46: For the Glory! (Part I)
"Victory is fleeting.
Losing is forever."
-Billie Jean King
It started innocently enough.
They had all been exiting the cave, the stone walls sweating moisture, sea spray soaking the stacked pillars of rock leading the way down to the pebbly shore. There was nary a break in the grey that blanketed the horizon.
"Another storm approaches. It would be best if we made our way back to the camp," Solas observed, directing his gaze over the sea.
"Right. Because I would hate to get wet!" Varric complained, wringing out the hem of his tunic.
"You should have worn something more practical," Bull offered. "It is called the Storm Coast, after all."
"I hardly think you should be dispensing fashion advice," he quipped back, shooting Bull's purple and green striped pantaloons an indignant glance.
"They might not be much to look at, but they are very comfortable. Things stay loose and well ventilated- Well...Most of the time," Bull began, peering down at the deflated pants, weighed down with water.
"Let's head back up- we'll hit the camp in about two and half miles," Evelyn pointed to the steep hill rising before them.
They all groaned mildly. Blackwall led the way, seeking out a trail that would be less inclement to trek up.
"You know, I'm surprised Dorian hasn't done something about those pants yet," Varric teased as they began their climb.
"He tried," Bull stated.
"Really?" Evelyn interjected, surprised.
"And?" Varric goaded him.
"When Dorian told me to get rid of these pants, I did," Bull began.
"What do you mean?" Solas asked confusedly.
"Just that: he said, 'You really should wear something that doesn't look ransacked off a court jester—do get rid of those,' and I said, 'You are asking me to take off my pants? Right away.'" Bull shrugged. "So I dropped them down right there. We were standing in the middle of the courtyard in Skyhold."
"No!" Varric cried delightedly.
"Then he began yelling for me to put them back on, so I did. And that was the end of that," Bull smiled smugly as Evelyn and Varric laughed. Even Solas grinned.
Only Blackwall remained silent, never staring back, only marching forward.
Evelyn watched him negotiate the next climb over a pile of loose rocks, his hands seeking purchase on a ledge past a boulder before he hauled himself up and across the top. She furrowed her brows.
"It's slippery," Solas cautioned, turning back to them, heavy droplets of rain beginning to splash on the dirt trail.
"What's up with Hero?" Varric said softly, tilting his head towards Blackwall.
"Cassandra," Evelyn whispered back, waiting for Bull to finish climbing. "They had a bit of a nasty exchange back at Skyhold before we left."
"You mean he tried to be helpful-"
"-And she shut him down. Yes," Evelyn nodded.
"I should let him know, 'She glares because she cares,'" he winked.
Evelyn smirked.
"It's true!" Varric eyes grew wide. "I speak from personal experience!"
He rested Bianca over his shoulder and followed Evelyn over the first row of rocks.
They rejoined the others at the top of the hill, the terrain finally flatter. They continued conversing among each other, the lightheartedness gradually giving way to the missives they had intercepted and the gloomy portents they contained. Blackwall, however, remained steadfast in his silence.
In the distance, despite the rain that had begun to fall in earnest, they could glimpse the golden glint of the Inquisition's banner indicating a path below. A patrol wearing the deep blue of the Blades of Hessarian flanked them as they reached the main road.
"Go ahead," the Inquisitor waved them on. "Let them know we are arriving," she instructed.
"I hope they have a good fire going for us," Varric shivered.
"And something hot to eat," Solas added.
Evelyn nodded in approval.
"I could go for a little firewater myself," Bull added.
Blackwall said nothing.
Varric exhaled heavily.
"All right, Hero, what do we talk about?" he called out.
They watched as the burly dark haired figure finally stopped and turned to face them.
"What do you mean?" he asked sullenly.
"You don't want talk about yourself, I can respect that. So what do we talk about, then?"
