. "Honestly?" he said. "I think we have trouble."
"I know we have trouble. What variety?"
"Oh, the standard. Terrified town, grumpy government, mysterious mysteries."
"Mmm," Kiara murmured. "Sounds something like the trouble we encountered. Although ours got Sebastian recognized in the chantry by a lay-sister. And we got kicked out of the inn. As you see."
Isabela gasped. "We didn't seriously get kicked out of the inn, did we?"
Kiara raised an eyebrow. "You think we're carrying around all our worldly possessions for fun?"
Isabela shrugged. "You do have strange notions of fun, Hawke." She kicked at a stone that had the misfortune of being in the path of her foot. "Dammit. I didn't even get to have dinner."
Kiara watched as every word from Isabela's mouth wound Sebastian tighter; his face was a thundercloud and his right hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Lightly, Kiara said, "Perspective, please, Isabela."
"Screw perspective. I'm hungry."
To Kiara's surprise, it was not Isabela who bore the brunt of Sebastian's anger when he finally snapped. "Why did you stop me back there, Hawke? He would not have acted so… so impertinently had he known my identity."
Kiara sighed. "Really, Sebastian? And you think that's the wisest, most level-headed course of action to take just now? You're absolutely ready to declare yourself and deal with the consequences? Because I assure you I am not."
Behind Sebastian, Isabela nudged Varric with one elbow insistently. "You owe me five sovereigns, Fuzzy."
Varric whistled. "Does someone hear a Rivaini speaking? Or is it just a gull squawking? So hard to tell the difference."
"Nice try. You can't wiggle out of this one."
Varric raised an eyebrow. "You said you liked it when I wiggled."
Isabela almost blushed. "I said less than a day. You gave it two. Obviously I win. Pay up."
Kiara winced. "Dare I ask?"
Isabela rolled her shoulders and smirked. "Just a little wager on how long the pretty princess would be able to stay incognito, of course."
Sebastian rounded on the pirate, jabbing a finger in her direction. It didn't quite land, but Isabela's face went carefully blank, and Kiara feared—just for a moment—she would be called upon at any moment to break up a duel. "These are my people!" Sebastian shouted. "This is my home! Is this a joke to you?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, Isabela jutted out her chin and stood her ground. "I sure as shit wish it was. You think I don't know hostility when I see it? There's a reason I avoid half the ports in Thedas and this kind of animosity is pretty much it. With one little difference. Here? I didn't earn it. So either you haven't been straight with us, at which point I think it's about time we cut our lines and run for the sea, or there's something big and shitty going down." Isabela gestured toward Kiara with a thumb. "I can already tell she thinks it's the latter. And we all know what she does when she thinks there's something big and shitty going down—she sticks around to get to the bottom of it, regardless of how much it stinks. So, Princess, might I suggest you kindly pull your head from your arse and stop shouting at the people who have your back. Save it for someone who deserves it. And just in case you're feeling particularly stupid today? That's not me. Far as I see it? I've been busting my balls for you for weeks. This is how you repay me? Andraste's tits! You're lucky I didn't throw you overboard back at the Wounded Coast."
Sebastian visibly deflated, and the color staining his cheeks was now clearly embarrassment. Isabela's smirk broadened as she tossed her hair and led the way toward the docks without bothering to wait for a response. There was even more of a swagger than usual in the pirate's hips, now, and Kiara found herself almost smiling.
Varric blinked. "That was… so hot."
Amusement, however, did not last long. As they approached the docks, all the hairs on the back of Kiara's neck rose and she found herself torn between drawing her bow and keeping it safely at her back—no one had threatened them yet, and she didn't want to be the first to draw blood and make enemies. Too much relied upon their keeping a low profile. The ship was docked where they'd left it, sailors climbing in its rigging.
Sailors. Kiara shook her head and blinked, as though blinking might change what her eyes saw. The people crawling all over the ship were not Isabela's hired crew; they moved too loudly, too awkwardly. And they wore uniforms.
Isabela bristled, reaching up over her shoulders to loosen her knives in their scabbards.
"Isabela," Kiara warned. "Only if provoked."
"What more provocation can there be? There are strangers touching my ship."
Varric patted the back of Isabela's hand. She slapped his sympathy away and he grimaced. "Hawke's right, Rivaini. Won't be able to do much if we're locked in cells. It's looking a lot like we're outnumbered."
Kiara was glad she didn't know the meaning of the curse Isabela uttered; even the sound of the syllables on her tongue was particularly vile. Perhaps alerted by the commotion, one of the guards separated himself from the others and approached them warily. His eyes glanced over each of them in turn before landing squarely on Sebastian. Sebastian, Kiara was pleased to notice, kept his own gaze downcast.
Nevertheless, the guard directed his attention to Sebastian and called, "You there! Is this your ship?"
Isabela scoffed and swaggered forward, hands on her hips. "You're walking the wrong plank there, sweetheart," she declared. "It's my ship."
The guard immediately drew his sword, his stance ready. "Then by the authority of the Royal Guard of Starkhaven, you, serah, are under arrest."
Raising her hands defensively, Isabela shifted a step backward, away from the gleaming blade. Kiara almost groaned—she knew very well how often Isabela used the gesture of false surrender to bring her hands closer to her own blades. "Did I say my ship?" Isabela demurred. "I meant his ship. It's his ship."
