Siara stood, leaning lazily against the stone wall of the small castle that Lord Kildarn inhabited, watching as his chosen champion descended the steps, broad sword on his back. He was a large guy, clearly strong, his muscles bulging as he moved. Rather impressive looking, and rather attractive. Siara leaned her head to the side, pushing away from the wall and spitting on the grass before striding over to him.
It was still raining, her hair plastered to her face where it was escaping from her ponytail. Lily's mother had given her something to tie her hair up with, which Siara had accepted gratefully. It was all the woman could offer, despite the fact that Siara would have been perfectly happy without payment. The woman and her child were standing near the front of the crowd that had gathered, the woman resting both hands on her child's shoulders, pulling her close. The young girl was still clasping the doll to her chest, eyes wide. Even the children could tell that something big was about to happen.
Kildarn stood on the top of the steps, watching Siara and his champion closely. Siara looked up at him, bowed, then turned to the champion.
"Siara," she greeted, "also known as The Blade."
The man just grunted, scowling, clearly unimpressed. He stepped into a clearer area, refugees and Inquisition members parting to make more room for the battle that was about to take place. It was as if the heavens realised what was about to happen, deciding to make things as dramatic as possible.
Lightning flashed through the sky, cracking as though another breach was about to open, followed by the low rumble of thunder, rain beginning to pour more heavily. Siara blinked against it, but otherwise made no objection. The wind was still pretty calm, but her skin was starting to come out in goosebumps. She was getting cold, but as soon as the battle commenced she'd warm up, so she wasn't too concerned.
She checked that her armguards were on properly, checking buckles, tugging at her gloves, giving her armour and equipment one last check over. The chosen champion was doing the same.
"A battle to decide the fate of the heretics," Kildarn's voice boomed out across the crowd. "It's not too late to withdraw, Blade."
"No chance," Siara told him, her voice far quieter, but still able to be heard over the crowds. Kildarn nodded.
"Very well," he said, Siara and the champion drawing their weapons. "May the battle commence."
As soon as the words left his lips, his man shot forward with a loud war cry, one that threatened the skies. The crowds faded out of existence to Siara and she shot forward to meet the man's blow, stepping around him at the last moment and moving to cut him with her dark blade, one that had been enchanted to be strong against demons and the like, a dark glow surrounding it. The champion only just managed to spin and block it, twisting his blade so he could then bring it up, trying to catch Siara with her defences down.
But the elf was ready for it, once again twisting away, swiping out with her fist, catching the man on the jaw despite how much taller than her he was. A growl escaped him as she stepped away, his hand going to where the blow had hit. When he pulled his hand away to look at it there was blood on his fingers. He scowled, then glared at Siara. She just raised an eyebrow at him. With another cry to the skies he shot forward, sword raised to his side, point towards her. Siara simply rolled out of the way, mud sticking to her armour and hair, smearing her face. Slowly she stood, careful not to slip on the mud, once again eyeing up the champion. He turned to face her, hair sticking to his face from the rain, rage in his eyes.
"You die today," his voice boomed like the thunder that shook the heavens, but Siara shrugged.
"Wouldn't bother me," she told him.
He frowned. He knew that an opponent with nothing to lose was dangerous, that they wouldn't fear him like they should. An opponent with no fear was dangerous. Unpredictable. And looking into those strange eyes of Siara's, he could tell that she was held no fear in her. Just acceptance to the fact that she may die, here and now. It almost scared him, in a way. He had heard stories of people like this woman, heard about the way they fought; the recklessness, the strength behind each blow. And defeating them could be a mission, especially if they weren't fighting angry, like this woman. He scowled, hardening himself to all these thoughts, preparing himself for another attack.
Siara lowered herself into a position with better balance, then shot forward, spinning so that both edges of both her blades would get the chosen champion, managing to cut him across the arm he put out to defend himself, the arm guard he had on falling to the mud with a dull thunk. He drew up his blade, swiping out and hitting the ground, sending mud spattering up everywhere. But he missed Siara. The elf had somehow vanished, reappearing once more behind him.
