Sisters of Tevinter

The Iron Bull

               Three days. Three. Days. Of Kaisen's incessant chatter. Jor was at the end of her rope, weighed down like a pack mule under a large sack of provisions for the soldiers that had travelled ahead of her party with Krem to guide them, only a day before. Jor wished vehemently she had accepted the mercenary's hasty invitation, but she had wanted to walk alongside those familiar to her- and she was not ready to face the troops that had so quickly become hers. 

                'Herald' they called her. 'Lady Trevelyan' and 'The Emerald Hand.' Some flinched when they saw her. Others shouted greetings and lines of prayer. So nervously, Jor hung back with Cassandra, Solas, Varric and her sister. 

                  The Crow was trotting alongside Cassandra, jabbering pleasantly about the weather and local gossip in Haven. The Seeker listened with a patient ear, every once in a while smiling at the news of some scout's new relationship or a successful raid on the bandit encampments throughout the Hinterlands. Kaisen was doing all the talking, not that Cassandra seemed to mind. Dane bounded happily beside Varric, pink tongue lolling as he panted and barked with glee. 

                 The dwarf had begun tossing sticks for the cheerful mabari, who somehow always came back with one slightly larger. Now Varric was lobbing boughs as thick as Jor's arm into the trees for him to fetch. 

                 Jor adjusted her footing on the damp, rocky slope. She'd almost slipped on moss at least six times that morning- it always seemed to rain here. Even now, storm clouds were gathering above them in silvery mist and darkening sky. The Coast was aptly named. 

                  The scholar did her best to ignore Kaisen's next peal of laughter, heaving the heavy canvas bale into a steadier position on her shoulder. She had insisted on carrying the supplies. Probably out of guilt for avoiding the soldiers that were only trying to be amiable. She was beginning to regret it. 

                    Solas walked beside her, smiling slightly as he looked ahead. He said nothing, but Jor had the sneaking suspicion the elf was laughing at her. Did he know what was wrong? Really have to ask about telepathy one of these days. Jor scowled. 

                    Something caught her attention, movement on the horizon. The brief clash of metal. Cassandra looked up. Suddenly, Dane gave a great booming bark and shot off down the trail. Thunder rumbled. Kaisen fell silent and seemed to vanish on the spot, as if she'd never been standing there at all. 

                      Someone screamed. 

                     Jor threw down the heavy canvas and started to run, leaping to sprint after the mabari hound. The clamoring of plate mail told her Cassandra was only two steps behind her. Solas and Varric diverged from the path to find higher ground, pushing aside scrub brush up the incline of boulders and mossy foothills. 

                   Jor drew her dirks from her belt, skidding down the trail of rock and mud. A steady roar and swish reached her ears as she rounded a wall of rock at the beginnings of the mountain. The trail turned to dark sand, tossed and rimmed by a churning ocean. Rain was beginning to fall from the clouds in icy slivers, soaking through the scarf around her neck. 

                    Shadows wrestled and seethed in waves of violence, people were shouting, weapons clashed. Jor could see Inquisition helmets flashing within the mix.

                     Spurred by a determined anger, Jor ducked behind a pillar of rock and fell into a silent trot. There was a group of shapes amongst her people- Krem's men, some kind of giant, and eight assailants in black armor. She took all this in at a glance- the closest was some kind of archer with a helmet of iron. He had his back to her. She sprang forward, driving her dirks into either side of his exposed neck.