48: For the Glory (Part III)
"Sports is human life in microcosm."
~ Howard Cosell
Cole's eyes examined the crowd slowly filling the stands.
"The storm rages, blustering, bruised heart, destruction… destruction, utter and complete, the only thing that will appease the anger that burns—" he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a specific section of the stands.
Varric turned his head.
"Who is thinking that?"
Cole pointed a few rows down.
"That little boy over there. He was devastated when Ser Elsmoore was defeated at the last tourney."
"Pff. He'd better get used to it," Varric snickered. "Nice seats, huh?" he leaned to the side, addressing Dorian.
"Our own box! I'm very impressed!" Dorian nodded with approval.
"Will Josephine, Cassandra, and the Inquisitor be joining us, Cullen?" Solas wondered.
"Shortly before the tourney begins. They're meeting with the Council—along with some other dignitaries," Cullen responded, his eyes drawn frequently to the large curtained box overlooking the jousting field where Markham's Council and their party would be seated during the event.
"Cassandra is on it—stop worrying and enjoy yourself." Varric shoved a cone-shaped parchment in his face. "Roasted peanuts?"
Cullen swatted the cone away .
"I wish they'd hurry," Blackwall sympathized, the seat next to him conspicuously empty.
"Isn't it lovely to see people coming together peacefully to celebrate and cheer for riders ramming sticks into each other? Such a delightful paradox, you Marchers," Dorian said cheerfully.
"Do you not have anything comparable in Tevinter?" Solas wondered.
"Absolutely: every single social event hosted by my mother…" Dorian mused.
Varric wiped his fingers over his trousers.
"Blackwall, do you have the program?"
"Things won't become interesting until the second round of matches. First will be just—"
"Demonstrations…I KNOW that," Varric sulked, reaching for the program as Blackwall smirked.
Trumpets sounded from the opposite end of the field and Cullen cast yet another concerned glance at the Council's box.
"What happens now?" Solas asked, looking around interestedly at people gradually settling in their seats.
"Traditionally, all the competitors ride out and greet the crowd, pay their respects to any powerful personages at the tourney, and ride off to prepare for their matches. There is usually a demonstration to warm up the crowd and go over the rules," Varric began.
"Are there many rules? Isn't a match won after one of the jousters ousts the other from her or his horse?" Solas pressed on.
Varric and Blackwall exchanged commiserating glances.
"Just pay attention, Chuckles. You'll see."
"In my thoughts, but not here, where does she tarry, can she not have a moment of détente?" Cole recited.
Both Cullen and Blackwall interjected loudly at the same time, urging Cole to stop.
"Oh, that was you?" Cullen stated to Blackwall sheepishly.
"I thought he was prying once more in my…"Blackwall began. "Nevermind."
Another set of trumpets boomed overhead just as their box's curtains stirred and Evelyn emerged, making her way to the seat by Cullen, followed closely by Josephine and finally Cassandra.
"Did we miss anything?" Josephine asked excitedly, squeezing past the front row to sit beside Blackwall.
Blackwall stood up gallantly awaiting her as she made her way.
"Down in front," Bull complained.
"Did we miss the introductions?" Evelyn wondered, surveying the course.
"Not yet," Cullen assured her. "They're going to introduce the jousters any moment now."
Evelyn glanced behind her towards Cassandra, sitting between Varric and Dorian.
"I thought for sure we were going to miss the introductions. It felt like the Councilors wouldn't stop talking even after the trumpets sounded," Evelyn confided.
"At what point did you stop paying attention?" Cassandra asked wryly.
"Was it obvious?' Evelyn winced.
"Well, you were nodding to everything they were saying once the trumpets sounded. I hope you are aware that you agreed to a celebratory dinner after today's tourney," Cassandra warned her.
Ribbing laughter erupted and Evelyn pursed her lips.
"Tarnation," she huffed. "Cullen…would you mind?... accompanying me?..."
"It'll be my pleasure to escort you," he offered graciously. "I would not dream of leaving your side after Ser Brigid's defeat …" he teased.
Evelyn turned indignantly to face him, but just then another set of trumpets blasted loudly and the crowd began to cheer.
They all leaned forward to watch the procession of riders in elegant armor, mounted on horses clad in their cities' colors. A low dust cloud rose from the dirt ground as hooves stomped down the long course, the riders steering their horses past the stands slowly, reveling in the applause and cheers from the crowd. At the front of the procession were various competitors from the Marches. Both Varric and Blackwall clapped vigorously, nodding encouragingly. Cole imitated them, giddily, watching Varric closely for his cues. As Revata passed before their box, as part of Kirkwall's cortege, Varric stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, causing Cassandra to glare at him. Following Kirkwall was Ostwick, and as the jousters approached the stands, Josephine leaned towards Evelyn.
