The keening screech of metal-on-metal set Khari's teeth on edge; she bore down harder on Mick's crossed blades, strong enough now that both their arms shook with the exertion of trying to hold each other at bay. Snarling low in the back of her throat, she broke the lock first, backing up in swift strides, as long as her short legs would allow.
Once they had some distance, she rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck to both sides and shifting her grip a little on the practice blade, squeezing the hilt with her fingers before easing them again. Her breath, rapid but steady, clouded out in front of her, the biting winter chill long forgotten as her muscles warmed to the exertion. She was sweating now, beads dripping freely from her face and down her back, tickling her spine beneath the plate armor.
They sparred in the open today, as they often but not always did, and from the low buzz in her ears, she suspected they'd drawn a bit of a crowd. Though she in herself wasn't near as much a spectacle now as she'd once been—the regulars had gotten used to a lot, being with the Inquisition, and elves in armor was among the more minor oddities—her out-and-out matches were still pretty popular, whatever the reason. The spectators were nothing more than background noise at this point, though.
Pushing forward with all the strength in her legs, she lunged, swinging her sword hard for Mick's hip.
He didn't attempt to dodge, at least not outright. As she lunged, he reversed his grip on his far hand blade and brought it across his body so that it rested against the side Khari was aiming for. The maneuver, in conjunction with the armor he wore, was undoubtedly intended to dull the point of impact and spread the force out across the entire length of his blade. His other blade however went on the offensive, even as the other went to defend. He thrust the opposite sword forward no doubt in hope of catching her in the middle of her lunge. Still, it was a risk-reward tactic, standing in the path of her sword to try and deliver a blow himself.
Another clang pealed out like a particularly-obnoxious bell where their swords met. Khari let go of hers with one hand to enable her to twist out of the way of his second. When it whistled through the air beside her, she re-gripped and stepped in, following up with an attempt to strike him with just the pommel, near the joint of his elbow. Two swords were a pain to deal with; life would be a lot easier for her if she could disarm him of one of them.
Mick's height advantage came into play, and he simply jerked his elbow hard upward, avoiding the blow to the joint. He could not, however, jerk his entire frame out of the way. The pommel went past where the elbow had been and instead struck him under the arm, in the soft unarmored part of his armpit. The air in his lungs fell out of his mouth, and his brow furrowed, if only for a moment before he retaliated. The elbow that she had just missed began to come back down hard. Behind it followed the blade he had reversed the grip of, having had enough time to recock.
Khari got her sword in the way of his in enough time to avoid that issue, but in her maneuvering, she was forced to position herself under the incoming elbow, which collided with her helmet and dazed her for half a second. It was enough that she threw herself to the side, unwilling to risk some kind of heavier follow-up she wouldn't be able to anticipate.
Scrambling to her feet, she shook her head, things clearing up almost as quickly as they'd gone fuzzy. This time, she used her inverse of his height advantage, strafing in at an angle and swinging low, a sweep aimed for his legs.
He proved too aggressive in his approach. Mick must had seen her stumble and chosen the opportunity to press his advantage. It meant that he was too close when she went for his legs, and was unable to do much than accept it. He would not, however, accept it easily. As she whipped her blade around, he dropped one of his swords and reached out to grab her collar to take her down to the ground with him.
Khari's balance was good, but it was not keep-her-balance-when-suddenly-yanked-by-six-foot-something-of-armored-person good. She toppled with him, but fortunately kept her wits about her. Mick was a lot bigger than she was, but that was true of everyone, and she knew what to do when someone bigger than her was trying to take her to the ground. She twisted as far away from him as she could before they hit the ground, which was good because no part of her ended up pinned by any part of him, and she was quicker to right herself, abandoning her sword and lunging.
Which one of them won here would depend on who could pin, both faster and better.
It turned into a brawl pretty quickly, each trying to grapple the other and position themselves. While Mick held the size and strength advantage, Khari proved far more slippery than he expected as he could never hang on to her for more than a few moments at a time. It was clear that his size would prove more of a detriment, as Mick began to slow down, and the strength was beginning to ebb ever so slightly in his hands.
