Victory, The Dog Days Are Over, Red October

Apprentice Guerrin

Train the Muffin

Howe liked to sing.

He wasn't very good at it.

And he only knew three songs.

But Nathaniel Howe liked to sing.

Connor had a horse you know, a very fine, well-bred, strong and experienced horse. A little old yes, but good and hardy. But when the Grey Wardens broke from their temporary camp that fine Frostback afternoon, they took Connor's horse with them. And they rode off! Not too fast, mind you, but plenty faster than Connor or Nathaniel, on foot, could follow. They were out of sight within minutes with nary a look back.

Nathaniel walked, but he walked quickly, and he fully expected Connor to keep up with him. Walking really wasn't the right name for it, more like 'pre-running' or, 'not bending your knees running', or 'leave the mage behind to die running'.

"They'll stop an hour before sunset, that gives us an hour to catch up with them before we're running in the dark." Maker's breath and that sounded safe to him! "By the way, did you hear that lovely little melody at Skyhold? Loved it. How did it go again?" And then he started singing.

"Ancient as the tide, as far and bitter lines" Those weren't even the words!

But once he started singing, Nathaniel started running.

Which meant Connor obviously started running to keep up with him.

This, at least, was not a flat sprint. It was faster than the previous pace and required Connor pump his arms while wearing his pack, two full water skins, plus his staff, robe, and dagger. His knees bent now, and he had to drop his weight on one foot while swinging the other leg ahead. This made for a very clunky, uncomfortable, not to mention very short stride. Connor thought himself a fit young man, well equipped for running errands and fetching heavy things, capable of walking for hours, of thinking on his feet, of casting his spells with diligence and control, and of hitting things good and hard when pressed to the duty. But this? This he was not prepared for.

This was murder.

"Enchanter come to me, Enchanter come to me, Enchanter come to see~" Murder to music, or whatever the noises coming from Nathaniel ten yards ahead of him were meant to be. Connor swung his legs, pumped his arms, hunched his shoulders and dropped his head to the task of making himself move much slower than he had on horseback, but much faster than he was probably meant to.

His lungs were heavy mere minutes later, his thighs felt weak and he stumbled back to a walk with Nathaniel still chugging along happily ahead of him. To his great surprise, the Warden dropped from his own jog to a walk, a much slower walk than before, and Connor tried to remember the harder walking pace from before.

He got within a few feet of Nathaniel's still-singing voice when the Warden sped up again. Desperate, Connor went after him, and a few seconds later they were jogging again.

"Why?" He croaked, embarrassed by how they couldn't have even gone a mile, probably not even half.

"Because if you're to be a Grey Warden, you've got to be able to keep up!" Nathaniel broke his song to answer, and then went right back to his off-key warbling. "Can you, can you, can't you see? As once you were blind, in the light now you can see…"

"Uuuh…"

"The Joining will help, Connor, but you can't rely on it for everything." He kept running when Connor stumbled and hit a walk again, breaths wheezing from his tight chest. There was a knot behind each of his knees. "And don't worry too much about it, you won't be running all the way to the Storm Coast, just part of it. The Commander will probably have you run in the mornings when you're fresh, then ride through the afternoon. Couldn't do it like that today what with leaving Skyhold, would have looked a bit sad, wouldn't it?" To have them all go galloping out of the keep with Connor scraping away behind them on foot? Yes. Very sad.

They alternated between running and walking and it was horrible. There came a point maybe a mile and a half in when Connor thought it suddenly got easier, like he could go a bit longer at the running part of things and Nathaniel apparently trusted his judgement because the Warden didn't pull them up short at any point. For several heavy steps Connor just kept going. It almost felt okay. He might have been able to do this!

Then his body decided that this kind of exercise was horrible and it wouldn't do it anymore.

He coughed, stumbled, and the weight of the gear he was carrying made him fall to the ground.

"Woah-"

"I- I meant- to – that..." Connor hacked several times, gasping as his throbbing heart helped push his weight up on one elbow. His legs were shaking, and he lay there embarrassed and dusty from the drop to the cobbles. Nathaniel came back and took him by the arm, helping him up.

