BSN Prompt - Drunken Sailor

[miri1984]

Title: What do you do with a drunken sailor?
Words: 1211
Rating: T+?
Characters: Anders, Neria, Oghren and... someone else!
Summary: Anders takes a trip to Amaranthine to annul his previous marriage

He tapped his foot as he waited for the chantry sister to come out from the room of records. He was getting stares, he knew. From the few people who were seeking solace from the Maker. From the two Templars…. looming with their… Templar germs on the doors. From the chantry sisters… oooh, that one was definitely not staring at him in a disapproving way… married, getting married mind on the job you idiot….

He possibly shouldn't have chosen to wear the Tevinter robes. He was well known in Amaranthine, well enough known that he didn't need to wear the Warden griffon emblazoned robes to avoid being picked up by the germy ones, but seeing a mage in full regalia in the chantry without at least one Templar hovering over them like a… corpse fly… probably put people off their morning chants.

When the sister emerged holding a sheaf of papers in one hand and an official Chantry records book in the other he breathed a sigh of relief. She plonked the book on a lecturn and started leafing through it. "So, Anders… Anders Noyers married Harriet Merevel on the Fifth Harvestmere year twenty-eight…"

"Anders Noyers is it?" the voice was incredibly familiar and Anders froze. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck and he resisted the sudden urge to call on his magic - in the chantry, surrounded by Templars, even with his warden status that wouldn't be a good idea. "That's an Orlesian name. I wouldn't have picked you as an invader, dear, sweet mage."

"At least," he said, turning slowly, "I have a surname." She was standing with her hands on her hips, a cocky smile on her face. "Isabela. What on Thedas are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to answer an age old question, Monsieur Noyers," she said.

"And what question would that be?"

"What do you do with a drunken sailor, kitten?"

---

An hour later he was squeezed behind her amidst barrels of what certainly smelled like dried fish. He briefly wondered what else could smell like that, and only came up with a few answers, most of which involved Oghren's home still. He was careful not to let any sticky substances touch his bare skin.

"Tell me why I'm helping you?"

"Because you find me irresistible. You know that."

"I'll have you know I'm getting married in two months."

"Oh? From the conversation I overheard in the Chantry it seems you are married already."

"A minor setback. One that's being rectified as we speak."

"So. I am assuming you're marrying the delectable elven girl I transported to your family's homeland last year?"

"For the last time, Isabela, I'm not Orlesian. That was my mother's maiden name - you know how many…"

Her laughter was almost raucous enough to give away their position. If it hadn't been at the noisiest point in the docks of Amaranthine the whole purpose of their exercise would have been moot.

"Did you have to make me wear this?" Anders said, plucking at the dark shirt and pants he wore.

"You looked like a peacock in those furry things you were wearing," Isabela said. She turned and winked at him, letting her eyes linger at the loose ties that held together the neck of his shirt. If he'd been any other man, he was certain now would be the time to blush. As it was he had to stop himself from leering right back at her.

Oh Maker, Anders, don't let this story get back to Neria.

"Black suits you," Isabela said. "Brings out the gold in that hair of yours. Or at least it would, if it weren't sensibly covered." She reached out and tweaked the corner of the black bandana on his head. He resisted the urge to slap her hand away. He rolled his eyes, about to give a witty retort that would have floored her completely when she went tense and looked over his shoulder.

"That's our man," she said. Anders turned to look. A perfectly ordinary looking pirate (and Anders was aware of the irony of that little thought) was staggering along the docks. No one was paying him any mind - drunken sailors were common in Amaranthine - in any port town.

"You know what I need, kitten," Isabela purred in his ear. He nodded and sent out his healing sense, coming to a conclusion immediately.

"You're right," he said. "The man's completely sober."

Isabela's eyes glinted with a feral light and she smiled as she stared at their target. "Gotcha," she whispered.

Anders got back to the Vigil the following day, to be greeted at the gates by Neria and Oghren. "Well?" she asked.

"One marriage successfully annulled," he said, gathering her in his arms and kissing her dark hair. She leaned against him and he could hear her humming in satisfaction - that adorable sound she made that reminded him of Pounce.

"Anything else interesting?"

"No," he said.

Her arms tightened around him and he felt a flash of foreboding. "Really?" she said.

"Oh… ah.. well I did run into Isabela…"

Oghren laughed a raucous bellow. "I guess I owe you a drink, tiny toes," he said, nudging Neria. She smiled happily.

"What?"

"Your pirate captain sent the Commander a present. Arrived just before you did."

"A present?"

He looked up to see Varel escorting the man they'd been watching the night before to the prison that had once held Nathaniel Howe.

"Going to be hanged in the morning," Oghren said. "Lyrium smuggler."

Anders looked down at Neria, who was nodding. "What?" he said. "She just said she wanted a little bit of help finding out if one of her crew members was getting drunk…"

"It was an act," Neria said. "A character he was playing. Isabela had him in the crew for months, apparently. They found the lyrium on her ship - they were going to hang her unless she found the culprit behind it. You helped her prove he was playing the whole ship false."

"By proving he wasn't a drunken sailor?" Anders asked, beginning to smile.

"That tavern he came out of was the drop off point," Oghren said. "She just needed enough proof that the man wasn't actually drinking when he went in there. You gave it to her."

"Enough for Garavel to order a raid on the tavern," Neria finished for him.

Anders was impressed. He'd honestly thought he was just doing Isabela a small service - the woman was as secretive as ever. "Well. Great!" he said. Neria giggled and squeezed his waist and they started towards the keep, before Anders stopped. "Hang on," he said, turning back to the dwarf. "So why do you owe Neria a drink?"

Oghren grinned. "I bet you wouldn't tell her you ran into Isabela," he said. "Figured you'd be too scared. After the whole Bessie incident."

Anders cocked an eyebrow at his fiance. "And you bet against him?" he said. She nodded, smiling.

"You wouldn't lie to me," she said. He felt a sudden rush of pride as she reached up to tweak his chin. "I know you're too scared to do that…." he swallowed as she ran her eyes over him, a small pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, "…kitten."