Khari brought her sword around to block just in time, gritting her teeth against the unpleasant metallic clang. Her breath was hard and fast in her lungs, but steady, even as Mick bore down with enough force to push her backwards, feet dragging in the dirt of the ring. Her lips peeled back, pulling into a snarl beneath the metal mask on her face, and Khari broke the lock by shifting abruptly to the side. She swung quickly for his midsection in the moment he needed to compensate for the force, but his right-hand sword turned hers aside at the last moment.
Close, but nothing.
It felt like this was the longest she'd been able to last against him. Time was a tricky thing in the middle of a fight, but often they reset dozens of times in a session. Her goal wasn't ever to win as such, but to never make the same mistake twice. Eventually she'd run out. She was doing pretty well for herself this time, though, and maybe if she kept her focus she could finally find the weak spot she knew had to be lurking somewhere.
They clashed again—she was much better at watching out for the offhand sword now, so the feint to the stronghand one didn't fool her, and she parried the blow actually intended to hit. She was vaguely aware of someone approaching the training ring, but they didn't register to her as armed and hostile, so she ignored them, swinging for Mick's legs on a step in.
He swung both swords parallel with each other, intercepting her blade before it could strike him. She was strong, but she didn't have the gift of Mick's size and she found his swords hard to budge. He didn't press his advantage from there however, as whoever had approached caused him to pause. "Hold up, mon ours, we have a visitor," he said, gesturing behind her with a tilt of his chin.
Khari huffed with frustration, a bit ticked that the fight had been stopped before she'd seen how long she could make it go. She wasn't in an especially charitable mood when she swung to see who it was, lowering the dull practice blade, and she couldn't say that got too much better when she found the answer.
“Oh hey, Marcy." She glanced at Mick, arching her eyebrows. “Practice over for today, then?" She figured if the Inquisition's ambassador was coming all the way down here for something, she probably needed to see her husband about family or business stuff. That was understandable enough, if a bit disappointing from her own perspective. She could always go see if Ves or Stel or Cy were done early enough to spar instead, she supposed.
Mick didn't answer immediately, instead looking over her head to Marceline and then up to the sky, judging the position of the sun. "Yeah, that will be it for today, though we will make up for it up next time, deal?" he offered. He wore a smile, and seemed to have enjoyed the challenge that she'd given him, and even he appeared to be a bit disappointed to have to stop. He glanced up at his wife one more time and nodded.
"I had hoped to catch you when you two were done," Marceline answered, shaking her head seeming rather disappointed in her own timing. "Khari, if you would kindly give me a moment of your time? There are some things I wish to discuss with you. Sorry, Micky," she added, giving her husband an apologetic smile.
For his part, he simply laughed and shrugged. "I'm sure, but why do you make it sound so serious?" he asked with goodnatured grin.
"Habit," she sighed in answer.
“Uh." Khari wasn't really sure how to answer, but frankly, she probably didn't really have options in the first place. Marcy used nice words for it, most of the time, but she was kind of at least partly in charge here, and Khari was not. The only thing she could think of was that she might be in trouble for taking Rom along when she went to see her family, because they weren't known allies and he was an Inquisitor and Marcy was kind of obsessed with keeping them away from anything that might give them a papercut. Or so it seemed sometimes.
But well... whatever. She'd deal with it if she had to. “Sure. Lead the way, I guess." She racked her practice sword, sloughing off her armor at a decent, if not rushed, pace and putting that in a neat pile to deal with later. It left her in a loose black tunic and dark brown trousers, tucked into her boots. She didn't wear a sword anymore—not since Intercessor had broken. The one she'd borrowed from the armory to replace it was in her room at the barracks. She didn't feel the same, carrying it around.
"Thank you," Marceline replied with a polite incline, which of course caused Mick to chuckle again.
Though, it did not last long, when he realized he'd be left to his own devices. He glanced down at the armor she'd shucked, and he shrugged. "I will see to your armor, I suppose," he said, before making his way over to it.