"Inquisitor, please remember that a strong show of favor might be misinterpreted," she cautioned.
Evelyn's eyes were riveted to Ostwick's delegation and Josephine cast a nervous glance to Cullen and Cassandra. To her relief, though, as the jousters passed the box, offering the Inquisitor a polite salute, Evelyn merely clapped and nodded in recognition.
That is, until Ser Brigid, who was holding the rear, rode past the box.
"Hurrah, Ser Brigid!" Evelyn cried out excitedly, leaping to her feet. "For Ostwick!" she cheered at the top of her lungs.
At the sight of the Inquisitor exalting herself, a stunned quiet descended over the stands. Later on, Bull would point out that Josephine all but stopped breathing during the few moments of flustered silence. Evelyn, cognizant of her faux-pas, clapped with more restraint under the scrutiny of the observant crowd.
"Thank you, your Worship!" Ser Brigid beamed, drawing her fist over her chest proudly.
The spell was broken and the crowd roared, cheering and clapping at both the Inquisitor and her favored jousting champion. Evelyn waved a few more times and sought her seat afterwards, a frozen smile over her lips. She peered over at Josephine apologetically.
Josephine pretended to focus very intently on her program.
"Next: jousting tourney damage control…" she mumbled peevishly.
"The crowd seemed to like it," Varric shrugged.
"Makes the boss seem more relatable," Bull explained. "One of them."
"Yes. Just like them. Except with the power to tear open the Fade and close rifts." Dorian twirled the point of his moustache.
Cullen grinned discreetly, speaking to her without averting his eyes from the riders parading past them.
"And how is it that a Circle mage is such a jousting fan? I can't imagine the Circle allowed you to attend matches and tourneys."
She leaned in closer to Cullen, watching the spectacle just as absorbedly.
"Don't forget I am noble-born," she muttered. "I was allowed the occasional outing with my family. And we often attended tourneys," she explained. "I can't help but think of jousting as something cheerful, and festive…At least for me…I think of jousting and I think of…freedom. It is filled with happy memories."
"Are there any elvhen jousters?" Solas interrupted.
"No," Cassandra replied. "Unfortunately, jousting is an expensive sport. One needs to be able to pay for the equipment, gear, upkeep of the horses, all the fees associated with entering the competitions, traveling…" She waved her hand on. "Only the well-born and those who secure patrons can afford to participate in the sport."
"That's a shame," Solas concluded.
"Perhaps you can sponsor Sera," Dorian quipped. "Can you see her riding down the course, shooting her arrows from a horse?" he teased.
"The objective isn't to murder your opponents, Dorian," Bull remarked.
"Then I am afraid you'll never recruit Sera, Solas," Dorian concluded. "It's a doomed endeavor. Think of it no further," he sighed affectedly.
They were all cut off by a sudden roar of approval as the Nevarran delegation entered and Cassandra began to clap enthusiastically.
"Go Nevarra!" she cried out, causing Varric to lean away from her bewilderedly. "May good fortune favor you, Isaure Pentaghast!" she yelled.
A stern-faced woman with a cropped cut and a braid crown pinned into her hair stared back and nodded approvingly.
"Maferath's balls," Varric stammered. "There are more of her?" he gulped, pointing at Cassandra. "Is that your sister?" he puzzled.
Cassandra shook her head distractedly.
"Cousin—thrice removed," she explained. "Go Philippa Pentaghast!" she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. They all glanced at the next rider in the Nevarra delegation and she, too, was a tall, athletic brunette, with short hair and a braid crown. "Go Sophine Pentaghast!" she continued.
Varric faced them all with a panicked expression.
"I am never, ever, setting foot in Nevarra," he declared.
"Must be something in the water," Dorian decided, flipping his program around. "This would be far more exciting if everyone competing were shirtless."
"And pantless," Bull added.
Dorian grinned approvingly.
"Yes! And, if that were the case, we could dispense with the jousting altogether!"
He and Bull shared a sly chuckle.
They were subsequently distracted by a small commotion from the course, where a large hoop, papered in what looked like gold parchment was erected between the stands, right where the riders had been emerging from. They all looked around in confusion as the trumpets blasted again and the band led a tight drumroll. The audience watched the large hoop expectantly, whispering and pointing. As the drumroll died down, a gust of smoke erupted and a cloud of doves fluttered into the sky. The parchment sealing the circle tore as a masked rider in resplendent gold armor burst through it. High-pitched shrieks and cries resonated all around them as the crowd went mad for the dapper jouster who paraded slowly around the course, both hands in the air, beckoning the crowd for more adulation and cheers. In a question of seconds, roses littered the course, tossed by adoring fans, something that was undoubtedly making the field master, who waited aside at the end of the course, sulk openly.
