Happy holidays, everyone! Sorry it's been a while since my last update-things have been a bit crazy. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review if you're liking my story. It's all I want for Christmas. ;)
Dwarven ale… how exactly does one describe dwarven ale? Have you ever been kicked in the stomach and then accidentally eaten some dirt once you hit the ground? It's sort of like that, only in reverse order. One sip and it took all I had not to immediately spit it back out. I was guessing the tavern patrons wouldn't take too kindly to an outsider spewing their beloved beverage of choice all over the floor, so I held my breath and swallowed as quickly as possible.
"I told you that you wouldn't like it." Alistair smirked as he crossed his arms, so very pleased with himself. Grrrr. Now I almost wanted to finish it just to wipe that smirk off his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I think it's great. I'd finish it if I didn't need to be sober for the fight." I countered smugly.
He let out a slight chuckle. "Always so stubborn. I saw that scowl on your face when you tasted it. You're not fooling anyone."
I looked him dead in the eyes as I brought the stein back up to my mouth and gulped some more of the vile drink down. Ha! That'll show him! I really shouldn't have drunk any more, though. They weren't lying when they said this stuff is potent. Aaaaand now the room was slightly spinning and I had a wicked case of the hiccups. Great job, Scarlett. You're about to fight dwarven warriors of unrivaled renown and you're knackered. This will turn out well.
Dulin grabbed the brew out of my hands. Bless that dwarf. "Forgive me, but we need you clear-headed. You should head to the Proving Grounds as soon as possible so you can be added to the roster."
I gave him a nod and moved to stand up, only to immediately find myself sitting back down. Oops.
"Oh, this bodes well. Just how do you expect to defeat the other competitors if you cannot even stand, much less wield a sword?" Morrigan posed. Aww, she was worried. So sweet.
"Haven't you ever heard of liquid courage?" I asked wryly as another hiccup escaped my mouth. She just rolled her eyes and helped me to my feet.
"As much as I hate to admit it, Morrigan has a point. It's not too late. You can still back out of this thing." Alistair chimed in.
"Aww baby, darlin', puddin' pie," I began as I grabbed his hands in my face and feigned a pout. "Don't you worry about lil ole' me. I'll be just fine." Another hiccup escaped my mouth before I pulled his face in for a quick kiss to reassure him. He let out a defeated sigh when the kiss broke, but didn't utter another word of protest. Those pet names work wonders, I'm tellin' ya.
Once I fully reacclimated myself to the concept of gravity, we left the tavern and made our way across a wide bridge right in the center of Orzammar Commons. I happily led the way, hiccups gone, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about the fight to come. There was even something of a spring in my step and a little more wiggle in my walk than usual. Never underestimate the power of a stiff drink, my friends.
"Why are you smiling like that? You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon." Alistair asked Wynne, apparently from only a few paces behind me. I could hear them clear as a bell.
"Canary." Wynne corrected him.
"What?"
"I look like the cat who swallowed the canary."
"I once had a very large cat, but that's not my point. My point is why are you smirking?" Alistair asked again.
Wynne chuckled. "You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were... enraptured."
"She's our leader. I look to her for guidance." Alistair explained.
"Oh, I see. So, what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?" I bit my lips closed to keep from giggling as I felt that familiar blush paint my cheeks. Ugh. Not again.
"No no, I wasn't looking at... you know, her... hind-quarters."
"Certainly."
"I gazed... glanced, in that direction, maybe, but I wasn't staring... or really seeing anything even." I bit my lips harder. The more he grasped at straws, the funnier it became.
"Of course."
"I hate you. You're a bad person." Alistair hurled bitterly. I didn't even have to look back to know he was pouting. Wynne just chuckled some more. Ah well, it's always nice to feel wanted.
I turned around and moved to whisper in his ear teasingly, "Was there… any truth to that?"
"What? That? Oh. No. Definitely not."
"…Not even a little bit?" I whispered in my deepest, most sultry tone.