Marceline smiled and then departed, making her way along the familiar path back to the keep. As she walked, she spoke, perhaps in an attempt to start a bit of small talk, "Training is going well, I presume?" she asked.
Khari shrugged. “It's going. Feels like I'm getting better, so that's good, obviously." She found herself with a silence and not much else to say, so she turned her eyes out on the path as though she hadn't seen everything on it more times than she could count. She kind of wished she just knew what the hell this was about; she could count the number of times she and Marcy had really talked about anything on the fingers of one hand. And that was if she were being generous about what qualified as talking.
Lady Marceline hummed in answer, though did not offer much more. Apparently she decided that the attempt at small talk ended in failure, and therefore decided against trying again, as she remained silent the rest of the way to the keep. The path to Marcy's office was the usual one, through the main hall and at the door on the left. Once they reached the door, she opened it and stepped through, holding it open to then allow Khari to follow through.
Upon entering her office, there was a relatively new face in the Inquisition. A young blond woman sat at Marcy's chair, with Larissa lingering over her shoulder and pointing something out on a sheet of parchment. Apparently, this was the woman Marcy had spoken about during their last meaning, young Lady Félicité. From what she little she had heard, she'd been at Skyhold for the better part of a week or two. Though she acknowledged their entrance with a flick of her eyes, they immediately turned back to Larissa continuing to speak about the business at hand. "My uncle has the DuRellions' trust, a word from him will surely ease tensions," she said.
Larissa nodded in agreement, "If you can get word to Lord Mathis about this then, it would be of great help," she said before turning to greet Khari and Marcy, "Khari, milady," she said inclining her head to both before straightening.
"I will start on the letter soon then," Félicité answered, before she too turned to greet the two with a smile and incline of her head.
Marcy returned their greetings and spoke, "It sounds as if you two have been busy," she said with a proud smile, "I apologize, but may I have a moment to speak with Khari alone? I will find you afterward, I promise."
"Of course," Félicité spoke, rising from Marcy's desk. "Larissa, you said the Keep has a garden? I would very much like to see it." she asked kindly, which Larissa answered with a smile of her own before they finally departed, letting Marcy shut the door behind them.
She shook her head and stepped into the large room more fully then. "Mathis did not mention how much she knew of the Game before she arrived. The young woman is already quite... skillful," Marcy noted.
Yeah, and still not an adult. But Khari figured Stel had said most of what there was to say about that already, and it wasn't like her saying anything else was going to make any difference anyway. Even so, that didn't mean she had to wait around for Marcy to get to the point here. Surely there was one; she didn't seem like the kind of person to waste her own time, anyway.
“If you say so." She shrugged a little bit. “Uh... I'm just gonna ask. What's this all about, Marcy? 'Cause if it's about my clan, Rom was never in any danger. And I can promise you I would have been twice as mad as you if I turned out to be wrong about that. Which I wasn't."
Marcy actually seemed surprised for a moment before she shook her head, "Oh, no, no, do not worry. This is about an entirely different topic, I promise-- and I am not about to admonish you for anything either," she added waving it off. To her credit, she didn't seem upset or anything close to it, but that could just be another face she liked to put on. "I have no right to have any say on personal matters such as these. However, for whatever it is worth, it did sound as if it went far better than when I brought Michaël home to meet my parents," she said, though she said it with a nostalgic smile.
Khari didn't really see where the analogy was supposed to be there. “Uh... no offense, Marcy, but unless your parents thought you were dead up to that point and Mick was there to make sure you didn't run away before you got up the guts to tell them something that had been scratching at you since you were twelve, I'm not really sure the situations make sense as comparisons." Rom had come along because she'd asked him to be moral support while she tried to face possibly the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do in her life. Whatever Marcy thought the similarity was supposed to be there, Khari wasn't seeing it.
And she wasn't really comfortable talking about it any more than she already had. “So... are you gonna tell me what I'm here for? Because I suck at guessing. We'd be here all day."
