/* A/N: This Hawke is not politically correct. She is sexist, and racist, and often uses derogatory slang. You have been warned. */

"I cannot. She is female." Andraste's flaming arse, Hawke swore to herself, if I hear one more dickhead whining about my lack of a penis, I swear I'm going to-

"You said yourself she is basalit-an," the lanky elf piped up. "By your own admission, you cannot refuse the challenge." Thank you, Fenris. She was going to have to read up on Qunari law. She couldn't hide behind Fenris' skirt forever.

The duelling area was cleared, with four Qunari honour guard standing at the corners. Hawke drew her massive sword, and carefully applied poison to the blade. Her opponent circled to the other side of the room, never turning his back to her. She was pleased he was taking this seriously. The horned giant drew his blades and took up an offensive stance. His feet were shoulder-width apart, his every muscle tense, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Hawke followed him with her eyes, and fought to keep her hands steady. She had fought an ogre once, but this was different. This... man? This person was intelligent. And he carried two blades. Hawke hated dual-weilders. They were usually faster than her, and this man appeared to be stronger as well.

Alright, you girly-haired manbeast. Let's do this! Hawke dived in, her sword raised high overhead. The arishok parried the blow with one axe, swinging the other at her exposed ribs. She darted back quickly, expecting to hear the blade scratch against her armour. She heard nothing.

Well, cut my legs off and call me a dwarf! Experience had taught her that dual-wielders were usually faster than she was. This guy just wasn't equipped right. She tested his mettle with a few exploratory strokes. He easily let her flank him, and seemed more preoccupied with the power behind his strikes than in seeing them connect. A good enough strategy, if one were carrying a mace and fighting multiple opponents. A lopsided grin tugged at Hawke's face. Maybe she did have a chance after all.

*Crunch.*

Odd. She didn't think flesh made that sound when she sliced it. Maybe Qunari flesh was different? Oh. The crunch was her left bracer being permanently bent out of shape. Kind of sad, really. She and that bracer had been through a lot together.

She slashed at him from the side, aiming to cut his hamstrings. He parried with a blow to her shoulder that sent her reeling off balance. Her eyes glued to his as she rocked back on her heels. Follow the eyes, her father once said, the blade always follows the eyes. Sure enough, the arishok swung for her head. She slipped out of the way before the swing connected, and with a deft twist at the hip, managed to strike a blow to his knee.

A hit! Hawke almost laughed out loud, a giddy euphoria overshadowing her nerves. It may have only been the first hit she'd made, but it was a hit nonetheless. She and the arishok were one for one, equals despite all their differences.

But what was the arishok doing? He was looking at the ground directly infront of his feet, his blades pulled back uselessly to his side. Is he going to strike the ground?

Too late, she realized what was happening. There was nothing she could do but ride the blow as the arishok charged forward like a battering ram, throwing her body into the pillar. So I guess those horns aren't for show, she mused. She knelt to pick herself up off the ground, only to have a blade slammed into her back, forcing her down again. She tried again, and the same thing happened. Eventually she had to slither forward until she could roll away from the pillar. Her footing regained, Hawke was seeing red.

I will cut those horns from your head! Any nervousness she had was completely forgotten as Hawke allowed her rage to envelop her. She slashed wildly at his shins, his chest, his head - only to be calmly rebuffed like a buzzing mosquito. She feinted to the left, and swung right at his right side, to no avail. No matter how strong or quick her strokes, no matter how deep the gashes she left on him, his face remained a stoic model of discipline, his anger channeled into controlled outbursts.

She flailed at him wildly. Somwhow her screams changed from the charge of a berserker to the desperate wail of a childish tantrum. Why won't he just fall over? This wasn't fair! Her arm was lagging, dragged down by the weight of the sword. Some small part of her mind nagged at her that ther hands would be blistered. Later. Right now it didn't matter. Her breathing was ragged, and there was a bead of sweat headed straight for her left eye.

And still the arishok stood infront of her unfazed. His feet were sure beneath him, oblivious to her ravenous attempts to the contrary. His breathing was no more laboured than a man carrying a load up some steps. His movements were still deliberate, precise.

Sticks and stones, Hawke decided. Everything else had failed. "What's wrong, horned boy? Can't hit a girl?" Hawke taunted him as she evaded yet another blow. The arishok yelled something about his Qun, and charged straight into one of his own honour guard. The move bought her another chance to swipe at his back. Nice! I'll have to try that again!

