CHAPTER 17

..x..

Releasing a breath, Everil stepped out into the hall and wiped sweat from her brow. Darkspawn fought well in numbers, but their individual tactics were primitive and predictable while fighting against a skilled, seasoned fighter was completely different and more tasking—especially when dwarves were renowned for their physical prowess and expert abilities. Their entire culture revolved around pride, the honoring of ancestors, and their caste, pushing each dwarf to be the best at their individual traits. That she was able to win all matches thus far was considered an accomplishment, one even she was proud of.

The sound of footsteps drew her eyes to her approaching companions. "I was wondering if they were ever going to give you a breather," Alistair called as he and the others made their way to her.

"I admit I was wondering that myself." She attempted to smile, wincing a little at the dull ache it caused. Damn those dwarves.

Taking notice of her discomfort, he came closer and gently tilted her chin. He inspected the bruise and her broken lip with a subtle frown. "Does it hurt?"

"It's nothing. I've had worse," she assured him.

"Allow me to have a look." Morrigan reached into her bag and produced one of their potions along with a clean rag. She poured the red liquid onto it as Everil faced her, letting her dab at the injury. The pain gradually dissipated, the tender spots going numb.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

The witch's yellow stare briefly met hers. "You are welcome..."

"Good work down there, Warden. Lord Harrowmont was quite impressed," came Dulin's deep voice as he strode towards them, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm afraid I bring bad news, however."

"What is it?" Everil raised a hand to halt Morrigan, giving Dulin her full attention.

"Our other champions have unexpectedly dropped from the Proving."

"Huh? Do you know why?"

"No, but we think Prince Bhelen was responsible for it. The last match involves two of his men, but unlike the ones you fought before, these are the best of the best under his command. That's why we wanted three of ours to even the odds…" He huffed. "Now, with our fighters gone, you will have to face them on your own. Not an easy task."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," Alistair promptly interjected. "Can I join her instead?"

"Yes, you can. Simply inform the Proving Master before the next match begins."

Everil smiled at Dulin. "Thanks for telling us about this."

"Of course. It would not do if you lost. So let's keep up the good work." He gave her a single, firm nod. "One more thing... After this is over, meet me at the tavern in the Commons, it's nearby so you can't miss it. We will discuss matters there." Dulin spun about and headed back the way he came, entering the private alcove where his lord was seated.

"How very honorable of that Bhelen worm… trying to cheat his way through," Morrigan muttered with distaste, her free hand at her hip. It seemed even the dwarves were as despicable as the humans on the surface.

"My dear… Has there ever been honesty amongst those inspiring for power?" Zevran asked, sending her a sideward grin.

"No. I suppose not..."

.x.x.x.x.

"Ah, this feels better..." Alistair sighed as they descended the ramp leading to the arena. It was a tunnel of sorts, illuminated by the light coming from the gate ahead.

"What does?" Everil glanced at him.

"Fighting with you instead of just watching from the sidelines. Not a big fan of that."

"Why? Because you were missing out?"

"That and it's been a lifelong dream of mine to beat up some small, angry people in front of an entire crowd of small, drunken people."

She laughed in amusement, shaking her head.

The beat of the battle drums erupted from the arena once more, a prelude to the last fight of the night. The pair sobered, staring past the iron bars at the battlefield beyond. And then the booming voice of the Proving Master reached their ears. "On this side, fighting in the name of Lord Harrowmont! The ongoing winner of tonight's Proving and her comrade in arms! Grey Wardens Everil and Alistair!"

"Ready…?" Everil asked as the gates opened for them.

"Yep. Let's kick some dwarven arse..." he muttered as they stepped forth.

The spectators erupted into cheers the moment they saw them, fervently chanting their Grey Warden title. Meanwhile, Oghren observed from above, a grin splitting his face. "Ah, so he's joining in on this one. Even better."

"And on this side! Fighting in the name of Prince Bhelen! A member of the House of Ivo and master of arms! Known for using a different weapon in every Proving! Wojech Ivo and his second in command, Velanz!"

