My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "I see land!" someone called from the front of the ship, her arm waving through the fog.

  Every hand rose above every eye to try and spot whatever the pirate claimed. Slowly, a smattering of acceptance rang through the deck. "Yes, there was land." Cullen couldn't see it. All that appeared to him was more darkness hidden inside the fog. Their admiral seemed to see what he couldn't. She spun the wheel madly to the left and yanked her free arm down.

  "Clew up, get the lines ready. We're doing this as quiet as possible. List her in..."

  Without any wind to puff up the dead sails, the Siren's Echo relied upon only the remaining momentum from the waves to gently wash her closer to this imaginary land. It wasn't until they were almost upon it that Cullen realized his mistake. He'd expected another port of call, docks, buildings of multiple stories stuffed with people and goods. But this wasn't an official landing spot for ships, this was a true pirate's cove. The ship drifted deeper inward, sliding past unscalable cliffs slick as wet slate hundreds of meters high above their heads. Cullen glanced upward and spotted some kind of raptor circling through the fog almost keeping pace with them. If he was back home he would probably recognize it, but here he could only spot a tail as black as night fanned out while the brown bird dived towards the trees pocked along the rocks.

  "Now!" Isabela yelled, her voice shattering the whisper of before. The noise was so jarring, Cullen jumped a bit and felt Alistair hold onto him. The king shook his head and mouthed 'Not us' before releasing him.

  Deckhands burst into violent action like ants pursing a dropped crumb. Lines launched off the ship to embed deep into the walls of the cliff pockmarked from the same holes. With a heave-ho, every man and woman grabbed onto the ropes and spun the ship to align with the coast. As a few waves broke against the Siren's Echo, Isabela gave the order to weigh anchor.

  She dusted off her hat and handed it to her right hand man before stepping down towards her two passengers. "That could have gone worse," Alistair piped up.

  The pirate queen glared at him for a moment as she wiped off a shake in her hands. Apparently neither of the landlubbers knew how close of a call it was. "You two ready?" she asked instead.

  "As we'll ever be," the king spoke for them both. Cullen was about to interrupt to ask what they were supposed to be ready for, but Isabela shook her head.

  "Good," raising her voice to her crew she commanded. "Draw the gangplank. If I'm not back in an hour, set sail without me."

  "Yes, ma'am!" the crew echoed but no one seemed happy about this possibility. Maker's breath, what were they doing?

  Isabela eyed up the two of them, "You still have your big sword?"

  "Always." Alistair, the king who'd been dressed for the life of a traveling merchant finally put himself in partial armor with a longsword knotted at the waist.

  She rolled her eyes, "I know all about yours. I was more concerned about that one." She tipped her head at Cullen, who glanced from the two of them. Despite his suspicions and their constant flirtations, he'd never caught any sign of Alistair and the pirate queen being anything more than friends - the king's nights spent snoring in a hammock suspended above a pickle barrel. It was a complicated kind of friendship of course, but nothing tawdry. It unnerved him more than he expected.

  "I am armed," Cullen said, "but would like to know for what reason."

  Against the black hole of the stone shore, a golden light broke through drawing everyone's attention. Isabela knotted a checkered rag around her hair and she checked her own daggers, "You're about to find out, regs. Hamish, you have the ship. The captain's going off board."

  Isabela took the lead, her weapons sheathed but she kept reaching back for them at the slightest sound breaking over the calm sea air. Behind her walked Alistair, who for the first time Cullen felt a strange urge to guard. Not out of any loyalty to the man, but due to far too many years in the order training him to protect the most valuable in the chantry hierarchy. Sadly, kings were included in that list. Cullen and Honor took up the back as they crept down the quickly retracted gangplank and deeper into the shores of the Imperium. The broken lute string call of the frogs echoed through the warmer fog of the north. It felt strange to be so near winter and not even require a cloak while walking the rocky beach, but he was far from home.