Marcy only sighed and shook her head, though she did have a quirk of a smile near the end. "Ah, yes. I apologize, one moment please," she said before finally stepping away from Khari and started making her way to her desk. Instead of taking a seat at it, she knelt beside it and opened one of the larger drawers on the side. It didn't take any shuffling to find what she was looking for, and a second later she was returning to Khari with it in hand. It was a small darkly stained wooden box, but the oddest thing was a large purple bow keeping the lid closed.
She looked down at it for a moment and for once actually seemed awkward, as if she was unsure how to proceed from there. "It is a... gift. For you," she said, holding it out for Khari to take. "I wanted to personally thank you... for Michaël," she said, with what actually appeared to be genuine emotion written on her face.
For Mick? Khari didn't really understand what she meant by that, and accepted the box cautiously. It wasn't too heavy or anything, but there was enough heft to it to suggest that something maybe made of wood or metal was inside. Almost tentatively, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Khari tugged at the amethyst-colored ribbon, letting it fall away and lifting the lid of the box.
A soft breath hissed out from between her teeth when she laid eyes on the object inside. It was a mask, silverite from the sheen of it, styled in the battle-ready fashion of a chevalier's. The lines etched into it were similar to her vallaslin, centered on the cheeks and brow but sweeping further back and to the sides, sized to scale with the whole mask. They'd been blackened in an interesting way, rendered smoky grey against the bright silver.
No sooner had she taken that in than Khari was shaking her head emphatically. “No, no, no." She cleared her throat awkwardly, tearing her eyes from the object in the box to Marcy, her lips parting, then closing again, as she tried to find the words to explain. “Marcy, I can't... I can't accept this. I don't deserve it."
Marcy was quiet for a moment, tentative, though she did not appear upset. "Is there... a particular reason you say that?"
It was difficult to explain. Not in the sense that Khari didn't have the words—they were right there. The difficult part was, and always had been, explaining herself to anyone else in the way that got at the core of things. That bypassed her usual defenses and was just as honest as it was blunt. She swallowed. “I haven't earned it. This... this is something a chevalier wears. I haven't earned the right to it."
Her explanation seemed to put Marcy at ease, or at least enough so that she smiled genuinely. "I see. Regardless, I will not take it back," she answered, "It was crafted with you specifically in mind, and it will fit no one else." The formality that usually obscured her intentions seemed to ebb away, leaving her seeming surprisingly earnest with her words. "You need not wear it until such a time comes that you feel you have earned it, or you may throw it away, or hide it forever if you so desire. All that I ask is that you accept it... Please, you've done more for Michaël than you know."
Khari shook her head again, loose curls bouncing against the sides of her face. “I won't take it, Marcy. I can't. You don't understand—things like this might not be hard for you to come by, but this is... this is everything I want." Not the object itself, but what the act of wearing it would mean. “And there's only one way for me to earn it, no matter what you think I've done for Mick. I can't accept it. Not even just to get rid of it."
Not that she would; she could appreciate fine craftsmanship well enough, even if she was a shitty crafter herself. She sighed harshly, trying to find another way to put this so that it would make sense. “Look. Why don't..." She expelled another breath. “Keep it. And then... when I'm a chevalier—when I've earned this—give it to me again. And then you can refuse to take no for an answer. 'Cause I'm sorry, but right now, you're gonna have to."
"I see that you believe in this very strongly," Marcy said with a disappointed sigh, "Very well then, I will... hold on to this for you," she said, holding her hands out to take this gift back. "However, I would have you understand this Khari," she began, slowly closing the lid to the box, "At the time where I am compelled to begin calling you Ser Khari, you will accept this gift-- even if I must have Micky force it onto your face," she said, sternly... Though her visage soon broke with a smile, indicating the joke for what it was. "By then, I doubt I will even have to ask him."
Khari frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." She probably wouldn't feel wrong about accepting something like this then—and it was pretty awesome, as far as masks went. She still wasn't sure Marcy had really understood her reasons, exactly, not in any significant way, but she thought maybe she'd gotten her point across enough for now.
