**** Updated with some error correction and clarification. ****
Warning, this is not a mature audience story but it does touch on mature themes.
The Morning Brings Changes
Good Mornings
John woke earlier than he expected. Sleeping in Haven was more challenging than anywhere he had ever been; it was harder to get some decent rest than he thought possible. Probably it was something to do with the change in diets and constant wood smoke, he supposed. Although his allergies were not as bad as when he was a kid, he figured that they were the cause of his restless nights.
Today - now today - was different. For the first time since coming to Thedas, John felt, well for lack of a better word – good, really good! He would have said great, except he would have to fight a giant horned monstrosity made of nothing but rock-hard bone and muscle. Other than that, life was marvelous! He dressed and headed down the spiral staircase.
He did feel tremendous and admired the clean, fresh timber around him; there was just a hint of smoke in the air of the first-floor great room. Bedrolls and hammocks were gone; he wondered when they had all gone to sleep, the party was carrying on long after he went to bed.
He was exhausted most days and did not often feel rested on waking; he stopped 'Why? Why do I feel this way? Why does it seem so different?' Had it been so long that feeling good should seem strange?
Breakfast was excellent, there was some bacon, he tried not to think of what animal it came from, but it was bacon! Eggs, something that looked like potatoes, well only resembled, he had never asked what they were, given what people eat here, he was not sure he wanted to know. Then there was freshly baked bread and new butter!
If he did not have to fight that Qunari at noon, he would have gorged himself, but he came as close as he dared.
"Morning, John! Sleep well, or did you dream about being the Qunari's bed warmer for the rest of your life?" Eric thought this was somehow funny.
John let the comment slide. "I slept fine actually, the best night sleep since we got here." Besides, he thought Eric should spend a great deal more time at the bottom of the plank saw, they did not need the lumber, but maybe Flissa would like a lovely dance floor in the Maiden, a massive hand-planed and better yet, hand-sanded dance floor.
"I slept the best night since we got here also." Sam looked rested and a little concerned. "I wonder; I know that Rachelle has had terrible dreams since passing through the Crossroads." Sam decided not to elaborate; Rachelle's dreams had been at best disturbing, at worst horrifying. They certainly would have bought her a pleasant vacation stay in a psych ward back home, but since they did not have one at hand in Haven, they warranted a close eye.
"Hey, everyone." John shouted across the room to a chorus of "Hush!" and "Quiet, I have a headache."
"Sorry, sorry!" John loud whispered his question. "How did everyone sleep last night?"
"None of your business!" One of the young scientists responded she was sitting a little closer to Hollywood than decency should allow.
'How does that boy do it?' He cleared his throat, "No, I mean, how did you sleep. I have not slept well since we got to Haven, except being unconscious, but that doesn't count." Small laughter from the group.
"Best night ever." Were common responses, "Like a log!" was another with "Like the dead." It was the rarest response, but not uncommon.
"No dreams," was all that Rachelle would say as she stared down at the hot cereal she was not eating.
"Interesting; I wonder if we are adapting or something has changed." Sam wrote a note in her diary. Leliana had given her a beautiful leather-bound tome as a 'thank you gift' for decoding some ciphers with Rachelle's help. Sam and Rachelle had grown close, like mother and daughter.
The room resumed its quiet chattering, some trying to hold their heads, others whispering and snuggling; John noticed a kiss or two between couples. He hoped that hearts and heads would not get broken over that. With monsters and beasts all around them, he could not afford to lose people to a jealous rage. He also had limits on what he could do, and he knew it. Most of the time, he could help ease a broken heart, but now who knows. He supposed he would find out.
The morning passed quickly, more quickly than he would have liked.
The Inquisition troop's training yard had been cleared of obstacles, then swept clean. There were some significant preparations including stands; he thought Seggrit had moved a stall out near the practice ground. The booth had wears that looked like they had once been edible. Flissa had a stall there also, with large pitchers and mugs. She looked sheepishly at John; he reassured the young woman by smiling and giving her a wave. Her shoulders dropped, betraying the relief she felt, and her returned smile was genuine – she waved back and then returned to serving her customers.
John walked up to the Inquisition Commander, "So, Cullen, how does this work exactly?" John tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, given that he would be fighting for his life soon enough.
For his part, Cullen looked completely surprised at the question, then gratified that someone asked him about something rather than just telling him. "Well, since we are in Ferelden, tradition says that Ferelden rules apply; of course, the same is in Orlais, Tevinter, and the like." He waited a moment for an interjection. "Do they not have duels where you are from?" His question showed that he was incredulous at the thought that they might not, clearly dueling was a common way to resolve disputes.
"Well, yes and no. Of the kind, you are thinking, no. Those went out of fashion in my country a couple of hundred years ago. We do have another form, they are called divorces, and they are pretty one-sided. You, the guy, hold still, and she shoots you in the ass." John, laughed thinking it would lighten the mood. "Yeah, you have no idea what I am talking about, do you?"
"What is a divorce?" Cullen asked; he made a mental note to ask Mother Giselle about it later or Leliana? 'She always seemed to know about such things.'
"Forget it, Cullen, it was a bad joke even back home." John kicked a rock that had done nothing to him.
