11. Your Own Fault
We get another three days of half-frozen rain before the weather stays clear long enough for the ground to even sort of dry out.
But I take pity on Jerin and tell him that if he's okay with getting muddy, we can duel whenever he's ready.
"You're goin' t' do it, C'mmander?" he asks, one eyebrow arching in surprise.
"You aren't the only one around here who's antsy, Mahariel," I shoot back with a grin. "And besides, I like to test people against their own strength-at least to start-and my only other two-weapon fighter's in the city right now. Probably won't be back for another week or so. And I don't wanna make you wait that long."
"Appreciate that," he nods.
"I also don't mind getting muddy, so if you're fine with that risk, we could suit up and go right now."
Jerin laughs. "Tha's only a risk if I fear I'll wind up on th' ground. Which I don't. So twenty minutes, C'mmander?" He winks at me, all confidence and surety.
"Oh, you're so on," I retort, already heading for my room. "I'll see you in the practice ring, Mahariel."
"Twenty minutes," he calls after me before making tracks to his own room.
I have to admit, he's extremely confident in his abilities. So long as he can put some weight behind his words, this is more good than bad. Knowing what you're capable of doing is a quality I admire-so long as you don't overestimate yourself. I'm really curious if Jerin's as good as he-and his Keeper-seem to think he is.
oOo
I'm in my armor and down to the practice ring with a couple minutes to spare. Jerin's already waiting for me, rolling his shoulders uneasily in heavy-duty leathers someone dug up for him to use.
"You alright?" I double-check as I pull two practice swords free of their barrel.
"Is all shemlen armor this suffocatin'?" he grumbles.
"Some's worse," I answer, smiling sweetly. He scowls. "But some's not so bad. I just figured, since you're a warrior, you'd be used to heavier armor."
Jerin shakes his head. "No. I usually just wear typical Dalish leathers. Not this stiflin' stuff."
"Well, I'll get somebody to find you some armor that's closer to what you're used to," I promise. "Do you wanna put off our duel until some can be found?"
"Creators, no!" he bursts out. "I mean, I'll make do for now, C'mmander." He still glares at the leather covering his limbs as he retrieves a pair of practice swords as well. He tests their weight in his hands, decides they're close enough to his "real" swords to do the trick, and faces me, assuming a defensive stance. "Ready when you are."
Never one to back down from a challenge, I oblige him, charging forward with my swords at the ready. As I get closer, I swing one up and the other in from the side.
Jerin blocks them both, spinning so that his elbow connects hard with my now-unguarded ribcage.
I grunt and instinctively backpedal, blocking the strikes he aims at my midsection as I retreat.
"Sorry, C'mmander, shoulda warned ya; I'm not afraid t' fight dirty," he grins as he follows me.
"Oh, I'm used to that," I pant, feeling my ribs throb as I snort, "You're not the first warrior I've dueled who was comfortable with such tricks. Whatever it takes to win, right?"
"Exactly!" Jerin replies as he closes in, very much on the attack now. We move in a blurringly fast dance of swords and tricks and dodges, fighting each other to a gasping, breathless draw.
"Wanna... go... again?" I ask between breaths. "After a break?"
He nods, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of one wrist. "Sounds... good."
And so for twenty minutes we perch on the top rail of the fence, catching our breath and trying to pinpoint weaknesses in the other's fighting styles. By the time we're ready to go again, we have an audience. It starts with just a couple of the militia who probably intended to use the ring themselves, but I know it's only a matter of times before word spreads. After all, the Commander of the Grey is dueling her new Dalish recruit. That's bound to attract a crowd.
Jerin and I do our best to ignore them as we walk to the center and take up positions.
"No holds barred?" he mutters as he adjusts his grip.
"No trick off limits," I murmur back by way of agreement.
"And may the best fighter win," we whisper in unison, resting our blades against each other. Neither of us is inclined to wait for any sort of starting signal; nerves wound so tight we're positively twitchy. So I start off by shoving my swords even harder against his, until the hilts lock together and he starts leaning backwards, and try to sweep his legs out from under him.