An uncomfortable silence befell the group as they finally caught up with him as he stood before the bend in the road that would lead them to the Blades of Hessarian's fortress. He appeared lost in thought for a moment before stating:
"I don't suppose you follow jousting?" he asked casually.
"I'm a Free Marcher, remember? We invented jousting!" Varric exclaimed enthusiastically.
"That's not actually true, you know," Blackwell said skeptically as they crossed the gates.
"It is! Before us, no one ever thought to push people off things with large sticks. Historical fact!" Varric stated, raising a finger into the air.
"Well, are we referring to real jousting? We are referring to Stechen, right? Not that prancing around you Kirkwallers like so much?" Blackwall said spiritedly.
Varric reeled around, as Solas and Bull stared in surprise.
"You are way off your mark. I'll have you know Rennen takes skill and finesse, things you folks from Markham lack…"
It was downhill from there.
The rain pummeled the roof of the main cabin in the fortress, the drumming sound so vigorous it drowned out conversation until it gradually tapered off to a lighter pelting. Lightning flashed unpleasantly close by. They sat around the large fireplace, Evelyn having eschewed the formality of a dining table earlier, much to the Inquisition liaison's chagrin.
"I was hoping to instill some sense of decorum and occasion in these backwater dwellers," the woman sniffed, confiding in her as she eyed the trophy heads of mountain rams around the room contemptuously. An earthy, steamy scent drifted from another corner of the room, where a few wet Mabari had sought shelter from the rain. The beasts had spread themselves comfortably over the ground, some twitching and making whining sounds as they slept soundly.
Fereldans do love their Mabaris, Evelyn grinned discreetly, sympathizing briefly with her harried representative.
"Another time, perhaps," she replied, amused, making a mental note to send Dorian and Vivienne there in the future; the woman would regret it deeply, she was sure. Since she had rejoined her party, after changing into a dry set of clothes and settling beside them with her heavy bowl of...she dared not ask, lest she lose her appetite...she had heard nothing else but talk about jousting, with Varric and Blackwall trying to one up each other with their knowledge of the sport... and boasting.
"I've been informed my grasp of jousting is sorely lacking," Solas greeted her with a miffed air.
"You listen to me, Chuckles, and you'll learn all you need to know," Varric pat his arm reassuringly as he rose to fetch another bowl of food.
"So is mine, apparently. And get this: I was being sarcastic about it and they didn't even care," Bull grumbled. "This fort doesn't have enough booze to make it better," he joked, swilling his almost empty flask.
"All right!" Blackwall resumed, once Varric returned, livelier than she had seen him in a while. "Greatest knight in history... My money's on Lady Honorine Chastaine," he mused, rubbing his beard. "No one's ever come close to unhorsing more riders than her. I've seen her joust live, and I have to tell you, up close, she has magnificent... technique," he concluded.
"Her victory in the grand tourney of Tantervale is pretty legendary," Varric conceded, " but I'd have to go with Revata. Winning three consecutive grand tourneys! Who does that?"
He turned to Evelyn, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"Hey, you know they're holding a grand tourney in Markham soon. I think we should all go. Inquisition road trip!" he cheered.
"There's got to be... trouble or something up near Markham," Blackwall cast her a beckoning glance.
" No," Evelyn quickly replied, spooning food into her mouth.
"I'll talk to Josephine, I bet she could pull some strings," Varric said encouragingly.
"I would like to see Lady Chastaine win again in person..." Blackwell sighed.
"You mean watch Revata shove her ass off a horse," Varric smirked provocatively.
They barely noticed Evelyn spooning food into her mouth faster.
"Why did you say 'no' so quickly, may I ask?" Varric turned to her again.
"These grand tourneys are great fun," Blackwall added.
"It would give us a much needed opportunity to unwind," Varric went on.
"I do admit, I am intrigued," Solas stated, setting his bowl aside.
"Winning while barely clinging to your horse may count, but it's not exactly the stuff of legends, is it?" Blackwall insisted.