"So, how does this go?" John asked again, watching the soldiers line up in a large loose square, maybe sixty feet on aside.
"It is pretty simple, really; at the start, there will be sixty men with tower shields. They will form a square with fifteen men on aside." Cullen went on; John surveyed the scene, tower shields looked to be three feet wide, then abreast so forty-five feet per side.
"When the timer runs out of sand, I will ring a bell, and one man will drop out of the lines reducing the arena in turn. The timer is flipped, and the next round begins. When they are down to ten men on a side, then you fight till it is done." Cullen seemed to be explaining as if he were instructing a child.
"Do we rest at the end of each round or continue through?" John asked, wondering if this were like a heavyweight boxing match or a free for all.
Cullen looked at John as if he had suddenly become Qunari. "There is no stopping until the duel is done. Shrinking the ring size is to keep someone from running around all afternoon." He looked at John as if he thought that was precisely what John intended; to some degree, it was.
'So, it's a free for all.' John had guessed as much, but one can hope. He needed some time to get ready; his clothes would be too tight to move in. 'Thank you, Gliril! I am sorry that the clothes you gave me will need some work; I hope I can make it up to you.' He would head back to his room and dig out his little tailoring field kit.
"Thanks, Cullen; I need to go get dressed for this little dance." John turned to leave. Cullen was shaking his head. 'Well, somebody is in for a little surprise today. I sure hope it isn't me.'
In theater, you don't always have time to fix something properly. Still, you can't have stuff falling off you either; most of the guys carry some repair kits; Mariah had given him one early in their relationship; he always kept it filled with needles, thread, buttons, little scissors, and the like. Good enough to stitch up clothing or people as needed.
He looked at the small box; it still had a worn photo taken on their third date in Six Flags outside of Saint Louis. It was the first one outside the VA Hospital he was convalescing in after Walter Reed. 'I wonder how the old man got her transferred to Saint Louis. Why have I not thought about that before?' He continued to look at the photo; it had been a while since he had needed to stitch anything or anyone.
'She looked so happy,' he took out the seam puller, a needle and thread 'then again, so was I.' He put the box away.
He had time to finish his work, reinforce a seam here, pull a hem there, mostly in the joints like the elbow, knees, and underarms. It took him a little longer than he expected, but it kept him busy. So busy that he did not realize he had a visitor until he was finished and ready to put the sewing supplies away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape when he realized he was not alone.
"Gliril, what are you doing here?" John had jumped up and backward; she had scared him to death. "I am sorry, but you startled me."
"I am sorry, sir, I did not want to disturb you. I wanted to give you a gift. Please use it; Master Adan, gave it to me for you." Gliril held out in shaking hands a small vial of some liquid that John could not identify. "He says it will sustain you and help you remain strong."
"Isn't that cheating?" John looked suspiciously at the vial. He did not know which way Adan had bet for sure; if it were Siggret, he would not even have touched it.
"Ordinarily, yes, sir, but Adan said that his assistant sold at least one of these to that fat nug who poured water on you." Gliril spat the last out of her mouth. "He thinks that the Qunari will take the potion or have it given to him with lunch. He has been bragging about what he plans for you; he has a filthy mind. Flissa has been feeding him all morning, cakes, potatoes, many things. He will have lunch before the duel, says he will need the energy for bedding, you sir." Gliril blushed.
"Don't worry, Gliril. I will be fine." He took the vial, "Well, if he takes it, then I will."
"Master Adan says it works better when not diluted with other food or drink, and on a fasting stomach, it works much better." Gliril walked away quietly. She was ashamed of herself; she was unsure whether the Qunari took the potion, but she would lie to the Maker to keep John alive. Adan had told her about the assistant, but she could not remember him ever having an assistant who sold things.
"Thank you, Gliril; I appreciate your concern and your caring." John got up and walked the girl to the door. "I don't know what the traditions are here, but I would prefer you not to watch the duel. I want you to think of me this way, not how I will be there. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, sir, if you wish." Gliril turned to leave before she cried, but not before he kissed her on the forehead.
"You are a good girl; you are not responsible for any of this. Now go, your mistress will be back any day, and you have to make her cabin beautiful for her." John hugged her, then she went, not looking back.
He put the vial down on the table, "I will fight this one on my own, win lose or draw."
He wavered at first, "This isn't about me now, my pride; there are lots of people counting on me, but if we are going to have a chance to live here?" He glanced toward the door and the little elf girl who had just left, "This has to be about them." He emptied the vial – into his teacup, placed the saucer over it, and put it carefully away. He then placed the empty vial on the table for Gliril to find.
"You never cease to surprise me, Commander." The voice was behind him; he knew he had locked that door, yet Gliril had been in the room, now Leliana.
"Does anyone knock in this damned town!" His voice reflected no real heat.
"What can I do for you, Lady Cousland? I assume that you are here for a reason?" John watched the woman as she sat at his small table; he was always wary of turning his back to her, but she had somehow gotten into his room without his knowledge; he was pretty sure she could have killed him several times over. "Would you like some tea?" His grin made it clear he suspected she knew about him pouring the potion into his cup.
"That would be most kind, but you should be preparing, no?" She was trying to figure out why this man had done something so outlandish and suicidal as accepting the challenge of a Qunari to single combat. She knew well that the foreman was there for a bribe, a puppet for Roderick to embarrass the Inquisition.