“Anyway, uh... thanks for the thought, anyhow." It wasn't like Marcy could have known how she felt about this stuff, after all.
"Of course," Marceline said, with an incline of her head. "And thank you, Khari."
“...Sure thing, I guess."
Close, but nothing.
It felt like this was the longest she'd been able to last against him. Time was a tricky thing in the middle of a fight, but often they reset dozens of times in a session. Her goal wasn't ever to win as such, but to never make the same mistake twice. Eventually she'd run out. She was doing pretty well for herself this time, though, and maybe if she kept her focus she could finally find the weak spot she knew had to be lurking somewhere.
They clashed again—she was much better at watching out for the offhand sword now, so the feint to the stronghand one didn't fool her, and she parried the blow actually intended to hit. She was vaguely aware of someone approaching the training ring, but they didn't register to her as armed and hostile, so she ignored them, swinging for Mick's legs on a step in.
He swung both swords parallel with each other, intercepting her blade before it could strike him. She was strong, but she didn't have the gift of Mick's size and she found his swords hard to budge. He didn't press his advantage from there however, as whoever had approached caused him to pause. "Hold up, mon ours, we have a visitor," he said, gesturing behind her with a tilt of his chin.
Khari huffed with frustration, a bit ticked that the fight had been stopped before she'd seen how long she could make it go. She wasn't in an especially charitable mood when she swung to see who it was, lowering the dull practice blade, and she couldn't say that got too much better when she found the answer.
“Oh hey, Marcy." She glanced at Mick, arching her eyebrows. “Practice over for today, then?" She figured if the Inquisition's ambassador was coming all the way down here for something, she probably needed to see her husband about family or business stuff. That was understandable enough, if a bit disappointing from her own perspective. She could always go see if Ves or Stel or Cy were done early enough to spar instead, she supposed.
Mick didn't answer immediately, instead looking over her head to Marceline and then up to the sky, judging the position of the sun. "Yeah, that will be it for today, though we will make up for it up next time, deal?" he offered. He wore a smile, and seemed to have enjoyed the challenge that she'd given him, and even he appeared to be a bit disappointed to have to stop. He glanced up at his wife one more time and nodded.
"I had hoped to catch you when you two were done," Marceline answered, shaking her head seeming rather disappointed in her own timing. "Khari, if you would kindly give me a moment of your time? There are some things I wish to discuss with you. Sorry, Micky," she added, giving her husband an apologetic smile.
For his part, he simply laughed and shrugged. "I'm sure, but why do you make it sound so serious?" he asked with goodnatured grin.
"Habit," she sighed in answer.
“Uh." Khari wasn't really sure how to answer, but frankly, she probably didn't really have options in the first place. Marcy used nice words for it, most of the time, but she was kind of at least partly in charge here, and Khari was not. The only thing she could think of was that she might be in trouble for taking Rom along when she went to see her family, because they weren't known allies and he was an Inquisitor and Marcy was kind of obsessed with keeping them away from anything that might give them a papercut. Or so it seemed sometimes.
But well... whatever. She'd deal with it if she had to. “Sure. Lead the way, I guess." She racked her practice sword, sloughing off her armor at a decent, if not rushed, pace and putting that in a neat pile to deal with later. It left her in a loose black tunic and dark brown trousers, tucked into her boots. She didn't wear a sword anymore—not since Intercessor had broken. The one she'd borrowed from the armory to replace it was in her room at the barracks. She didn't feel the same, carrying it around.
"Thank you," Marceline replied with a polite incline, which of course caused Mick to chuckle again.
Though, it did not last long, when he realized he'd be left to his own devices. He glanced down at the armor she'd shucked, and he shrugged. "I will see to your armor, I suppose," he said, before making his way over to it.
Marceline smiled and then departed, making her way along the familiar path back to the keep. As she walked, she spoke, perhaps in an attempt to start a bit of small talk, "Training is going well, I presume?" she asked.