Kildarn's champion put up his other arm to block the blow, this time managing to catch it, sparks flying as the blades collided with the metal. Siara scowled, leaping back, mud flying everywhere as she skidded to a halt. The champion once again raised his sword, lunging forward, this time managing to cut Siara's arm as she spun away, blood leaking from the wound. Siara calmly looked down at it, then shook her arm, once again watching her enemy, her forehead creased in a determined frown.
Both combatants lunged towards each other at the same time, catching each other's blades, Siara spinning slightly to the side as she deflected with her golden blade, coming up with her blackened blade and readying with the next strike. She got hit with an upper cut from Kildarn's champion, sending her sprawling backwards. The chosen champion readied his sword again, Siara quickly rolling out of the way, allowing the champion's momentum to send his sword into the ground, sticking there, allowing her a moment's advantage. He pulled his sword out as fast as he could, but Siara was quicker.
She stuck her golden blade in a gap in his armour, a cry of pain escaping him. The golden blade was enchanted to hurt humans and other common beasts, so this was extra painful for the man. He released his sword, clutching his hand to the wound. Siara didn't let up. She had the advantage, she was going to take it.
She spun, she danced. Her blades flew, a flurry of gold and black, almost too fast for people to see. When Kildarn's champion fell backwards she stopped, one foot near his elbow, the other between his legs, right by the groin. She held one blade back, her elbow bent, the other pointed at the man's throat, chest heaving up and down. The man had his hands up towards her.
"I surrender," he told her. This fight wasn't worth his life.
Siara watched him a moment longer, then stepped back and away from him, sheathing her blades before holding a hand down to help him up. He accepted it, letting her haul him to his feet. Soon as he released her hand she touched her chin, cringing as pain shot through it.
"Nice punch," she said, pulling a face before spitting blood out on the ground. Kildarn's champion scoffed.
"Didn't help me in the end,"
Siara scoffed.
"You weren't half bad."
"And yet you still won."
"I was lucky."
"You were terrifying," Siara frowned at that, looking up at him. "You have nothing to lose. So, you're not afraid of anything."
Siara shrugged, looking back at Kildarn. The man was turning red in the face in his rage.
"I won," Siara yelled at him. "Our deal?"
For a moment she didn't get a reply, her hand moving back to the blades on her back. Kildarn raised a hand, not looking in the least bit happy about the situation.
"I shall respect our agreement," he forced out through clenched teeth. "The heretics shall have our assistance."
A cheer rose from the crowd and many people came forward to hug and thank Siara, who just stood there through it all, watching Kildarn closely as his chosen fighter returned to him, the way he was almost yelling at the man. Both headed inside, where no doubt the man Siara had fought would be getting an earful.
Frost read over the letter she received back from Cullen, her face sullen. He wasn't even planning on doing anything to reprimand Siara… not that there was anything he could do. The elf wasn't a member of the Inquisition. Frost sighed, a growl escaping her. She stepped away from her desk and marched through the tents to find The Blade. Frost had to hand it to the elf… she sure knew how to fight. Though the captain would never admit it, she had actually been impressed.
She found Siara in her tent, combing out her hair after having a bath. The water was muddied and brown, revealing just how dirty the elf had gotten. Her right arm was bound, but clearly needed a new bandage. Evidently she didn't care if she broke stitches or not, traces of blood seeping through. A purple and yellow bruise had already formed on her chin, large and swelling slightly. She looked around slowly when he heard the tent flap open, sitting there in a loose white shirt which she hadn't done up the whole way, revealing a bit more cleavage than Frost felt comfortable with. The woman cleared her throat, pointedly ignoring it. Siara continued brushing the end of her hair, watching with those strange eyes of hers.
"You want something?" she asked.
"Message from Commander Cullen," Frost said. "For you."
"I'm guessing you've already read it?" Siara sounded almost bored as she accepted the sheet of paper, unfolding it and looking at the writing, but not bothering to read it yet. It was surprisingly tidy handwriting.
"Just read it," Frost turned away and marched out, Siara watching her go. That woman had issues.
Siara shook her head, then looked at the letter properly. It was just about how he wished she'd let him know her plan, given him more time, but still congratulating her on her victory, though she had taking a rather large risk, one that might not have paid off. He signed off by wishing her a speedy recovery and telling her that she should come back once she'd made sure that everyone was settled and going to stick to their end of the bargain. A sigh escaped Siara and she put the letter down on the desk in front of her, standing up and crossing over to the tent flap.
