Work Text:
Whack!
Ozol doubled over, biting back a curse. It wouldn’t do him any good to start hissing in Qunlat. He inhaled sharply through his teeth as he pressed two cold hands to his forehead.
“Adaar!” Cassandra rushed over to his side. Snow crunched beneath her boots.
“Good morning, Seeker,” Ozol chuckled, smiling up at her. It wasn’t often that he was the one looking up. “How’s training going?”
“What happened?” She crouched down, her hands hovering over Ozol’s forehead, like she was afraid to touch him. “I heard some sort of impact and then you groaning in pain, and when I looked over, you were nearly on the ground!”
“Just a… standard qunari mishap, ma’am,” he smiled, trying to ignore the serious pain in his forehead.
Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?” She always seemed to default to phrasing questions like she was conducting an interrogation. It was quite efficient—if a little off-putting, sometimes. “Are you reacting poorly to the magic?” Her eyes locked in on Ozol’s left hand.
He laughed, taking his hands away from his forehead. “No, no, nothing like that.”
She gasped. “You’re bleeding!”
Ozol looked down at his hands. There was a small smearing of blood on his grey palms. He sat back on the snow-covered stone steps with a thump, and patted the snow beside him. Cassandra hesitated, but sat down where he directed. “I can assure you, I’m fine,” he said, smiling. He pulled a small handkerchief out of his pocket, gathered up some snow, and pressed the cloth to his forehead.
“What happened?” She was back to having to look up at him.
“Like I said, a standard qunari mishap.” He pointed upward at the stone doorway. Cassandra looked confused. “As a general rule, you Southerners build your entrances quite… well, appropriate for your own size.”
“Ah. I see.” She looked from the doorway and back at Ozol. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do about that, Adaar.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle pat. “Aside from putting a thick layer of cloth on each archway, no.”
“You think that would work?” She sounded skeptical.
“I know it would work!” He grinned and gave her a soft squeeze. He didn’t miss the way that she tensed, still clearly uneasy with a massive grey hand on her human shoulders. “I did it when I first… moved down South.” Best to let the lady know we’re no threat, he thought. Play into your mistakes, be gentle. “I was staying in this inn, you know, tiny place, itty bitty human rooms.” He let go of her to make the shape of an imaginary box with the hand that wasn’t still applying a melting compress to his skin. Give her the truth. We’re going to be working with her. It wouldn’t do us any good to be the big, scary foreigner. Just act normal. Even if we still think with Qunlat pronouns. “I was traveling with another qunari. She was a good deal shorter than me, but she still kept smacking her head on the door frame every time she tried to leave the room.” He remembered, half-fondly, the amount of time he spent nursing the headaches that his former saarebas would get. Poor thing. “Eventually, I took to putting a little bit of thick wool over every door.” He chuckled as he replaced the snow in his handkerchief. “I mean, it’s far more dignified than a helmet.”
“Could she not simply… duck her head?”
“She didn’t have the instinct to,” he shrugged. “She was raised in a land of high arches.” And saarebas don’t think on their own. Their heads are always bowed, but they won’t duck unless ordered to. “As was I. Thankfully, I know when to duck.”
“And yet you still managed to brain yourself going through a door,” Cassandra said, smiling just a little.
“We all miscalculate from time to time,” he chuckled. “I think I would have broken a nose if I hadn’t ducked at all, Seeker.” He glanced upward. “Or a chin.”
“That would have been… most unfortunate,” she said.
A dumb thought sprung to Ozol’s mind. “I could always walk around like this,” he said, pulling the ribbon from his hair. Ever since he found his footing in the South, those silly little impulses always seemed so delightfully appealing. The large bundle of silver dreadlocks fell loose over his back for a moment before he leaned forward and guided them over his long, side-sprawling horns. The locs draped over his forehead. “There, that’s a good cushion! What do you think, Seeker?” He held a few locs apart like he was peering through a thick, velvet curtain.
“I think that’s quite a hamper to your visibility, and more than a little indignant.” Despite her harsh syntax, Ozol could tell that she was slightly amused. He smiled at her, and she made a small, half-annoyed noise and looked away. “Well, you seem more than capable of recovering,” she said, standing up.
He pushed his heavy hair back to where it usually sat as he looked up at her. “I’d ask for a hand up, but I’m afraid I’d drag you back down onto me,” he said.
She squinted at him and offered him her hand. “Do not think me weak, Adaar,” she said, voice strict and commanding. He took her hand, and allowed her to pull. Her eyes went wide for a moment when she realized just how much force it took for her to help a qunari to his feet. “There. No dragging.” She let go of his hand and crossed her arms. “Now, I suggest you carry on with your duties. It is only a matter of hours before we are to seal the Breach. We need you in peak fighting condition.” She glanced behind him at the doorway and gave him a quick once-over. “Perhaps… stay outside for the time being.”
He laughed and gave her a nod. “Understood, Seeker,” he smiled. “I’d salute, but I don’t want to risk a concussion.” She rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright. You keep yourself safe, too.”
The cold and a little bit of fluster made her copper Nevarran cheeks slightly pink. “We shall reconvene at noon. Do not be late.” With that, she walked away, back to where she’d set up her small training camp.
Ozol looked up at the sky. The Breach was massive. He put his hands in his pocket, ignoring the dull ache in his left palm. Hopefully, this would all be over soon.