Chapter Twenty-Four: Woman Can Fight
"You dare think you can win against me, slave?"
"I would win against you, human, even with my last breath!"
"Ha! I sincerely doubt it. You fight like my sister!"
"I've fought your sister—that's a compliment!"
The unmistakable sound of steel on steel rang through Seere as loudly as the insults were shouted back and forth. Marian and Fenris were doing everything in their power to cause a stir, to attract attention, and Varric was following quickly behind, scribbling down notes on in a small book he had pulled from his pocket. No matter the race or country of origin, all had their eyes on the curious duo: an elf glowing with the blue flame of lyrium and dancing about in Tevinter leathers and a red-haired woman in a corset, spinning about on her toes like her frighteningly large sword and sharply angled shield were mere extensions of her being.
They clashed through main thoroughfares and side streets, up on low obstructions and even rooftops. Fenris dived into the heart of the market square and Hawke angrily followed him, sending out another burst of energy when her feet hit the ground. People were thrust back in a circle of collapsing bodies, no one truly injured, but it was enough of a warning to keep a healthy distance.
Taarbas had followed them from the witch's house, leaving Isabela and the dog to tend to the old woman and thank her while he made sure no undue problems were borne of this plan to tire Hawke back to normalcy. He trusted the elf, but he saw no reason to attract this much attention to it. He had his sash wound about his waist again to avoid any further embarrassment of his own.
The market sang with spectators. Some were gasping with worry or confusion at the situation. Others, not having seen anything this exciting since the Qunari drove the imbeciles from the Chantry into hiding, picked sides and cheered enthusiastically. This carried on for several minutes. Fenris was obviously tiring, but Marian still suffered from uncontrolled bursts of will. They were less powerful and further spaced apart, but her skin still carried a faint glow, her body above-average heat, and her eyes burned like the green fire of embers.
A great stomping accompanied by the rattle of many pieces of armor silenced everyone and even made Fenris give pause. He motioned to Marian, and they stopped their mock battle. The woman spun about to come face to face with the dark and piercing stare of a Templar captain, a man of middling years flanked by no fewer than twenty other Templars and recruits. None of them were Rivaini. Imports, she figured, sent here out of fear by the Divine.
Unbidden, another wave of power burst out from her body, making the village spectators cover their eyes lest they be blinded. Only the Templars stood unaffected.
The Knight-Captain's ice blue eyes shifted from Marian's face to the blazon on her shield. A smirk crawled across his thin lips, cracking his rugged face in such a way that proved it was an unfamiliar expression.
"Serah Hawke," he purred, a tone Marian found more than a little disturbing. "I hear someone is looking for you."
The Champion gritted her teeth and lunged at him, stopping herself just as the jagged edge of her sword was against his throat, her shield pressed upward against his chest. All the other Templars drew their weapons and quickly surrounded her and Fenris both.
"Now, now," he went on, his hands raised in caution. "The Prince of Starkhaven wants you unharmed upon your return to Kirkwall. We were also issued instructions by one Knight-Commander Cullen, insisting the same. I'm loath for it to be otherwise."
"Money sings, doesn't it?" Marian returned, her jaw unmoving as she spoke.
"I don't do this for the money," the Templar captain replied. "I do this to protect one of our own, to bring her back safely to the fold of Andraste's most holy grace." He looked up for a moment and twitched a finger. "Men, seize her and any of her companions."
There was no playing nice. In a fit of anger, Marian slit the man's throat. He had been far too proud to even think she'd actually go through with it. The others closed in tightly. Fenris batted a good number away, but they returned, lashing out with their combined will to nullify his lyrium markings. Varric managed to get onto a stack of crates and began firing off with Bianca. His efforts were rewarded by the Templars loosening ranks, spreading out and constantly moving to be more difficult targets.
Taarbas did nothing. He merely stood in the shade of a building, lazily leaning against it with his arms crossed and his face impassive. He had noticed the same karataam from earlier, the Qunari soldiers keenly interested in the events unfolding but maintaining their distance. This mess was not theirs to fix. But the sword. They recognized the sword. They had heard the name of Serah Hawke. Now, he thought to himself, allowing an inward smile, they will believe.