Khari shrugged. “It's going. Feels like I'm getting better, so that's good, obviously." She found herself with a silence and not much else to say, so she turned her eyes out on the path as though she hadn't seen everything on it more times than she could count. She kind of wished she just knew what the hell this was about; she could count the number of times she and Marcy had really talked about anything on the fingers of one hand. And that was if she were being generous about what qualified as talking.
Lady Marceline hummed in answer, though did not offer much more. Apparently she decided that the attempt at small talk ended in failure, and therefore decided against trying again, as she remained silent the rest of the way to the keep. The path to Marcy's office was the usual one, through the main hall and at the door on the left. Once they reached the door, she opened it and stepped through, holding it open to then allow Khari to follow through.
Upon entering her office, there was a relatively new face in the Inquisition. A young blond woman sat at Marcy's chair, with Larissa lingering over her shoulder and pointing something out on a sheet of parchment. Apparently, this was the woman Marcy had spoken about during their last meaning, young Lady Félicité. From what she little she had heard, she'd been at Skyhold for the better part of a week or two. Though she acknowledged their entrance with a flick of her eyes, they immediately turned back to Larissa continuing to speak about the business at hand. "My uncle has the DuRellions' trust, a word from him will surely ease tensions," she said.
Larissa nodded in agreement, "If you can get word to Lord Mathis about this then, it would be of great help," she said before turning to greet Khari and Marcy, "Khari, milady," she said inclining her head to both before straightening.
"I will start on the letter soon then," Félicité answered, before she too turned to greet the two with a smile and incline of her head.
Marcy returned their greetings and spoke, "It sounds as if you two have been busy," she said with a proud smile, "I apologize, but may I have a moment to speak with Khari alone? I will find you afterward, I promise."
"Of course," Félicité spoke, rising from Marcy's desk. "Larissa, you said the Keep has a garden? I would very much like to see it." she asked kindly, which Larissa answered with a smile of her own before they finally departed, letting Marcy shut the door behind them.
She shook her head and stepped into the large room more fully then. "Mathis did not mention how much she knew of the Game before she arrived. The young woman is already quite... skillful," Marcy noted.
Yeah, and still not an adult. But Khari figured Stel had said most of what there was to say about that already, and it wasn't like her saying anything else was going to make any difference anyway. Even so, that didn't mean she had to wait around for Marcy to get to the point here. Surely there was one; she didn't seem like the kind of person to waste her own time, anyway.
“If you say so." She shrugged a little bit. “Uh... I'm just gonna ask. What's this all about, Marcy? 'Cause if it's about my clan, Rom was never in any danger. And I can promise you I would have been twice as mad as you if I turned out to be wrong about that. Which I wasn't."
Marcy actually seemed surprised for a moment before she shook her head, "Oh, no, no, do not worry. This is about an entirely different topic, I promise-- and I am not about to admonish you for anything either," she added waving it off. To her credit, she didn't seem upset or anything close to it, but that could just be another face she liked to put on. "I have no right to have any say on personal matters such as these. However, for whatever it is worth, it did sound as if it went far better than when I brought Michaël home to meet my parents," she said, though she said it with a nostalgic smile.
Khari didn't really see where the analogy was supposed to be there. “Uh... no offense, Marcy, but unless your parents thought you were dead up to that point and Mick was there to make sure you didn't run away before you got up the guts to tell them something that had been scratching at you since you were twelve, I'm not really sure the situations make sense as comparisons." Rom had come along because she'd asked him to be moral support while she tried to face possibly the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do in her life. Whatever Marcy thought the similarity was supposed to be there, Khari wasn't seeing it.
And she wasn't really comfortable talking about it any more than she already had. “So... are you gonna tell me what I'm here for? Because I suck at guessing. We'd be here all day."
Marcy only sighed and shook her head, though she did have a quirk of a smile near the end. "Ah, yes. I apologize, one moment please," she said before finally stepping away from Khari and started making her way to her desk. Instead of taking a seat at it, she knelt beside it and opened one of the larger drawers on the side. It didn't take any shuffling to find what she was looking for, and a second later she was returning to Khari with it in hand. It was a small darkly stained wooden box, but the oddest thing was a large purple bow keeping the lid closed.