The two dwarves stalked to their side of the arena. Velanz twirled his two daggers as he followed his master, wearing hardened leather. Wojech was clad in iron plate armor, a great helm covering his face. He drew his sword and shield, his deep voice traveling over the sound of the crowd. "Prince Bhelen will plant his throne on your trampled corpses."

"Only in your dreams," Everil replied coolly, blades at the ready.

"Begin!" came the Proving Master's booming signal.

Wojech raised his blade to engage Everil, but Alistair ran between them and blocked with his sword. "Sorry, but I'll be your opponent, not her." He smiled down at him, knowing he was the heavy hitter and more likely to break through the dwarf's heavy armor.

"I'll take the other one!" Everil charged at Velanz, running past them.

Metal screeched over metal as Alistair parried the dwarf's sword, then slashed downward. Wojech blocked with his shield, shoved against his sword, and swung sideways, hitting the Warden's shield. Alistair thrust, the dwarf bent to dodge, then sidestepped to avoid another slash. Their swords clashed, both fighters on even ground.

Everil ducked, dodging a slash, then struck sideways, deflecting another hit. More slashes came as Velanz unleashed a string of attacks. The Warden deflected and blocked, backing up a step with each hit.

"You're mine, Warden!" The dwarf jumped, bringing both daggers upon her. Everil clicked her tongue and lept out of the way, his weapons impaling the dirt. She spun, bringing her leg around, delivering a hard kick to his face and sending him to the ground. He rose with effort, growling and with a burning jaw, raising his blades just in time to block her sword. Their weapons clashed a few times, then he backflipped to dodge a slash. But Everil kept coming, giving him no quarter. With a roar, Valenz deflected her blade, then struck at her side. She swung up with her dagger, knocking his attack off course. Another kick connected with his face, dizzying him. Then a third came, this time sending him sliding over the dirt, out cold.

Alistair swung with his shield, hitting the dwarf's head and knocking off his helmet.

"You sodded maggot!" Wojech bit out dizzily and charged at him, crying out a roar.

"Aw… You're angry? But I did you a favor!" Alistair taunted as they locked blades. "You really shouldn't hide that majestic beard of yours!"

"Shut up!" he shot back, arm shaking with the tension.

But despite his effort, Alistair overpowered him, forcing his weapon aside and striking him with his shield once more. The dwarf stumbled, and using the opportunity he'd created, Alistair struck at his sword, sending it flying off his hand and out of reach. Wojech froze in shock when the cold edge of the Warden's blade touched his neck.

"Yield. You lost," Alistair proclaimed, all humor in his tone gone. The dwarf gave him a severe look in return but dropped his shield nonetheless.

The Proving Master announced the winner. "The victory belongs to the Grey Wardens! Lord Harrowmont's brave fighters!"

The crowd roared, lifting their ale up high. Oghren watched in a quiet stupor as the two Wardens took down their opponents with ease, making the champions in the Proving look like anything but. Then a smirk slowly spread over his drunken features. For he knew that in spite of there only being two, they had exactly what it takes to help him.

.x.x.x.x.

After leaving the arena, the Grey Wardens and their companions headed towards the tavern, where Dulin waited for them inside. The place was slightly dark, dimly lit by gem lamps and candles. Merry music was played in the background, a sharp contrast to the coarse mannerisms of everyone in Orzammar. In the distance, some dwarves danced while others clapped, pausing just long enough to drink their ale. Others laughed from their tables, engaged in conversation as they discussed that night's events at the Proving.

The Wardens could barely walk through without receiving gestures of congratulations or flirtatious howls. Alistair and Everil could only smile awkwardly and return the handshakes as they moved along.

Dulin waved at them from one of the tables. "Good work out there tonight!" he complimented over the music, motioning for them to take a seat. "I thought we could celebrate while we talk."

"I take it Lord Harrowmont is pleased?" Everil inquired as they sat.

"More than pleased. He's invited you to visit his household in the morn," he replied, waving at one of the barmaids.

"Good." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "What should we expect at that meeting tomorrow?"

"He'll discuss with you what he needs in order to win the crown, and then he will send you on some—" He cleared his throat. "—errands in his name. Just know that the election is far from over and we will need your ongoing support to get things done."