Roderick did not care how the duel would end; he would try to turn it to his advantage regardless of the outcome. That was obvious; what eluded her was this man's real intentions. Was it merely an elaborate suicide? She could aid him much more effectively if that were his desire – no, that was not the answer. No one who had seen a Qunari could think that a fight with one was going to be enjoyable, and one who had not seen one fight? Clearly, he had seen the foreman; but just as clearly, he must have never seen one fight.
John nodded and started arranging the light clothing he had adjusted to fit. It would be much more flexible but would not hold together long when he started moving. If he were not careful, he would end up naked. He began to change clothing; Leliana showed no signs of leaving or turning around for that matter. Nudity was a common sight here; modesty clearly was less common. John noticed women and men bathing together out in the open for all to see — yet another adjustment.
"John, may I call you John?" Without waiting for his approval, she continued. "I know what you said last night, but you must know that we have only your best interests at heart. You were lost; we assumed you were responsible for our tragedy; it was too much a coincidence to find you all there so soon after the disaster. We acted rashly, without thought or reason, we have a debt to your people…"
John interrupted by holding up his hands. "Leliana, may I call you Leliana?" He gave her time to ascent, with a nod, she did. "I thank you for helping my people, but you and I both know that regardless of the good intentions that you are as interested in our weapons. I suspect that you can't stop wondering how four men could kill so many demons alone and without knowing anything about them," John turned to look directly at Leliana to make sure she saw his eyes, "and yet survive the attempt unscathed."
Down to his boxers and undershirt, he turned and sat across from the Left Hand. "You must wonder what impact our presence might have in the balance of power, whether we have some ulterior motives, and just how we might fit in when all this is over." With each point, he tapped the table.
"All of that feeds into one question, why I was willing to fight that muscled bound monster in hand to hand combat, even without using what he might have?" John gestured to the covered cup.
She did not answer, held his gaze, and nodded yet again. He had effectively encapsulated the war room debates. The debates had grown heated ever since the Herald had told them that these people were essential but would not explain why.
"To live here, however long that lasts, we have to cut our path, and that means proving ourselves. As a leader and the person challenged, if I back down, we lose face, look weak, and will forever be seen as baggage, little more than wayward children. No, I will prove that we are more than our weapons and more than baggage. That Qunari foreman is just a gigantic meat puppet; I want to know who is pulling his strings. Someone is playing a game, they have involved my people and I want to know who and why."
"Why not take the potion? It is merely a health draft to refresh you during the duel; my people monitored the entire affair." Leliana's eyes never wavered, as far as John could tell, never blinked. He was sure she could see right through him. "Why place it in your teacup? Leaving the empty vial?"
"It is simple, actually. First, I assumed that you and your people are watching us, but even if you did not know - I would. I will do this legit and honest, even if his side is not." John put on socks; he always started there.
"Second, I know that Gliril went to some trouble to get her hands on that vial, although I don't believe that Adan snuck it to her because he is betting against me, neither do I want her to think that it is unappreciated, for some reason she seems to like me and I will not disrespect her." John moved from the table to sit on the bed; his trousers went next, then his running shoes.
"Third, if it is a potion, it cost resources, and I doubt there are enough to go around now for the soldiers in the field, let alone go to waste on a stupid duel." John finally put on his shirt; the lacings were so strange for him, sort of like photos he had seen of his parents in their hippy days of the 1970s. He was looking out the small window at the snow-covered scene. Remembering the image made him think of home, the farmhouse, Mariah, and Sarah, sledding, snowball fights, ice skating, and cuddling in front of the fire. So long ago, so far away, so very painful.
John was finished dressing. Since being naked and lashed in the cells, he had found himself being protective of his modesty; he was careful not to embarrass himself by being nude in front of Leliana. He still had a few pairs of boxers and undershirts, he wore them almost religiously; Gliril had offered to make him more once they acquired better fabric. He wondered if he was starting a fashion trend given the number of people who had been interested in them on the laundry line. His socks were of far more interest, however.
He would have been interested to know that his nudity and that of his companions had been observed several times, detailed sketches of each scar and mark were made, and compared with scars and marks of Inquisition soldiers. Although many were common, several were unique. John Gray and his companions had seen their share of combat. Combat scars were at least recognizable; what troubled and confused them were the equally numerous scars they could not identify; several appeared as if he had been stitched like a garment. Some more carefully done than others, indeed forming the source of many discussions. The most energetic discussions involved body piercings and tattoos; the body piercings' placement was much discussed. The tattoos of animals and images were very colorful and exciting. Still, the real point of interest was the apparent letters around biceps, and across backs in no language anyone recognized. No one had thought to ask yet, but there would have to be a conversation at some point.
He walked to the open door, pausing only to turn and face Leliana with a genuine smile.
"If you will excuse me, I need to go deal with a little matter. Since the door is of no practical use, would you please see yourself out and close it when you leave?" John turned and walked out the door; it was nearly noon.
"Watch over him; he must fight this duel alone, but if someone attempts something, end them," Leliana said to the air.
"Yes, Lady Nightingale." The air responded.
