"You are a king," Cullen said, fearing the man may be unaware of that fact. "Ferelden must have some ships at her disposal. Why are you not using a royal convoy?"
"Oh, that'd go over well. Hey, Tevinter, sorry to bother you, just have to slip past your borders to try and take care of some business. What's that? You're wondering what Ferelden wants here? Much less why a king would bother to come all the way? No, no, not an invasion or declaration of war or anything you should worry your pointy hats about. Just a little quick deal, I need to grab something and I'll be off. You'll barely even notice me," he beamed his impish grin after his little speech, then shook his head at the idiocy. "I go in blaring horns, screaming diplomatic immunity and no one's getting into the Anderfells. Or worse, those magisters learn what I'm after, learn that there might be an easier way into the fade or whatever's brought her back to us and we could have another Corypheus on our hands."
Andraste's flames, he was right. Sneaking in undercover with no one the wiser of what they planned until they succeeded was the wisest course of action. "It seems that crown hasn't cut off all the blood flow to your head," Cullen admitted.
"I get lucky from time to time," Alistair shook off the backhanded compliment without any trace of pain. "Look, I know pirates bad, scary, aargh! But this is the only way to get to her. Taking the mountain path in winter is a big fat no go with corpse-cicles on top."
"You expect me to trust this woman and her cutthroat crew? To risk my own neck upon the ship?" Cullen found his fingers slipping along the grip of his sword.
The king's head flopped forward, his nose burying into his chest as he steadied himself upon the railing. "I'd really rather not pry into your personal business because avoiding any screaming nightmares is preferable to the opposite option, but I'm guessing Lanny never went into much of her past with you."
Cullen reared up, indignant that the man would even inquire about Lana, "That is none of your..."
"Yeah, business. Got it. My point is, I wouldn't even know Isabela if it weren't for Lanny. She trusted her, so I trust her. I guess the question is do you trust Lanny."
Lana knew her? She knew a pirate queen and well enough to entrust her life within Isabela's greedy grasp? How much of her past, her own life, did she keep from him? Cullen's fingers rolled across Honor's head, ruffling up her fur and massaging the back of her ears. "Go on," he gently pushed the back of her head and the mabari ran up the gangplank onto the ship. She'd been eyeing up the pirate's pile of squid carcasses the whole time.
Meeting the king's eye, Cullen asked, "May I see the phylactery?"
"Why?" Alistair reared back, for the first time showing a resistance to him.
"To...personal business," Cullen ended on. He needed to touch it, to feel it in his hands, to remind himself that there was still hope in this fool's errand.
The king tipped his head back and forth, his fingers reaching for the satchel when he paused. "You really think it's smart for me to go flashing around this shiny, priceless bottle on a pirate ship? Our only connection to finding Lanny just dangling beyond their reach?"
"The ship you insisted was safe."
"Dog's going to bite if you slap its nose," Alistair shrugged. "Look, once we're off the docks far away from any fences I'll let you fondle it to your heart's content, okay?"
Cullen growled deeper than Honor, but he acquiesced to the man's demands. "Very well. It seems I have no choice." Going against every rule obeying bone in his body, Cullen stepped onto the pirate ship.
Chapter Four
Proposal
9:44 Waking Sea
All things considered it could have gone worse. Probably not by much, seeing as how the templar was still haranguing him about the whole pirate thing but they'd taken sail and were on their way out of Jader without anyone getting tossed overboard. Progress. Only most of thedas remained to scoot around and then it was on to the next stage of his plan. For now, Alistair just had to survive a month or so of Cullen and his cheery demeanor. No problem at all.
"What was that?" the templar called, his hands spread wide as he pinned himself between two support beams while the dog stood guard between his legs. Her stubby tail wagged for the game only she was playing.
"What was what?" Alistair asked. He hated being in the hold, but after helping his mabari down into it, the templar refused to leave. Either the man had a deep fear of water or really loved the sight of wood.
"That sound, it was a creaking or slurping as if the entire boat was about to..."
