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"She did what?!" Josephine exclaimed, staring at the spymaster in abject horror. "I told her that I had this under control! What could possibly possess her to go against my wishes?!" She was now pacing around her desk, a hand against her forehead. "Oh, she is impossible!"
"Calm down, Josie," said Leliana with a roll of her eyes. "It was her idea. In fact, she insisted that we- that is to say, Cullen and I- send word to Otranto that she wished to duel him. After you told her that he was one of the best duelists in Antiva, she declared that her pride as a 'Gilnean' would not allow her to be beaten in that manner."
"That 'pride' of hers is going to get her killed!" Josephine said exasperatedly. "She's a magic user, Leli! A 'priest!' I don't even think she's ever dueled in her life!"
"Oh, I highly doubt that," Leliana smirked. "I overheard Blackwall offering to teach her a few pointers. She just…laughed. Rather maniacally. She claimed that all Gilneans learned how to duel right after they learn to walk, and then proved it by beating him in a mock duel in about three seconds. I'm sure she'll be fine-"
"We have to go stop that duel," Josephine had clearly not been listening. "Leliana, you know where she'll be. Take me there. Now." The Antivan fixed her wild stare onto her friend, who merely shrugged in response. "Fine. Gather your things. We'll leave immediately." Before Josie could blink, the spymaster had disappeared. "Mierda," she cursed. That woman was going to be the death of her.
Olive strode confidently into the square where Otranto had sent word for her to meet him. She'd dressed in traditional Gilnean garb; a blue and white checkered jacket with a matching kilt with her family crest embroidered on the front. Her reddish-brown hair was styled in a French braid, her preferred style. It kept the hair out of her eyes- not that it mattered much when she was in Worgen form. She was attracting quite a number of curious stares, all of which she responded to with a curt nod and a smile. She reminded herself that she was the first Gilnean these people have probably ever met or seen. She was a representative of her people-her kind, she thought with pride. Greymane would be proud. She'd decided ahead of time to go in her human form; she did not want to cause a ruckus just yet. She stood there for a while, her violet eyes sweeping the area, scanning the ever slowly growing crowd, searching for her opponent. Soon, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a man in a light blue vest walking briskly towards her, two guards following in his wake, one of them carrying two swords. The man stopped in front of her and gave a small bow in greeting. She raised an eyebrow- this was the man her Josie's parents had chosen?
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she muttered under her breath. "He expects me to take him seriously wearing that garbage? He'd be laughed straight out of Gilneas if he was seen in that outfit. And that colour....UGH."
Olive cleared her throat and locked her eyes onto the man. "I take it you are Lord Otranto, the man betrothed to Lady Montilyet," she addressed him with a slight bow of her own, her odd accent coming out rather strongly. "I am Olive Bentley. I wish to duel you for her hand. I have heard tales of you being one of the best duelists in Antiva. I do hope you will prove these claims correct." She added as an afterthought. Bringing up an opponent's talent was a good way to inflate an ego-one that she planned to shatter thoroughly.
Otranto eyed the woman warily. "That is certainly an odd form of introduction," he said slowly. "Judging by your accent, I assume you are not from Ferelden, correct?"
Olive shook her head. "I hail from the Kingdom of Gilneas," she said with no small amount of pride. "I wouldn't expect you to have heard of it," she added. "Precious few have."
Otranto nodded. "Well then, since you are clearly not here to talk, shall we settle this?" He motioned the guard with the swords over, and took one, before tossing the other to Olive. She caught it with ease and then frowned. "Is this your weapon of choice?" she asked slowly, turning the sword over in her hands, examining it critically.
Otranto laughed. "Surely you don't expect me to allow you to use that impressive staff on your back? I wouldn't want to be magicked out of the fight! I am the wounded party here- we will use these. Unless, of course, you don't think you can-"
"No, no, no!" Olive interrupted. "I meant, why would you choose such a Light-forsaken weapon to duel with?"
Otranto stared at her. "Light….forsaken?"
"The maker of these clearly had no idea what he was doing," she scoffed. "I mean look at this!" Olive took her sword and perched it on her finger while the crowd tittered. "A properly made sword will not go up and down when balanced on a finger. This is horribly unbalanced! In Gilneas, we'd have had the blacksmith either beheaded or forced back into training! "Olive then flicked her hand, sending the sword twirling into the air before catching it with ease. She watched with amusement as his face started to turn red from anger.
"I beg your pardon, mage. These have been in my family for generations! I will not hear you slander my family's name like this!" Otranto declared. "If I have to kill you to defend my family's honour, then I will gladly do so!"
Olive's eyes narrowed. "What did you just call me?" she asked quietly.
