My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Lana chuckled and shouted, "I wasn't talking to you!"

  Laughing as if throwing open the void itself, Hawke lunged at the kid. He tried to twist away, but her blade whacked him in the back sending him skittering into the mud ass over end. His foot hung suspended above his head, the sword long lost in the pit that began as dirt. "That's mine!" Hawke cried while slotting her greatsword back where it belonged. With the match over, the terrifying hell beast slipped back onto its leash leaving behind only the friendly and overbearing woman. Hawke grabbed both arms around the bruised and battered man so she could haul him up. She tried to rub off the mud on his uniform, but only smudged it up more.

  "Th..th...thanks?" he stuttered. Hawke still held him slightly suspended off the ground, his toes paddling against thin air, and Lana suspected she wasn't even aware.

  "No problem, you did good. Not like defeat an invasion good, but you didn't trip and impale yourself on your sword. That's always a plus," Hawke tried to whisper to the kid but her voice echoed through the training ground. A dozen spectators huddled around. They'd begun the day with none, but as word of the Champion of Kirkwall spread, so did the attention.

  Leaning on the bale beside Lana was Varric. The dwarf sighed from his friends eternal exuberance over hitting things. He agreed to play arbiter and probably had some coin riding on the outcome, always in Hawke's favor. Yanking up his dagger, Varric put another notch on the board. "That's Hawke 15, Inquisition 1."

  "I still say it shouldn't count," Hawke shouted back. "Some damn bird flies past and drops a turtle on my head? That's not part of any fancy fighting routine you can practice."

  Varric parted his hands, "I don't make the rules."

  "Sure, sure," Hawke grinned at her old friend, then wiped at her face. Below the mud fresh bruises percolated waiting to bloom to their full glory, but the woman didn't care. Didn't seem to even feel the pain as she flexed her arms. "Who's up for the next round?"

  "How about me." Hawke turned to the source of the voice and paled at the massive grey skinned man stepping towards her. Leaping over the log barrier of the muddied field, he wiped his fingers along his horns to remove any grease and unsheathed his own greatsword.

  Her eyes narrowed at him and she glared into his one eye, "You Qunari?"

  "Yup," he said.

  "You know I killed a lot of you in Kirkwall? A lot a lot of you. Killed your Arishok too." Hawke spat back. The two of them began to circle like a pair of dogs about to fight or fuck. For the sake of nightmares, Lana prayed it would only be the former. Hearing about Anders was bad enough.

  "Yup," the Qunari said, "Got another one though."

  Lana cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "I know him!"

  That caught the Qunari's attention and his good eye focused on the tiny mage reclining above the sparring yard. It took her awhile to climb up the pile of straw bales, but it was the best seat in the house. "You, a mage, know the Arishok."

  Lana smirked and folded her hands across her chest, "More than know. I'm the one who gave him his soul back. Shit, did that sound dirty? I didn't mean it to sound that way."

  The Qunari smiled wide, "I do know you. The Kadan Warden. The stories they tell of you in Seheron..."

  "All true," Lana interrupted.

  "Even the one with the dragon, blood mage, and you bare breasted--"

  Varric shot up and shouted, "That one I can vouch for."

  "What? No you can't," Lana glared down at him.

  The dwarf twisted around to look up at her, "It's part of the narrative structure. You have to admit that one's especially true for the sake of the joke."

  "Even if nothing like that remotely happened?"

  "Especially then," Varric grinned. He yanked one of his drinks from out of the straw bale and tipped it back. Lana shook her head at the storyteller and occasional archer. They hadn't not gotten on during their adventure, but they weren't exactly close either. Nowhere near as close as he was to Hawke; that was an inexplicable bond that only death could cut.

  "Hey! If we're done talking about who did what naked, I've got a reputation to maintain," Hawke whined. "Are you in, or not?"

  The Qunari grinned wide and spun to face her, "With pleasure."

  "Better be careful there, Tiny. Hawke don't play too nice with oxmen."