"Oh, fix our little entrance. This man and his companions deserve some privacy." Leliana stopped at the door to close and lock it with her copy of the key.
Riding Through
"Cassandra, I don't have time for this!" Serrada had finished saddling her horse and was getting ready to ride. Her replacement mounts were tied behind the lead mount. She would not give this one a name, 'If you name them, you fall in love with them, I will not name them.'
She had tried to explain upon regaining consciousness, what she knew. She had difficulty finding the words, after all 'being dead' for several minutes can rattle a person. Being dead was less a surprise than it had been only minutes, it had seemed like hours.
'Hours wasted organizing things for Master Dennet and his wife, all useful but still. I needed horses for more than me, and I needed Dennet!' Thoughts raced through Serrada's mind.
"Cassandra, I have been trying to explain it to you since I woke up. We have to get back to Haven by noon tomorrow!" Serrada's frustration was growing; it was like continually riding in a circle and expecting the view to change.
"Whether you believe me or not, I believe the spirit, Commander Gray is going to fight a duel to defend the Inquisitions honor, and I must stop it; he will be killed." She had retightened a strap and buckle that were already tight.
"Herald, you must see that this is insane! We can not ride back to Haven so quickly! It is a hard two-day ride; we cannot hope to be back by the morrow noon." Cassandra was pleading now, something she was not used to doing. She told people, go here, and they went, come, and they come. This was insane. "You were seriously injured; you could be more seriously harmed than we know. Please see reason."
"I must agree." Solas was also finishing up with his mount, as was Varric beside him. "You do not know this spirit you spoke with; I know many, and not all are trustworthy."
The look on his face made Serrada wonder precisely who he did know. 'He had looked upset when I told him that she was Wisdom and she had been expecting him. Did Wisdom divulge something Solas would have preferred remain secret?' Yet one more thing to ponder.
"You were at death's door, perhaps past it. No one knows exactly how that will impact you." He was stowing his staff, a genuinely nice one they recently relieved from a rogue mage.
'She was not too happy with the loss, but she was still alive at least, unlike Tarra and Kara.' Serrada slapped a strap down a little hard, causing her mare to bring her head around and look at Serrada, 'Maybe Caramel?' She found herself stroking the nose of the horse, who snorted.
"How about you, Horse Master? Do you think I am insane as well?" Serrada hoisted herself onto her mount. To buy time, she very carefully checked the leads of her spare horses. 'Strawberry for the red one, and Chocolate for the black? Stop it, stop it, stop it! You're naming them!'
Once in the saddle, she drew a deep breath. 'How can I explain that I have to save this man, a man that I don't even know and have only met when he was unconscious? That sounds like nonsense even to me.' The silence was becoming awkward, but Master Dennet road to her rescue, in a way.
"I don't know you that well, lass, but I have been married long enough to know that look. When a woman has that look, a man has a better chance of getting the Maker to do his plowing than shifting her thinking. That is why I am acomin' with ya." He hoisted a pack on the back of his mount and a large bag of clinking flasks. "My Elaina was impressed with how you dealt with the wolves, and that little dwarf scout tickled her pink. Knew her as a child; she did grow up around here. Anyway, your people are building the watchtowers even as we pack. Elaina said 'help her' or threatened to make me sleep outside for a fortnight, and I am too old for that."
Cassandra could see she was losing the battle as Dennet's daughter Seanna brought horses for her as well, her gear already secured to the saddle. The smirk on the girl's face, 'I would love to wipe that smirk off, just a day in the barracks, and she would be whistling a different song.'
"Master Dennet, how would it be possible? Your horses can not go so far, so fast!" Cassandra knew she was grasping at straws.
"I know these hills, ridden them my whole life, and I know paths that only the rams know. I will get you there, and as far as my horses, my Elaina is a fair alchemist – now don't you go spreading that around, you hear? She is no mage, mind you. Elaina just has learned some things. She has given me leave to take from her private stock. I have enough to keep these horses on their hooves for days, and to make Haven my noon tomorrow, that I promise."
He turned his horses to follow, the Herald. Looking back at Cassandra and then Seanna, he shouted. "Tell your mother I love her and will send for her, and you if you can tear yourself away from that boy and those bloody races, once I am settled in."
"Get her away from her garden? Not likely! Love you, father, and I will give her your message." Seanna turned back to the house.
"Lead on, Master Dennet, we will follow your paths. Just get us there by noon tomorrow." Serrada watched the old horseman take point and wait. 'What would it be like? He has lived a life, had a family, and was putting that all on the line for the Inquisition, for me.'
She would not let him lead long; she would be sure he survived. She had promised his Elaina and Seanna and intended to keep those promises. There were too many villains still between the Crossroads and Haven. 'Cassandra, I can't do this without you, I can't do any of this without your help.' She rode back to the Seeker; she leaned down close to her. "Please, Cass, I need you with me on this. If I am wrong, I will accept any punishment you wish to give me, but please come now."
"Do I get to use my switch on you? Leliana once had a little too much wine and told the Divine and I a story about using a switch on a certain queen who had disappointed her." Cassandra mounted the horse provided to her. "Promise me that, and I will ride you into the ground."
"Why Cassandra, I never thought you were that kind of girl." The smirk was unmistakable on Serrada's face. "Ride me into the ground, will you? Well, we shall see." Serrada did not wait for the reply from the pink-faced Seeker.