Isabela's hands inched a little closer to the hilts peeking over her shoulders.
"No," snapped Kiara, raising her hands in more genuine surrender. "Hold. That's an order."
The first guard startled, and the point of his sword shifted slightly. He'd clearly underestimated her worth in the hierarchy. Before Isabela could land them all in a mess of trouble, the guard called out and several of his fellows joined him.
Isabela scowled, but didn't move any farther toward her blades. Sebastian shot a wary glance Kiara's way and Varric looped his thumbs through his belt, feigning nonchalance.
Kiara cleared her throat and asked, "Excuse me, ser. Could you… explain the charges?"
The look he gave her indicated he clearly thought her insane. Or stupid. "This is a pirate's ship," he said.
"But… the charges?"
Disconcerted, the man's blade wavered. "Pirate? Ship? I… would think it's… pretty self-explanatory."
Kiara tapped her lips thoughtfully with one fingertip. "Well, ser, although I do appreciate the position you find yourself in—duty, and all—you've actually got no evidence we have anything to do with this boat."
"Maker's balls, ship," Isabela hissed.
The guard opened his mouth to speak, frowned, and scratched his head with one hand. "We were told to look out for a vessel matching this description. Which one of you is the pirate Castillon?"
"Oh," Isabela gasped. "Castillon."
Kiara affected a butter-wouldn't-melt expression and replied, "None of us, ser. We're honest folk."
Isabela's lips trembled with barely contained mirth, and Varric took to examining the boards of the dock very closely.
Continuing blithely, Kiara added, "We're simply here to take in the sights of Starkhaven. You have some… very nice… fountains."
"You're… tourists?"
"Exactly!" Kiara cried, with a bright smile. "Tourists!"
The guard was not quite taken in. His eyes narrowed, lingering overlong on Isabela's outfit—no surprise there—and then on Bianca. Kiara tried to make herself small and unthreatening, widening her eyes and shrugging.
"From?"
"Ferelden," she replied at once.
Kiara knew the moment the guard decided they posed no threat. His stance shifted subtly and a faint smile cracked his stern demeanor. Though he didn't go quite so far as to sheathe his blade, his posture was more at ease. "Whereabouts? I've got a cousin down Denerim-way. Told me he saw the Hero once."
Isabela cocked a brow. "Your cousin ever frequent a fine establishment called The Pearl?"
"The… Pearl?"
She shrugged. "Wouldn't know him."
Before the guard could follow this thought too far into confusion, Kiara said easily, "We're just off to meet our friends, ser. May we go?"
A stern expression replaced some of the momentary affability. "Sorry. Don't know about that. I mean, this is still a pirate ship."
"Distinctly lacking in pirates," Kiara remarked. "Did you find contraband aboard?"
"Well, not as such…"
"Slaves?"
The man flushed slightly and said sheepishly, "Ahh, no. Messere."
But Kiara was far too amused to let it rest. "Vast stores of illegal lyrium? Orlesian chocolate? Jewels from Orzammar? Ooh, the queen of Antiva?"
A second guard piped up, his voice hesitant but nonetheless certain he might have damning evidence. "Uh, I, uh. I found some lacy underthings, ser. Belowdecks. Fancy ones."
"Dammit," Isabela cursed. Varric glared at her, and even Kiara could parse the dwarf's meaning. It was very clearly a shut up.
Evidently oblivious, Isabela whispered furiously, "Well, I looked everywhere. And they were expensive."
Kiara wanted to glare at her too, but instead she only smiled harder at the confused guards. Her voice was calm and even a little amused as she asked, "Are… underpants a crime? Even… lacy ones?"
The second guard was now furiously red, and his superior not faring much better. They exchanged a glance, and the accuser stepped backward, scrubbing an embarrassed hand through his hair.
The senior of the officers straightened his shoulders and shook his head. "No, messere."
"Then… may we go?"
He coughed. "Let 'em go, men." With a hiss of steel, the blades all around them slid back into their sheaths. Kiara resisted heaving the sigh of relief she was holding back, keeping her smile plastered across her face. Before they could take more than a step or two, the guard added, "But, uh, just so you know? We are going to have to impound the ship. Even if you, uh, aren't Castillon."
"What?" Isabela cried. "No! Not another one!"
Sebastian aimed a low kick at her shin and she yelped before sullenly falling silent once again. The glare she shot at first Sebastian and then the guard was murderous. She lasted an entire block before she moaned, "I can't believe this. My ship!"
"Castillon's ship," Kiara reminded her.
Gloomily, Isabela replied, "It was mostly mine. Besides, what are we going to do now? Sleeping in the gutter is only acceptable if you're falling down drunk. And from the look on his face, I'd say the princess doesn't accept that it's ever respectable. Or that he's planning on letting us attain optimal gutter-sleeping levels of drunkenness."
Varric grinned, his gait jaunty, his pleasure so infectious even Sebastian almost broke a smile. "I'm just glad we don't have to go back on the boat. Maybe ever!"
Isabela frowned at him, but the expression was somehow fond. Then a shadow passed over her features and she paused, mid-step. "Ugh. I can't believe that creep kept my underwear."