Unfortunately, I'm just slow enough for him to figure out my intentions-he's far from stupid, after all-and he manages to avoid my kick at his legs, dodging backwards fast enough I actually feel myself losing my balance. Rather than try to keep it and open myself up to an attack, I roll forward in a somersault, feeling the muddy ground squish and ooze beneath me. I scoop up a handful of the sludge on my way back to my feet and toss it at Jerin as a method of distraction. I miss his face due to the haste of my aim, but it collides with his shoulder and explodes quite nicely across one side of his face all the same.
"What were you saying' about mud not being a worry, Jerin?" I gloat.
He swears in elvish, glaring at me as he swipes at the dark mud freckling his cheek, and easily blocks my next attempt to strike him.
Damn, you are good... I admit to myself as I push slightly against his blade. I'm not going to fall for the same manuever twice, especially not twice in the same duel, but I want to test his endurance, how well he's holding up. He's not expecting the force I put into this 'test', however, which ends up equalling his fist accidentally making contact with my eye hard enough to set lights flashing inside my skull.
"Ah! Sorry, I swear that wasn't intentional!" he apologizes.
I give my head a shake to clear the ringing stars away. "I've fought with worse. That's nothing." I don't mention the dressing-down I'm fairly sure I'll get from a certain mage when he sees the black eye I'm convinced is blooming even as we speak. "C'mon, I'm not done with you yet, Mahariel," I grin.
Shrugging as if finally convinced of my insanity, Jerin obliges. He swings his swords in cris-crossing, scissoring motions as he advances, quickly backing me into a corner.
Since we agreed to no-holds barred, I have no qualms about lowering my shoulder and ramming it into his solar plexus as a means of escape. I knock him more sideways than straight back, and Jerin grabs at the fence to stay upright. I take advantage of his being off-balance to take a swing at him. He barely manages to block it, still regaining his feet.
But once he has his balance back, he comes after me, aiming to get me in another corner. I kick mud at him from a particularly liquid puddle, the sheet of watery mud barely slowing him for a second.
In that second, I sweep his legs out from under him-actually succeeding this time-and grin as he lands shoulder blades first in the mud.
He swears again, this time in heavily-accented Common, and one arm swings out, catching the heel of my boot as I try to move away, and tugs, landing me in an awkward heap half on my side.
He's already moving toward upright-using the leverage my ankle provided-and so regains his feet before I do. Thus, I've barely made it to my hands and knees before I find myself staring at a pair of mud-splattered swords leveled at my head by a smug and equally mud-splattered warrior.
"Yield, Tabris?" he asks, a note of playful victory in his breathless tone.
I sigh and swipe mud out of my eyes, evaluating my chances versus the benefits to letting him have this one. I raise empty, muddy hands, and nod. "I yield."
The collective gasp that rises as the gathered militia realize the "invincible" Rahna Tabris actually got beaten makes me smile. See, everybody? I'm not perfect. The scars are not just for show.
"Good fight. You're gonna make a damned good Warden," I pant, accepting the hand up that Jerin offers.
He nods his gratitude, grinning at the compliment. "Thank ya, C'mmander."
"Now-" I wince as the adrenaline fades and my sore spots make themselves very evident-"I say we each track down a healer and get ourselves fixed up."
"Even if said fixin' up comes hand-in-hand with a lecture?" Jerin teases as we duck between the fence rails and make our weary way back to the keep.
"I'd rather listen to Jowan fuss at me for twenty-odd minutes than spend a week wincing every time I so much as smile," I point out. "You?"
He concedes the point with a nod. "Agreed."
oOo
Jerin's right; the first words out of Jowan's mouth when I find him are something along the lines of "What in the Maker's name did you do this time?!" He shakes his head and quickly follows it with, "On second thought, do I even want to know?"
I look at myself; mud drying over the majority of my armor, flaking off my face and hair, and then back at the mage with a sheepish smile. "I owed Jerin a duel?" I try, the excuse coming out like a question.