  Tiny, or whatever his real name was, smiled wide at Hawke while he shouted at Varric, "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

  "Oh, gentle, you overgrown lump of overcooked oatmeal!" Hawke lashed out at him first, her fist shattering into his jaw. Tiny danced back to avoid the recoil of her blade, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid her other fist. Blood trickled from a split lip and his tongue lashed out to lap it up. From the other side of the ring, Hawke paused and extended her hand. Tipping her head, she made the 'come here' motion.

  Tiny threw his head back and laughed, "I'm gonna enjoy this." He roared, then lunged for Hawke, his horns extended like a proper charging bull. The wise thing would have been to dodge out of the way. It's what Lana would have done after she threw a couple fireballs. But Hawke stood her ground, which threw off the qunari. Mid-dash, he twisted to the side, and Hawke struck with her sword, but the man was fast enough to smash his blade against hers. The clang reverberated through the entire courtyard, even the mud puddles rippled.

  "Still playing gentle?" Hawke grinned at him.

  "Hm," Tiny whipped his arm back in a great arc to bring his blade down across Hawke's skull, "no!" The Champion met him again, but the block was slower than it should have been.

  Still, cocky Hawke was a feature. "Good," she hissed as the two began their deadly dance. Lana leaned forward, drawn by the action, when she heard a soft squeak upon the stairs beside her. Spinning her head quickly, she spotted the madam ambassador's clipboard hovering upon the staircase. Josephine gasped a few "Oh My's" as Hawke and Tiny each took a swing at each other.

  "Got any bets on who will be victorious?" Lana asked the wan diplomat.

  "I hadn't put much thought into...they're likely to injure themselves doing that!" Josephine cried, her clipboard covering her face. Lana turned back to watch Hawke and her new qunari friend head butting each other. Or trying to. It wasn't working so well in either case as both kept meeting at the same time, then dodging out of the way. Hawke bashed her nose into Tiny's horn and he practically threw himself over her shoulder.

  "Scars earn the best drinks," Lana quoted from one of Varric's tales. He heard it and raised his drink at the mage.

  "My Lady," Josephine spoke to draw Lana's attention. "I wonder if I might not have a word with you?"

  With her eyes fixed upon Hawke, Lana spoke out of the side of her mouth, "Go ahead. I doubt anyone will be watching us."

  "Yes, I..." Josephine swallowed as blood sprayed across the yard.

  "It's just a flesh wound!" Hawke shouted before she inflicted the same upon Tiny.

  Lana's eyes danced away from her cousin to the ambassador. Her skin looked paler than usual, her mouth gawping for air. At the sound of bone meeting bone, she grimaced and fanned her face.Not the type to enjoy these fights. Lana turned to her, "You do not need to watch. We can speak another time if..."

  "No, no," Josephine looked away from the spectacle and regained her balance, "The advisers met recently. As you know we have intelligence on Corypheus' plans to take Celine's life and throw Orlais into chaos."

  Lana folded up her arms. Officially no, she didn't actually know that. But Leliana wasn't about to keep something like that away from her, and most of the hold seemed aware anyway. It wasn't exactly secret knowledge, though they were a bit more guarded in how the Inquisitor learned it. Behind her she heard the qunari scream, "Gah! Mud in my eye!"

  "Andraste's ass, do I hate that," Hawke answered back. Lana turned back in time to watch her cousin knee the giant in the face. How did he even fall?

  "Celene is attention a ball soon to solve the civil war crisis. We intend to infiltrate it in order to warn her about Corypheus' assassination plans,
" Josephine continued, unaware of the epic fight she kept dragging Lana from.

  "Good, I guess," Lana said. "I assume we will scope out the Western Approach after then." She was keen to break free of Skyhold and bring justice to the ones that struck her people. But she also knew this wasn't her keep and she had to play by his rules.

  "Yes, that is the Inquisitor's intent, but I came to speak to you about the ball at the Winter Palace," Josephine continued.

  Something in her tone drug Lana away from watching Tiny lift Hawke up by her leg. "What does this have to do with me?"

  "We have an interesting development," Josephine yanked out a small scrap of parchment and dangled it before Lana's eyes. "It seems that it is common practice for the Empress of Orlais to personally invite you to every ball she attends."

