I Will Arise and Go to Thedas

Aveline/Isabela (written with the lovely and talented ifuckedastormtrooper)

luckynumber78:

Aveline was familiar, of course, with the overwhelming scent of piss and stale alcohol at The Hanged Man, but it still hit her like a ton of bricks every time she walked in.

It would have stood to reason that a Fereldan would have been used to malodorous surroundings, but this was not the wet-dog-sweaty-man scent of Ferelden.

Isabela was at her usual post at the bar, drinking the swill as though it didn’t taste like carrion drenched in rat poison.

The pirate saw her coming and gave her a nod. She wordlessly signalled to Edwina to bring the captain of the guard something not quite toxic to drink.

“Isabela,” Aveline said simply, in greeting.

She looked around the bar as the dour-faced barmaid plunked the stinking tankard of so-called ale in front of her.

Aveline lifted the stein to her lips and took a long draw, careful to keep the stuff away from her tongue and down her gullet. She exhaled softly, looking around the room at the milieu of the best of the worst of Kirkwall’s citizenry.

“What do you hear these days?” She asked simply, turning her gaze back to the swarthy woman.

Isabela sighed, setting her cup down in front of her, eyes carefully flickering to the redhead next to her. With a careful twitch of her lip, that mischievous gesture she was known for, she shrugged her shoulders.

“Nothing of importance.” 

Aveline had crossed her own arms, parted her lips to inquire. After a quirk of Isabela’s brow, she decided not to prod. The pirate wasn’t a child nor was she dumb, she reasoned. Well, not outrightly so. They both took a silent sip of their cups and savored the suspiciously bitter taste of the ale.

“So,” Tan skinned brushed against the Captain of the Guard’s iron plating, her warmth contrasting the cold.

“Big Girl. Why do you insist on wearing such dreariness out? Haven’t you considered…a dress? Some makeup would look lovely on you. Cover up some of those freckles.”

She smirked, bringing the mug to her lips.

Aveline quirked an eyebrow at Isabela’s long fingers on her breastplate. The touch was not entirely unwelcome, but it was curious.

“A guard captain’s uniform leaves little room for frippery, and,” she paused to take a drink. “Everything to the imagination,” she finished, mimicking a jokingly flirtatious tone she’d heard Isabela use a thousand times.

She hid her face with her shoulder as she motioned for another round.

Where had that come from? Oh, Maker. 

“And besides,” she continued, affecting hurt feelings. “Donnic likes my freckles.”

The inflection in Aveline’s voice, the purr that seemed to rumble in her throat ignited something in Isabela. She had never heard anything like that from the other woman, and it was exciting, to say the least. The mention of Donnic, however, deflated her mood. 

“I’m sure he does, sweet thing. Does he also say he likes certain regions…unattended to?”

With an air of smugness, she started to tap unusually polished fingernails on the counter top. Before Aveline could slap her in the face, she added, “Donnic is the nice type. From what I’ve heard of your late husband, you’re attracted to nice.”

Aveline sensed her pirate friend wasn’t going to drop the aloof act, so she leaned in, pretending to play along. “So what? I like men who treat me right. I deserve that, at least. Every woman does, even you would agree with that.” It was an unspoken understanding about the Rivaini’s failed - to put it gently- marriage. Whether or not she would ever admit it couldn’t be said for certain, but Isabela took a careful interest in whether her friends were being mistreated. She had an innate mistrust of husbands.

“There’s a difference between cruel and exciting. When’s the last time Donnic really made you sweat?”

“I don’t want to tal-”

“Have you ever done it in public? Woke up the neighbors? Felt it for days?”

Aveline sighed, feeling put upon and, as usual, somewhat contemptuous of Isabela.

“No, no, and yes,” she murmured, then started back, horrified to find she had said so aloud.

A smile curled around Isabela’s sensuous brown lips. She was surprised at having her stratagem thwarted, but intrigued by Aveline’s forthrightness. Very intrigued.

“It isn’t any of your business anyhow, whore,” Aveline grumbled.

“Don’t be silly, big girl.” Isabela laid a hand on Aveline’s forearm gingerly, watching her strong-featured face closely for her reaction. “You’re always my business.”

Aveline backed away from the bar violently. A little nagging voice in her head informed her that her response was massively disproportionate to Isabela’s sincerely caring words, but she couldn’t help herself from pointing an accusing finger at the other woman, her body shaking with rage.

“Butt out, whore,” she said furiously.

She withdrew her arm and turned to leave. Isabela gently put a hand on each arm, holding on to the woman from behind. Aveline hung her head and sighed.

“Aveline,” Isabela began slowly, rubbing at the back of her own neck awkwardly.

Aveline turned around and kissed Isabela forcefully, pushing her back into the wooden wall, claiming her lips with a crushing force and a burning need.