"They didn't let you out of Skyhold very often, did they?" The Warden asked him, and the Mage's mouth was too heavy with spittle and dust to answer. He was making this horrific wheezing noise in the top of his lungs and shook his head. "Alright, at a walk then, let's go."

There was no stopping. If they stopped they'd fall further behind the party, and the horses would keep going until, Nathaniel guessed, an hour before sunset. If they didn't reach the camp before then they'd still have to keep going, because the party had a certain expectation that all of its members be present before settling down for sleep.

"Sing it with me now! Enchanter come to me, Enchanter come to me-!" And all the long, maker-damned way, Nathaniel Howe kept on singing.

Connor was positively drenched with sweat by the time the first hour had hobbled by. It was uncomfortable but obvious: his shirt was sticky and cold under his robe, sweat beading down his forehead and dripping at his jaw. He might have been crying too, but couldn't tell because his breaths were hoarse whistles. Finally his calves stopped hurting because he stopped being able to feel them. He wasn't running, he was limping, sort of awkwardly swinging his arms and then hopping around on his numb heels, then staggering again.

Nathaniel moved like a sodding deer and Connor wondered how much trouble he would get in if he used the last of his strength to catch up, smack the Warden's head with his staff, and then expire on the roadside. Thankfully his hands had no dexterity left, they were weak little meat-flails attached to his wrists and he was even sweating there too. He watched Nathaniel run, smooth and even strides, lungs doing their part to keep him moving in contrast to the way Connor's were in open revolt at the exercise. And he kept fucking singing…

"In the strength we catch a lion and the blinding sea." Singing all the wrong words…

Connor was blind with exhaustion as the sun sank behind the fingers of the Frostback peaks. He was crying, quite openly, because his lungs had thrown themselves on their sword and then set themselves on fire, and he'd probably hacked them up about a mile back on the winding band of the Inquisitor's Way. He wasn't even happy when he heard voices and saw firelight twinkling a quarter mile away in the distance. He didn't have any energy left for anything.

When he was allowed to stop, actually permitted to not do any more, the only thing Connor could do was strip off the weight of his bag, his water, his bedroll, his dagger, his staff, and his damned robe, and let his boneless legs collapse out from under him.

Someone emptied an entire water skin over his head. It might have felt good. He couldn't tell because nothing felt good.

An Antivan accent told him to eat something, and there was a hot sensation pushed against his face and set at his hands. But there was no point in eating because Connor didn't have any insides left to feed.

He slept. Maker Guide him, Connor slept like the dead.

"Up an at 'em, Guerrin!" Nathaniel woke him at dawn with a rude shake and another dumping of water.

"Uugh-" He'd slept on his staff…

"Don't give me that piss. Up you get."

"No… noooo… maker no, wait-"

Cold rabbit and root stew was shoved in his mouth from the night before. He was only sort of cognizant for the act of putting his gear back on, and his screaming back and legs and gut and shoulders and soul only cried out more when Nathaniel made him bend down and touch his toes, and then press each leg against a tree for several seconds, then swing his arms up over his head. He had to pull his ankles up behind him which was pointless to him until Connor suddenly did it right and the pain in his thigh eased off. As soon as he put his weight back on that leg it came back, but it was still seven seconds of heaven.

"And how about this time you remember to actually drink some of that water you're carrying?"

"I… I'm allowed to do that?" He'd thought he just had to carry the weight.

Nathaniel laughed a mean laugh and then started walking down the road in the pre-dawn gloom. The others were awake by the time Connor started walking, but they had horses, they didn't have to leave at the ass-crack of day.

You'd think his second day running would go better than the first.

"Enchanter come to me, Enchanter come to me, Enchanter-" You'd be out of your sodding mind.

"Anything else!" He shouted once the sun was up and looking down at his lagging pace with cold judgement. "Maker please, anything else!"

"Hmm, what's a good one…" Nathaniel just kicked each foot back and flew a hundred yards at a time, it was sickening. Not as much as the sticky film that kept building up inside Connor's mouth from the labour of breathing, but still disgusting on a spiritual level. "How about this one? Sera was never an agreeable girl- her tongue tells tales of scallions. But she was so-"

Connor groaned skyward. He still kept getting the words wrong- but at least it was a different melody now.