Khari waited him out, trying to keep her own motions minimal and precise, the way Rom had taught her, the way Amalia had reinforced by example. When he bungled a grab for her ankle, she seized the opportunity and surged forwards, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him against her side, reinforcing her hold by banding her other arm across her body. There was quite a lot of thrashing as Mick fought to get free, but she held on tenaciously, refusing to give up her grip until he hit the floor three times in surrender.
With a heavy exhale, she released him and fell back on to her rear, breathing hard. She couldn't help the exhilarated smile she wore, though—aside from a few points here and there in more formalized spars, she'd never beaten him in a match. But this one—this one had been hers. He hadn't pulled his blows or given her free recoveries or done any of that, and she felt a surge of pride alongside her happiness.
Pushing herself to her feet, she offered her hand down to Mick, helping pull him back to his feet. “Finally got you."
"Shit lass, when did you get so good on the ground?" Mick answered, opting to lay on his back for a few seconds more before finally accepting the offered hand. "You don't think Marcy saw, do you?" He asked craning her head to look behind him. Following his gaze revealed Marceline standing in the middle of the crowd, a coy and mischievous grin on her lips as she gave him a little wave. "Yep..." he answered himself, returning the wave.
Turning back to Khari however, he brightened. "'Bout damn time too," he answered, clasping her hard on the shoulder.
She gave him her best lopsided grin, turning her attention for the first time to the crowd. Quite a few of the onlookers were clapping, sheering, or just generally making noise. No doubt a lot of them knew just how long and hard she'd been working to get to this point, and she couldn't help but feel like it really was a milestone, of a sort. Taking Mick's arm in her hand, she lifted both over her head and swept and overly-dramatic bow, laughter rippling over those gathered until they began to disperse, back to their own training or whatever else they really should have been doing instead.
“Well, you know. What's worth doing takes time, and all that." Khari couldn't help but feel she was in a good place, right now. Her improvement had been steady since she joined the Inquisition, on more than one front. It felt like she was finally managing to put her life together the way she wanted it. A giddy sort of feeling stirred in her stomach; she couldn't wait to tell Rom about today. But first...
“I'm starving. You wanna get outta this armor and find something to eat?"
Mick thought about it for a moment before inclining his head in agreement. "Sounds like a good plan, where were you thinking?" He asked. The smirk he wore exposed the joke for what it was, as Skyhold wasn't exactly full of eateries. There was either the Keep, or the Herald's Rest. And the Rest had better ambiance.
“I dunno. Was thinking I'd wrestle a deer, then we could roast it in the yard." Khari didn't miss the opportunity to joke right back at him. Options in the plural at all was more than she was used to. The Dalish ate what the hunters and foragers could provide, and then she'd pretty much been either on her own or in military-style camps for most of her life, so... even having a menu was still kind of a novel experience.
She steered them for the Rest, though, slipping in and giving a small wave to Zee in her usual corner before she took a seat up at the bar. When they'd put in their orders for food, Khari let herself slouch a little, pulling the glass of watered wine a little closer to her. No ale so soon after a hard workout. Less ale in general, she'd been going for. It wasn't exactly the beverage of choice for anyone trying to keep themselves in the best condition possible.
While they waited for their food, Mick also relaxed, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his beard on his thumb. He tilted his head a little away from her and looked at her with mock suspicion. "Now, don't let this win get to your head. Next time you might not be so lucky," he said with an arched brow before winking and grinning at his own joke. Of course, just because she got one didn't mean he'd let any more go easily. He'd hold on tighter next time, more likely.
“Yuh-huh." She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. “Lucky for you, I'm not a dumbass, so I'll fight just as hard next time, too. Still got goals, you know. Can't start sitting on my ass just because I'm making good progress on 'em."
She could keep her head about this; she knew the road in front of her was still long. It was quite a distance from being able to fight as well as a chevalier to being one. That was going to take a lot more, and despite her discussion earlier in the year with Lucien, she still wasn't totally sure how she was meant to go about bridging the gap.