She looked down at it for a moment and for once actually seemed awkward, as if she was unsure how to proceed from there. "It is a... gift. For you," she said, holding it out for Khari to take. "I wanted to personally thank you... for Michaël," she said, with what actually appeared to be genuine emotion written on her face.
For Mick? Khari didn't really understand what she meant by that, and accepted the box cautiously. It wasn't too heavy or anything, but there was enough heft to it to suggest that something maybe made of wood or metal was inside. Almost tentatively, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Khari tugged at the amethyst-colored ribbon, letting it fall away and lifting the lid of the box.
A soft breath hissed out from between her teeth when she laid eyes on the object inside. It was a mask, silverite from the sheen of it, styled in the battle-ready fashion of a chevalier's. The lines etched into it were similar to her vallaslin, centered on the cheeks and brow but sweeping further back and to the sides, sized to scale with the whole mask. They'd been blackened in an interesting way, rendered smoky grey against the bright silver.
No sooner had she taken that in than Khari was shaking her head emphatically. “No, no, no." She cleared her throat awkwardly, tearing her eyes from the object in the box to Marcy, her lips parting, then closing again, as she tried to find the words to explain. “Marcy, I can't... I can't accept this. I don't deserve it."
Marcy was quiet for a moment, tentative, though she did not appear upset. "Is there... a particular reason you say that?"
It was difficult to explain. Not in the sense that Khari didn't have the words—they were right there. The difficult part was, and always had been, explaining herself to anyone else in the way that got at the core of things. That bypassed her usual defenses and was just as honest as it was blunt. She swallowed. “I haven't earned it. This... this is something a chevalier wears. I haven't earned the right to it."
Her explanation seemed to put Marcy at ease, or at least enough so that she smiled genuinely. "I see. Regardless, I will not take it back," she answered, "It was crafted with you specifically in mind, and it will fit no one else." The formality that usually obscured her intentions seemed to ebb away, leaving her seeming surprisingly earnest with her words. "You need not wear it until such a time comes that you feel you have earned it, or you may throw it away, or hide it forever if you so desire. All that I ask is that you accept it... Please, you've done more for Michaël than you know."
Khari shook her head again, loose curls bouncing against the sides of her face. “I won't take it, Marcy. I can't. You don't understand—things like this might not be hard for you to come by, but this is... this is everything I want." Not the object itself, but what the act of wearing it would mean. “And there's only one way for me to earn it, no matter what you think I've done for Mick. I can't accept it. Not even just to get rid of it."
Not that she would; she could appreciate fine craftsmanship well enough, even if she was a shitty crafter herself. She sighed harshly, trying to find another way to put this so that it would make sense. “Look. Why don't..." She expelled another breath. “Keep it. And then... when I'm a chevalier—when I've earned this—give it to me again. And then you can refuse to take no for an answer. 'Cause I'm sorry, but right now, you're gonna have to."
"I see that you believe in this very strongly," Marcy said with a disappointed sigh, "Very well then, I will... hold on to this for you," she said, holding her hands out to take this gift back. "However, I would have you understand this Khari," she began, slowly closing the lid to the box, "At the time where I am compelled to begin calling you Ser Khari, you will accept this gift-- even if I must have Micky force it onto your face," she said, sternly... Though her visage soon broke with a smile, indicating the joke for what it was. "By then, I doubt I will even have to ask him."
Khari frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." She probably wouldn't feel wrong about accepting something like this then—and it was pretty awesome, as far as masks went. She still wasn't sure Marcy had really understood her reasons, exactly, not in any significant way, but she thought maybe she'd gotten her point across enough for now.
“Anyway, uh... thanks for the thought, anyhow." It wasn't like Marcy could have known how she felt about this stuff, after all.
"Of course," Marceline said, with an incline of her head. "And thank you, Khari."
“...Sure thing, I guess."