"Scarandello!" resounded the many cheers.
The air shimmered with confetti released from the higher levels of the stands. Josephine smiled delightedly, clasping her hands together with excitement.
"Dai, bel Gaetano!" she shouted in her native Antivan. "It's the jouster from Antiva!" she announced, turning to look at all of them gleefully, failing to notice how Blackwall was shifting uncomfortably in his seat and tilting his head from side to side in exasperation.
"Isn't he wonderful!" she gushed to him.
The flamboyant rider stopped halfway down the course and dismounted his horse, swishing his dazzling cape embroidered with golden thread back and forth with great pomp.
"Good people of Markham!" the man began in that melodious accent, turning to and fro to address the spectators.
"Here it comes…" Varric groaned.
"Today," he began theatrically, "you have a date!"
More hysterical cries of 'Scarandello!' filled the air. He basked in the attention, delaying his speech to allow the commotion to die down.
"A date!" he announced. "With destiny!" his voice thundered dramatically.
Josephine cheered and clapped with unrestrained joy.
"So much for not displaying favoritism," Cassandra joked.
Josephine waved her off.
"If I am going to be on damage control, I might as well make it worth my while," she stated between her teeth.
Scarandello then shrewdly cast an exaggerated glance of amazement towards their box.
"Ah, shit," Varric groaned.
Blackwall looked over his shoulder at them with a completely mortified expression.
The Antivan scampered forward, pausing calculatedly before their box, and with a florid courtly bow, flapped his cape aside to magically reveal a small bouquet of scarlet roses clenched in his fist. He extended a rose to Evelyn, one to Cassandra, and finally one to Josephine. When she assailed him with compliments in Antivan, he could barely contain himself with pride, bowing and finally taking her hand between his before daintily kissing it.
"Did Blackwall's beard spontaneously combust yet?" Varric chuckled.
Josephine giggled coyly, terribly amused by the man's antics and flattering display.
He backed away with a hammy grin, blowing affected kisses to her as Blackwall turned a deep shade of crimson.
Before going any further, however, Gaetano Scarandello's eyes alighted upon Blackwall, who had been staring at him so intently. The man's eyebrow sprung up flirtatiously and he flashed him his brightest smile, blowing him a saucy little kiss followed by a wink.
Cole began to channel.
"He loves them manly, their hair lush and thick, the coarse tickle of a beard so arousing when it's nesting between his—"
"Hey, Kid! Have some of this chewy taffy!" Varric quickly thrust a tablet of gooey candy in Cole's mouth.
"I knew it," Bull remarked with satisfaction, watching the Antivan conclude his triumphant introduction.
Dorian, leafing through the program, didn't even look up.
"Oh, please. What gave it away?" he mumbled uninterestedly.
Josephine turned to Blackwall feigning jealousy.
"It seems you caught Scarandello's eye more than I!" she teased. "Lucky you!" she laughed. "You just dashed the hopes of all the damsels at this tourney."
As she proceeded to wave and cheer good-naturedly, Blackwall snuck a backwards glance at them exhibiting utter defeat.
Even Cassandra was having a difficult time keeping a straight face.
A delegation of several cities from Rivain marched past them until it was the hosting city's turn to parade. The crowd's renewed enthusiasm soared when Markham's heroes emerged on the course. Fronting them was none other than Lady Honorine Chastaine. At the sight of her...and her generous physique, Evelyn's eyes widened and she crossed her arms, a mildly miffed look on her face as she examined Cullen's restrained cheering.
"Really, Ser Rutherford," she reproached him.
"I'm amazed she can balance herself on a horse at all," Dorian marveled. "Do they give awards for that?"
"That's just her armor, right? Those can't be real," Bull noted. "Can they?" he puzzled.
Blackwall cleared his throat as he noticed Josephine gaping.
"Oh, come now. Lady Chastaine has proven her valor time and again. She is the best jouster in Thedas."
"I'm surprised you even noticed," Dorian sniffed.
"You aren't helping right now," Cullen grumbled back.
Dorian addressed Varric.
"I have to admit, this outing was a splendid idea! Entertainment everywhere!"
They all fell silent as the jousters from Markham halted before their box.
Lady Honorine bowed respectfully and addressed the Inquisitor.
"Your Worship, you pay us an immense honor by gracing our tourney with your presence. May this afternoon bring you a moment of détente. It is the very least we can offer you, in our deepest gratitude, for all the good you have done for the people of Thedas," she completed eloquently.
Evelyn blinked back in surprise.
"I…Well…Thank you, Lady Chastaine. And…Markham," she smiled, genuinely touched.