Let the Battle Begin
"Where is the little coward? Is he looking for a skirt to please me? I prefer none at all!" Okanog laughed again at his joke; no one else was laughing.
Cullen had assembled the required number of soldiers and shields; the kitchen sand-glass was ready; it looked to John like an old-fashioned egg timer. John crept alongside the crowd, not hiding but not trying to be noticed. He wanted a look at the lay of the land. John saw that Cullen had cleared the area as John had thought, noticed that the constant troop movements and drills had packed the soil as hard as concrete. That would mean he would have to watch his falls; the space is limited and shrinking, which means his ability to keep out of range will decrease quickly. 'Tire him out early, try to stay out of reach but not run myself ragged either.' It was a delicate balance.
The Qunari is enormous, no question, but he was clearly past his prime. Muscles, sure, but his belly bulged, his abs were showing some, which meant he had a fair amount of internal fat, probably too much drink; he had seen him in the Maiden more often than not was rumored he closed the place frequently. John noticed he favored on the leg, and the fingers had large knuckles, probably arthritis as well. He saw the most significant weakness was the wide belt, much wider than needed; it rode low on his belly and below his belly button. It screamed truss to John. Probably a Hernia, one good shot, and he would be down. Weak liver, hernia, and arthritis. It was clear that the Okanog was dangerous, so he had to be careful, but certainly not invincible. He had led a hard life, John was not eager to end it, but he would if he had to.
"I want to get back to my dinner. Will someone go find the coward so we can get this over with?" The foreman shouted to anyone who would listen.
It was not time yet, but John could think of no good reason to delay. "I am here Okanog, stop your bellowing. You will attract a bull Druffalo; who knows, and he might take a fancy to you!"
They crossed into the ring, watching the other. Cullen prepared to call the duel.
"Inquisition, a challenge was made by our foreman Okanog to John Gray. This challenge was accepted on the condition that it be to the death or until one combatant yields to the other, and the victor will determine his fate. Is this agreed?" Cullen's voice was clear from the makeshift platform built where he usually stood observing his troops.
"Let's get on with it, I need my rest, and this little man will make my bed nice and warm." Again, a ripple of laughter went through the crowd.
Everyone waited for John to reply; it grew quiet. All eyes on him. He simply looked at Cullen and nodded.
"Yes, well then, I suppose we are ready." Cullen prepared to strike a bell.
"I am certainly ready; everyone can tell, can't you! Don't worry, little Gliril; I will save some for you." Okanog shouted to the surrounding crowds.
John knew the giant ape was trying to bate him; he did not bite.
The bell rang. The shield wall began to be lifted and dropped to the ground, a drumbeat with the compacted earth bellow, thump, thump, thump. The crowd was silent. The combatants circled; John knew he was not going to charge; the Qunari knew he would.
For perhaps a dozen heartbeats, they circled each other, Okanog smiling and making lewd comments the entire time.
"I am going to enjoy breaking you, little man truly." Okanog leered openly. They circled.
John let him talk, and did he talk! He spoke of what he would do, where he would do it, and how many friends would get to repeat it all. If John was a different man, it might have been unnerving, but talking takes energy and oxygen, so John let the Qunari talk. John knew the Okanog was just waiting out the first round; Okanog wanted less room for John to maneuver; he had to force Okanog to make a move.
John stumbled on something on the ground, took his eyes of Okanog, or at least that is how it appeared. Okanog did what John expected – he charged.
It takes almost no time for a person to cross twenty feet, even less for this hulking Qunari. The muscle on Okanog was built from his basic genetics and long hours of labor, usually hard work. Okanog had spent his early life being told what to pick up and where to put it down, which had built muscle, muscle on muscle. As he matured, what combat training he had received was based on his previous experience so heavy shield and heavy ax or hammer. They worked for him since there were others with different strengths.
John was different; he had received the best available physical fitness training, with the best nutrition, except for an occasional overpriced beer and bratwurst at Busch Stadium. Combine this with a carefully designed physical exercise program designed to build stamina, agility, flexibility, speed, and of course strength into every fiber of his muscles, then spice this stew with extensive combat training from all over the world and time. Okanog worked to make his way, to make a living; his muscles were the roadmap of his hard work, John's were the carefully sculpted tools of his trade.
What Okanog did not expect, indeed none in the crowd expected, except perhaps most of John's team, happened at the end of the charge.
When Okanog was almost on him just out of arms reach, John leaped into the air, much higher than most humans on Thedas, vastly higher than he ever could on Earth. He kicked his right foot out and under the Qunari's chin, then with his left, he pushed off the now bloodied face using it as a leverage point to land again several feet back near the shield wall.
Okanog was furious now; he spat out several precious teeth from his rapidly dwindling supply along with a mouth full of blood. He moved his jaw, probably broken, but he was too filled with rage to worry about it. He charged again, crouching this time. It was a mistake; John had expected it and step-rolled away, allowing the enraged Qunari to simply pound himself into the shield wall which gave and bowed against the impact but held.
'Wow,' John thought, 'that was pretty cool. I didn't expect it to hold.' John was impressed and made a mental note to complement Cullen. He moved to the left across the diagonal to make sure he had the most room to maneuver. 'He knows I can move; now, he will use his arms.'