"…Well. I… uh…" He turned bright red from his neck all the way up to his ears.
I grinned widely and gave his ear a quick nibble and somehow he managed to blush even brighter.
"Mmm…" he began closing his eyes to fully enjoy the feel of my lips against his skin before reality set back in. "Oh for the love of… NOT. HERE." He insisted firmly.
I just giggled, shook my head, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."
"Alright you two, save it. We have work to do." Wynne interrupted before Alistair could reply by opening the doors before us. Damn. I could hardly help myself. It was incredibly fun making him blush for a change instead of it being the other way around. Not to mention the remaining effects of the ale were making me feel extra playful. Less inhibited. Still, she had a point. Enough messing about. Get to work, Scarlett.
As we walked through the entranceway that led to the Proving Grounds, my gaze fell to a lone dwarf whose eyes were sparkling with anticipation standing right in the middle of the cavernous vestibule. I drew closer to hopefully get some more information about this whole business, but he immediately started talking at me once I was close enough to hear.
"Watch for Piotin Aeducan! He's won the squad combat four years running. He has eleven decapitations so far—he needs just three more for the one-season record." Oh, how charming. Talk about a buzzkill. Nothing quite like picturing eleven heads being severed from their bodies to sober you up in a hurry.
"I take it you're a fan of these proceedings. Tell me, are these matches always to the death?" I asked cautiously.
"Not always but, usually. It's just easier that way. Fewer disputes."
"Oh, well that's reassuring." Alistair asserted. I just gave him a quick glare and kept on with my questions.
"Can you tell me anything about the rules?"
"They change from round to round. Sometimes it's bare hands, sometimes weapons, sometimes pairs or squads. It's announced when the fight begins. That's about all the warning anyone gets."
"Right. Well, thanks for your time." I gave him a nod and felt the color draining from my face. Ugh. Fighting trained warriors to the death in front of a mob of spectators for their own entertainment so wasn't part of my skill set. This wasn't like killing darkspawn or bandits or demons. This was unlike anything I'd faced before, and to be completely honest, I was having some serious doubts at this point. Maybe this was it. Maybe I'd finally bitten off more than I could chew. Maybe—
"You're not ready for this." Alistair said plainly as he forcefully grabbed my shoulder, completely derailing my train of thought.
His words felt like a hard slap to the face. "…Excuse me?" I replied defensively as soon as they truly sunk in.
"Oh come on, Scarlett. I know you. You research and you plan and then you execute. Thinking on your feet is not your strongest suit. Those dwarves are going to pulverize you. And you know it."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The one time I needed him to be my rock, to support me, and he was making me doubt myself even more. This was the last thing I needed.
"Come now, Alistair. Scarlett has been quite adept at rolling with the punches, so to speak. You do not give her enough credit." Wynne stuck up for me.
"That's with the rest of us there picking up the slack. She freezes for a few moments when each fight begins to gather her thoughts—to make a plan. Or have you not noticed?" He paused for a response, but none came. "A few seconds is all they're going to need to take her head off." He retorted. Okay, now I was beginning to get pissed. Before I could open my mouth to chide him, he took things even further. "I should be the one doing this. You're a woman. I'm a man. I'm the most accomplished warrior among us. And I don't say that to brag—it's just a fact."
"A fact?!" I spat the word at him. "A fact is something that cannot be disputed. Something that is ironclad. Foolproof. I've handled whatever has come our way just as well as you have. Sometimes better, even."
"Oh? Tell that the Flemeth. Or those bandits we faced who almost slit you from naval to nose. Or that wolf who almost ate you alive. Or that laundry lass with the pitchfork back in Haven. This isn't the time for foolish pride, Scarlett. You go out there, you're going to lose. I'm our best option."
"What in the Maker's name has gotten into you?! You who never steps up. You who always dwells blissfully in the background. You who is terrified of taking the lead on anything. YOU of all people want to do this?!" I was shouting now. I could feel the eyes of every stranger in the room lingering on us. I didn't care. I was focused on nothing but my flaring anger.