They couldn't have been on the road for more than an hour before they heard the thunder behind them. Connor was scared it was a storm until he remembered that you couldn't have thunder on a clear day in the mountains, but then he was suddenly overtaken by four yipping, excited Grey wardens on horseback and the fright of being nearly trampled made his weak legs shoot out from under him.

"See you at the Storm Coast, Howe!"

"Careful you don't get lost on the way, Hawke!"

Well, at least Nathaniel was enjoying this experience.

The Warden was patient though, Connor had to assume as much about him because he could have very easily spent the entire morning directly behind Connor with a switch and gotten an ounce more speed out of him. As it was, Nathaniel just sang his songs and trotted ahead far enough that Connor would feel like just giving up, but then start walking or running in place until Connor caught up with him. He didn't sing when walking either, which was a relief, but tried talking to him instead, which didn't work.

"So, the Ferelden Circle, eh?"

"Uuuugh-"

"Did they have wild apprentice stories about the Hero of Ferelden once being one of them?"

"Mmuunh…"

"You'll find sympathy for those lost in the War with us. The Wardens lost many brothers and sisters."

"Heee…heeeeee…. aaaaaaah…"

"Alright, pick up those feet! I want to get over this hill sooner rather than later."

"Aaaaaaahh…"

They mounted the hill under the cold midday sun, a bend between two peaks that wound down the other side and swung through the wide pass. Connor was sure he was having a hallucination when they he saw a group of horses and riders at the base of the pass, but Howe just shouted "Don't lose your footing!" and sprinted down the road ahead of him.

Sod it all, Connor ran too.

Nearly broke his neck and both ankles.

Should have broken his pride too.

Running downhill with fifty pounds of gear strapped to his back.

But he only fell when he tried to stop, and he didn't try to stop until he was at flat ground, and then he fell and did his best impersonation of a dead animal. Not a dying one, a dead one. He just hit the ground flat and stopped moving, because he was dead, expired. This was the end of the story of Apprentice Guerrin, because Connor was lying face down on the cobbles of the Inquisitor's Way two days and thirty miles from Skyhold and he was dead.

"Up you get, Guerrin." No. He was dead. Not moving. "We can all see you breathing, c'mon. No quitting now."

"Two more minutes, I beg you."

Hawke dragged him up by the scruff, and Connor seriously considered being difficult and going limp. However that was just too petty for him and if he fell again he might cry, and he didn't want to cry, because he wasn't six years old anymore. So Hawke pulled him up, and Connor put his wobbly legs under his aching body, and he was standing again. Sort of.

Issan had grown approximately five feet taller since yesterday. This was alarming.

"Just tie me to her and drag me north…" But he did, somehow, find the strength to put his foot in one mile-high stirrup and heave his unwilling mortal flesh sack into the saddle.

He didn't ride very well, but he didn't have to run anymore. Did you know that the only thing worse for an aching body than more running is riding a horse? The world was full of wonderful little learning experiences, and this was Connor's newest one. It felt like the Maker Himself had kicked Connor right up the ass and all he could do was lean miserably over in Issan's saddle and try not to fall off.

They rode until an hour before sundown and then pitched camp in another wayside point along the road. Nathaniel brought back something to camp that had meat on it, Connor had regained enough of his humanity after drinking a skin and a half of water that he could actually eat the roasted meat and bread when his portion was ready. The only thing he wanted after chewing through his meal was to roll out his bed and sleep until Nathaniel kicked him again.

"Connor." That was not what happened. "Go get your staff."

Commander Surana was standing across the fire from him. Connor still had rabbit juice on his face and was sitting on his saddlebag. The Commander had his staff in one hand and was looking at Connor expectantly.

Sore and exhausted and suddenly scared, Connor wiped his face with his hand and grabbed his staff from the ground next to him. Surana nodded and walked away from the fire.

"Sir?"

Surana held up one hand and made a fist, releasing it a moment later with a small orb of glittering green fire for his trouble. He shoo'd the little light away with his staff and made another one, sending it in the opposite direction. This lit up about ten feet of stony mountain scrubland around them, the red light of the fire a little ways behind them. The Commander then turned to face him, an inviting look on his face- eyes clear and open, shoulders thrown back and relaxed.

