The Katari had risen early, but he was not surprised to see the woman warrior already hacking away at the training dummies. She almost always got here before him unless business had taken her away from Skyhold entirely. He took a moment to admire her form. Her strokes were efficient and careful in both timing and placement, if not exactly graceful.

He nodded greetings to her as he took up a position in front of another training dummy and raised his blunted greataxe. They had trained side-by-side like this many mornings, exchanging no words aside from a few grunts. He took a few swings at the dummy, taking pleasure in the way the impact reverberated through his arms and shoulders.

He felt restless. The Inquisition had normally dispatched him on mission after mission, but he'd had a week's rest now, and the commander seemed happy enough to pay him to sit around Skyhold, idle. Especially with the tavern effectively off-limits, boredom was a constant threat, and it worried him. He'd heard stories of Tal-Vashoth running amok, and he fancied he could hear his axe crying out for blood. It would be a terrible end to be brought down like a mad beast after slaughtering the people in the courtyard.

He turned to the woman, still intent on her exercises. "Do you want to spar?" he asked.

She let her sword drop to the ground and looked him over. "I thought Qunari didn't like to fight women," she said frankly.

"It's not a problem," he said. He had fought alongside enough women since joining the Inquisition that he could put the strangeness of it out of his mind. In truth, it had been seeing the skill and courage of human women in battle and picturing how the women in his life might take to that role that had started him on the road to questioning the Qun. And, ultimately, to rejecting its rigid roles.

"Very well, then," she said. "What are you called?"

Not what is your name?, which suggested she had some experience with Qunari. "The Katari. 'One who brings death,' in our tongue," he added, anticipating the usual next question.

"I'm Cassandra," the woman said. "Tell me when you're ready."

"I'm ready now," the Katari said, raising his axe.

"Then let us begin," Cassandra said, steadying her shield.

He stepped forward and aimed a testing blow at the top of her shield, planning to gauge how far he could force it down. Just before impact, she did something with the angle of her shield, and his blow was deflected downward, the axe head burying itself in the ground. As he strained to free it, she stepped past it and raised her sword under his throat.

That would have been his shortest and ugliest fight. "Well done," he mumbled, glancing around the courtyard to see if anyone had witnessed his humiliation. Everyone seemed occupied with their own affairs. The warriors of his antaam would have taken a moment to gloat, then returned to practice. Cassandra did not celebrate her victory at all; she simply dropped back and raised her shield again to signal her readiness.

He was more cautious, now, striking against her shield but not fully committing to the swing, keeping the handle in position to deflect a sword strike. He took the opportunity to try to get her measure as an opponent. He was sure he was stronger than her. He'd never met a human who was his equal in strength. He was at least as quick - a good thing as several times he had to scurry away to avoid her sword. But she was solid as a rock against any attempts to knock her off balance or push her across the courtyard. And, he grudgingly admitted as she dodged away from his axe and positioned her sword against his side, she was much better at predicting his moves than he was hers.

"Well done," he huffed again, and went back on the attack. She held him off, but he could see that she was starting to tire. The shield dropped minutely, her breath huffed from her lungs, and he could see when she shifted her weight in preparation for a strike. Sensing that he had the upper hand, he hammered her shield harder - and she bounced back from a blow and thrust the shield forward, knocking the axe from his hand. He lunged for it, but the sword's end was at his chest before he straightened back up.

He could feel his blood boiling now, and struck again without a word. She was forced back for the first time, and her sword strokes became more tentative. He rained blows on her shield, then turned the axe to strike the sword out of her hand.

"I yield," she said, breathing heavily. "Well fought."

Almost he struck her again before the words penetrated and he pulled the axe back, holding it as the roaring in his head subsided, then slowly lowering it to the ground. "Better fought on your side. You'd have had me dead on the ground three times before I wore you down."

She nodded, accepting his statement as the truth it was. "That you did. I need to sit for a bit," she said, sinking down to her knees.

He joined her, crouching on the bare ground of the courtyard. "You have such discipline and control. I've rarely seen that outside the Qun." He felt its lack daily. Sometimes he understood the Tal-Vashoth who gave in to wrath all too well. "How have you achieved that?"

"Through faith," Cassandra said. "And long practice."

"Faith doesn't bring order to the rest of the Inquisition," he said. "The Inquisitor's at the top, and then the chain of command becomes murky. I'll be sent on a mission with three others and no one clearly placed in charge. It seems unstable."

"The Inquisition's new, and we're still finding our way," she said. "I am confident that we will. But in the meantime, I can speak to Cullen about clarifying who's in command."

"As long as he doesn't plan to put one of the mages in charge," he said with a snort. "If that fire-summoning boy starts barking orders at me… I'm not ready for that." The perpetually hostile necromancer or the haughty elf would be little better. Which of his teammates would make a good commander? Possibly the dwarf, with his experience fighting in a group.

Cassandra asked, "Would it be helpful to discuss that with the Iron Bull? He seems comfortable working with the mages - what's wrong?"

He had recoiled involuntarily at the mention of the Bull. Embarrassed, he explained, "I try to stay away from him. He doesn't carry himself like a Tal-Vashoth. I hear rumors he might even be one of the Ben-Hassrath."

"He definitely is," Cassandra said. "He's made no secret of it."

The Katari's gaze darted to the tavern, half expecting the Bull to emerge and clap him in chains at any moment. "Then why do you tolerate him here?"

"He's here to help us against Corypheus," Cassandra said. "Not to work against us, or," she added with a hint of a smile, "to drag random Tal-Vashoth back to Qunari territory."

She read his tells as well in conversation as in battle. "If that's what you believe, then he's either fooling you, or fooling himself. More likely you. The Ben-Hassrath are not easily fooled."

"We have eyes on him. But I assure you, his presence here is no danger to you."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and the Katari found himself relaxing again. The Inquisition was dealing with momentous events; it did seem unlikely that repatriating him was high on the Bull's agenda.

"Do you know any jokes?" he asked Cassandra lightly. One pleasure of being away from the Qun was discovering how many jokes his antaam hadn't known.

"I am the worst person to ask that," she said with a scowl. "If humor is what you seek, I can recommend a dwarf. Or a bearded Grey Warden."

"I may take you up on that. Can we spar again sometime?"

Now she smiled. "Yes, of course. Next time, you can try the sword and shield. You'll learn more about to read a shield user that way. And my shield arm could use a break from your pummeling."

The Katari smiled at that. It felt strange to be pleased by praise from a woman warrior, but by no means unpleasant. Perhaps fighting with the Inquisition would work out after all.