CHAPTER 16

..x..

The thunderous sound of a bell resonated throughout Orzammar, signaling the beginning of the evening hours. Still, the streets were as lively as before, the night doing nothing to slow the dwarves. Some stood by the criers, listening to the latest updates on the election of their new king, while others were already making their way to the arena, where the Proving was to take place.

The Wardens were leaving the inn after leaving Bjorn behind and picking up some of their other companions. Any fight could go awry, even one that was supposedly moderated. Having additional arms ready may have been necessary.

"Still keeping the sword, I see," Zevran said, walking beside her with fingers laced behind his head.

"Yes… Our sparring sessions helped me find a bit of speed by adjusting my strategy. I think that will suffice."

"I'm glad they helped…" he uttered with a sympathetic smile. "I heard about that blade's emotional significance."

"The sword isn't important to me only because of my family's loss… It also drives me." She gazed ahead, her eyes growing distant as the picture of her deceased loved ones crossed her mind. "I can't wait to use it on the filthy rat who took them from me."

"I see..." He frowned at the murderous glint in her eyes, realizing that sometimes instead of finding it attractive, it actually made him rather nervous.

"Is no one else questioning that we are on our way to influence the political process of an entire kingdom?" Morrigan voiced in a critical tone, sauntering just a few steps behind Everil.

Alistair shot her an annoyed glare. "We don't have any other options."

"Why not simply leave? We are wasting precious time playing this game," Morrigan griped with a look that mirrored his. "Were I the one leading, we would've defeated the Blight by now."

"Of course!" Alistair dramatically smacked his palm against his forehead. "What have we been thinking? We should've just left all the important decisions and all the talking to you. Someone who's almost never left the Korcari Wilds or held a meaningful conversation with anyone other than her mother. How foolish of us."

She pinned him with a dark gaze. "I happen to have better speech etiquette than you, Alistair."

"Fine, I admit I'm not the best at talking. But at least I don't shrink away from a simple handshake like some... crazy person."

Morrigan rolled her eyes, wondering why she even bothered having any type of discussion with such an infuriating man.

They neared the building, pushing past those filtering in through wide metal doors. Dulin awaited them at the center of the grand hall preceding the arena. An old, bearded dwarf stood next to him, arms folded over his chest.

"Good to see you again, Wardens," Dulin greeted with a nod of his head, then gestured to the old man. "This is the Proving Master. He will brief you on what is involved and inform you each time a match begins. There are two others supporting us who will fight alongside you at one point, so expect to meet them soon."

Everil nodded. "Got it."

"Remember, Lord Harrowmont will be watching and so will I. Good luck to you." With that he made for a room across from where they stood, leaving them with the other dwarf.

"All right then…" The Proving Master gazed at them, pulling a scroll from his belt. "I don't know if you were told but only one of you can participate in the Proving at this time. So who will it be?"

"I will do it."

Alistair's head snapped towards her. "Wait… You won't even ask for my opinion on this one? How come you get to have all the fun?"

She smirked playfully. "I am the leader, you know."

"You're pretty quick to bring that up every time you want something done your way..." he muttered, frowning at her.

"Because I can."

"So not fair…"

"Very well." The Proving Master interrupted their banter. "What's your name, Warden?"

"Everil Cousland."

"Understood. I will notify you before the matches begin. In the meantime, be ready. Your companions will have to watch from the stands over there." He used the quilt to point left at a nearby door, through which some of the citizens were already entering. Then he went in the same direction Dulin previously took.

Zevran patted Everil's shoulder. "Remember what we practiced, now."

"Yes, yes. I know," she replied with a smile.

He and Morrigan began to head towards the spectator area, while Alistair hesitated. "Be careful in there. This is politics, not your usual tourney. You never know who's going to be playing dirty."

"I know. I'll keep my guard up." She smiled reassuringly, then gestured with her head to Zevran and an irritated Morrigan, who were both waiting for him by the doors. "Now, go with the others before the good seats are taken."

"All right…" Alistair sighed and gave her cheek a gentle kiss before joining their companions. He ignored the assassin's teasing grin and the witch's eye roll as they entered the stands.

.x.x.x.x.