"Someone get me paper?" she asked one of the nearby Inquisition members, who nodded and walked off, glancing down at Siara's bare legs before walking off, a little redder in the cheeks. Siara turned and headed back into her tent, the flap folding down behind her, the other man standing outside peering around to see a touch more as it fell, almost disappointed when he couldn't see any more. The Blade pulled her hair up, twirling it around into a bun before tying it up again, then went and found her leather and cotton leggings, which were still mud caked. She pulled a face before casting them aside again, looking around with her hands on her hips, unimpressed.
"My Lady…?" a hesitant voice called, Siara raising an eyebrow and once more returning to the flap. A young woman stood there, a bundle of cloth in her arms.
"Uh… yeah?"
"A gift for you, from My Lord," the young elf woman hesitantly offered the bundle. "He said that you might want a change of clothes, after the battle you had."
Siara took the offered bundle, slowly and hesitantly, as though she expected something to leap out and attack her from it.
"Thanks…" She said, rather uncertainly, "and I'm not a lady. Just… Siara."
The elf bowed, avoiding eye contact.
"Of course, My Lady."
"Seriously?" Siara sighed. "Whatever. That everything?"
"Yes, My Lady. Unless there is something that you desire."
She clearly didn't seem happy, and Siara scowled.
"Send a message back to Kildarn," She forced out through clenched teeth, "that you are not an object to be used. You're a living being, and as such, you deserve to be treated like one. When you are finished with that, feel free to return to me. I'll make sure you are well treated, but nothing will happen to you that you do no want to. Do you understand me?" she asked, the elf looking at her with wide eyes. "Take a member of the Inquisition with you for protection purposes if that is what you wish." She looked at one of the men standing outside her tent, and he nodded.
"I…" the elf blinked a couple of times, "I don't know what to say…"
"You have nothing that you need to say to me," Siara growled, stepped back into her tent. "Leave whenever you wish."
After a moment she heard the elf scamper away, feet slipping slightly in the mud. Siara threw the 'gift' on her stretcher, scoffing. A dress. Of course. Kildarn would never think to give a mercenary something practical. She shook her head, another sigh escaping her, and dug through her bag once more, pulling out a clean pair of leggings, these ones just grey cotton. She slipped into them, buttoning her shirt the rest of the way up as the tent flap opened once more, one of the Inquisition soldiers standing there. Not the one she sent to grab the paper, but he had paper with him nonetheless.
"Writing paper for you, ma'am," he said, frowning slightly as he held it out to her. Siara accepted it, watching him.
"I've seen you around," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "You seemed rather attached to your commander. What was your name, again?"
"Jim, ma'am."
"That's right…" she turned away from him, sitting at her temporary desk. "Thanks, Jim. You can go now."
The soldier stood there for a moment longer, Siara looking up and glaring at the tent wall straight in front of her.
"Any time now," she told him.
"Oh… right."
He hurried out of the tent, Siara sighing and shaking her head. She then proceeded to put pen to paper, her handwriting messy, but also graceful in an odd way.
'Your Inquisition is a mess' she wrote. 'Jim's just a genius in disguise, isn't he? Might take him on as my pupil at this rate. So much raw talent.
Anyway, addressing your earlier concerns, I know what I'm doing, Commander. You're the one who hired me. If you disagree with my methods, then you shouldn't have. Everything worked out. At any rate, problem dealt with. See you in a week or two. If something more important comes up, send word and I'll return as fast as I can, even if I have to go on my own.
-Siara
She straightened her back and threw down the quill, rubbing her arm. She then went and sat on her stretcher, picking up her first blade and beginning to clean it while she waited for the ink to dry.
As much as Cullen would like to deny it, the letter from Siara drew a small, wry smile from him. She was right. The Inquisition was a bit of a mess. He chose to ignore the comment about Jim, though. He did what he could, that's all he could ask of anyone. He put the letter down on the stack of read papers, rubbing the back of his neck as weariness washed over him, his vision blurring for a moment. His free hand moved to his desk draw, itching to open it, to take the lyrium, but he stopped himself.