"If the choice is between taking the lead for once so you can live another day or doing nothing and letting you die, then yes, I choose the scenario where you live."
"Well guess what. This being a leader thing? It's not something you get to cherry-pick, Alistair. It's all or nothing."
"But—"
"Let me tell you how this is going to go." I pushed my pointed index finger into his chest hard and looked him dead in the eyes so he could see how serious I was. "I'm going to go in there, and I am going to hit every fucking curve they throw at me. I am going to give those dwarves a show like they've never before seen. And then when I've done all that—when they have their brand-spanking-new Grey Warden champion—I am going to meet you in that arena and we are going to settle the question of who is better once and for all."
I was seeing red. I was totally seething. Alistair had a special knack for pushing a lot of my buttons—and not always in the fun, titillating kind of way.
"Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight: You're saying you're not only going to fight your way through all the other contenders—dwarves who are classically trained in the art of combat, dwarves who do not stop until their opponent's heart stops beating—but you also want to fight… me?"
"Damn right." I spat the response back at him.
"Ooooh what fun! I do hope they let us watch." Zevran grinned wickedly.
"Not helpful, Zevran." Leliana hissed.
"You're delusional. I won't do it." Alistair crossed his arms in a huff.
"Oh, you'll do it. Even if I have to drag you in there myself, you'll do it." I glared into his eyes, the anger radiating off every inch of my body. "Now, we've wasted enough time. Let's do this."
I sought out those two warriors who'd dropped out of the fight. One was being blackmailed—a situation easily remedied by stealthily pilfering the evidence (thanks, Leliana). The other just needed a little pep talk sprinkled with a couple well-placed… lies is such a harsh word. Let's call them "untruths". I likely wouldn't need their help, but you know me, I like to be prepared.
I ran into some of my opponents as I wandered around the grounds. Most of them seemed like your average warriors or rogues—well, if you don't consider their below-average height, that is. One dwarf I ran into was particularly inspiring. Her name was Hanashan, and she was a member of the "silent sisters"—an order of mute female warriors founded by an ancient paragon who first fought for women's right to be soldiers. The story really touched me. It filled me with a renewed sense of pride in being a female warrior myself—something I desperately needed to hear now thanks to you-know-who. Gah, that boy could drive me up a wall! Oh, and for whatever it's worth, the silent sisters supported Bhelen; no doubt a rather large coup for the young prince.
After walking around and getting a better sense of who I was likely to face, I found the Proving Master.
"The Proving will begin shortly. I'm sure you can find a place in the stands." He said.
"Actually, I'm here to compete." I asserted.
"…You? Really?"
"What shocks you so, sir? That I am not a dwarf or that I am a woman?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong. We have many women participate in the fight. But you are a Grey Warden, are you not?"
"I am indeed." I admitted with my newfound sense of pride. Then I looked at Leliana for affirmation before I said more. She gave me a slight nod. "I intend to fight as Harrowmont's champion."
"Well, that's a surprise. Most have cast their support for Bhelen." Interesting. "And I am doubly surprised a Grey Warden would take an interest in dwarven politics."
"Oh, I'm full of surprises. Just you watch." I glared at Alistair who shyly broke my gaze almost immediately.
"Right, well, let's just get you into the schedule here… Is there a particular name you wish listed?"
"Just Grey Warden will suffice." I offered plainly. This wasn't about Scarlett Cousland's own honor or glory. This was about something more. This was for all the little girls who were told they couldn't hold a sword and had to learn to cook or crochet instead. This was for all the women who had been told they were too weak, too frail, too fragile to fight for what they believed in. Sure, I was saying this was for Harrowmont, but in my heart, it was about something else entirely. Tonight, I would prove I'm every inch as good as any other warrior who ever set foot on that battlefield or any other. Tonight, I would show all of Orzammar what a woman can accomplish when she ignores what men tell her she can't.
"Very well. We actually have an opening in the first round. Are you ready to start?"
"I was born ready." I vowed with newfound determination.