"Not one for ships, I take it," Alistair chuckled. If there was one thing he picked up on in his wetter travels, sailors of all stripeshated having their ship called a boat. Hang you off a mast and lob lemons at your face kind of hate, and that was the royal navy ones. Maker only knew what pirates would do. "It's all totally normal ship stuff. It creaks, it moans, sometimes it sounds like there's a tentacle monster hiding in the water below you sawing through the planks to drag you down to the depths."
The templar tossed down his gear and glared at him. A tiny part of Alistair almost snapped into a salute from the look. It carried the same weight of centuries of the chantry, passed down from sister to ruler-wielding sister. "Forgive me if I am not ecstatic about traveling by sea."
"You'll get used to it," Alistair assured him. "Though, you're going to want to lose all that armor," he gestured at the glinting chest piece which only earned him another glower. "Fine, wear whatever you wish, but if you're caught in an undertow a body covered in metal's the last thing you want."
"I...shall think upon it," he muttered. "Does it matter which swinging bed we choose?" At Alistair's shrug, the templar slipped under a few of the higher hammocks and stopped at the one that constricted the king's throat. Of course, of all the options scattered through the hold it had to be that one. The templar didn't notice hives breaking out along Alistair's arm from his bed choice. After testing the hammock's springiness, Cullen dug through his satchel to draw out a blanket for the dog. While Honor situated herself in the perfect spot, half on-half off with her back end wedged against a crate, Cullen dropped to a knee. Alistair expected him to scratch along his mabari's back or check for ticks, but instead he brought his palms together in prayer.
The awkwardness climbed to intolerable levels as the man begged for Andraste to guide them on this journey right below the hammock that... Shaking his head to blot away the memories and his own heresy, Alistair mumbled something noncommittal and skedaddled up the ladder. Throwing open the hatch, the sea air struck him first - fresh and untamed. They'd drifted far enough away from Jader the smells of humanity floated away behind leaving only nature and a few drunken pirates urinating over the sides.
Using Isabela's ship made the most sense to him. They needed to be crafty to pull this off, and if anyone was crafty it was Isabela - provided one had enough coin and could dangle the prospect of more in front of her nose. He just never expected it to dredge up all those old memories that stab into his brain like a wily assassin who came armed only with poisoned bird feathers because knives are so passé. Drifting aimlessly along the deck, where only a few of the admiral's pirates worked coiling up rope and trying to shove the excess water off the planks, Alistair found himself leaning against the port side railing. A drop of thirty feet into the black waters waited for him below, but he didn't care about that. His head was craned back staring through the clouds to find the dusting of stars hidden beneath.
"This has been an interesting day," Isabela's dulcet tones drew him away for a moment and he smiled at her. "A templar, or not a templar as he kept shouting, loudly I might add. I don't mind your royal ass as long as it's paying but someone bleeding that much regs can be trouble."
"He'll be fine," Alistair waved his hand in the air dismissing Cullen.
"You seem certain of that. Which is extra interesting as you were never certain of anything, at least not anything she didn't agree with beforehand." Isabela perched upon the railing, her boots crossed at the knee as she sta
red into his eyes, but Alistair was peering through the stars trying to find it, trying to remember.
"The templar won't give you any grief because he's as invested in this trip as I am. Maybe more." Alistair's fingers dug into his pocket. He kept few things in them out of fear of sticky fingers and because kings rarely needed to carry money - that's what all those foot people were for. There was his worry stone anxiety-ed down to a pebble now, a couple of funny looking coins he'd picked up in his travels, pieces of broken glass he mistook for near rocks, and the portrait. That was what he dug out to fill his palm. The ink lines faded to a brown crimson while the linen itself yellowed to a tan. A few creases folded up the edges and a tear began along the middle, but he'd stopped it before it could do any real damage.
Isabela pulled down his hands to stare at the small drawing. She had to twist her head around to see it properly before she smiled, "Best one I've seen of her. Got the eyes right." He always thought they got the soul right. Isabela slipped her hand under his and she asked, "Are you sure about this? Getting you into Tevinter and through isn't going to be cheap for anybody."