  "Ah, I forgot about that," Lana snatched up the familiar vellum marked with the seal she grew tired of finding a polite way to respond to with 'not if all of thedas was about to be swallowed into a dark pit.' "Thank you for accepting my mail, but..." her thoughts trailed off as she realized why Josephine and the other advisers suddenly cared about her social life or lack there of. "You want me to attend the ball."

  "Corypheus knows of the Inquisition, his people will watch ours, but you are an unknown quantity. Leliana has kept your existence within Skyhold a secret."

  "And it's not as if they can take away my magic," Lana said, twisting the card around in her fingers. She'd attended three balls in Ferelden; a coronation, an anniversary of ending the blight, and a wedding. After the last, she made herself too busy with her warden duties to bother fishing out dancing shoes.

  "You would be a great asset," Josephine continued to try and flatter her.

  Lana's eyes shifted to the diplomat, "And your Inquisitor approves of this?"

  For a moment she faltered, just a barest hint of an argument flashing across her face. Most wouldn't have even caught it, but Lana expected it. "He considers it wise to 'stack the deck' given the unknowns."

  A scream echoed through the ring so high pitched Lana expected to whip back and find Hawke impaled upon the qunari's horns. Instead, the Champion was somehow perched upon his back, both arms wrapped around said horns. She was trying to steer Tiny like a ship around the arena. "Eeee!" Hawke screamed again, having the time of her life.

  "What about Hawke?" Lana tipped her head to the 6' 5" woman caked in mud and bruises literally riding a qunari.

  "Ah," Josephine stuttered anew, "she is a wonderful warrior, but given the thoughts in Orlais of the Champion and her relation to the rebellion, it is..."

  "I was kidding, Josephine," Lana chuckled. "She is one hell of a dancer though. Orlais' loss, I suppose."

  "Leliana did stress that if you are not up to your full potential, you may bow out. She will not risk you for the Orlesian court."

  Lana patted her side. The flesh stung from the attack, but it didn't crumple up her stomach or twist up her brain until nausea settled in. "I believe I am in as best of fighting form as we can hope for. So, yes, I will attend this little dance of the Empress'."

  "It's actually being thrown by Lady Floriene, sister to Duke Gaspard..."

  Lana tried not to roll her eyes as every little notch of Orlesian history was recited to her by the ambassador. Instinctively she knew it was important, and that she best learn all she could before. Not smiling or frowning at the right fancy pants lord would get her into trouble, especially in Orlais. But it all sounded like the time in Vigil's Keep when the piss boy stepped on the stable hands foot. They shot dirty looks for a week, came to awkward blows, and then to everyone's relief, finally kissed.

  "Oh," Lana smacked her forehead, halting Josephine's droning, "I'll probably need to wear something other than..." she pulled at her vest and padded down the crumpled shirt, "this."

  Josephine's eyes glittered, "Do not concern yourself, I know of the perfect garment for you."

  "So fast?" Lana shook her head. Then again, throw a few frills on someone's mage robes and she could pass as fancied up enough to be the Hero of Ferelden. People didn't expect her in some brocade couture, they wanted gleaming armor and darkspawn heads on spikes.

  She turned back to the sparring, but the two combatants seemed to have reached their own epic climax. Buried in the mud upon one knee, Hawke blinked against the mud in her eyes while Tiny wiped down his own blood across his chest. The pair panted, eyeing each other up, but grateful for the break.

  "By the void, what's all this noise?" A new voice entered the ring, and Lana whipped her head up as Cullen stepped up to the log fence. "Hawke, Bull? Maker's breath, I thought you were mutilating nugs out here."

  "We're just..." Hawke panted, "having a bit of fun."

  "Yeah, commander," the Qunari slapped his chest and lifted his blade. "Fun." Hawke grinned at him, and answered in kind.

  "Fun? You've destroyed the sparring ring. It's a mud hole!" Cullen chastised them, but they kept glaring their own personal madness at the other.

  "You telling us to stop?" the Qunari asked.

  Cullen folded up his arms and leaned back on his heel, "No, I want to see how this ends."