"Speaking of your goals," Mick continued matter-of-factly, the hand holding up his beard shifting in order to give him more of a pensive and thoughtful gaze. "Any thoughts on where to go from here?" He asked with another arched brow. "You've aptly demonstrated you can beat a chevalier-- and a damn fine one at that," he said, with no small amount of ruffling of plumage. "And it won't be long until the wins even up the losses. So what's the next step, if you don't mind me asking?"
Khari frowned. “The original plan didn't get quite this far." She had, in fact, run off half-cocked from her clan and her life with the Dalish. It'd been a damn stroke of luck that Ser Durand had agreed to teach her anything, but it had also exhausted her ideas. She'd had a few more since the, but nothing concrete.
“When I met Lucien, he said that I probably had a few options, just based on how people had gotten into the chevaliers without Academie training. He said that some people did it by winning tournies, and other people by performing heroic deeds for the empire." She grimaced. “Don't get me wrong, I'd be happy to do heroic deeds, but at this point I think Orlais isn't so interested in having them done." The civil war was over, and no doubt most people wanted a break in the fighting for a while. She could understand that, but it limited her opportunities.
“I've entered tournies before, but only small ones, usually open to mercenaries and other people as well, so they don't ask for sponsors or papers or anything. And that's kind of a pain, because I can't reveal my identity if I ever want to be able to do it again, so... I feel like I need something big. Something that people won't be able to sweep under the rug or ignore, you know? But anything that big is already closed off to me." It was like being under a dwarf-size ceiling and trying to break out of it, only to find that there weren't any exploitable cracks. She could blow the whole thing off with an explosive... but there weren't any around.
Her glass thudded back against the bar as she took a large swallow.
"Not... Necessarily," Mick answered thoughtfully. His elbow had rose from the table and now rested completely on his chest, giving him and even more thoughtful look. He held her in her eyes for a few long moments, working something out in his mind, and internally debating something. "Hmm," he murmured as if he was on the cusp of a decision before he finally shrugged. "There is always the Grand Tourney," he stated like it was the most simple thing in the world.
Khari's mouth pulled. “I'm not this drunk yet. Did you really just suggest that I enter the Grand Tourney? Once-every-four-years grandfather of all tournies? The one they hold in the Emperor's honor and invite all the fanciest blueblood chevalier officers to participate in? Because, you know, it's sort of an unofficial way of figuring out who's who? That Grand Tourney?" She took a large breath, having expended her previous one getting that all out with the kind of rapid-fire cadence an archer could envy.
Slowly, she raised a hand, folding down all of her fingers but the index one and pointing to her ear. “See these? These mean you're not passing me off as a relative. Or some obscure noble's kid. I'd need papers to enter that thing. Like... real ones. Even if I wore a helmet the whole time."
"What was that about not sitting on your ass?" Mick asked, "Because that sounds a lot like sitting-on-your-ass talk. Nothing risked, nothing gained." He said it like that explained everything, though soon her shook his head and looked back at her. Something in his eye all but outright said how serious about the idea he was. "I don't remember all of that stopping Aveline, do you? If you want something bad enough, you have to take it. It's not going to place itself in your lap."
By this point, he had shifted in his chair so that he was facing her, his hands firmly on his knees and his face about as serious as he could manage. "The paperwork, the sponsorship, the-- well, the helmet, Marcy and I can handle all of that," he said, but before she could reply, he held up a hand to cut off anything she could say.
"And yes, I know the personal risk involved," he said, crossing his arms. "Shit, there was already a risk involved with just training you like a chevalier. The Academie probably wouldn't like me giving their secrets out to elves, but..." Mick shrugged. "Fuck 'em. You're just as good as they are."
He chuckled to himself a little after that. "There's already a lot of upheaval in the world, what's one more flame to the fire?"
Well, if he was okay with all the implications of this—and he clearly was—she sure as hell wasn't going to needle him about the risks. The grin bloomed over her face in a matter of seconds, her eyes narrow with the force of it.