The four of them climbed the steps, crossing the row of seats closest to the arena. And although there were open spots, they settled for standing over the stone railing, gazing down at the soon-to-be battleground. The crowd's chatter filled the room, joined by the clanks of beer mugs as the dwarves drank and laughed.

"Oi... You one of the Grey Wardens?"

Alistair looked down towards the rough voice, seeing a red-headed dwarf with a thick, braided mustache staring back up at him, a pint of ale in one hand. He wore iron-plated armor that had clearly seen combat, dirt and wear visible in some places. A great axe was strapped to the dwarf's back, the only thing that seemed to be well taken care of.

"I am, yes…"

"How many of ya' are there?"

"Uhm... There's two of us," he answered with a knitted brow, puzzled by the questions.

"Just two?" He scrunched up his flushed face in concentration, scratching the thick beard on his fat chin. "Hrm…"

Seeing the odd look the Warden was giving him, the dwarf's expression lit up into a drunken grin as he extended his hand for a handshake. "Ah, where are my sodded manners? Name's Oghren. Heard one of ya will be fighting in the Proving tonight, so I just had to see for myself."

"I'm Alistair." He shook his hand, still finding the conversation rather strange.

"Good to make your acquaintance!" Oghren laughed, then took a drawn-out drink from his ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but foam still clung to his mustache. "You lot're said to be some tough sons of bitches. I can't wait for it to start."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably next to him, seeing him pour himself another pint from a nearby barrel—one of many set up in different sections of the stands. Oghren turned to him once more. "Want one?"

"N-No, thanks…"

"Suit yourself." He shrugged and took another long gulp before belching loudly and wiping his mouth again.

"It appears they are as unrefined as the rock they live in..." Zevran commented wryly from beside him.

"Yeah…" Alistair agreed quietly, still giving the drunken dwarf an awkward smile.

The beating of a drum echoed throughout the arena as the Proving Master walked into the platform overseeing the field. "Welcome to tonight's Proving!" His booming voice silenced everyone, all eyes upon him. "Where the best warriors in Orzammar demonstrate their might!"

"Yes! It's starting!" Oghren said excitedly before taking a drink, accidentally spilling ale over himself.

The Proving Master continued. "On this night we shall witness the great battles between mighty champions! All of which will be fighting in the name of those who seek the throne to our kingdom! Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont!"

The spectators cheered.

"Now! For the first battle...! On this side, Prince Bhelen's first Champion! Seweryn! The man who defeated his own father at the age of twelve and has been victorious in many of our past Provings!" The Proving Master pointed a finger to the doors on the right side of the arena and the iron gate slid up as if releasing a pack of lions, revealing a heavily armored dwarf. The people cheered, chanting the man's name and stomping their feet to the beat of the battle drum playing for the fighters.

He then pointed to the left side. "And on this side, we have a special participant! Fighting in Lord Harrowmont's name...!"

The gates opened and Everil calmly emerged, causing the room to turn silent. Her steps echoed in the chamber as she walked forth with confidence, steely blue eyes staring across at her opponent.

"From the famed Grey Wardens, Everil Cousland!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, banging their empty pints against the nearest surface.

"Ancestor's balls... A woman?" Oghren's puzzled gaze shifted up to Alistair. "I had no idea you people recruited women."

"Well, we do, and she's our leader too," Alistair responded, smiling as he gazed upon her from above.

Everil sauntered to the center of the arena, stopping over a mark on the ground as the other fighter did the same.

"Didn't think my first opponent would be a woman, but I know of many who can put down a bronto—one the mightiest beasts we have here in the deep," Seweryn told her with his chin held high, drawing a blade and shield. "Show me what you've got, Warden."

She smiled, arming herself. "Likewise."

The Proving Master raised a hand and the room grew quiet once more. "Let the match begin!" he called out, swinging down.

Seweryn readied his shield and began to circle her, hard gaze focused on her as she did the same, sizing him up. The dwarf charged first, letting out a cry with his sword raised high. Everil waited for him as he came, and then he struck. She swiftly leaned to evade it, then backed up just as he swung back around. He used his shield, trying to hit her, but she put her hand on it, using it to nimbly propel herself into a forward flip. She landed behind him and whirled around, slashing at him from behind.

Their blades met as he turned to face her. "Good moves you got!"