"That," Varric said gravely, tapping the ground with his finger, "depends entirely on who's writing the legend, Hero."
Blackwall puffed loudly.
"You can't really think Revata is a better knight than Honorine Chastaine? Her record's flawless. Four hundred jousts, never unseated, no one's ever come close to it!"
"Oh, she's easily the most skilled. That's a fact. It's just... scrappy is better than flawless. I like heroes who try their damnedest, even if they fail a lot. It's easy to be valiant when you always win and everything goes your way. There's nothing great in that," Varric leaned in.
He turned again to Evelyn, whose face had turned completely red.
"Won't you reconsider? I'd be glad to explain the rules to you," Varric offered.
"And I'd be happy to correct Varric's explanations," Blackwall quickly followed.
"What is there to explain about the statement 'Revata is the best?'" Varric asked perplexedly.
"Simple, my friend: it is grossly inaccurate. You mean Honorine-"
Evelyn slammed down her bowl, startling their entire group.
"Enough, the two of you!" she complained. "This is getting out of hand!"
They all fell silent under Evelyn's unexpected outburst.
"The two of you are behaving in a most unbecoming manner," she chastised them. Blackwall's expression clouded and Varric's eyebrows arched up. "Revata, Honorine..." she shook her head. "Listen to the two of you carry on so foolishly..." her voice trailed off.
Varric cleared his throat and Blackwall nodded slowly.
"I'm very sorry-"
"Anyone with an OUNCE of common sense," Evelyn interrupted, incensed, "knows that if there is anyone with the skill and heart to win the grand tourney, it is good Ser Brigid, of Ostwick!" she cried out.
She was drowned out by Varric and Blackwall's loud scoffing and derisive dismissals.
"Since when has Ostwick produced any worthy jousting champions?"
"To be fair, it is quite spectacular watching Ser Brigid joust," Blackwall stated, raising his hands in a conciliatory manner.
Varric grimaced.
"Did you take too many knocks to the head? What are you talking about?"
"He speaks the truth," Evelyn said with satisfaction.
"How often do you get to witness an ass riding a horse?" Blackwall deadpanned.
Varric roared with laughter.
"Good one! Good one!"
"Well, aren't we clever! Give someone from Markham a broomstick and he thinks he can joust!" Evelyn said indignantly.
"To beat Ser Brigid, that's all it takes. I don't think she's ranked in the top ten in several tourneys..." Varric added.
"She was injured a few months back, but she'll be back."
"She'll be knocked on her back, you mean," Blackwall said slyly.
"I have to say, Inquisitor, I never knew you were such a jousting fan..."
"She can't be, if she's rooting for Ser Brigid!" Blackwall teased.
"Could be worse, could be worse..." Varric said in an appeasing tone. "She could be rooting for Chevalier de Mirabeau."
All three groaned.
"Do you know who is the worst, though?" Blackwall went on. "That masked jackass from Antiva-"
"Gaetano Scarandello!" both Varric and Evelyn cried out.
"He'd do better starring in the horse and pony show at the fair..." Blackwall grumbled."He makes a mockery of the sport with all that buffoonery. Those stupid capes, all the nonsense with the flowers... blowing kisses to the audience… I'd be ashamed to support his banner," he stated crossly.
" Don't you just want to slap him around when he goes, 'Today, you have a date, a date with destiny!-Mark my words!'?" Evelyn declaimed loudly, in a mocking tone, as both Varric and Blackwall cackled.
Solas glanced at Bull with alarm. Bull shrugged and quickly tilted his flask back.
A/N: Some dialogue from game-the jousting stuff, the Inquisition road trip, Lady Chastaine and her generous...attributes, and Revata are all from Varric and Blackwall's little exchange. When Varric mentioned road trip, I knew I had to do something about it.
Sorry for the absence of updates. It's been busy. But this fic is not abandoned. Writing is still cheaper than therapy. ;-)