Marian, covered in the blood of the Knight-Captain, laid into the Templars surrounding her. Their powers of will were useless against her, but she still had the lyrium raging through her to an inhuman degree. She hacked and slashed at them, assaulting them with sword and shield with a lack of mercy so great, Andraste was probably weeping bitter tears if she was even bothering to pay attention. The recruits fell first. Their sword arms were still green and next to useless in a real fight. Those that didn't die crawled away with choking whimpers of self-pity. Varric made short work of them.
The Qunari gestured for the dwarf to cease from his position in the shade. Varric was confused for a moment before Taarbas motioned to his compatriots with his head. The small man climbed down from his perch and joined the giant against the wall.
"Does this have something to do with your little chat earlier?"
"It has everything to do with it. They will not believe me that she is even viddathari. The best I can hope for is that they see she is truly basalit-an."
"How do we tell the elf?"
"He knows."
"But he's still fighting. Bianca's been lonely, and you're making me sit this one out."
"Fenris is also being judged, whether he is aware of it or not."
They watched the remainder of the battle unfold in silence. The crowd was cheering once more, this time fervently egging on Fenris and Marian to do away with the Chantry invaders, to not let them live, to not let their hubris taint the land. They fought with the instincts of a symbiotic pair, moving about each other back to back, cleaving and bashing at the enemy that so outnumbered them. Marian's shield gleamed like it was encrusted with rubies, covered as it was in blood and bone matter. Fenris' Sword of Mercy burned like a crimson sun, humming with the doom of anyone that had the misfortune to try to stand against it.
Before much longer, the Templars were dead. The human and elf were soaked in blood and sweat, their hair plastered to their faces and necks, and the ground about their feet a wasteland of destruction. Templar armor lay in unnatural heaps where the men wearing it had met their deaths, and swords and shields bearing Andraste's holy symbol lay scattered. The crowd had fallen silent.
There was a slow, resounding clap, followed by another and another. Marian and Fenris both looked to see the Karasten moving toward them from his place by his men. To the elf he gave a deep nod of respect, which Fenris returned. To Marian, he gave her a piercing stare.
She was used to this by now. He was looking both at her and into her, but it was not the comfortable prodding she knew from Taarbas. This one was strict and searching, looking for the part of her soul that gave a woman such skill and audacity.
"That one claims you are basalit-an," his deep voice stated flatly, gesturing to Taarbas. "He claims that you are the one who bested our last Arishok in single combat. A tal-shok. That it was the Arishok who so demanded it."
Marian almost sneered at him. "And the entire army that returned with the Tome of Koslun neglected to mention this?"
"They said the basalit-an was female. Few were willing to believe it."
With a sigh, the Champion rested the heavy blade of her sword against her shoulder, looking about nonchalantly in every direction but that of the Qunari or her weapon. When he failed (or refused) to notice, she put all her weight on one hip and adjusted the hilt in her hand, causing the bloodied steel to catch the light of the potent tropical sun. He finally looked.
"Sataareth," Marian quipped. "Beheading infidels from Par Vollen to Kirkwall and still counting. Your Arishok wielded this. I remain his soul-keeper until I have the opportunity to speak to the Ariqun. Karastenost. Maaras shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."
The Karasten's brow furrowed, and his glance shot over to Taarbas. The other Qunari merely shrugged, his expression still unreadable, but Varric got the distinct impression he was gloating the only way Qunari ever dared. The soldier returned his attention to Marian, his expression still hard but not uncompromising.
"The human female seeks Par Vollen?"
"The female viddathari seeks Par Vollen," she corrected politely, her stance not changing. "With safe passage for my ship and crew if it is allowed. We have an important cargo of Qunari blades that must be returned."
"Only you and the one who claims himself Taarbas." The silver-gray eyes came to rest on Fenris. "And the elf."
Marian and Fenris looked at each other briefly before the Champion returned her attention to the Qunari soldier. "I also have a mabari warhound, a creature I'm told has a recent history of respect amongst the Qunari. He stays with me. If the others cannot also journey to Par Vollen, I request their safe harbor in Kont-Aar."
"That is not for me to decide," Karasten replied simply. "But if that is your wish, you journey there at your own risk. To Par Vollen, my ship would take you. To Kont-Aar...I will not go."
"Why not?"
"I wish you well in your journey, viddathari. Panahedan." Without another acknowledgment, he stiffly turned and strode back to his men. He issued them barking orders, and they rushed to obey, marching away toward the harbor. Later on that day their ship was seen sailing off, vanishing into the north beneath a blood red sky.