  Creeping against the broken ground, Cullen eased his toe in front of him before committing to the step. Even then, the few pieces of armor he strapped on would shift in the blanketed world of the fog, the sound bouncing off the rocks and back into everyone's ears. His heart thrummed at the burgeoning anticipation of battle seeping out of every dark corner, shadows shifting as if filled with eyes and blades. Still, he kept his hand upon his sword's grip but didn't unsheathe it. Reaching out with his spare hand, Cullen stroked along Honor's head. She shook him off, even the mabari knew this was working time.

  They slipped further away from the shoreline, tracing after a golden glow that would occasionally part the grey fogs from the distance, then vanish in seconds. At first, Cullen thought it was running away from them and they'd never catch it, but as the fog dissipated revealing gnarled trees stripped dead of all bark and branch, the distance lessened. No voices echoed through the imposing canyon above their heads, only their guarded footsteps scrabbling across rock wearing away to a saw grass followed them. The grass was tanner than what he knew in the south, but it chewed through raw flesh the same. Cullen tried to swipe a path for Honor, but the dog either didn't feel the sting or gritted through it as she stomped onward.

  "Come no further!" a voice cried out of the dark and a blinding light landed upon their faces. This wasn't courtesy of any torch, but veilfire bursting off someone's fingers into their darkened eyes. Wonderful, their first meeting was with a Tevinter mage.

  Alistair and Cullen froze on the spot, but Isabela waved her hand in her face and shouted, "Knock it off, Darius. I can barely blighted see with that shiny shit in my eyes."

  This Darius sighed in relief, and the veil fire vanished. "Thank the Maker. It's Izzy," he shouted to the rest behind him.

  "Izzy?" Alistair asked, nudging the pirate queen.

  "Try that and you'll be feeding the barnacles on my ship," she hissed back at him before waving her hands wide and stepping up an incline. The two men and one mabari followed behind her cautious and confused. He expected more pirates, perhaps with their own smuggled piles of goods or stolen treasures needing to get out of Tevinter fast, but the reality was the furthest thing Cullen could have imagined. Elves, over a dozen of them, sat curled up on the rocky terrain in the darkness. They ranged in age from a young child up to a withered old man leaning upon a broken branch for support. Each had a shawl tucked over their heads as if to try and hide their faces or ears, while they huddled around where normally a campfire would be. Exhaustion and hunger seemed rampant in the group, their faces grey and lips slack. But their eyes flared up at the intruders and, as one, they slid further away from them.

  "Darius, you promised us..." one of the elves spoke, a middle aged woman with the scar from mage fire across half her face.

  "Calm yourself, Izzy's with us," Darius was the only one in the group who was human. With a waxed mustache, pointed beard, and his hair swooped high over his forehead, he reminded Cullen more of Dorian than a smuggling pirate. "She's your ride out of Tevinter."

  Every elven eye swung to the pirate queen. Isabela didn't offer comfort or even look at them, instead she focused on Darius. "There's a good fifteen here! You told me six at the most."

  Darius shrugged his barely covered shoulder, "I had an opportunity to free more and took it."

  "Andraste's tits, do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak six onto a ship, much less all of them?" She waved her hand over the elves as if they weren't there or couldn't understand her. Perhaps a few didn't, but the rest clung tighter to each other at her words, terrified of what would happen if the pirate wouldn't take them.

  Darius touched Isabela's hand and he smiled, "You'll find a w
ay, you always do."

  "You're gonna owe me something big when this is done," she sighed, then rolled her head around to stretch weary muscles. "I hope a few of you don't mind sleeping in shifts," she finally addressed the group.

  The elves all shook their heads no, but none of them rose. Instead, they clung tight to the ground as if afraid a giant's hand would crack the clouds to swat them down and drag them back to Tevinter. They chattered for a moment amongst themselves, their eyes darting over the pirate woman picking at her nails, and then the two men standing beside her. "Darius?" the burned woman spoke up. "How can we thank you?"

  "Get out of here and live your lives free. That's all the thanks I need," he smiled magnanimously, gripping her offered hand in both of his. Then he finally turned to the lost men behind Isabela. "Which one is which?" he asked, pointing from Alistair to Cullen.

  Isabela waved her hand, "I can barely tell most days. If he answers to idiot, it's him."