“If you're volunteering, then fuck yes I'll do it."
Screw entering. She was going to win.
Once they had some distance, she rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck to both sides and shifting her grip a little on the practice blade, squeezing the hilt with her fingers before easing them again. Her breath, rapid but steady, clouded out in front of her, the biting winter chill long forgotten as her muscles warmed to the exertion. She was sweating now, beads dripping freely from her face and down her back, tickling her spine beneath the plate armor.
They sparred in the open today, as they often but not always did, and from the low buzz in her ears, she suspected they'd drawn a bit of a crowd. Though she in herself wasn't near as much a spectacle now as she'd once been—the regulars had gotten used to a lot, being with the Inquisition, and elves in armor was among the more minor oddities—her out-and-out matches were still pretty popular, whatever the reason. The spectators were nothing more than background noise at this point, though.
Pushing forward with all the strength in her legs, she lunged, swinging her sword hard for Mick's hip.
He didn't attempt to dodge, at least not outright. As she lunged, he reversed his grip on his far hand blade and brought it across his body so that it rested against the side Khari was aiming for. The maneuver, in conjunction with the armor he wore, was undoubtedly intended to dull the point of impact and spread the force out across the entire length of his blade. His other blade however went on the offensive, even as the other went to defend. He thrust the opposite sword forward no doubt in hope of catching her in the middle of her lunge. Still, it was a risk-reward tactic, standing in the path of her sword to try and deliver a blow himself.
Another clang pealed out like a particularly-obnoxious bell where their swords met. Khari let go of hers with one hand to enable her to twist out of the way of his second. When it whistled through the air beside her, she re-gripped and stepped in, following up with an attempt to strike him with just the pommel, near the joint of his elbow. Two swords were a pain to deal with; life would be a lot easier for her if she could disarm him of one of them.
Mick's height advantage came into play, and he simply jerked his elbow hard upward, avoiding the blow to the joint. He could not, however, jerk his entire frame out of the way. The pommel went past where the elbow had been and instead struck him under the arm, in the soft unarmored part of his armpit. The air in his lungs fell out of his mouth, and his brow furrowed, if only for a moment before he retaliated. The elbow that she had just missed began to come back down hard. Behind it followed the blade he had reversed the grip of, having had enough time to recock.
Khari got her sword in the way of his in enough time to avoid that issue, but in her maneuvering, she was forced to position herself under the incoming elbow, which collided with her helmet and dazed her for half a second. It was enough that she threw herself to the side, unwilling to risk some kind of heavier follow-up she wouldn't be able to anticipate.
Scrambling to her feet, she shook her head, things clearing up almost as quickly as they'd gone fuzzy. This time, she used her inverse of his height advantage, strafing in at an angle and swinging low, a sweep aimed for his legs.
He proved too aggressive in his approach. Mick must had seen her stumble and chosen the opportunity to press his advantage. It meant that he was too close when she went for his legs, and was unable to do much than accept it. He would not, however, accept it easily. As she whipped her blade around, he dropped one of his swords and reached out to grab her collar to take her down to the ground with him.
Khari's balance was good, but it was not keep-her-balance-when-suddenly-yanked-by-six-foot-something-of-armored-person good. She toppled with him, but fortunately kept her wits about her. Mick was a lot bigger than she was, but that was true of everyone, and she knew what to do when someone bigger than her was trying to take her to the ground. She twisted as far away from him as she could before they hit the ground, which was good because no part of her ended up pinned by any part of him, and she was quicker to right herself, abandoning her sword and lunging.
Which one of them won here would depend on who could pin, both faster and better.
It turned into a brawl pretty quickly, each trying to grapple the other and position themselves. While Mick held the size and strength advantage, Khari proved far more slippery than he expected as he could never hang on to her for more than a few moments at a time. It was clear that his size would prove more of a detriment, as Mick began to slow down, and the strength was beginning to ebb ever so slightly in his hands.