The dwarf let out a slight chuckle. "That's what I like to hear."
…
The fighting grounds were enormous, just as everything in Orzammar appeared to be. That is, everything but its inhabitants. There were torches surrounding the circular perimeter. Every single seat was filled with enthusiastic onlookers, the twinkle of bloodlust shining in their voracious eyes.
"This is it. Are you ready?" Leliana asked me.
I stretched my arms and hamstrings a bit in an attempt to limber myself up. Then I rolled my shoulders.
"No, no no. You do it all wrong. You are not going to maximize your reach or your flexibility if you warm up like that," Zevran began. "Please, allow me."
Now, this would normally be the part where I'd turn Zevran's offer down flat, but you know what? A) Today of all days I was not about to turn down help, and B) I was still pissed at Alistair and this would surely make him jealous. Yeah, I admit maybe it was a little bit petty. I'm only human.
"Dazzle me, Zevran." I smirked.
His and Alistair's eyes both grew wide with surprise.
"…Really?" He asked.
"Yes. According to Alistair, I need all the help I can get. I'm only a woman, after all." I glared in Alistair's direction as Zevran moved behind me. He lathered his hands in some oil he apparently carried on his belt (only Zevran. Oy.) and reached up to rub my shoulders and neck—both of which he had a bit of a hard time reaching. And as much as I hated to admit it, he knew what he was doing. It felt good. It felt better than good, if I'm being completely honest. And seeing the look in Alistair's covetous eyes as he watched another man sensually touch me… priceless.
"They are going to begin without you if you do not head out soon." Leliana warned. Hmm… I may have detected a note of jealousy from her as well. She'd done nothing but practically ignore Zev's existence since the "incident" back at Redcliffe. Perhaps she was feeling more for the elf than she'd let on.
I rolled my shoulders and my head as a cue for Zev to stop. "Thanks, Zev." I smiled.
He gave me a wide, playful grin back. "My pleasure."
I took a deep breath and began walking toward the open arena.
"Scarlett." Alistair called. I turned around to face him.
"Alistair." I answered coldly.
"This is your last chance. You know I'm right. Don't do this."
Funny, I thought he might want to bury the hatchet before I went out there but obviously he had no interest in that. No reconciliation came. No "best of luck." No "I know you can do this." Not even an "I love you." Unbelievable.
I just scoffed. "Proving you wrong will never be sweeter than it will be tonight."
With each step I took I could feel my heart pounding louder and louder, apparently trying desperately to break free from the confines of my chest. But whenever I felt like the fight looming ahead was too much to handle, all I had to do was look back at him. Him with his immature scowl, his defiant crossed arms, his unabashed hubris, his certainty that I would fail. And it lit a fire inside me once more—a fire that wouldn't be extinguished until all of my opponents were lying on the ground before me.
"This is a Glory Proving. Fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar to honor the memory of King Endrin," shouted the Proving Master. And the crowd went fucking wild as my first opponent made his way into the ring to face me.
"First up is Seweryn of the warrior caste. Many of you remember when he made history as a lad of twelve by defeating his own father in this very ring." And the crowd roared even louder. "Today, he fights as a champion for Prince Bhelen. Opposing him in Lord Harrowmont's name is a member of the famed Grey Wardens." And the crowd cheered again, but it was diminished. Despite Harrowmont's sterling reputation, it would seem Bhelen was held in higher esteem by the masses. Very interesting indeed.
"The first warrior to fall is vanquished. FIGHT!" the Master ordered.
And fight we did. Well, sort of. He drew his ax as I drew my sword. Instead of coming right for me, however, he decided to give the audience a little show, twirling the ax and making some kind of whistling sound as it whirred through the air. Big mistake. I dropped down and swept his legs while he was distracted. As he fell to the ground, I sunk my sword into his thigh.
"Yield! I yield!" the dwarf cried in pain. Hooray! If all my fights were like that, this was going to be a cake walk!
…They weren't all like that.