He took a step back, dropped his staff into a spin over his left hand, then caught the end of it behind his shoulder and lowered himself with knees bent. He only had a little bit of a smile on his lips, but it matched the little bit of emotional strength Connor had left.

"Square up." The Commander said.

"W…what?"

"We're riding to put down a Darkspawn infestation, Connor. I expect you to be ready for that. Square up." Oh Maker. Oh Andraste. Oh mother- "I'm not going to turn you into a toad, Recruit, I'll explain exactly what I want you to do once you square up."

Connor wanted to babble a good half-dozen reasons why this was a bad idea and a wrong idea and a please not me idea, but was wise enough to know not to fight this battle. He swallowed the knot of dry-spit and terror in his throat, and pulled his staff around in front of him. Left hand grasping near the head, right hand back so he could control where the body of the staff went when casting. He kept his feet spread one in front and one behind, leaned forward, and, um-

Surana looked him over, then stood up straight and walked over.

"Stay like that." He said, interrupting Connor when he tried to straighten up again too. "This, up. Open your shoulders more."

He didn't touch Connor, he used his staff. He let one end of the gold staff push at his chest to straighten him up. When he wobbled, one of the serpent's heads tapped at his ankle until he stepped back, adjusting his stance. Surana tapped the head of Connor's staff up higher as well, modeling the grip himself and getting him to hold the staff further down.

"Grabbing the staff by the neck is the best way to burn yourself. And you're not aiming for the ankles when you fight, so hold it higher. There. Much better." The Commander then went back to where he'd been standing before, and slipped back into his own stance like most men put on a warm coat.

"Don't worry about your magic. Tonight I want to see how you handle your staff."

"What… what do you want me to do with it, sir?"

"Hit me."

"What!?"

Surana frowned, and then in two fast strides he was directly in front of Connor and startled him badly enough to make him stumble back.

"Darkspawn are faster than I am. Hit me, Connor."

"But sir-"

Surana rushed him again. He wasn't tall, he was wearing armour yes but he wasn't a big scary ugly hulking beast- he was a short fair-looking elf and he was the most terrifying force in Thedas.

Connor froze and then jabbed straight with his staff's head.

Surana's golden staff head blurred and cracked hard at Connor's strike, deflecting it. The weapon wheeled through the air and Surana came to a full stop with one foot between both of Connor's. His staff's head was locked behind Connor's, keeping it down, and he had one fist ready to plow the blunt edge of his staff's end right into Connor's face.

"Good." He sounded happy. "Now try again." The elf unlocked their staves and took a step back, knees bent, rod down.

"I haven't done this in years," Connor felt breathless, wobbling as he set his feet the way Surana had shown him, trying to remember where his hands went on the staff.

"You did it last week on this same road." Oh- right… "Come on, we don't have all night."

He had no idea how much trouble he'd be in if he actually bludgeoned the Hero of Ferelden with his staff, so Connor just convinced himself it couldn't be done. Much better for his nerves.

He moved forward and swung the staff in a wide arc, aiming for a face he wouldn't hit- and he didn't! Surana just leaned back out of the way, and with one arm lifted his staff's head up. The red gem between the serpents' mouths glowed and set itself against Connor's shoulder while he was trying to, um, turn around and- uh, get his staff back around to him. Surana just walked smoothly in a circle around him, keeping the stone where it was. It was very warm through his robe and felt like a warning.

"Good effort. But we're mages, not scrappers. The staff has two ends so try to use both before you commit to leaving yourself wide open."

"I don't think I can do this."

"You're over thinking it. Here, line up next to me."

They stood beside each other facing the same way, and Surana walked him through it.

"Rod level, hold it where I showed you. Yes. Staff arm back, opposite leg forward. You're going to step staff-side first," he went slowly through it as he spoke. Surana's staff-side was his right hand and arm, so he brought that leg forward in a lunge that made Connor's saddle-sore body scream as he copied it. "Staff head up- look at my hands. I want to strike with where the staff blade should be on the back end. Get the head out of the way and follow through by extending your arm. That's the first hit and you're going to do this fast, remember. The head is now behind you over your shoulder. Feet together. Spin on the ball of your foot. No, those are your toes. Yes, like that. Staff over your head, drive the- wait…"

Surana straightened up and left Connor stranded with his staff over his head and his legs twisted around each other like the Commander's staff. He was waved to drop the position and Surana took a few steps away from him, still within sight though.