The riders bowed in unison.
"Today we joust for Markham…and the Inquisition!" Lady Chastaine announced under a shower of applause. As the riders turned around, they noticed all the jousters from Markham were wearing arm bands with the Inquisition's heraldry.
Evelyn remained in dumbfounded silence as they rode away.
"Maker…" she whispered.
"Very elegant of them," Josephine added, impressed.
"They actually are very honored you are here," Cassandra seconded. "The Council has even said so."
"And here I was behaving so juvenilely and disparaging her. I feel like a huge ass," Evelyn said contritely.
"Fits the theme: huge ass, big ti—" Bull began to state.
"Do you need some chewy taffy, too, Bull?" Varric asked threateningly.
The first round of jousting began, with riders aligning in opposite ends of the tilt, hoisting their lances and preparing to charge. Voices died down and all eyes watched expectantly.
The sun had begun to set by the time the last match was fought. Lady Chastaine emerged victorious, as expected, and Evelyn found herself unable to begrudge the woman, since she dedicated her victory to the Inquisition. Ser Brigid did not finish among the top five winners, but she finished high enough to qualify for another tourney Evelyn was already lamenting they would not be able to attend. Varric had waxed long and admiringly on Revata's resilience and determination as she finished third, after some arduous and highly suspenseful matches. During one of the intermissions, Solas tried to catch the field hand's eye to participate in one of the ring-tilt competitions for the spectators; he was not chosen, he suspected, because he was an elf. Cassandra maintained, however, that it was because he merely waved his arm while remaining seated while other would-be contestants almost hurled themselves over the stands for a chance to participate. To everyone's surprise, Philippa Pentaghast upset Isaure Pentaghast's bid for the championship and they placed second and forth, respectively…although they weren't quite sure of the results until the awards ceremony; it was difficult telling them apart. Scarandello, alas, was disqualified before the tourney came to a close, but had succeeded in perpetrating the greatest coup for publicity that day: he'd hurled himself from his horse, across the tilt, to knock down an opponent onto the ground after taking umbrage to some mockery. The crowd went delirious and chanted his name for a solid ten minutes afterwards, as the judges confabulated, walked up and down the course list, and finally decreed the match void due to misconduct on Scarandello's part and unsportsmanlike behavior on the behalf of both jousters. Scarandello held the crowd in thrall as they cheered supportively on his behalf and booed derisively against his opponent.
Blackwall did not mind for one instant: Josephine had taken his arm and rested her head on his shoulder for consolation, seeking to commiserate with him on poor Scarandello's misfortune.
If only the moment had lasted longer, Blackwall would reminisce tenderly later on.
Cole stared out from the box as the crowds slowly dispersed among laughter and conversation, and the stands grew vacant. Only the surly cleaning crews remained, sweeping past the many aisles, and the field master ordered his helpers to pat down and level the course once more.
"Well," Varric stretched stiffly. "What do you think, Kid? Did you enjoy your first jousting tourney?"
"Yes," Cole asserted.
"Pretty exciting, isn't it?" Varric shared conspiratorially. "When all this…Corypheus crap is over, I hope to be doing this a whole lot more," he stated. He waved to Solas, who had begun to climb the steps to the exit. "Meet you outside—we're heading back to the inn, too," he called out. He checked on Cole, who was still admiring the quiet stands. "So which match did you enjoy the most?"
Cole looked at him with a surprised expression.
"Match?" he wondered.
Varric rolled his eyes.
"Don't tell me…"
"I liked watching the people more," he confessed.
"Hmm," Varric finally nodded. "It's true," he concurred. "Sometimes I like watching the people instead, too. It gives me ideas for my serials. I see an interesting face, or an intriguing conversation unfolding, or an improbable couple…and before I know it, I've got a new story to tell."
"It's funny," Cole continued, "how everyone seems to think they know how jousters could have had a better match, what would have led to victory," he revealed.
Varric smirked.
"Yeah…everyone's an expert…even though the majority can't even hold a lance properly."
Varric cast a longing look at the course as they began to head towards the exit.
Beyond those walls myriad summons and problems awaited them all. The future, how everything would turn out, was something of an unknown at that juncture, he surmised. But all of that was something to ponder tomorrow, he realized, with a satisfied, hazy smile, the air refreshingly cool and the sky starry.
"So many problems, and hurts, and complaints…but when people are here…they are lighter, they forget—they cast aside the things that weigh upon them. And all the feelings—such a rush of excitement, and suspense, and heartache…but at the end there is mostly… joy," Cole explained.
"Ah…that's right. It's the stuff of good memories, Kid," Varric sighed knowingly, patting his arm gently as they climbed up the steps.