"It almost sounds like he's about to send us out to kill someone," Alistair said from beside her, hands clasped together over the table.

Dulin let out a laugh. "If he does, it wouldn't be someone who doesn't deserve it. Let's leave it at that for now."

"Heh… Because that makes it so much better."

"Don't worry, Warden. You can still decline his offer once you talk to him. Though, I would not recommend it. Considering Prince Bhelen already saw you fighting on our side..." Dulin deliberately brought his pint to his lips and took a drink as the barmaid placed more ale before them.

"Oh, great… So that was your goal, after all," Alistair muttered, then let out a sigh.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see." Everil glanced up at him, patting his forearm, before gazing down at the amber liquid within her cup. "Might as well just roll with it for now."

"That's right!" Dulin elbowed her arm with an uncharacteristic grin, cheeks flaring from inebriation. "Enjoy tonight. Drinks are on me. You deserve it."

She shrugged and lifted the cup, while Alistair and Zevran did the same. Morrigan ignored the ale, with her chin on one hand and a bored expression on her face.

"Wait!" Zevran slammed his cup down, extending an arm to stop both Wardens.

Alistair lowered his drink. "What—?"

A loud thud made everyone turn their heads to Everil, their eyes wide upon seeing her face-down on the table.

Zevran smiled helplessly. "Too late…"

"H-Hey!" A panicking Alistair wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shook her, receiving an incoherent mumble as a response. He shot the dwarf an accusing glare. "What did you do to her!"

"Nothing!" Dulin laughed heartily. "Your friend just had the best dwarven ale Orzammar has to offer!"

"So she's…?"Alistair's anger faded into bewilderment.

"Ow…" Everil whimpered numbly, slowly lifting her head and placing a hand over her aching brow. She let out a heavy huff, pouting her lips moodily. "That hurt…"

"Drunk," Morrigan completed for him, mildly amused by her flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes.

Zevran grinned mischievously. "More than drunk. Dwarven ale is the strongest there is. Not even a grown, burly man can handle it."

Groaning, Everil pushed herself to her feet, drawing everyone's attention once more. She shakily put her hands on the table and gave each of them a strange look, trying to focus, yet seeing double. Mumbling something else, she attempted to get out of the bench, spinning and stumbling forward. Alistair reacted, wrapping his arm around her waist, keeping her from hitting the ground.

"Everil, just stay still..." he coaxed gently.

"Hrm… There's a genlock… there…" she muttered, head hanging as her hair hid her drunken features from the others. Her arm went up, finger extended and pointing at the nearest dwarf, only for it to fall back down. "Bjorn... fetch…" And then her entire body went limp, succumbing to both the ale and the exhaustion she'd felt since arriving in the city.

A light snore reached his ears and Alistair couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess the party's already over…"

He slid off the bench and carefully adjusted her body, shifting the familiar weight onto his arms while rising to his feet. Her head lolled to the side, resting against his shoulder as another mumble escaped her.

"Aw…Look," Zevran chortled. "She's out for the count..."

Alistair sighed and gazed at Dulin. "Erm… Tell Harrowmont we'll be there. And... thanks for the ale."

He nodded. "Of course, Warden."

Alistair then addressed the others. "Let's go. I think we all deserve some rest."

"I couldn't agree more," Zevran replied as he stretched and stifled a yawn, walking behind him while Morrigan quietly followed.

Dulin watched the group leave the tavern, releasing a throaty chuckle, shaking his head. "Beat every champion in the Proving, instantly defeated by a single drink of ale. Such a curious woman."

.x.x.x.x.

Thankfully the trip from the tavern to the inn was relatively short. They split up upon arriving, each of them heading for their own rooms. Zevran made his usual snarky remarks about the two Wardens sleeping together while Morrigan had simply gone her way without a word. The rest seemed to already be asleep, something he expected considering their long trip and the late time of the night in which the Proving ended.