Otranto smirked, thinking he'd hit a mark. "I called you a mage, or is there another particular reason why you carry such a weapon on your back?"
"FOR THE LOVE OF GREYMANE. I. AM. A. PRIEST. DO YOU SEE ME SUMMONING WATER ELEMENTALS OUT OF MY ASS? DO YOU SEE ME SHOOTING YOU WITH ARCANE BULLETS? NO. I AM A PRIEST, AND I WILL SMITE YOU INTO OBLIVION IF YOU CALL ME THAT ONE MORE FUCKIN' TIME," she all but roared. Light be damned. Thedas was full of complete morons. Could no one tell the difference between a mage or a priest? "Chromie, you motherfucker, I will kill you for this," she muttered under her breath.
Otranto stepped back, and swallowed hard. He was definitely going to the tavern after this was over. He was clearly imagining this. "Let us begin then, Gilnean. En garde!"
Olive rolled her eyes, then slid effortlessly into her battle stance, causing Otranto's eyes to widen a little. Her stance could have not screamed 'proficient' any louder. "Fight me then," she growled.
"With pleasure." Otranto slid into his own stance and made to lunge at her when-
"You call that a stance? What in the name of the Light are you doing?!" his opponent exclaimed. He faltered. "What?"
"When you duel, your stance should be able to declare your victory without having to move. It should intimidate your opponent into either yielding or making a mistake. Yours, however, is amusing me," Olive said, staring at him in disbelief. "Who in the hell taught you how to duel? By the Light, I am surrounded by complete idiots!"
On a balcony of a shoe shop a few feet away, Josephine and Leliana had arrived, and made themselves comfortable on a bench right up front. Varric and Cole, it seemed, had already been there for a while. When their beloved inquisitor started telling Otranto off for his posture, Leliana looked over at Josephine who was staring at Olive, her eyes wide. "She did not just-"
"Oh, yes she did," Varric grinned. "Were you here when she told him how poorly made his swords were? Priceless!" he chuckled. "Don't worry, Ruffles," he added. "Just sit back and enjoy the show. Your furry girlfriend's got this all under control."
Josephine had been ready to storm the crowd and put an end to this madness, but something told her not to, to trust Olive. "She's going to be the death of me," she muttered under her breath.
"And what a lovely death that would be," Leliana chimed in. "Come on, Josie. No matter what you think, it is rather romantic to be dueled for-"
Leliana was interrupted by Olive's frustrated yell. "No, NO! Like THIS!" She raised her eyebrow. In the few moments they'd been talking, Olive had stormed over to Otranto and was currently moving him around like a doll.
"Which is your writing hand? Your right? Then use your right leg for balance-keep it bent just a little. YES. THANK YOU. Now, put your left foot forward and bend it like this-YOU ARE SLOUCHING AGAIN!" she practically roared. "I am NOT dueling someone who has poor posture; it would NOT be a fair fight. Now, stand up STRAIGHT," Olive got into her stance again, and motioned for him to do the same and this time she nodded in approval. "MUCH better. Now, we have GOT to fix that grip- you are insulting the Montilyets AND your family with that horrendous grip. THIS is the proper way! You do NOT hold a sword the way you hold your-"
"ENOUGH!" Otranto yelled, his face beet-red from the humiliation he was suffering- at least that's what he told himself. It was not because of an innuendo. "WHY are you doing this? One does not normally teach their opponents how best to win!"
Olive glared at him. "My good man, I could defeat you in three moves right now- IF I were holding back," she answered. "I want an honest duel, one that I might have to work for. I do not want it handed to me on a silver platter, which is what you are doing right now. Get into position and fight me CORRECTLY." Olive was getting frustrated, and a frustrated Olive was someone that no one wanted to face. It was taking all of her will to not accidentally go full Worgen on this man's ass.
Otranto's face burned as he took his sword, double-checking to make sure he was holding it the way she'd…forcefully showed him. He grudgingly admitted it did feel a bit different, easier to wield. The same had to be said for his new stance. They began to circle each other, Olive looking more and more like the hunter chasing her prey with every step until-
"…OH FOR THE LOVE OF GILNEAS!" she roared. There was a pop, and quite a number of screams from the crowd, and suddenly Otranto was standing right in front of a very tall, very annoyed-looking wolf creature wearing a kilt.
Well, shit.
He took quite a few steps back in shock. Maker, he should have had that glass of brandy or two. Or maybe three.
"A dance is like a waltz," Olive said rather calmly, her voice having gone down a few octaves- a typical side-effect of the transformation. "You do know how to waltz, I hope?" she asked.
Otanto could only nod, his mouth having gone completely dry. This was not turning out like he'd originally thought.