"Thanks!" Everil grinned and withdrew before he attacked again, slashing only air.

Seweryn struck up at her chest, Everil avoided it, then he tried to get her legs, but she hopped into a backflip. He brought his blade down as she landed, she saw it coming, deflecting it. He continued to strike, attempting to land a hit, and she could tell he was growing more impatient each time he failed. But while he probably thought she was mocking him, her real intention was to find an opening.

And she did.

Seweryn slashed up, she ducked, swiftly kicking forth and bringing a leg around underneath him. She took out his legs, dropping him heavily onto his back. And before he knew it, she was on top of him, blade at his neck. "What…" He gazed up at her, eyes wide as saucers.

Some gasps were heard in the room, and the Proving Master raised both arms. "The winner of this match! The Grey Warden!"

The crowd, Zevran, and Alistair cheered, pumping a fist in the air. Meanwhile, Morrigan simply watched, a pleased smile on her lips and her arms crossed. Oghren laughed, raising his pint as if making a toast. "Impressive shit right there!"

Alistair and his companions glanced at him as the dwarf took another gulp of his ale, the witch sending him a disgusted grimace.

Still shaken, Seweryn stood and sheathed his weapons. She did the same, and after an acknowledging nod of their heads, she saw him walk out of the arena through the same gates from which he came.

"Let the battles continue!"

Everil gazed up to the Proving Master and returned to the mark on the ground, arms folded as she patiently waited for him to announce her next opponent.

"The next two champions representing Prince Bhelen!"

The gates began to open again and two dwarves stepped in, one female and one male. The Proving Master continued. "They battle as one and live as one! The twins Lucjan and Myaja!"

More cheers came as the siblings made their way to their mark, one a warrior and the other a duelist rogue.

"Two of them…?" Alistair frowned, hands on the railing. "That's not a fair fight…"

"They were born from the same womb and claim to share the same soul," Oghren uttered as they eyed the siblings walk side by side. "Guess that makes them an exception to the one on one rule. Sodding cheaters..."

"She can handle it," Zevran said confidently.

The twins stopped and everyone went quiet. Everil's gaze didn't waver despite the slight disadvantage she now faced.

"May the stone honor you—" Myaja began with a snide smile, drawing her blade and shield. "—when you fall." Lucjan finished, pulling out his daggers.

The Warden smirked at their taunting words. Clearly they thought they could defeat her. But she would prove them wrong. She unfolded her arms and drew her blades. "May the dirt taste good when I feed it to you."

The signal from the Proving Master came and the twins wasted no time to charge. Everil dodged Myaja's sword, then was forced to backflip to avoid Lucjan's dagger. She backed away several steps, evading another stream of synchronized attacks by the twins. Despite their different fighting styles, the two moved in unison, each attack flowing without pause.

With a grunt, Everil rolled out of the way of another slash from Myaja, and then while still on a knee, brought up her weapons to block her brother's daggers. Movement behind him made Everil snap her head up in time to see Myaja jump over his shoulder, leading with a kick. It all happened so quickly she could barely react. Everil leaned back to dodge the hit, but the dwarf's armored boot still connected with the corner of lips, her teeth piercing the inside of her cheek as she went with the hit, rolling and avoiding the brunt of the force.

Wincing, Everil pushed herself up to her feet, tasting copper. She spit blood onto the dirt and licked her split lip. The two dwarves laughed.

"Ooh! They got her that time!" Oghren grinned and took a drink.

"Bastards…" Alistair muttered angrily. "Of course they would land a hit. She's fighting two on one against skilled warriors."

"No, she got sloppy," Zevran commented, drawing his attention as the elf leaned casually over the rail. "She should have deflected and evaded, they wouldn't have hurt her then. Her mind still favors the training she was raised with—it is difficult to switch so quickly without making a mistake or two along the way. And I am sure my lady knows this too."

"Oh..." Alistair's gaze returned to the arena. "Well, if that's the case, then those dwarves are about to find out they're the ones who made the mistake."

Zevran smirked. "Indeed, my friend…"

After they were done laughing, Myaja arrogantly snickered at the Warden. "Shame… You have such a pretty face."

Everil wiped red from her chin, pinning them with a glare that could freeze the molten rivers of Orzammar. "Celebrate while you can... You will not touch me again."

