Sisters of Tevinter

Tandem

        Well it took two bloody, blistering days and several failed, lumpy attempts, but now Jor was hammering out the finishing touches of what looked to be a promising blade. The iron and luster still glowed red with heat, curving slightly as Jor drove the heavy mallet into the hissing metal. The rhythmic clang was almost like music, and Jor found it soothing. You couldn't focus on many other things while you were smithing for risk of burns or losing a thumb, and the steady focus shoved all fears, memories and sickness aside. For two days Jor had sat beside the bellows, scrapping ruined blades and broken tangs. Two days she'd hammered and perfected and gripped tongs in oil. 

        Harritt had left to have dinner with his wife as he usually did around this time. The past two days he and Jor had worked side by side on their respective projects. The blacksmith, more experienced and skilled, got things done faster with much more success. Jor was relieved he didn't seem to mind her company and didn't expect her to say anything inspiring. It was nice to be treated normally for once. He even berated her for neglecting to quench her first attempt on the dagger, he had the audacity to sigh. 

         It was nice to be an equal again. Especially with someone so practical. A break. So Jor continued her work, her muscles aching and her scarf tied over her brow to keep her hair from her face, sweat dripping down her nose.

        Clang. Inhale. Clang. Exhale. Clang. Inhale. 

    "There you are," someone shouted over the din of steel on iron. "What are you doing?" 

       Her fragile shell of focus broken, Jor sighed and set the hammer down on its head, reaching for the tongs to lift the gently curving blade of cooling silver alloy. "Hello, Dorian." She turned slowly to plunge the fragment into the barrel of oil. She had a good feeling about this one. 

      The hissing oil drowned out the mage's next words as he stepped inside. 

      "Hm?" Jor glanced out her shoulder at him as she drew the blade from the liquid, it seemed to drip molten gold in the evening sunlight leaking through the slats. 

      "I said you look awful. Have you been sleeping?" 

      "I've been busy." She didn't look at him. 

      "I see that." Dorian leaned his slender frame against the wall beside her. "The mages are here. All of them." 

       "That's nice. I mean- that's good." Jor sighed and turned away to set the gleaming blade on the table, pulling a few scraps of nugskin from the shelf. It would do for now. 

       "Wouldn't you like to meet them?"

       "Not right now. Soon, I promise." Jor tugged the gloves from her hands and pulled a bone needle from the small cup on the table, threading a line of fiber through it. 

        "Soon you'll have to organize the move on the Breach. Think of it, just poof. Gone. No more scary demons falling from the sky." 

        "Mhm." 

        "Jormungandr, I don't believe there is a single note of enthusiasm in your voice." 

        "I'm just tired, that's all." Jor ignored the flash of blue ink on the edge of her vision as she began to sew the supple leather around the tang of the new blade, creating a makeshift hilt. 

         "Darling, I think you're taking this entirely the wrong way. This is a victory! A step closer to saving the whole of Thedas. Cheer up, would you?"

       "I'd love to, Dorian, really I would. It's just that right now? I'm working." 

        "We can fix that." The mage gently took her arm and steered her away from the crafting table. "Leave the blade." 

         "What?"

         "As your personal time travelling companion, I believe I have the right to treat you to something. Anything, I don't care, just put down the knife." 

          Jor hesitated, sighing, and placed the newly forged blade on the table. It glittered at her, as if wishing her on her way. Promising it wouldn't go anywhere. 

          "There you go, much better." Dorian threw an arm around her shoulders, leading her out into the snow. "Come celebrate with the others. I'm sure we can fish Cassandra from the sea of trainees. What do you want? A drink? A night's company? I'll introduce you to some of the spellbinders." Dorian grinned. 

          Jor blushed heavily and sighed, leaning against the mage's side. "No thanks."

          "Spoken for?"

           Her blush deepened. "No. Not yet. Never really had time to think about it." Again, she thought of the blooming vines of blue ink trailing up her wrist. 

          "Ah, but a powerful Herald deserves some poor lovestricken soul on her arm, doesn't she?" 

         "Currently, I have you." 

         Dorian laughed. "I'm all the better for it, darling."

         "You're not lovestricken I take it?" 

         "Not quite. I find you and I are too much alike." 

         Jor snorted, but a weary smile tugged at her lips. Dorian supported her good-naturedly, animatedly retelling anecdotes from his days of study. Their boots crunched through the snow in tandem as he lead her up to the tavern. 

          Tandem. That's a good name for a dagger. 

          Dorian brushed the door open. The tavern was packed with soldiers, full of murmurs and hope and music and alcohol. The gentler warmth of a hearth rather than the forge was almost foreign, but it soothed the chill on Jor's sweat dampened brow. 

           She caught a glimpse of red hair at the far table, the edge of curving ebony horns. Dorian lead her past the tables of whispering soldiers and they stumbled into their companion's conversation. 

           Evidently, Varric and Solas had already gotten the notice. They were perched on stools around the increasingly crowded table, listening as Kaisen and Krem delved deep into debate. 

           "Don't you think a merciful death is its own form of justice?" Krem put forward cautiously. 

           "Nope. A lifetime sentence to torture is its own deterrent. If the Chantry could just see the big picture-" 

            "No one would support a Chantry that enforces and advocates for torture." 

            "They would once they see the crime rates drop." 

            "I think you're missing the point. What if someone's falsely accused?" 

             "Can't be accused if there's no crime." 

             Varric looked up, his eyes glazed over. "Oh, Jor, thank god you're here." 

             "Yes, save us, please," Solas said bitterly, tucked into the corner of the tavern. 

             Jor smiled wearily at the elf and dwarf, sinking into her chair. "I'm just here to drink." 

           "No, no, back me up, Jor," Kaisen insisted, patting her hand. "I've got him." 

           "You do not," Krem scoffed. Bull chuckled from where he sat. Dorian smiled and disappeared in the direction of the bar.