"Trying to weasel more money out of me? We practically drained the coffers the last time we set out," Alistair chuckled to distract her from his pain.
"Hey, after the antivans, the witch and her dragon, and..." Isabela shuddered, "those damn ox men, I think I cut you a deal. Too bad it didn't work out the way you wanted, for either of you."
"Did she ever talk to you about...any of it?"
Isabela had taken off her hat, either in deference to the night or for fear of it falling overboard. Then again, knowing Isabela, she'd kick a few pirates into the water to rescue her hat if it was ever lost to the briny deep. The pirate queen pressed her finger to her lips and then her forehead as she stared down at the tiny portrait. "You know, Hawke I understood. She was a hero, sure, but she stumbled into it, ran from it when it suited her. Wasn't the type to judge for any reason, probably because she'd just thrown an entire piano through the window on a bet. But that one...you first see her and you expect the, you know..."
"Airs?" Alistair suggested.
"Yeah, the 'I'm so above you because I saved the entire world. What have you ever done?' Not her though. She didn't go out of her way to be one of the little people either, she just was."
"That's Lanny, she just was..." he sighed, his finger knocking against the parchment's edge. Maker, he missed her. Blinking back from the rising salt water in his eyes, Alistair sat up. "Is. She is."
"Right, is," Isabela agreed. She'd been less than convinced of his plan to find Lanny, but as long as Alistair had the coin the pirate queen would oblige. Then an opportunity rose for them both, and he couldn't disagree no matter how much danger it might put him in. Lanny would have done it.
"Well, if you're really going out on this plan then you're gonna need this back," Isabela reached behind her back and unearthed Lanny's phylactery. Its crimson light pulsed against the deck casting an unearthly glow along the deck.
"What the..." Alistair snagged it safely from her fingers and every hair in his body twisted around in the direction they weren't headed in.
"Pirates, they love stealing anything shiny and not nailed down. Sometimes things nailed down too if you're quick about it and brought a crowbar. But the second it started glowing, a few of 'em screamed about being cursed by the Maker and gave it up quick. I don't think you need to worry about them stealing it again." Isabela's finger drifted down the glass, but she didn't react to the life inside. Holding it, sometimes just being near the phylactery filled his heart with slips of Lanny. Memories would often surface when he'd be caught unaware, so powerful he'd find himself laughing at their old antics or plummeting deeper into despair from his own stupidity.
"I'd never seen one of them before," she pulled her finger away but continued to stare at the phylactery. "It's prettier than I expected. Who knew templars had an eye for art?"
"Perhaps if you ask nicely the one in the hold would be willing to paint your ship."
Isabela chuckled, her head thrown back as she stared upward, "He'd probably put 'Pirate' in giant letters to warn any port authorities. Look out, the worst of the bunch has come to steal your cargo and smuggle your goods."
"How is the lyrium trade?"
"Could be better. Things have dried up with the college and the chantry fighting over what's legal. It's all a damn mess and I'm staying out of it until I know whose side is what. You know what's big now? Tiny cakes."
"Really?" Alistair slipped the phylactery back in his satchel letting Lanny fade to a dull ache in his heart.
"Yep, seems the ox men have gone mad for the things. So crafty Vints charge triple what they pay to import. If you're willing to put up with the bullshit of the qun, you can make a tidy profit."
"You're dealing with the Qunari?" Alistair asked.
Isabela smiled wide, "Fuck no. What do you take me for? It's probably all some set up by their spies anyway and everyone involved will wake up without heads. No, I keep far away from the northern seas now. So I'm doing you a solid, if you didn't already know that."
"Thank you again. I could say it a few more times if you'd like. I have plenty of accolades to go around," Alistair held his hand wide as if he had any power while they drifted past Nevarra. He barely had any power in Ferelden when it came down to it.
"Keep your thanks until we get inside the empire, though I could do with a bit of land. Maybe be made a, what do they call them in Ferelden, Bann? Or Arl. I'd make a great Arl."