Alistair opened the door and was promptly greeted by the mabari hound. The anxious Bjorn whined up at him, sniffing Everil's boot and following him closely as he carried her to the bed. "Don't worry, boy. She's just sleeping," Alistair quietly assured the dog, trying not to wake her. At which Bjorn sniffed the air and sat by the bed, watching him gently lay his mistress over it.

He gave her a quick once over, carefully brushing her bangs from her eyes. With a tired breath, he proceeded to remove his armor. Expert hands unclasped the heavy metal plates from his sore body, making as little sound as possible. He rid himself of his gambeson, then his shirt, and finally his boots, setting everything atop a nearby table in neat piles. He left his trousers on for modesty's sake.

After finishing with his gear, Alistair reached down to remove her weapons as she slept, smiling a little at her light snores. He unbuckled her chest piece, setting it on a chair before undoing her gambeson's buckles. Slowly and carefully, he sat her up to take off the thick coat. But her arms wrapped around his neck, surprising him and preventing him from completing the job. "Alistair…?" he heard her whimper as she nuzzled his jawline.

"Yeah?"

"Make love to me..." she whispered, her hot breath against his skin.

A shudder shook him and his mouth ran dry at her sensual request.

"Uhm…" He swallowed, her words bringing forth an almost overwhelming urge to comply. To obey all of her desires and please her until she lay spent in his arms. The small piece of reason left in him stopped him, however, keeping him from caving to her drunken plea. Their current relationship was still relatively new. He wouldn't betray her trust by possibly taking advantage of her in such a state. And even if this were truly what she wanted, the way she'd just passed out told him that she was in dire need of rest.

Taking a firm hold of his resolve, Alistair steeled himself and brought his hands to her shoulders. "We can't…" He gently separated her from him. "Not tonight."

"Why?" She pursed her lips.

Alistair smiled weakly at those flushed cheeks and large blue eyes, her expression reminding him of a child whose playtime had been denied. "Because you're drunk and we're both exhausted."

Everil ran her index finger down his chiseled chest, teasingly licking her still sore lip. It traveled down to his hard abs, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. She went past his navel and toyed with the string of his trousers, fluttering thick lashes up at him. "So?"

"I... Uhm…" he croaked, promptly taking her hand to stop her. Alistair cleared his throat, putting on the best stern look he could muster. "So we should sleep... Now, let me help you with your armor."

"Fine…" Everil tried to glare at him, but a wide yawn interrupted her. She obediently allowed him to take off the rest of her coat and cargo bags. Leaning back on her hands, she watched him fold her gear and place it on a chair next to the bed. He then reached for her boots, his long fingers unbuckling the straps.

Half-lidded eyes focused on him, struggling to ignore how the room spun around her. But in spite of the strange, nauseating feeling, her disappointment remained. "How odd…" she muttered pitifully. "I usually get my way…"

He stopped and his surprised eyes met hers before the brief pause was followed by his throaty chuckle. "You sound like a spoiled brat..." he jibbed with a shake of his head, reverting to his task.

"Well, I was one..." she admitted.

"Obviously…"

Her drunken giggles brought a smile to his face as he took off her boots, setting them on the ground. He rose and pulled up the sheets, covering her legs before making his way around to his side of the bed. Everil's eyes followed him as he lay beside her. "Can I not change your mind…?"

"Nope..." Alistair rolled onto his side to face her, then wrapped a strong arm around her belly, urging her to lie down with him. With a dejected expression, she obliged, flopping onto the bed and drawing another chuckle from him. She turned and cuddled closer to his chest, relaxing completely in his arms. Then her eyes slid shut and she drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

He gently stroked her hair, listening to her steady breathing. After a moment, he pulled back, just far enough to gaze upon her delicate features. His eyes softened at how deceptively vulnerable she looked, completely at the mercy of everything around her. Maker, he wanted so badly to protect her. To keep her safe no matter the cost—a feeling he knew may one day conflict with their oath if he wasn't careful.

She released a soft whimper, her face scrunching as the nightmares began to creep up on her. Alistair held her to him, tenderly nuzzling her hair in an attempt to soothe her. If only he could make it all fade away. If only they could live in a world free of monsters and death. Just the two of them. Far away from everything and everyone. If only...