Khari waited him out, trying to keep her own motions minimal and precise, the way Rom had taught her, the way Amalia had reinforced by example. When he bungled a grab for her ankle, she seized the opportunity and surged forwards, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him against her side, reinforcing her hold by banding her other arm across her body. There was quite a lot of thrashing as Mick fought to get free, but she held on tenaciously, refusing to give up her grip until he hit the floor three times in surrender.
With a heavy exhale, she released him and fell back on to her rear, breathing hard. She couldn't help the exhilarated smile she wore, though—aside from a few points here and there in more formalized spars, she'd never beaten him in a match. But this one—this one had been hers. He hadn't pulled his blows or given her free recoveries or done any of that, and she felt a surge of pride alongside her happiness.
Pushing herself to her feet, she offered her hand down to Mick, helping pull him back to his feet. “Finally got you."
"Shit lass, when did you get so good on the ground?" Mick answered, opting to lay on his back for a few seconds more before finally accepting the offered hand. "You don't think Marcy saw, do you?" He asked craning her head to look behind him. Following his gaze revealed Marceline standing in the middle of the crowd, a coy and mischievous grin on her lips as she gave him a little wave. "Yep..." he answered himself, returning the wave.
Turning back to Khari however, he brightened. "'Bout damn time too," he answered, clasping her hard on the shoulder.
She gave him her best lopsided grin, turning her attention for the first time to the crowd. Quite a few of the onlookers were clapping, sheering, or just generally making noise. No doubt a lot of them knew just how long and hard she'd been working to get to this point, and she couldn't help but feel like it really was a milestone, of a sort. Taking Mick's arm in her hand, she lifted both over her head and swept and overly-dramatic bow, laughter rippling over those gathered until they began to disperse, back to their own training or whatever else they really should have been doing instead.
“Well, you know. What's worth doing takes time, and all that." Khari couldn't help but feel she was in a good place, right now. Her improvement had been steady since she joined the Inquisition, on more than one front. It felt like she was finally managing to put her life together the way she wanted it. A giddy sort of feeling stirred in her stomach; she couldn't wait to tell Rom about today. But first...
“I'm starving. You wanna get outta this armor and find something to eat?"
Mick thought about it for a moment before inclining his head in agreement. "Sounds like a good plan, where were you thinking?" He asked. The smirk he wore exposed the joke for what it was, as Skyhold wasn't exactly full of eateries. There was either the Keep, or the Herald's Rest. And the Rest had better ambiance.
“I dunno. Was thinking I'd wrestle a deer, then we could roast it in the yard." Khari didn't miss the opportunity to joke right back at him. Options in the plural at all was more than she was used to. The Dalish ate what the hunters and foragers could provide, and then she'd pretty much been either on her own or in military-style camps for most of her life, so... even having a menu was still kind of a novel experience.
She steered them for the Rest, though, slipping in and giving a small wave to Zee in her usual corner before she took a seat up at the bar. When they'd put in their orders for food, Khari let herself slouch a little, pulling the glass of watered wine a little closer to her. No ale so soon after a hard workout. Less ale in general, she'd been going for. It wasn't exactly the beverage of choice for anyone trying to keep themselves in the best condition possible.
While they waited for their food, Mick also relaxed, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his beard on his thumb. He tilted his head a little away from her and looked at her with mock suspicion. "Now, don't let this win get to your head. Next time you might not be so lucky," he said with an arched brow before winking and grinning at his own joke. Of course, just because she got one didn't mean he'd let any more go easily. He'd hold on tighter next time, more likely.
“Yuh-huh." She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. “Lucky for you, I'm not a dumbass, so I'll fight just as hard next time, too. Still got goals, you know. Can't start sitting on my ass just because I'm making good progress on 'em."
She could keep her head about this; she knew the road in front of her was still long. It was quite a distance from being able to fight as well as a chevalier to being one. That was going to take a lot more, and despite her discussion earlier in the year with Lucien, she still wasn't totally sure how she was meant to go about bridging the gap.