"I haven't had to do it slowly in years." He explained. "Watch."

He lashed out with the back end of his staff, spun, led with his left arm and rammed the staff head straight in front of him. If he'd had a training dummy in front of him Connor was sure both strikes would have hit the same spot. The spin gave the second hit more power because that end of the staff was heavier. Ending the way he did put him back in the starting position. It was all very complicated, but when he did it, it seemed basic. Wait- it was basic.

"That- no! I do know that." It felt like the sky opened up. "You just strung them all together in one move."

"It's been a long time since I left the Circle, Connor."

"So it's this," Connor pulled into his stance and did the first step- swinging the staff-head back and the blunt end out. He remembered this from lessons: it was a follow up after letting a spell go from the stone at the top. But the technical move ended just with the hit, then you were supposed to fall back and clock whatever was in front of you with the heavy staff end again. "And this."

From his starting position, Connor pulled both arms back like he was holding a battering ram instead of a magic rod and swung the head forward. It was the executing swing for several apprentice bolt spells.

"But you added a spin to it to get from one to the other." The spin gave the staff momentum, but it had to go fast.

"Darkspawn aren't patient when they've got a mage in front of them." Surana almost sounded like he was defending himself, but that was stupid. He was the Hero here, Connor'd just read the textbook. "Are you ready to try?"

"So it's just…"

He did try. He gave himself that much credit. He did try.

He did also trip himself and hit the dirt. But there was trying involved.

So he tried again and failed again. And then he tried again and failed again. And then he tried again and-

"Augh, this is…"

"Again."

"The others are asleep-"

"You can sleep when you get it right. Again."

He got it right exactly once and fell over his saddlebags in exhaustion. He woke up when Nathaniel kicked him.

He ran until they reached the gates of Orzammar, eyes full of tears and ribs metaphorically broken from the stress of collapsing twice on sore legs. He could barely see the crossroads. There was a big stone dwarf standing over them, the road forked in four directions with several markers, and they'd technically left the cobbles of the Inquisitor's Way. Nathaniel wouldn't stop singing until Connor collapsed in Issan's shadow, defeated.

Zevran and Hawke were sent to the tents run by the merchant dwarves near the city gates. Connor only overheard this by chance before Surana picked up his staff and dropped it in Connor's lap.

"Up."

"Oh Maker…"

Jab, spin, swing. Jab, spin, swing. Jab, swing, spin.

"If you can't hit me then you can't eat." Uuuuugh-

Zevran's laughter broke his feeble concentration, and Connor's legs came out from under him in a sad, hungry heap. He knelt there, hands on the ground for several seconds, and just groaned.

He was on horseback for the rest of the day, but he didn't eat. There were rations in his saddlebags but Hawke teased him about them and told him the Commander's Orders were Orders and he'd best not touch them or he'd get it for disobedience. He drank water instead, and when they made camp he stared at the flint and knife from Nathaniel for several dumb minutes before remembering he was sodding mage. He held his hand over the dry branches and his frustration turned the bulk of the kindling to ash.

Nathaniel teased him that the wild birds he'd shot for dinner looked good and fat for the pot. Connor curled up in his blanket for as long as his hungry self could have before Surana was on him to get up and train again.

"Hit me, Guerrin."

"I'm trying- sir-!"

For whatever stupid and senseless reason Surana had upped the ante by actually hitting back this time. If he didn't perform the move he'd been shown, he got a goose-egg on his head, or a swing at his calves, or was just outright tripped onto his face. There was no magic involved and Connor came close to shoving needles and stones in his mouth to keep from barking back that he was a mage not a foot soldier, so he didn't need to know any of this staff technique!

He went to sleep with his insides gnawing at him, too angry to lay down near the camp fire and actually warm his raw muscles.

Nathaniel kicked him at dawn. He led him through the stretches and offered him a lump of now-stale bread out of consideration for his obvious hunger. Connor considered setting the bread and Nathaniel Howe on fire.