He abruptly stood up from the desk he was using, heading out to check on the recruits. Jacquelyn, Varric, Solas, and Cassandra were returning at that moment. Jacquelyn was the only one Cullen took any real notice of. Her armour looked like it needed a good cleaning, and one of her cheeks had a cut on it, but other than that she looked to be in one piece. It surprised him how relieved he felt. He tried to explain it away, saying that if she died then all of Thedas would be lost, but he knew that wasn't the only reason he was glad. Especially not when she smiled at him like that. Her pale blonde hair was falling over her shoulders, escaping from her now rather messy braid, but she hardly seemed to notice as she crossed over to him, the other three walking off to… do whatever it was they were going to do. Jacquelyn's sword was at her side, shield on her back, and her chin held high.
"Everything all right?" she asked, surprisingly cheerfully for someone who had been traveling a lot recently. It was obvious to Cullen how tired she really was, despite how good she was at hiding it.
"Yes, I was just going to check on the recruits," Cullen said, motioning to where his men were training. "Was your trip to the Hinterlands successful?" Jacquelyn thought for a moment, her cheerful demeanour slipping for a moment, but it was back soon enough. Not soon enough for Cullen not to start worrying about her, though.
"I believe it was," she said, weighing each word carefully. "I believe it would be best to discuss in the War Chamber before confirming anything, though."
"Of course."
"How soon can you make it?"
"I'm sure I could put off working with the men for a short while," Cullen smiled, surprisingly easily and with very little awkwardness, despite who was standing in front of him. "When were you wanting to call the Council?"
"I should probably get cleaned up first," Jacquelyn smiled, aqua eyes shining, "then I will be all yours."
Cullen didn't know how to respond, and a part of him was actually rather grateful when she walked off to get cleaned up, even more grateful that Varric hadn't been around to make things even more awkward for him. That dwarf would be relentless in his teasing if he knew that Cullen was starting to develop certain… feelings… for the Herald.
"Maker's breath…" Cullen muttered, watching Jacquelyn for a moment more; the way her hips moved, the slight sway in her stride, watched as she pulled her braid over her shoulder, untying her hair then combing her fingers through it before shaking her head, allowing it to fall in gentle waves down her back. It was then that Cullen tore his gaze away, feeling his cheeks going mildly red. Hopefully none of his men would notice the subtle change before it vanished.
It wasn't too long before Varric found his way over, looking around curiously as though looking for something – or someone. He made a b-line for Cullen, who looked down at the dwarf, unsure about how he should be feeling about this surprise visit.
"Something you want, Varric?" he asked, then went back to frowning at his recruits.
"You haven't seen Spooks, have you?" the dwarf asked him.
Cullen frowned even more, looking down at Varric again.
"Who?"
"Spooks," Varric repeated, then realised that the commander probably wouldn't realise who he was talking about. "Siara. Kid with the weird eyes."
"Yes, I am well aware of who Siara is," Cullen went back to eyeing up his recruits, muttering about them being unable to use their shields. Varric crossed his arms.
"So? Do you know where she is? You didn't let her leave, did you?"
"I sent her on a job."
"A job?" Varric repeated, "Where?"
"Lord Kildarn."
"You realise those two have a history?"
"If it's the… situation… with the laxatives, then yes, I know they have a history."
Varric laughed, a surprisingly harsh sound for him.
"The laxatives aren't even the start," he said, Cullen looking down at the dwarf again, a confused frown on his face.
"What did she fail to mention?"
"Siara and her brother were paid to kill the guy's son."
Cullen almost exploded with rage.
"And she didn't think that was a useful bit of information to pass on to me?" he demanded, turning on the dwarf. "Do you have any clue how much trouble that could cause? Does she have any idea how much trouble that could cause?" he was almost turning red in his anger, Varric taking half a step back, hands held out to try and calm the commander.
"Now, Curly, calm down," he said, "Spooks knows what she's doing," he said in a soothing voice, before adding in a mutter, "most of the time…" Cullen still didn't look impressed, so Varric quickly continued. "If anything happens, Spooks will find a way to persuade them that you lot weren't involved. She's tricky like that."
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling another headache coming on.
"Maker's breath…" he muttered, "can't anything go right with that girl?"
"I'm sure she's wondering the same thing, Curly."