Chapter Text
Kirkwall's docks were like every other marina Isabela had ever been to. Smelly, mostly. The worst smells of the sea and the worst smells of a city all met in one place, and that place was usually where people docked their boats. Most of the time, she could comfort herself knowing the stop was temporary, that she would be back on her ship soon and on the open sea. This time, though, it seemed like she was going to be in Kirkwall for a while.
Which she wasn’t happy about. Losing the Siren's Call was bad enough, but she couldn’t even replace it and hit the waves, because she was broke, of course, (though that was always a temporary condition for Isabela) and because that damn book was somewhere in this city, and she was going to get it back.
But first she had to deal with Hayder. That’s why she was even at the docks this bloody early in the morning. They were supposed to meet to “talk it out”, but the coward had only left her a message. A duel, tonight, in Hightown, because that wasn’t suspicious at all, no ser. She was worried. She hated to be worried.
She skirted around the Qunari compound thinking that, best case scenario, that fool Lucky would have good news for her, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. She was lost in thought, considering her options, when she collided with someone. Taller than her (most humans and a handful of elves she'd met were) but thin as a rail. Probably not a threat, she decided quickly, no need to get defensive. When they said, in an airy voice full of anxiety, "Oh Creators, I'm so sorry!", she knew she'd made the right call.
"No harm done," she told the stranger, throwing in a smile to put her at ease. Isabela took a good look at her, noted the rustic clothes, pointed ears and (very pretty) tattooed face—a Dalish elf, then. A skinny, anxious Dalish elf in one of the least friendly parts of one of Thedas' least friendly cities. She felt concern welling up in her chest, but she beat it down. "Just keep an eye on where you're going, alright?"
"Oh, well," the young woman said, and she laughed a little, a nervous smile pulling at her lips. "I would but, that would sort of defeat the purpose."
"I'm...what?"
"You see I, well, I'm lost. I went out this morning, trying to find somewhere to watch the sunrise, you can't see it from the alienage you know, and I thought, well, there's no big walls around the docks, are there? So I figured I could find my way down here easily enough, and I did, erm, eventually, and the sunrise was very pretty, but now I'm not sure how to get back, so..." She breathed out on the last word, and Isabela was astonished she had any breath left to release. "I'm just sort of, walking backwards? Hoping things look familiar?"
"Oh, well, alright," Isabela said, a little stunned. "How is it er, working out for you?"
"Erm." The elf woman looked around, noting the bay and sailors and all the ships. "Am I still at the docks?"
Isabela huffed a small sigh, but she couldn't help the smile that shaped her lips. "You're like a little kitten, far from home."
Something flashed across the stranger's face that Isabela didn't have time to consider before she smiled. "I have been feeling that way lately, yes."
"Well Kitten, you bumped into the right woman, because not only am I not going to harass you, I know how to get you home. If you don't mind having an escort?"
She blushed, and Isabela felt her heart flop over. "Oh, no, I couldn't be such a bother--"
"Nonsense!" Isabela said, hooking her arm into the woman's elbow and turning her around, leading her to the nondescript streets that would get them to the alienage fastest. "It's never a bother to be seen with a pretty girl on my arm."
The woman looked around like some other pretty girl was going to push her out of the way and take Isabela's arm, then blushed more as she said "Oh, Creators, you can’t mean me?"
"I certainly can, and I do. I'm Isabela, by the way, and I never lie about pretty girls."
"I'm, Merrill," Merrill said, "and it's very nice to erm, meet you."
Isabela eyed the long, carved tree limb Merrill was carrying, particularly the dull metal blade at its base. “Nice walking stick, Merrill.”
“Oh thank you,” Merrill said. “I made it myself. Well, I had help from Master Ilen, he’s our craftsman. The clan’s, I mean. My clan’s.”
“Is your whole clan in the city?” Isabela found that hard to imagine. She’d encountered Dalish clans and their landships before, and she couldn’t see the guard letting a whole troop of them set up in the alienage.
“No, they’re all on Sundermount. They erm, I, that is…” Merrill looked at the ground, mulling over the end of her sentence. "They thought I might prefer Kirkwall, to the mountain."
“Their loss,” Isabela said airily. They passed a stray dog eating garbage. “There’s nothing like the charms of a big city.”
Merrill’s face brightened. “It is very interesting. And I’m meeting a lot of new people! Like you.”
Isabela looked up at her and winked. “Interesting’s good. I’ll take interesting. I think you’re very interesting, too. I’m very int—shit.”
They were walking up a narrow stairway with high walls on either side, and two men were standing at the top of it, blocking their way. Isabela turned and saw two more down below. She shifted instinctively to a fighting stance, ready to unsheathe her daggers. “Stay behind me, Kitten, don’t worry.”
“We just want your gold, ladies,” one of the men below said. “Don’t have to take your lives, too.”
“How generous of you,” Isabela drawled. “But if it’s all the same to you, we’ll be keeping our purses this morning.”
“Come on, miss,” the man said, taking slow steps toward her. “I’d hate to carve up a body like that.”
Out of the corner of her eye Isabela saw Merrill slipping a small knife out of her pocket. Isabela cursed. She’d never be able to defend herself with that. Isabela had been so certain that walking stick was a mage’s staff. Did the girl not know any combat magic?
“This is your last chance to walk away,” Merrill said. She was facing the men at the top of the stairs, holding her tiny knife in an awkward position for fighting. The men snickered. “I mean it!” she said. Her voice was clear, its only tremble slight enough that Isabela figured their assailants couldn’t hear it.
The one who’d spoken to Isabela said “Get ‘em, boys,” and they charged. Isabela drew her daggers and was ready to defend herself, when she felt the ground shake. There was a grinding stone noise behind her, and she turned in time to see two grown men flying through the air, screaming. They landed heavily on their companions, all of them falling to the ground. Then their bodies tensed and they all screamed in pain, their limbs twisting in grotesque contortions.
“Finish them,” Merrill whispered, and Isabela turned to her. She had her arms extended, a look of intense concentration on her face, and blood was dripping from one downturned palm. “Hurry, I can’t—”
Isabela darted to the men and cleanly sliced four throats. The corpses went slack. She looked back to Merrill, who was breathing heavily. She stumbled and Isabela caught her just in time. “Oof, that was a lot,” Merrill said. She smiled at Isabela, then concern turned her lips into a frown. “You aren’t going to tell the templars, are you?”
“And risk getting on your bad side? Not likely.” She smiled to show she meant it, and was pleased when Merrill smiled back. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, if erm, you don’t mind me leaning on you, just a bit.”
“Lean all you like. Your palm, though…”
Merrill hastily pulled a cloth from her pockets and wrapped it around her hand. She put her arm across Isabela’s shoulders and they moved on, hopping over a stair that had become dislodged and was carelessly replaced. After a few minutes of silence, Merrill spoke.
“So you don’t care that I’m erm, a blood mage?”
Isabela shrugged. “Not my business to care one way or the other, is it? It’s your life, you’re an adult. Make your own choices.”
Merrill beamed. “Good! We were getting along so well. I was worried you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
A laugh bubbled out of Isabela. Friends. Imagine that.