Next up were the twins—Myaja and Lucjan. Now, I'm not going to pretend my height didn't give me a slight advantage, but since when does one Grey Warden equal two warrior-caste dwarves in a fight that's supposed to be "fair"? If you ask me, this round was bullshit. But, the show must go on, as they say.
Those little fuckers began circling me like sharks. And it made me increasingly uneasy. Anticipating the moves of one opponent is one thing—generally I'm pretty good at that. Two… two is something else. It was almost as though they both had this secret unspoken language that they used to communicate before each strike. And the strikes were beginning to add up. Just little slices of exposed flesh here and there, moving so fast and so low I barely noticed they were happening until it was too late. It might not sound like much, but a slow death by 1,000 cuts is probably worse than bleeding out quickly from one large one. They were smarter than their predecessor. They didn't give a damn about pleasing the crowd—they only gave a damn about bringing me down, no matter how long it took.
Think, Scarlett. Think.
I had to separate them. But how to do that? I literally had nothing on me I could use as a distraction—the Proving Master saw to that. Wait… Of course! My secret weapon. My ace in the hole. Words.
"You were right when I spoke with you earlier, Myaja. Your brother doesn't hold a candle to you."
"…What did you say?" Lucjan questioned defensively.
"When we were talking before the fight, Myaja informed me that she was the superior fighter. I thought she was just gloating, but now I see exactly what she was talking about firsthand. She's thinking of going solo, apparently. What was the term she used? 'Dead weight,' I think it was." I explained casually.
"You said what?!" Lucjan cried, clearly losing his concentration.
"I didn't say anything! She's a liar!" Myaja shouted. But the seed of doubt had been planted. And that was all I needed.
"But you think it, don't you? You think you're better than me!"
"Oh Lucjan, really. You're being ridiculous. Are you so stupid you can't see she's playing you?" Myaja asked condescendingly.
"Oh, I'm stupid now, am I?! You've always thought you're better than me! Just because mother likes you best!"
At this point I took it upon myself to just step aside and let things escalate. And escalate they did. I just stood there, bleeding from my tiny incisions, watching them get more and more angry until they were doing my job for me. Insults and blades were flying as they struck each other over and over and over. Ahh, there's nothing quite like old-fashioned sibling rivalry.
When Myaja had taken her brother out, I stepped back up and finished her off. Lucjan had worn her out and with her thoughts lingering on her dispute with her beloved twin, she wasn't focused on beating me anymore. She wasn't really focused on anything.
"Do you see what you've done?!" she shouted. "You made me hurt him!"
"I didn't make you do anything. You chose to hurt him. And right now…" I began as I parried her little sword so hard it flew from her hand and pointed the tip of mine right at her throat, "you're going to choose to yield."
She gulped audibly and gave a slow nod. Once the Proving Master announced the fight was mine, I let her go to tend to her brother and the damage she'd caused. As for me, I needed to see Wynne. The cuts were nothing major but if left untreated they'd get infected. That could get ugly.
"I think it's going quite well, don't you? How are you feeling?" Wynne asked pleasantly as she cleaned my wounds.
"So far so good, I guess. How many more bouts until I win this damn thing?"
"Three, I believe."
"Ugh, you mean I'm not even halfway done?" I whined.
"The worst is yet to come." Alistair warned as he strolled up to me.
"Boy, you're just a cornucopia of sunshine and roses today, you know that?" I rolled my eyes.
"Second round and already you've been cut to ribbons. How in the Maker's name do you intend to go three more? You don't have to finish this. You can still walk away with your life."
Cut to ribbons?! They'd barely scratched me! GRRRRRR he was driving me insane! Whatever. Victory would be made all the sweeter by making him eat those words.
"You know, not too long ago I was traveling with a rather handsome, foolhardy, nauseatingly optimistic young man who loved me and tried his best to support me in all things, no matter how impossible they seemed. See if you can find him while I go kick some dwarven ass, won't you?"
Alistair went back to crossing his arms in frustration. "There's a reason men, not women, fight wars, Scarlett." He declared as I began walking away.