Alistair sighed, bobbing his head at the idea, "You would terrify the breeches off the gentry which would so make it worth it, but I'm afraid I can't grant that kind of power. There'd have to be a marriage or some fancy ceremony involved and..."
"Yeah, you can keep it. Sea's where I belong anyway. If it doesn't list, it isn't home." Isabela slapped him on the shoulder then leapt off the banister to land upon the deck. "Keep your chin up, kingy. And, if you want to kill some time, I've redecorated my cabin..."
He snorted at the innuendo that was subtle for Isabela, but demurred. "It wouldn't be the same without--"
"I get it," she smiled, "we'll make it there. After that, it's up to you." The pirate queen patted him on the bicep, taking a quick moment to squeeze it to see if he was still ripe, then she slipped back to her command occasionally shouting at a few of her crew to stop fucking things up.
Alistair leaned against the railing, his eyes still trying to peer through the clouds, but what few gaps he could see didn't fill him with hope. The stars were off here, this far from Ferelden he couldn't find it. But Lanny, she'd have pointed it out with her haphazard throw of the fingers and the "Oh, you didn't know it was right there? I thought everyone did." He could have fixed it, could have solved all of this years ago. Years and years before the mage's rebelled, before Corypheus popped up from history, even before Kirkwall went kablooey. All he had to do was stifle his damn jealousy streak.
Lanny'd only been Arlessa for a few months at most when the first marriage request rolled in. By a year they were a constant stream of people begging the king to consider them Arl material for the delectable port city of Amaranthine. Oh, of course they were madly in love with the Arlessa's huge tracts of land. How dare the king think otherwise. It had nothing at all to do with the bride being a warden and facing death whenever she turned around. This was true love. He'd chucked them all away, sometimes out the window after folding them into little birds. None of them were good enough, most of them would drive Lanny batty, and she'd probably enact some dark revenge on Alistair for even suggesting such a thing. All except for one.
After her debut at court a year into Arlessing, Alistair returned from a hunting trip to a foot high stack of requests for her hand. Out of ideas, he'd taken to folding them up and cutting out tiny pieces to make snowflakes. The servants all looked on, sighing but prepared to scoop away the mess when he finished. Only one man was willing to brave the king of Ferelden's wrath and ask inquire to
what the void he was up to.
"What are you doing, your highness?" Teagan sighed. He'd been named Arl of Redcliffe recently, but still spent time at court to help out with the adjustment and because the new king begged him to. It was nice having Teagan around -- the man was so kind and sweet in the face of abject brutishness it was a wonder bluebirds didn't do his laundry.
"I am going to decorate the walls for Satinalis myself," Alistair said. He unfolded the last flake and held it up to the light. The attempt to describe Solona Amell as a delectable temptress radiated through the back of the scarred vellum. With his knife, Alistair stabbed that sentence out then moved on to the next request.
Teagan reached over to slide a few of the parchment pieces his way. While he read through the lot, Alistair tried dicing little hearts into his, curious to see what pattern would emerge. "These are...requests for the Hero of Ferelden?"
"Yup, all of them."
"Is she aware?" Teagan asked grabbing onto even more and trying to read through his pile before the king obliterated them to confetti.
"I dunno, probably. Maybe. Doubt she'd care one way or another. She's a bit busy," Alistair stuck out his tongue as he worked through the final knotted section and yanked it out. Unfortunately, he forgot to compensate and the entire middle of the parchment tore free leaving a gaping hole which his not-uncle peered through at him.
"I thought that the grey wardens did not marry," Teagan stated.
"Some do, or maybe they did before joining. It never mattered much in the order, wardens don't have land or other dowry things to draw attention from nobility. You denounced everything you owned once you cupped the taint," Alistair explained. He was tired of describing wardens to Eamon. Their "I probably can't have any little sires no matter how many apple cores you stuff under my pillow" discussion was particularly fun. And he was still waking up to rotting fruit under the mattress. Maker take whoever started that folksy superstition. The flies were terrible.
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