  "I," Darius paused and blinked. He must know that Alistair is a king, otherwise no man would re-think using the word idiot. "We have a slight problem, uh..."

  "It's him," Cullen spoke up, jabbing his finger at Alistair.

  "Of course, thank you," Darius bowed his head at Cullen then took up counsel with the king, "Your highness."

  "Eee, ex-nay on the highness-ay," Alistair interrupted, bouncing on his feet and peering over at the elves. "Incognito here and all."

  "Right, naturally," Darius nodded his head, but his eyes darted to Isabela, a burning question asking her if this was really a king and not some lark.

  "For the Maker's sake, I don't think a bunch of elven slaves are going to blab about you wearing a crown," she shot back. "Doubtful they could find Ferelden on a map, or read a map for that matter."

  Alistair shrugged but he kept peering through the huddled masses as if there was a spy hiding in their midst. Still uncertain how to proceed, Darius watched Isabela while speaking to the king. "We have a situation that must be dealt with promptly. Massimo will be in attendance at the swap."

  "Shiiit," Isabela groaned, stretching out the word as she winnowed her head towards the ground. Then she snapped up, "Oh fuck, let me guess, he's going to be there too."

  "It seems most likely," Darius nodded his head, catching on to whoever this third unnamed person was. "He's been pursuing Massimo for a few years now. This is the first time anyone can get close to Massimo outside of his fortress, even him."

  Alistair waved his fingers between the two of them, "I'm guessing this Massimo is bad news..."

  "He's a shit eating bastard," Isabela cursed, then tacked on, "present company excluded."

  Darius took over for her to explain a bit better, "Due to shifts in the power structure over the years, Massimo is currently the most powerful slave broker in Tevinter."

  Chuckling, Isabela spoke up, "By shifts in power structure you mean someone keeps chopping slaver heads off and ripping hearts out?"

  "That is the more accurate way to phrase it, yes. He is an agent of chaos but it's served the underground well. Until the power vacuum yerns to be filled, as is their want, and in this case it was by Massimo. Ten years prior he was little more than a bit player running unawares to our operation, but over time, and..." Darius gestured at Isabela plastering her hand against her chest and pretending to rip her own heart out, "that affair, he's grown dangerous."

  Alistair bobbed his head, obviously keeping abreast of whatever was going on, "So the deal's changed."

  "Not changed, only complicated itself. You can avoid it if you'd like, but I am afraid I will not. I must try to intervene if I can," Darius said, and the king nodded along. Cullen tried to be patient, piecing together their double speak and sideways glances, but he couldn't stand it anymore.

  Grabbing onto Alistair's arm, Cullen whipped the king around to face him. Darius blanched at the impolitic move against royalty, while Isabela was busy miming chopping her own head off. "All right, I've put up with much from you on this trip but I think I am owed an explanation as to what in the void is happening here."

  The king tipped his head back and forth and smiled, "In order to get out of Tevinter, we're going to pose as a couple of slave traders with Darius here. Originally, we were going to visit the market, slip in with a slave route, infiltrate it, and use that to take us into the Anderfells, but now it looks like..."

  "We will assassinate Massimo, travel his route, and destroy all the slavers along the way," Darius finished for him.

  Alistair jabbed a finger at him and smiled, "That, more or less. Sounds like we'll have competition on the finishing off Massimo plan though."

  Darius groaned, "He is competent, but...brash." Isabela snorted at the assessment, and the hairs along Cullen's neck rose. If she of all people thought this man was brash... Maker! "I fear we may lose him entirely if there is no one to assist."

  "So," Alistair turned on Cullen, the last holdout of the group. "Are you up for killing a bunch of slavers or...?" he waved his hand back in the direction of the boat.

  Slipping his eyes closed, Cullen gripped tighter to the hilt of his sword. "I'm in."

  "That was quick," the king responded, taken aback. "Took you longer to decide what you wanted for dinner, and...fine fine, don't look a gift druffalo in the mouth. Got it."