There was one fatal flaw in her strategy: how do you taunt a Qunari? He clearly had no mother. No woman in her right might would suffer those horns tearing through her birth canal. She would insult his friends, but she was guessing the arishok didn't go out for drinks with the boys. It's loneley at the top, and all that sod. Maybe she should insult the guy who wrote that book. The one Isabela stole. What was his name again... Cussland? Kaws-loon? Her mind drew a blank.

This is not a man, she told herself. A man could be shoved and pushed by her blade. A man would collapse if he lost too much blood A man could be bullied or goaded into anger or stupididty. This was something else altogether, something she had never faced before. Something she would need a new tactic to defeat.

She was still stalling for time when he pulled out a new trick. Hawke wasn't even sure what happened. She was coming in to flank him from the left, and suddenly she was up in the air, her entire weight centred on the blade that was piercing her abdomen.

Now THAT's penetration, a little voice in her head said. Such a comfort to know that her sarcasm hadn't left her, even while her lifeblood did. She was trying not to scream when she passed out.

Her mind drifted back to Lothering, back to when Carver was all legs and feet from growing too fast all at once. "Look, sister!" He called out, "Father gave it to me. Said I could take lessons from Old Man Humphrey down the road. Said I could help him protect the women in this family!" Carver swelled with pride as he held out a two-handed sword. Marion jumped out of the tree she was in to inspect the newest addition to the family.

True enough, father had actually given Carver a sword. Yesterday Carver had made Bethany cry, saying it was all her fault they were hiding from the templars. Today, father rewarded him with new toy. Maybe he was trying to placate Carver, trying to make him feel useful. Well, two could play that game.

Marion stared at the weapon. It looked ancient. And rusty. And blunt. Perfect.

"Protect me?" Hawke grabbed the sword and with one, full bodied swing, smashed it into the side of Carver's knee. There was a satisfying *crunch* of bones breaking while Carver collapsed to the ground. "How can you protect me when you still scream like a girl?" Carver's voice hadn't cracked yet, a fact the entire town of Lothering would now be well acquainted with.

Pain brought her back to reality. The bones that were crunching weren't in Carver's knee, they were in her own ribcage. The arishok must have rushed at her from a distance, because she was skidding across the floor, leaving a blood trail several metres long in her wake. Get up, get up! Her mind was frantic, her breathing ragged. She managed to drag herself to her feet in time to avoid another blow. A quick flip of the wrist brought a health potion to her lips. It's just another boy with just another blade. If I can make him cry, he'll leave me alone.

Really, that was all it had been about, at first. Carver had made Bethany cry, so Marian made Carver cry. Marian never cried much. It wasn't her way. So she took to learning swordsmanship from Old Man Humphry, and was better at it than Carver ever was. She wasn't any stronger, physically. She just never knew when to stop fighting and start crying.

Take now, for instance. Her ribs were a sorry mess. Her blood was all sorts of places it wasn't supposed to be. Her mind was buzzing from the stimulants in the health poultice. She was tired, and hungry, and really should probably just give up.

But there was Isabela. And the Viscount's head was just through those doors. There was Fenris, who had stood up for her, given her the chance to fight this... fighter. He wouldn't have suggested it if he thought she was going to break down and cry. So she wouldn't. Not here, not now. Not infront of the people who were counting on her.

She could start to see the signs of fatigue on the arishok now, too. His breathing was harder, his feet sluggish. She watched him, every muscle tense, her every sense trained on him, waiting for him to flinch.

There! One moment she was two metres away, the next she was at his throat. Her blade sunk deep, buried down into his torso from just above the collarbone. She saw the open trachea gasping for air, she could smell the sweat and blood as they covered her. One deft wrench of the blade and she was free of him, free of the corpse.

There might have been people shouting; she really couldn't hear it. Her head started spinning, and she looked down to see where the pain was coming from. Cheeky bastard! He had stabbed her in the gut again when she went in for the kill. She collapsed to her knees, then to the floor, clutching her gaping wound in shock.

"Hawke! Can you hear me? It's going to be alright!" The pretty boy mage was at her side, with a concerned look on his face. Why was he so worried? She had won. She had won! She tried to talk, but the words wouldn't come out right. Grinning, she held up two bloodied fingers in a V. She had won! Laughter bubbled out of her from somewhere in her chest. It caught in her throat, making her cough and choke on her own blood.

"Yes, you did good Hawke," the chesty dwarf took her fingers in his hand. "Now lie still and let Blondie patch you up." There was a surge of healing energy, and as her eyes drifted shut she thought of Bethany, scolding her for getting into fights all the time.