Oh. No. He. Did. Not. I turned back to face him, my eyes ablaze with grit and fortitude. "You're right, Alistair. Men fight wars. And women win them." With that I kept on walking and left to go face my next opponent.
It was Hanashan—the fight I was least looking forward to. I respected her, this silent, fervent warrior, and that made things difficult. She wasn't going to fall for cheap tricks or vicious mockery. This would be a true test of skill.
As soon as she was close enough to hear, I said, "Before we begin, I want you to know that I respect you, and your devotion to your cause. It's an honor to be in your company. May the best woman win."
She gave me a sincere nod and offered me a handshake—a gesture of goodwill none of the others had bothered with. I shook her hand firmly and then the Proving Master began his spiel.
He decided this would be a round with nothing but our bare hands. I'm not gonna lie, I'd grown rather partial to my sword by now. It was my best friend if you don't count Alistair, though at this point, I probably preferred the company of the sword. He was being a complete dick. Anyway, I digress. My sword. I liked it. And before long I began to sorely miss it.
You'd think I'd have the advantage here, easily being twice her height and weight. But Maker's breath she was fast. It took every ounce of concentration I had to keep my eyes on her, let alone try to land a blow. I kept my arms up to block her attacks and tried my best to keep my distance. My arms were longer, so I could land a hit without her being within reach to do the same. But she found ways to get in close and get back out just as quickly. And when she did hit, she knew how to make it count. I could feel the bruises and contusions forming already, and we were only a few minutes in. How in the Maker's name was I going to get out of this one?
If there's one thing this Maker-forsaken Blight has taught me, it's how to take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. Let her hit me, I reasoned. I could take it. Eventually, she'd get tired. It was inevitable. It took more energy for her to reach up and land a blow than it did for me to keep blocking and hit downward. She couldn't keep up that speed and energy forever. And as soon as sensed her fatigue and saw my opening, I reached back with my right arm, and punched her in the stomach as hard as I could, hearing her shallow gasp as the wind escaped her body. While she was still recovering from that, I jabbed her in the face with my left, knocking her prone. I didn't want to hurt her, not really, but I knew as long as she was conscious, she was going to keep on coming. That was what true warriors do. Rendering her unconscious seemed like my best option, albeit an imperfect one.
At this point I was sore, and was beginning to feel quite tired myself, but I knew giving up was not an option. I would have kept going regardless in order to secure Orzammar's aid in the fight to come, but Alistair had made this personal. I shook it off and readied myself for the next bout.
The next round was paired combat. I would have normally chosen Alistair as my second, but since he had me royally pissed, I opted to go with Morrigan—I figured he'd love that, right? Teehehe.
It almost wasn't fair, really. As soon as the Master said "Fight," she froze both of our opponents where they stood and I went to work, stabbing and slashing enough for it to count, but not enough to take their lives. When the spell wore off, they were so badly wounded it didn't take much more to convince them to lay down their swords at our feet. Not too shabby for a pair of poor, defenseless girls, eh?
Ahh, we'd arrived, finally, to the last round. They saved that Piotin guy the ardent fan was talking about earlier for last. This fight was four on four. I thought about calling those Harrowmont fighters I'd convinced earlier to fight with me, but you know what? I didn't need them. I had a point to prove. I would have a contingent made up entirely of women, thankyouverymuch. Morrigan, Wynne, and Leliana would be the ones fighting at my side.
When we were all assembled, Piotin just couldn't resist heckling us.
"You fight well, for a woman. But clearly you don't know what you're up against here. Why don't you all run along, put on something pretty, and prepare our victory feast? You know, in the kitchen, where you belong."
I let a slow, cruel smile play across my lips. "Shut up and fight."