Okanog realized his boasting, late-night whoring, and overly huge breakfast was undoing him. It had been many years since he was at his fighting trim, and the truth is told, he knew he had little skill in combat; that is why his clan had sent him out to make his way with his back. He had done okay, managed to gain a wife, have some children; it was a good life, it was at least until the Blight came. He was working on a project up near the Orlesian border when he got the news. There were lots of, I am sorry Okanog, we are praying for you Okanog, the Maker knows best Okanog, you will see them again…. That is why the bottle was his bed mate most nights; it kept the memories away.
He leaned facing the shield wall, his hands grasping it to keep himself upright. 'I am sorry, Kutar, I should have been there for you and the children; at least we could have died together. Well, it looks like I will see you again today.' He turned on the little man; except for a bit of dust and dirt on his clothing, he looked ready to go to Chantry. Okanog could feel his heart pounding in his chest; the air was starting to revive his lungs.
Okanog turned; the shield wall thumping had blurred his vision for a moment.
A clear high sharp peel of a bell, suddenly the shields were lifted, and the shield wall shrank.
'Funny, just a minute ago, I thought that was going to be a good thing.' Okanog laughed to himself and spat out yet more blood. His head still ringing from the blow.
A moment later, a shadow from his right came across his blurred vision. His head snapped in the direction of the movement, but what he missed was the fist powered by the momentum of the human's whole body. The impact came as a thunderbolt, on the right side of Okanog's head behind his eye, above his temple, below his right horn. For an instant, the light of the sun was gone; several heartbeats later, when his mind cleared, Okanog found himself on his knees—trying to regain some focus, to grasp some understanding of the fight. His opponent did not give him a chance, the human now used his feet, and the added reach of his legs, delivering a cross-kick to the left side of his head, leaving Okanog so dazed he was sure his end was coming in a moment. He knew now that he had grossly miscalculated this fight. Strangely, his death did not come; the human gave him time, time to breathe, time to recover, time to consider. He took deep breaths and rose to his feet, wondered if it were worth surviving the duel at all.
Finally, he turned and rushed at John yet again; John performed a pirouette and brought his right fist down on the bulge in Okanog's belt, with his left striking the base of the diaphragm. John's years of training had toughened his fists; the right punch was somewhat painful to his hand; the left was like hitting a giant pillow. Okanog might have the muscle, but he did not know how to use it; his abdominals were not ready for the blow, and it knocked the wind out of him.
Okanog howled in pain; his 'little problem' hurt like crazy. It had started a couple of years before moving some stone slabs for a pillar or something when one of the stones slipped. He knew they would charge him if the stone were damaged, he tried to compensate, which saved the stone, but he felt something give, well, tear, and shortly after a sharp pain, it was a day or two later when the bulge appeared.
He coughed, trying to catch his breath again. Okanog cursed himself for not seeing that coming. He was on his knees again, turning to stand up and breathe, only to be met with an elbow to the side of the head; he staggered back. The stars he now saw went well with the buzzing sound in his ears from John's first blow to his jaw.
Breathing hard, well, more like gasping. "Those were all good hits, little man; you sure rang my bell." Okanog was impressed, exhausted, and ready for it to end, it would be his end, and he knew it.
"We can stop this now and go have a beer if you like; we can swap war stories." John glanced at the improvised stands looking for Demre, the man genuinely responsible here, "Well, after I kill that little shit."
Okanog noticed that the little man had not even broken a sweat yet.
"Did he try to stab that little elf girl?" Okanog stood as best he could, attempting to catch his breath. Only now did he realize how out of shape he had become. He also thought of his little girl, gone now.
"Yeah, Gliril told him off for dumping a pail of water on me. When she had walked away, he called her a name; I suspect it was foul by his expression. 'Knife-ear' I think he said." John stayed in his stance; Okanog might be faking his discomfort.
"Huh, like oxgirl?" Okanog glances up at the man who had goaded him into this mess; he remembered his daughter's tears from a beloved playmate's hurtful words. "If you don't kill him, I will."
"As I said, we can go get a beer." John had promised Gisselle to give him a chance.
"You said to the death." Okanog responded, "We don't say such things and not mean them."
"Neither do we, but the rules say to death or until someone yields. I have nothing against you; I bet he lied to you. The one who is without honor here is the nug shit who started this." In truth, John wanted to spare the man; he bet Okanog was a good foreman who had his men's back unless one of them stabbed him in it.
The question was, who was behind Demre? Was it Roderick? This duel didn't seem Roderick's kind of deal; Gisselle had said he was not a bad guy, just scared more change would come to his safe, well-ordered world. If not him, then who? John had made a decision.
"First, we have to have a conversation with Demre; I want to know if anyone put him up to this. Then we go and see if José can put your teeth back in, you might need them one day." John was smiling now, standing waiting for the Qunari to respond.
"You can do that?" Okanog stood up to his full height, his hands at his side looking dumbfounded like a kid who just discovered you could turn on a toy he had played with for years, and his parents never told him because it was much quieter that way.
"Well, José is no dentist, but if we hurry, it is worth a shot." John was honestly looking for Okanog's teeth now.