Jowan sighs and mutters something under his breath. "Try and keep the mess to a minimum getting out of your armor, please."
"Sorry," I grin, still sheepish and feeling more mud flake off my face. Gingerly as I can, I strip off the muddy leathers, discarding them in a pile out in the hallway.
Jowan chuckles, almost in spite of himself, when I'm done. "You're now very clean, but only from the neck down, Rahna."
I peek in the mirror and have to laugh at the incongruously muddy face reflected back. "Ow! Don't make me laugh right now, dammit!"
"Not until I've fixed you up?" he fills in for me.
"Well, yeeahhh..." I admit. "It is my fault I'm closer to you than the other healers?"
"Yes," he deadpans. "And I'm not doing a bloody thing until the mud's gone. Can't heal what I can't see."
I have to give him that one, so I clean the mud off my face as best I can, going carefully around my blackened eye. At least it was the left one... I console myself. If it swells shut, there's no great loss.
Jowan's eyebrows shoot upward when I turn around. "Sweet Andraste, Rahna..." There's a lifetime of exasperation packed into just my name.
I cock a sideways glance in the mirror and have to concur. "Okay, I think that might be the worst black eye I've had in my life."
"So, if you're this beat up, dare I ask about Jerin?" he inquires as he motions for me to sit on the edge of his desk so he can get a better look.
"Actually..." I clear my throat and shift guiltily on my perch. "He won."
"Did you let him?" Jowan probes as his fingers coast gently over the side of my face, ensuring there's nothing broken involved before he sends a pulse of healing magic through the problem area.
"Mmmm... yes and no," I reply. "When he 'beat me', I coulda tried to get out of it, made him work a bit more, but honestly, I dunno if it would've change the outcome. Jerin's a sodding good warrior."
"If he beat you, he must be," Jowan comments. "Any other bruises I need to take care of?"
"Well, my back's sore from slamming against the fence, and he elbowed me pretty hard in the ribs," I answer, rolling up my tunic so he can see the purpulish bruise that's splayed across my ribs.
"What am I going to do with you, Rahna?" he sighs as he examines the tender patch.
"Ouch! Hopefully make me stop hurting, first of all," I retort, "Or I may just give you some bruises of your own."
"I'm positively trembling," he teases dryly, shooting me a smirk.
"Keep pushing and I'll have to do it on principle, you know, "I threaten with a laugh-one that's quickly followed by a wince.
"That one's your own fault," Jowan's kind enough to point out.
"Oh, shut up and heal me," I grouse.
"Y'know, if you wouldn't do things like this, I wouldn't need to heal you."
"Occupational hazard," I protest. "I gotta test the new blood."
"I'm not tryin' to change your mind or anything," he clarifies as he finishes up. "I gave up on that ages ago, but I feel obligated to at least say something."
"Because you're a smartass," I tease.
"No, because I'm your friend, goose," he shoots back. "Though Maker only knows why, with the amount of abuse I endure." He grins and musses my hair, which causes a fresh shower of dried mud to cascade onto his desk.
I smirk. "That one's your fault." I hop down and head for the door. "I think I'll go take a bath now."
"Please do," Jowan deadpans, glowering at the powdery mud coating his desk. I make a face at him before collecting my armor and heading for my room.
A/N: Sweet Maker, I don't know which was more fun to write; Rahna and Jerin's duel or exasperated!Jowan. xD I think he's even more fun to write exasperated than sleepy or as a little kid. *giggle* And yes, Jerin really is badass enough to beat Rahna. :P I put him in the armor from the Courage of Zevran mod, and he was freaking awesome. He was one of my favorite Wardens to play because he was next to invincible on top of being awesome. XD What do you wanna bet Velanna's giving the nerly invincible badass an earful right about now? Oh, and also, I've decided Rahna and Jerin are going to call each other by their surnames(when they're not using "Commander" and "Warden) because it seems to fit them. :P