Rather than all of us taking one opponent each, we fought as one. It was like a symphony. We knew each other so well by now, how to play on each other's strengths, how to accommodate for each other's shortcomings, how to measure up our opponents, and how to knock them down. Wynne stayed at the rear, ready to jump in and heal if any of us should fall and otherwise casting ranged attacks. Morrigan prowled around the men like a wolf stalking her prey, casting fire and ice spells at the most opportune moments. If Morrigan was a wolf, Leliana was a cat—silent, graceful, deadly. And me? Well, compared to the other three, I could hit like a ton of bricks. It was one heck of a combination.
Piotin did live up to his reputation, however. He was tough to beat, especially since I didn't want to kill him. He was Bhelen's cousin after all, and taking Piotin's life would most assuredly burn that bridge that Leliana assured me would still be intact, despite the fact that I'm fighting this thing in Harrowmont's name. Killing Piotin would have been easy. Getting him to back down and live to tell the tale… that was going to take some doing.
Be that as it may, as each of his men fell before his eyes, his resolve waned. He was getting more and more scared, and when it was down to the four of us against only him, I thought I could see him begin to shake—just a little bit. This was most assuredly an advantage. I charged him. I let out the biggest, loudest, more frightening war cry I could muster and ran toward him, sword fully extended. He turned away and began to retreat, but his little legs couldn't carry him away fast enough to outrun the length of my blade. I stabbed through the back in his right shoulder blade—rendering his sword-wielding arm almost useless. It had to hurt like a motherfucker, but he'd live.
He let out a blood-curdling scream as the metal penetrated his skin and bone. I pulled my blade back out and ran out in front of him, keeping the tip of my sword pointed at his chest and ready to counter anything he might try.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Finish it!" he demanded.
"As far as I'm concerned, we are finished. Unless, of course, you try something stupid. Are we done here?" I asked evenly.
He tried to lift his sword but the pain in his shoulder was too great. He could try to fight with his non-dominant hand, of course, but one against four with a disadvantage like that? Even he had to know that would not end well for him.
Ultimately, he let out a defeated sigh. "Yes, Warden. We're done."
"The winner is the Grey Warden! Do you deny this Grey Warden has earned the championship?" The Proving Master asked the crowd. No one protested. All I could hear was the nonstop, deafening roar of the spectators.
"Then it is my honor to declare this Grey Warden champion of the Proving, who has shown the ancestors favor Lord Harrowmont! Congratulations, Warden."
I gave a quick bow and made my way back to the room where everyone else had been watching.
"You were wonderful, my Ferelden rose. No, better than that. You were absolutely extraordinary." Zevran complimented.
"You are not as callow as I thought. Today, you proved you have no match on the battlefield. And that is something even I can respect." Sten offered. I gave him a nod of thanks.
"Ahh the sights and sounds of squishy flesh creatures beating the ever-loving pulp out of one another. What a glorious display. When is the next show?" Shale asked excitedly. I just smirked and shook my head.
I took a seat as Morrigan offered me a drink of water. "Well, if nothing else, I do so love it when Alistair is made a fool of, and I would say you succeeded admirably in that endeavor." She explained. Then the man himself made his way toward us.
"Alright, I admit it. You were right. I was wrong. Can we just… forget about all this?" he asked me as he nervously ran his fingers through his hair—a gesture I'd usually find endearing but considering all the shit he'd just put me through, I found it borderline annoying.
"Alistair, how can I put this… What we forgive too freely doesn't stay forgiven."
"…What does that even mean?" he asked.
"It means if you want to put this whole bit of ugliness behind us, you're going to have to work for it."
"You can't be seriously considering—"
"I thought I told you how this was going to go in no uncertain terms earlier. The dwarves have their new champion. And you and I now have some unfinished business."
"Scarlett… Do you really think this is wise?" Wynne asked. "After all you've just put yourself through, do you really want to add more?"
"I don't expect you to understand, Wynne. But I need this. We need this." I gestured back and forth toward Alistair and myself.
"If you'd just let me explain—" Alistair began.
I didn't let him finish. "Oh, you've said plenty already. Anything you could possibly have to say now will fall on deaf ears. The Proving Grounds. One hour. Let's finish this."