Okanog turned to the crowd, "Okay, folks, the show is over. I yield, beg forgiveness, and will somebody bring that shit Demre to me, this gentleman, and I would like a word with him." The last words were more of a rumble. "Oh, and please watch where you step. I want my teeth back, thank you."
"You said to death! What is this shit? We wanted to see a killing!" a faceless person shouted from the grumbling crowd.
Okanog shouted back, "You are willing to come in here with us, I am still pretty pissed off, and I am sure this little man would be willing to get some more exercise!"
Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine stood open-mouthed just outside the shield wall; Cullen had not yet dismissed them. Two burly men were 'escorting' Demre to the side of the shield wall.
Mother Gisselle simply smiled at John; she nodded and turned toward Haven's main gate
"Cullen, let the gentleman through, will you." John was now leaning against the shield wall; he glanced at Okanog, who held his teeth in one hand and his hernia in the other. "We have a little time, José can you put his teeth back? Oh, he has a hernia. Can you fix that?"
"First, don't know, depends on the damage to the jawbone. I have put back teeth before, but we don't have much time. It has been a while since I did a hernia surgery, but I remember most of it, but I can't do it without my equipment; all my gear is locked in the cases. I have been looking for a victim – I mean a volunteer to christen the infirmary." José looked at the Trio, who looked decidedly uncertain. "If you want the infirmary used, I need my equipment."
Just then, three things happened. First, Demre was brought into the shield wall; he looked exactly like a mouse would with hungry cats, one huge, the other smaller, and just as dangerous.
"I didn't do nothing! That little elf bitch attacked me! I was getting back mine; I don't have to take that lip off the likes of her!" He was trying to look confident, looking from helmed face to helmed face. "Maker knows they are scum, all of them, none worth shit." He moved along the shield wall, looking for a space to escape. His chance came when the second event happened.
A trumpet from Havens walls sounded, a party of riders coming hard across the Pilgrim's Bridge to the Pilgrim's Gate. The fanfare of the Herald sounded from the Pilgrim's Bridge.
"Damn, the Herald returns. Honor guard to your stations." He gave the command out of instinct without thinking what it would mean. Almost instantly, the shield wall holding Demre was broken, several soldiers closest to the Gate moved to take their places. Demre immediately broke for the opening. Both John and Okanog began to run after their prey. John noticed that even with the hernia, Okanog could move. To his left, John thought he saw someone running on the stockade, but that was impossible.
"You were holding out on me, big guy. That was not fair." John told the Qunari as they ran side by side.
"Well, I thought it would be a nice surprise if you found out at the right moment." Okanog smiled at the man who he had moments before been trying to kill.
"This makes no sense; where is he going, running toward the Herald?" A realization dawned on John. "He was not trying to kill Gliril; he wanted information or a shot at the Herald, or both!" John ran faster, putting on a burst of speed. He had nearly closed the gap when he saw the dagger in the man's hand—a rather lovely looking blade for a common laborer.
"He is going for the Herald!" John was almost on him when Demre turned back on them, the dagger flashed toward John, almost catching him. John managed to avoid the strike but lost his footing in the snow, falling on his back.
Demre was closing on him; John was sure he could get up and away from Demre with little more than a scratch from the dagger, but what stopped him was seeing Harold pull her horse up and leap from the saddle at a dead run toward them. 'I have to keep his eyes on me.' "Come on, you little coward, take your best shot!"
Demre knew that the Tal-Vashoth fool Okanog was closing in. He had one shot to kill the human John then move on to the Whore. His dagger's black edge hinted at its poison; one scratch and John would be helpless; Demre knew he might die, but he would get the Whore. That is when he felt someone or something bump him.
'How is that possible? The human is in front of me; the Tal-Vashoth is…. Why is he looking at me like that.' He glanced down to see the arrow point and arrow fletchings sticking through his chest. 'Oh, that's why. Wait, how can that be?'
With each breath, he was staining the snow a bright red. He fell to his knees, then his body fell backward, driving the arrows deeper through his back and out his chest. Now blood was spurting up and around the arrow shaft, hearts blood. Demre knew he had little time left.
Okanog finally caught up; the 'little man' was standing near Demre's body, too near.
Demre had only cloudy vision now. 'One chance, just one.' He moved his dagger filled hand as swiftly as he could toward the human's leg. It never got there; the Tal-Vashoth foot smashed his arm down, breaking his lower arm and wrist in the process.
"Not today, you Ben-Hassrath scum," were Okanog's only words.
John heard Demre say something; he had no idea what; Okanog spat blood and phlegm in the dying man's face, "That may be true, filth, but you will rot before me." With that, Demre stopped moving altogether.
"Well, I must say you know how to greet a girl – gentleman." Serrada ran upon the scene, light glinting on the razor-sharp point of the arrow point nocked on the beautiful bow in her hands; others glints came from equally sharp daggers strategically secured on her back and across her breast and along her belt. "What exactly is going on here?"
John could see the woman now walking toward him; behind her was a group of sweat steaming horses and a man going from horse to horse. She stowed the bow and replaced it with her daggers; eyes fixed on Okanog.