"Speaking of your goals," Mick continued matter-of-factly, the hand holding up his beard shifting in order to give him more of a pensive and thoughtful gaze. "Any thoughts on where to go from here?" He asked with another arched brow. "You've aptly demonstrated you can beat a chevalier-- and a damn fine one at that," he said, with no small amount of ruffling of plumage. "And it won't be long until the wins even up the losses. So what's the next step, if you don't mind me asking?"
Khari frowned. “The original plan didn't get quite this far." She had, in fact, run off half-cocked from her clan and her life with the Dalish. It'd been a damn stroke of luck that Ser Durand had agreed to teach her anything, but it had also exhausted her ideas. She'd had a few more since the, but nothing concrete.
“When I met Lucien, he said that I probably had a few options, just based on how people had gotten into the chevaliers without Academie training. He said that some people did it by winning tournies, and other people by performing heroic deeds for the empire." She grimaced. “Don't get me wrong, I'd be happy to do heroic deeds, but at this point I think Orlais isn't so interested in having them done." The civil war was over, and no doubt most people wanted a break in the fighting for a while. She could understand that, but it limited her opportunities.
“I've entered tournies before, but only small ones, usually open to mercenaries and other people as well, so they don't ask for sponsors or papers or anything. And that's kind of a pain, because I can't reveal my identity if I ever want to be able to do it again, so... I feel like I need something big. Something that people won't be able to sweep under the rug or ignore, you know? But anything that big is already closed off to me." It was like being under a dwarf-size ceiling and trying to break out of it, only to find that there weren't any exploitable cracks. She could blow the whole thing off with an explosive... but there weren't any around.
Her glass thudded back against the bar as she took a large swallow.
"Not... Necessarily," Mick answered thoughtfully. His elbow had rose from the table and now rested completely on his chest, giving him and even more thoughtful look. He held her in her eyes for a few long moments, working something out in his mind, and internally debating something. "Hmm," he murmured as if he was on the cusp of a decision before he finally shrugged. "There is always the Grand Tourney," he stated like it was the most simple thing in the world.
Khari's mouth pulled. “I'm not this drunk yet. Did you really just suggest that I enter the Grand Tourney? Once-every-four-years grandfather of all tournies? The one they hold in the Emperor's honor and invite all the fanciest blueblood chevalier officers to participate in? Because, you know, it's sort of an unofficial way of figuring out who's who? That Grand Tourney?" She took a large breath, having expended her previous one getting that all out with the kind of rapid-fire cadence an archer could envy.
Slowly, she raised a hand, folding down all of her fingers but the index one and pointing to her ear. “See these? These mean you're not passing me off as a relative. Or some obscure noble's kid. I'd need papers to enter that thing. Like... real ones. Even if I wore a helmet the whole time."
"What was that about not sitting on your ass?" Mick asked, "Because that sounds a lot like sitting-on-your-ass talk. Nothing risked, nothing gained." He said it like that explained everything, though soon her shook his head and looked back at her. Something in his eye all but outright said how serious about the idea he was. "I don't remember all of that stopping Aveline, do you? If you want something bad enough, you have to take it. It's not going to place itself in your lap."
By this point, he had shifted in his chair so that he was facing her, his hands firmly on his knees and his face about as serious as he could manage. "The paperwork, the sponsorship, the-- well, the helmet, Marcy and I can handle all of that," he said, but before she could reply, he held up a hand to cut off anything she could say.
"And yes, I know the personal risk involved," he said, crossing his arms. "Shit, there was already a risk involved with just training you like a chevalier. The Academie probably wouldn't like me giving their secrets out to elves, but..." Mick shrugged. "Fuck 'em. You're just as good as they are."
He chuckled to himself a little after that. "There's already a lot of upheaval in the world, what's one more flame to the fire?"
Well, if he was okay with all the implications of this—and he clearly was—she sure as hell wasn't going to needle him about the risks. The grin bloomed over her face in a matter of seconds, her eyes narrow with the force of it.
“If you're volunteering, then fuck yes I'll do it."
Screw entering. She was going to win.