"Then, we dance."
Before Otranto could do anything, Olive had leapt forward and grabbed his hands, one in each of her paws, and started sweeping the poor man across the square, as graceful as one could be. "Feel the beat, become one with it," she said, increasing the tempo every so often. "You must learn to match your opponent's speed without exerting effort. Now, you LEAD."
Up in the balcony, Varric was scribbling like mad upon the parchment he'd brought with him just in case, his eyes fixated on the two combatants, a wide grin threatening to take over his face. He was clearly enjoying himself. Cole was murmuring broken thoughts that had to be coming from Otranto. "A werewolf. She's a werewolf. How is this happening. Embarrassed. So embarrassed..." Leliana was bent over, her head in her hands, emitting squeaky noises every so often. At first, one would think she was weeping. But no, the Inquisition's spymaster, the feared Lady Nightingale, was laughing so hard that she could barely breathe. Josephine had left right before Olive had pulled her opponent into a dance, worried that she may have to intervene. Now she stood at the front of the silent crowd, watching in amazement as her Worgen literally waltzed right by her, a terrified Otranto in tow. They stopped abruptly, Olive going back to her place in the square, picking up her sword, which she'd tossed out of the way earlier, and dropping into her stance yet again. "Shall we dance?" she asked with a rather toothy grin.
Otranto, feeling like a schoolboy with the way he'd been thoroughly schooled that afternoon, felt a surge of anger as he turned to face her, picking up his own sword and making sure that his feet were in the right place. "I will turn you into a rug!" he yelled, lunging towards her. Josephine gasped, and surged forward, shoving her way past the crowd only to find that Olive had already disarmed Otranto and had knocked him off his feet.
Olive was glaring down at her opponent, who was staring up at her, terrified. "Did you really think that little jab was necessary?" she asked, sounding bored.
"STOP THIS!" Came a shrill cry. Olive whirled around- she'd know that voice anywhere.
"Josephine?!"
"What are you doing?!" she said, staring at Olive, her eyes wide.
"Teaching this fool the proper way to duel, my dear," Olive responded smoothly. "I was not about to duel a man with an unfair advantage."
"I told you I had this under control! Why did you agree to this? You went behind my back!" Josephine was pacing in front of her and Otranto now, fiddling with her hands. A nervous habit.
Shit. She was mad.
"You always say 'niceness before knives, my dear" Olive said gently. "My Gilnean pride, however, would not allow me to handle this particular situation nicely, especially if the man I was up against knew how to duel. If I had known otherwise," here she shot a dirty look at Otranto, "I would have gladly allowed you to do things your way."
"I…I didn't think...you knew how to duel. You are a magic user, and-"
"And magic users here generally don't know how to use swords. I know." Olive looked ashamed, and with another 'pop', had gone back into her human form. "I'm sorry, Josie."
"Just answer me this," Josephine said, her tone becoming icy. "Why did you do this?"
"Because I damn well love you, Josephine!" Olive said, throwing down the sword and ignoring the cry of protest from Otranto. "I love you, and I'd damn near do anything to make you happy!"
Josephine stared at her in shock, the anger melting away. "You…you do?"
Another pop and the Worgen was back, staring at her with a gentle, albeit toothy smile. "Yes, I do."
"GAH. You are IMPOSSIBLE!" Josephine cried, launching herself at Olive who caught her, twirled her in the air, and caught her bridal style. "I love you too, you furry pain-in-the-ass," Josephine murmured into her neck.
Olive chuckled, and popped back into a human before dipping, and kissing her soundly. A few claps and cheers could be heard from the crowd. She reluctantly pulled away from her girlfriend and turned to Otranto, picking up his swords and giving them another once-over. "I make the swords for my Inquisition," she began. "Let me remake these for you. I assure you they will be of the finest quality, and you'll never have to look the fool while holding them. What say you?"
Otranto, having found his voice, nodded. "For that, I give you my word that I will retract the terms of our betrothal. A fair deal, I believe."
Olive gave a short bow. "You have my word, Lord Otranto. And if you wish for more lessons, you know where to find me." She turned back to Josephine. "Now...where were we?" Josephine giggled as she was dipped once more. "I do not remember. Perhaps if you kiss me again, it will jog my memory?"
Three weeks after the 'duel' with the inquisitor, Otranto received a package. Upon opening it, he was greeted by the sight of two of the finest swords he'd ever seen, complete with the family crest engraved on the handle. He also found a piece of parchment attached to one of them, with drawings of footprints and paw prints scrawled all over it. Further examination revealed them to be the steps of a waltz.
Maker damn it. He needed a drink.