  "Hey, Cullen," Hawke jerked her chin at the commander, "you wanna fight the winner?" Then she leaped into the air, her greatsword extended high over her head. Tiny threw his own sword to the ground and his free arms grabbed onto Hawke's hips. He thought he could hold her extended above his head out of reach, but the woman was too long. She swung the blunted edge hard against his back, but the Qunari didn't drop her. Instead, he ran his fingers up and down her sides, tickling the mighty warrior to death.

  "Oh!" Hawke giggled, "I am going to, ha ha ha, kill you!" She kept hacking her sword against him while fighting through the tickles. The Qunari took each blow with aplomb but even he couldn't stand it forever. Now it was a matter of wearing the other down like water against a mountain. Lana glanced away from the two of them to watch Cullen smirking at the sight. He softly shook his head at the display and chuckled. Maker, what she wouldn't give to watch him spar in the ring.

  "Lady? My Lady?"

  "What?" Lana broke away from the man she mentally stripped to face Josephine.

  "I was saying that on top of your attire, you will also require an escort."

  "Oh?"

  "But I believe I know an exemplary candidate," Josephine smiled. Lana turned back to the commander now inspecting Hawke's winning tally. They had yet to make good on that mauling she began in her room. What better place to light the romance than a ball by starlight?

  A grunt from the combatants echoed through the courtyard and both Tiny and Hawke collapsed on top of each other. Mud splattered nearly four feet high into the air, then the groaning began.

  "That's it, we're calling it a tie," Hawke shouted. She lay upon her back stretched across the Qunari's trembling side.

  His face buried in mud, he had to wipe it away from his nose to snort out, "Agreed."

  Varric clucked his tongue, then added a new row to his leader board and one tic mark under Tie. "You're slipping in your old age," he called out.

  "Bite me, dwarf," Hawke shouted.

  Cullen watched human and qunari help each other rise to their feet before jerking his chin and asking, "Does this mean I have to fight both of them?"

  Chapter Nine

  Arriving

  Officially, the Hero of Ferelden never came to Orlais, her duties keeping her confined within the kingdom of her namesake. With Clarel watching on one side and an Empire more than happy to exploit her connection with the gentry on the other, she was happy to contain her movements. Officially. A few trips in and out of the country never had any reason to go noticed by those in power, especially when she kept to the deep roads. Now she had no choice but to break even that narrow rule.

  Fireworks burst over the skies of the Winter Palace, the green and yellow tendrils dripping through the air as they reached for the countryside. A few of the nobles paused in their pecking order to glance up at the extravagance but the s
ervants bustling around them pinning outfits in place and buffing up masks paid it no heed. The staging area before the grand entrance reeked of expensive oils and desperation. Lana moved towards the steps when her skirts snagged under her buckled shoes. Black as pitch, cracked gems glittered off the surface of her slippers like distant stars. A gift from Leliana. The heel was modest and unlikely to offer up too much resistance should the night go the way she was prepared for, not that she wasn't beyond throwing them out of the way at the first sign of trouble. It was the skirts that were giving her trouble.

  She'd expected Josephine to haul out a more ruffled version of one of the five dresses worn throughout the streets of Orlais, but the ambassador continued to surprise her. Lana wore a corset with a straight neckline decorated in hand-stitched leathers of black and red cut to mimic scales. She had a pair of arm guards wrapped around her biceps, each baring a tiny red and black leather wing. To complete the illusion of the Hero of Ferelden dressed as an archdemon, it wasn't a black or red skirt wrapped around her legs but translucent silks of orange, reds, and yellows undulating in a haphazard fashion. Sheer on their own, the silks overlapped enough to hide away her skin. To the unsuspecting, the Hero of Ferelden appeared like a dragon that just breathed fire upon itself. Josephine had included an underskirt to fluff it out, but Lana managed to yank that away from the servants. She didn't need to be snagging her skirts across every tight corner. The corset unfortunately was a size too large, which Lana became increasingly aware of as another pin stabbed her in the side. That was survivable, it was the long skirts that concerned her more. At an inch too long and trying to drag through the mud she was likely to trip and fall if she wasn't careful, but due to the ethereal fabric there was no way to hem them. Her hands, emptied of any staff, were destined to spend the entire night holding her skirts away from her shoes.