"Enhanter come to me, Enchanter come to me, Enchanter-"

His blisters were getting blisters on his feet. He hadn't noticed the welts on his palms until Issan's reins hurt too much for him to hold at noon. The mountains were slowly wearing down into hills and rather than cutting straight north, they were moving east into Ferelden.

He got a full meal at midday, but an apple, a lump of cheese, and an earth-baked potato from the night before was hardly enough for him after the last three days. When they stopped for the night he watched Nathaniel head off into the slightly thicker bush and prayed he came back with an entire ram for them to boil down for soup.

His hands screamed when he picked his staff up again. His arms were boiled greens that could barely hold themselves to his shoulders. He foreswore the extra padding of his robe in the hope that his muscles wouldn't pull off his bones and run away in the dark if he just lessened their load a little. He regretted it the first time the coiled body of Surana's staff raked across his ribs.

"Maker's breath…" He was down on one knee, staff in one shaking hand, the other wrapped around under his ribs. He could feel the bruises forming. It hadn't even been a hard hit, just a solid one.

"When you're ready, recruit."

Surana made him try to block the hits he dealt out. It was still supposed to be an exercise in hitting, but now he had to defend. It was maddening when Surana wouldn't actually do anything on his own, all his moves were a reaction to Connor's. If Connor went left, Surana went right. If Connor swung from above, Surana countered from below. Jabs met swipes, swipes met jabs, his staff was covered in scratches and scuff marks already. It was strong enough for the abuse, but he still felt wretched looking at it…

The night ended with Connor's staff grazing the Commander's tunic- and then he took the edge of that twisted golden staff right across the bridge of his nose. It snapped on contact and Connor was on his knees, dizzy with blood weeping down his face.

"Sooner or later it has to get easier, Connor." The Commander was annoyed at him, obviously.

"Or you might just be wrong about me." He wasn't cut out for this, he wasn't going to survive like this… The blood was warm on his hand and face. It didn't hurt that much but it was one hurt on top of a dozen others. He'd pulled something in his left calf this morning, Nathaniel had commented on the limp. His right arm kept shaking from the weight of his staff. His chest was one big bruise. Now his nose was broken.

Surana took a knee in front of him, setting his staff down as he pulled his gloves off.

"Here, let me see-" Connor flinched away when the Commander reached for his face. This made them both pause, and when Connor looked back at him he felt sheepish and stupid.

"That- was childish of me."

"A little bit, yes." His empty stomach groaned in misery. He didn't want to cry. He was not going to cry. "But have it as you like. If you change your mind you know where I sleep."

"Yes sir," he sulked. "Thank you, sir." Surana clapped him on one sore shoulder and Connor winced again- just less dramatically.

"You're not doing as badly as you think, Connor." He said. "Finish off what's left of dinner. Withholding food makes some people work harder, but a warm meal will probably lift your spirits. It gets easier, just be thankful I'm not Duncan." The name took a moment to register.

"The Former… Warden Commander?" He asked, not sure why he felt the sudden interest. Surana nodded at the question though. "Why? What did Duncan do?"

"He dragged me from Kinloch Hold to Ostagar in less than a week." But that- that was almost three hundred- "And threw me off his shield every time he caught me standing still for too long in camp." Was that so? Well Surana liked to hit Connor with a massive stick for the exact same reason, so he kept his mouth shut and didn't say anything about that. "Get some rest, Connor, it's another long…"

The Commander trailed off, eyes going over Connor's head in the night. The last thing he saw for certain was Surana quickly clench one hand before both his hovering flames extinguished themselves in the dark. The way the road bent at this point had been much like the first day's resting spot- no real place to move about or do anything, so Surana had taken Connor back to the road for their training.

As soon as he couldn't see Connor could suddenly hear much better. Surana's voice was a whisper:

"Back to the fire, recruit. Wake Zevran, quietly. If you see any magic then raise hell to get the others up. Go."

There were hoofbeats coming down the road.

Connor took his orders and went.

Enchanter is my favourite tavern song from Inquisition and I want everyone to know that Nathaniel Howe has no idea how to sing it properly.