  "It's been a lot of fun and all, but I'm afraid this is where we part ways." Isabela reached her hand out to Cullen and he took it, surprised at the calluses they shared as they shook. Then she turned to Alistair who extended his hand as well. Instead of taking it, Isabela grabbed onto both of his cheeks and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Both Cullen and Darius shuffled uncomfortably and stared off into the distance as the pirate queen macked all over the regular king. Just as the awkwardness was reaching into the huddled elven group, she broke from his lips and Alistair gasped in air. "Do what you need to, and feel free to flag me down if you ever need some pirate assistance."

  "I will, uh, think about that," Alistair stuttered, seeming as shocked by her goodbye as the rest of them.

  Isabela cupped Darius' fingers once more, then she said, "We'll get 'em out safe, then I'll be back sometime in six months if the weather plays nice."

  "Agreed."

  "Oh, and if you see him before he's all blood ragey, tell him Isabela says his underthings are...green."

  Darius eyed up the pirate queen, confusion knotting his brow, but nodded, "I will do that."

  She smiled wide and slapped him once on the shoulder, buckling his fancy feather stylings, "Good on you." Turning to the elves she shouted, "All right, let's get all your asses on the ship before the Tevinter guards come poking about. Daylight is not our friend, so move it! I don't want to leave anyone behind, but we're not waiting either!"

  As she rounded up the elves scampering towards the Siren's Echo and freedom, Darius handed a pair of scarves to both the men. "Here, slip these around your heads to try and disguise your, well, Southern coloring."

  "Delightful," Cullen sighed, weighing the damask pattern in his hands. "What of my dog? I will not leave her behind."

  "Ah, the Ferelden mabari, yes? It may draw a few questions, but we can pass her off as an oddity of yours. She will prove useful in a fight, at least," Darius scampered around Cullen, his eyes drifting towards the dog who only wagged her stump of a tail harder from the attention. Then the mage turned and tried to assist Alistair, who'd managed to knot the scarf around his neck.

  After un-choking himself, the king smiled wide, "Nearly got it. This thing's a bit tricky."

  "Ah, indeed, sire. I mean, ser," Darius sighed with a weary list to his voice, the same that Cullen felt in his heart every time he stepped near Alistair. What an odd place to find a kindred spirit in a Tevinter magister. "If you will follow me, we have a long way to walk until we reach the city proper."

  Killing slavers. Out of all the things Alistair could demand from him to get Lana back, this was the one thing Cullen felt no hesitation for.

  Chapter Fourteen

&n
bsp; The Wolf

  9:44 Tevinter

  Despite his life constantly veering to the left, Cullen never expected to find himself in the Tevinter Imperium where blood mages ruled and templars were little more than yappy lap dogs, neutered and chained from effecting any change. The city they traveled to was unlike anything he'd seen before. Where Kirkwall bore the occasional mark of the Imperium under her bones, the Marchers made it their own. Val Royeaux was its own painted up city, a bit like a war horse with ribbons knotted through its mane - power lurking below the glitz. But this city loomed around him overstuffed with architecture built upon even older and ancienter still. A modern building sat next to the crumbling ruins of a columned facade baring the faces of what looked like the old gods. They strolled past an ancient chantry built perhaps before the third blight, its walls made of plain sandstone, unnoticeable save the etchings of Andraste. A lone chanter stood outside speaking the heretical verses of the north. Streets weren't laid out in any plan, but undulated through the city as if someone placed down cobblestones while pursuing a cat. And moving through it all were mages, brash as the bright sun. They bore their staves glittering in jewels and priceless metals as a badge of honor. Robes were the fashion, of course, but even those were more decadent than the typical mage fare in the south.

  "And I'd believed Dorian extravagant," Cullen mused to himself watching a man waltz past with pomegranate juice dripping onto his silk slippers embroidered with a family crest in golden thread.

  Darius didn't speak much to either of them aside from a few curt suggestions that they voice few words seeing as how they both bore rather obvious accents. Of course, the king smirked and shouted, "I have no idear what you mean." Uncertain how to respond, their guide only nodded along and kept up their march deeper into the city.

  "Where are you taking us?" Cullen asked. He walked beside the man while somehow Alistair and Honor slipped into the back. Realizing they'd both been rather quiet for awhile, Cullen turned and found an empty space where king and mabari should be. Wonderful.