When John saw her, the rest of the surroundings sort of blended into the background. 'My God, she is so beautiful.' He realized he was staring at her, open-mouthed. 'What is wrong with me?' His mouth snapped closed as he turned first to look at Okanog, who was decidedly worried, "He is not a problem; Okanog got played by this piece of shit" John kicked Demre's body, somehow hoping he could still feel it, "and somebody asshole called Roderick."
A single heartbeat later, Cullen, Leliana, and several of their respective retinue were surrounding them. Swords, daggers, nocked bows, all ready to kill something, anything.
Instinctively John was reaching down for the dagger, but Leliana stopped him.
"Have a care, Commander, that blade is poisoned, and the Qunari have some very, very nasty brews, no?" That last comment was for Okanog, who was breathing hard again from his recent sprint.
"You have no idea; some kill outright, some kill slow and painful, worst of all others simply kill your mind." Okanog spat again on the dead Ben-Hassrath agent. "You best round up his friends Lady Nightingale; there is never just one of these rats."
"Now, if you all don't mind, I would like to get my teeth back in my head; I don't have so many I can do without one." Okanog bowed low to the Herald. "That is, with your permission."
"We are going to need our equipment. May we have it?" John asked the assembled leaders of the Inquisition.
"Is there a reason they can not?" Serrada was looking from first Cullen, then Leliana, to Josephine, and finally Cassandra.
"We do not know what their equipment can do," Cassandra answered.
John knew they had no reason to trust him; he needed them to, for his people's sake. Without their trust, they would never be able to get home.
He threw up his hands. "What do you want from me? We have done everything you have asked; I have done everything you have asked." John was utterly frustrated. There was no time for this; Okanog's teeth would not wait.
"Allow them to collect the equipment they need to fix the Qunari's teeth. Watch them, then lock it all up again until they show us and explain every single item." Serrada was willing to try, 'I have no idea why I care about these people, about this man. What is wrong with me? Perhaps it is some spell?' She regarded Commander Gray through narrowed eyes, trying to see if there was something she was missing.
"Agreed," Leliana answered for all; Cassandra had the most skeptical look on her face. "The Commander has shown himself to be honorable; I know he knows that his people have been watch – quite closely. None has attempted anything and have worked most diligently for our cause."
"But Herald, Leliana, what if …" Cassandra could not argue the point; she trusted Leliana to know everything these people did, down to each trip to the latrines and what they did there, but still, "remember what happened in the canyon!"
"I don't recall Cassandra, I was helpless and unconscious, but you told me that the rear guard saw four men kill a dozen perhaps two dozen demons with nothing but devices that barked loudly, and yet this man came to us, with open empty hands, his weapons stowed - alone." She waited for her point to make itself. "Let's give them something - please."
The others looked to the ground, hoping to find some argument. Cullen's hand went to the back of his neck, massaging the knot that always seemed to form there. Josephine just smiled; she agreed utterly with the Herald, while Cassandra looked as if she were going to say something, then thought better of it, and Leliana merely smirked at Serrada. Luckily the uncomfortable silence was mercifully broken.
"We gonna put my teeth back? I want something to eat." Okanog looked like he was as likely to fall as sit.
"Need a hand getting back to the infirmary, big guy?" John offered a hand to the Qunari.
"Well, if you are offering." Okanog turned as John came up beside him. "You know, you ain't half bad."
"I am starting to like you too," John said, feeling like a mountain was dropped on him. Luckily, LJ came around to help lift Okanog from the other side. They slowly started down the path toward the new infirmary, their conversation carrying back up toward the Inquisition leadership on the wind.
"So, what was with all that shit talk last night and this morning?" John honestly wanted to know.
"You noticed, Qunari, right?" Okanog spat blood again. "People expect things, okay? So, if you give them what they expect first, you can surprise them later. Otherwise, they never trust you."
The Herald and Cassandra joined Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine as they slowly began to walk back toward Havens gate.
"So, can one put teeth back in?" Cassandra was the first to break the silence.
"Apparently, they can," Josephine responded. "Where were they for my brothers?"
Suddenly there was Charter appearing from thin air.
"You know that used to scare the crap out of me," Serrada said with humor. "Nice shot from the stockades, by the way."
"Let me guess, this shit's" Serrada kicked Dembe's body as they passed it, "friends are either gone or dead."
"Dead, it looks like poison. Whether they took it willingly or not, we cannot tell, but it at least was made to look like a suicide." Whether Charter appreciated the complement of her skills, she never acknowledged.
"Well, my friends, I rode through the night to save our friend John Gerald Gray, Commander United States Navy, Serial Number N3346327." Serrada was exhausted. "I am going to take a hot bath; I have to find Gliril and get that started."
"Already done, Herald," Charter said before anyone could respond. "I saw her on my way to other duties and gave her the news you were home. I suspect she will be ready for you by the time you get to your cabin."
"Thank the Maker! Thank you, Charter; I love you." Serrada smiled at the redheaded elf woman; she genuinely meant it. Serrada started walking toward the main gate; she was glad to be strolling. Several stable hands ran past to help Master Dennet.
"Excuse me, Herald, but we must speak of your recent behavior." Cassandra sounded both demanding and worried at the same time. "You take far too many risks; you do not rest; you were dead!"
"What!" Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and even Charter managed to sound much like four-part harmony.