Chapter 5: Attention
The arishok watched the Warden from the window of his quarters, her solitary figure moving with great haste in the courtyard. It was odd that she was not accompanied by the Sten—his preference for her company had been duly noted since the first they arrived on Par Vollen shores. The tamassrans maintained their distance, but there were signs that indicated a growing interest in the matter.
This fact did not concern him very much—and any action taken based on that was up to the Ariqun. What concerned him was the fact their 'guest' was 'training' alone.
He glanced at his own weapons and considered. The previous night was—informative, to say the least, but he remained immensely puzzled by the woman. Her forthrightness was refreshing, and her deference odd. She challenged nothing of the Qun, perfectly accepting the customs of her host, though still distancing herself from the role that was given to others like her. Female.
I am a Warden first, a woman— second. And I humbly request that you treat me as such. Those were her exact words. Indeed.
The account of the 'blight', as attained by the Sten, presented an 'order' that was worthy of respect. Their paths were clear—and their roles defined their actions, which was to end the 'blight'. This order was reduced to the single individual whose purpose of returning with the Sten to the lands of the Qun remained untested, unquestioned as yet. And she was a Saarebas. Most curious.
Still, the slight flashes mirrored by her twin blades caught his eye. The moon was high, and the glare off those weapons was distracting, flickers like the tiluca— the torchflies, skimming the air, reflecting off the walls of the room, disturbing his private musing. He returned to the opening, judging her actions—their last encounter had made her visibly less willing to… interact with him.
There was no hesitance in her movements, though she remained determined to destroy the wooden targets she herself had set up only three mornings ago.
There was need to break this mutual avoidance. He grasped the blades, but not the armor. There was need to find out more about the Warden, and perhaps, her place within the Qun.
xOxOx
The rivulets that ran down her skin were an indication of how humid the climate was in these parts. She barely broke a sweat before midday while in Orlais, but here—her clothes were never dry at night. At least while the sun was up, the moisture evaporated. Now, she had to be content with being perpetually damp.
It took awhile, but she finally got the rhythm of her steps back, her footing stable, her thoughts somewhat clean, and her calmness returned. All that mattered was her breathing, even little puffs, regular and in sync with her movements.
Slice, stab, turn. Zevran had once commented on how much like a dance her style of fighting was—though she disagreed. She knew next to nothing about dancing, and was even less conscious about the way she fought. This—was not for fun. Each twist of her wrist and slight shift of her weight was targeted to maim and kill. Very assassin-like, yes? There is more in common between us than you think, he would say, with the dratted wink that spoke volumes.
She snorted, almost losing her balance, coming to a stumbling halt before she would ram face-first into the stickmen (men made of bound-together sticks).
A disapproving hum came from behind her, and she straightened immediately. One did not simply look like an utter fool in front of the arishok— and Kiera was aware that she had very nearly mooned him. After their last conversation, she wished that she was wearing more clothes. At the very least, her leathers. And maybe her platemail. Also, that scarf Wynne had knitted.
"Evening—nice…weather." she began, before faltering. What did people say in situations like this? This was going to be agonizing.
The calm stare that greeted those words did not help.
At length, the arishok's gravelly tone was heard. "Is it a custom in your lands to state the obvious?"
Kiera winced. This was not going well. She took a deep breath, and tried again.
"Yes, apparently. Would you like to spar?" There was simply no escaping another night spent like this, and it was good exercise.
A nod settled it, and the leader of the Antaam slipped into a stance. There was something very different about him today, thought Kiera, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
It was only when he moved, so lightning-quick, and Kiera barely managing to defend herself in response when it finally hit her. He was not wearing any armor. He had a very impressive, very defined torso—and shoulders that were far broader than Sten's. She gulped.
xOxOx
For many hours after, the kadan's words still echoed. "Relatively." It was disturbing, and very distracting. For many hours after that dialogue, he remained haunted, unable to function, beyond an disinterested attempt at going through the daily motions. Sten wished that the subject had not come up in the first place—for the Qunari—there was no comparison of this "pleasantness". One felt content, at peace, within the Qun.
No excessive emotions or feelings were necessary. Or expected.
He knew that he had to rid himself of this burning obsession—though he knew not how. Curiosity was not something he has had to deal with for a long time. The satisfaction of an unknown in the Qun was always to seek knowledge.
Perhaps it was to be so. Perhaps the only way to…satiate this sensation was to fulfil it.
His footsteps were much more rapid—he knew that she was not likely to be asleep. The compounds would be empty, and though he could not ask her for such a thing, perhaps she would speak of it.
Perhaps just hearing the lurid details might make the act distasteful enough, to satisfy this yen. Her kind did seem to enjoy regaling others in a similar fashion, though the elf had to be an extreme example of such depravity.
The sound of metal on metal was not unfamiliar to his ears, though not something one would expect at this time of the night. Was the kadan sparring with another? It was very unlike her.
He came to a halt as he saw the sight—plain— even from beyond the outermost fringe of the courtyard—a desperate battle being fought, and all the kadan seemed capable of was delivering glancing blows, though a valiant enough attempt as it were. She was most definitely, losing.
Sten continued watching, his arms crossing with a definite interest. This qunari was an excellent warrior, though there were no clues as to who he was, from this distance.
The bulk and speed of the qunari was a definite edge over his kadan—Sten knew. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, she slipped out from where he had her trapped, his momentum continued to bear down on where she was no longer. A grim look plastered on her face, the dampened tendrils of her fair hair clinging to her forehead—and the kadan forced the entirety of her weight (as insignificant as it was), focused in her angled shoulder, driven into the qunari's abdomen.
It was over.
By far a remarkable display—the first takedown Sten had ever seen demonstrated by the kadan.
The sharp edge of both blades trapped the qunari's neck, and the kadan seemed unusually elated at her victory.
She released her opponent with a smile, her voice bearing the barest hints of her exhaustion. "I believe I win this round, arishok."
Most incredible.
P.S.: Everyone gets a somewhat equal say in this- and I did promise that it'd be longer xD
Here's to hoping the rest of them will be equally substantial (for this series) *heh* Thanks for reading, reviewing, subscribing!