"We'll see about that." Lucjan dropped to his fighting stance.

Both dwarves attacked again as she continued to block and deflect, and Everil realized then that the best way to beat them was to break their pattern and stop being conservative. She avoided another slash from Myaja while sheathing her dagger, then used her now free hand to grab onto her wrist, preventing her from following through with her next attack. She bought herself enough time to kick her brother's face, breaking his nose and sending him falling onto his back.

Myaja growled and whirled around, releasing herself from her hold and proceeding to unleash another string of attacks. Everil avoided a sideways slash, then ducked, kicking at the back of her leg. The dwarf cried out and dropped on a knee, blindly striking. Everil went low and sliced upward at the unprotected area between her arm plating and her chest plate. Myaja cried out in pain, losing her grip on the sword before Everil kicked at her chest, knocking her down.

"Myaja!" Lucjan charged and swung with one blade and then the other; she deflected both attacks with Elethea. He struck a third time, Everil moved just enough for him to miss, then slammed his gut with a knee. Lucjan's legs went weak, finding himself stunned and gasping for air. She wasted no time, bringing down her sword's pommel and striking him across the face. The hit landed so hard he spun to the ground, instantly out cold.

"The winner is the Grey Warden!"

Clamoring cries erupted once more as those watching chanted her name and title in a drunken mantra.

"Everil! Everil!"

"Warden! Warden!"

"Wooh! There was some bloodshed on this one. Let's keep 'em going!" Oghren called out and then gazed up to Alistair with a wide grin. "Your boss lady's pretty good! I can see why she's the one calling the shots."

Alistair gave him a brief smile. "Thanks."

Chest slightly heaving, Everil gazed up to the spectators, wondering who her next opponent would be. Once the previous champions were cleared from the arena, she once again stood over her mark.

"We have one more opponent before recess time!" The Proving Master pointed towards the gates again. "She cut her own tongue to emulate Paragon Astyth the Grey! And she is now fighting in the name of Prince Bhelen, as a member of the Silent Sisters! Sister Hanashan!"

The gates opened and a heavily armored female warrior stepped into the arena, carrying a great sword on to her back.

"Cut off her own tongue in the name of some long-dead Paragon… A little extreme, no?" Zevran muttered, slightly impressed.

"Dwarves certainly have an interesting fascination with their dead," Morrigan said with mild amusement.

Hanasha paused in her stride, casting a stony look upon the Grey Warden. Everil gave her a single nod of acknowledgment, her expression nearly mirroring hers. The two drew their weapons.

"Begin!"

Hanasha brought down her sword, driving Everil to jump sideways to dodge as the massive blade hit the ground, sending dirt and rocks flying in all directions. She then dragged it over the dirt towards the Warden, and up in an upward swing. Everil backflipped, the edge narrowly missing her feet. The warrior followed through with a downward strike, forcing her to bring up her blades for a block.

Everil gritted her teeth when their weapons collided, the force and weight of the clash bringing her to a knee. Hanasha gazed down at her blankly, putting more pressure into her weapon and on her. With a roar, Everil pushed up just enough to give herself room, then rolled, Hanasha's blade slamming to the ground once more.

The Warden rushed forward, slashing at her. Hanasha blocked with a gauntlet, then swung the sword around with the other hand. Everil deflected the hit, dashed, and lept, avoiding a horizontal strike and using her shoulder to boost herself forward into a flip. She landed firmly on her feet, and as Hanasha twisted her body to face her, Everil brought her dagger around.

Both froze.

A thin red line appeared on Hanasha's neck, a drop of blood sliding down as Everil's blade barely pierced her skin. But the pressure was there, and she knew that if the Warden so wanted it, her blood would have been painting the dirt.

"The winner is the Grey Warden!"

The crowd cheered once more, slamming their pints against the rock. The Proving Master continued. "The first matches have ended with every victory going to Lord Harrowmont's champion, Grey Warden Everil! Please remain in the room for the matches coming up after the recess!"

Panting, Everil sheathed her weapons, offering Hanasha a half-smile. "Good fight..."

Hanasha dipped her head to her, a nearly imperceptible lift at the corner of her lips. Then the gates at both sides opened and both women made their way out of the arena.