The warm sunlight filtered through the ancient trees of Arlathan, casting dappled shadows on the cobblestone streets. Bajie walked with a sense of nostalgia, guiding Flea through the rediscovered city. The grandeur of the elven architecture, with its intricate carvings and towering spires, spoke of a time long past but now vibrantly alive again.
Bajie paused at the central plaza, watching her eyes widen at the sight of the majestic fountain, its waters dancing with magic. He explained how this place, once lost to history, had been meticulously restored by scholars and mages alike. The market stalls bustled with activity, filled with vibrant fabrics, intricate jewelry, and ancient artifacts brought back to life.
They moved through the city, Bajie pointing out the grand library, the restored amphitheater, and the sacred grove where the ancient trees whispered the secrets of the past. He shared stories of their ancestors, the lore of the Dalish, and the pride of the elven heritage now rekindled.
As they approached the food stalls, the air filled with the enticing aromas of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and exotic spices. Bajie’s stomach growled, and he chuckled, guiding her to a stall with a generous spread of elven delicacies. They selected a variety of dishes—sweet honey cakes, spiced venison, and fresh fruits. Bit different from the old days, but then it’s got a new group running things here, sure us ancients are helping things, but it’s the new generation that’s leading, and doing a pretty damn fine job of things so far, in my opinion. He explained as he looked over the different foods.
The journey into Arlathan had been a long one, but she had enjoyed the time alone with her mentor, her father, as they had journeyed without taking the instant eluvians. She, like him, had an innate distrust in their use, in their safety, and her own two feet were good at getting her around to where they were going. Plus there was the fact that it had allowed him to show her things she had never gotten to see during her time in the fighting pits -- trees that she had never knew the names of, animals that she had never seen before. After her fall and escape, she hadn't spent too much more time awake. The first chance she had to slip into what she had thought would be a form of death that she would be happy to have had, but she had awoken body still intact. Things were funny like that.
I don't remember any of it, honestly, it all seems so new and.. Flea's hand rested on the hilt of her sword, as she took in a deep breath. Her letters back and forth with Ailwin had helped give her a sense of the new times, but this? It.. it wasn't familiar but it was, as if any moment there would be a barker come running down the street to announce the gladiator games, where all of them would file into an amphitheater and she would fight, to the death, with someone else. She had been so high on those times, when she and even he had been raised on shoulders, awarded with better things, more food, comfortable places to sleep. She had been infamous, until she hadn't been.
This new group, it's the woman who contacted you to come train the people, isn't it?
Bajie nodded thoughtfully as he picked up a piece of spiced venison, chewing slowly as he considered Flea's words. The warmth of the sun and the bustling life around them contrasted sharply with the harsh memories she was sharing. He swallowed and turned to her with a softened expression, understanding the complex emotions that must be swirling inside her.
Yeah, it's her, Megara. he replied, his voice carrying a mix of respect and caution. She's got vision, I'll give her that. But more than that, she's got heart. And that's what matters most when you're trying to rebuild something from the ashes. You need more than just a plan; you need the will to make it happen, the guts to push through when it gets tough. And believe me, it *will* get tough.
He gestured around them at the vibrant market, the ancient trees, and the restored buildings. This place, Arlathan... it’s like a phoenix rising, but it’s not just about what was. It’s about what could be. And that’s where the new blood comes in. They’re not just trying to recreate the past; they’re trying to build a future, one that’s better than what came before. And we? We’re here to make sure they don’t forget the lessons of the old days, but we also gotta let them make their own path.
Bajie could see the conflict in Flea's eyes, the way her hand rested on her sword as if it were a lifeline to the only reality she had known for so long. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.
Look, I know it’s hard to shake off the old ghosts, he said, his tone more serious now. But you’re not that same girl from the pits anymore. You’re more than that. And this place, these people, they need someone like you—someone who’s seen the worst of it and come out the other side. Someone who can teach them how to fight, not just with a sword, but with everything they've got inside.
He smiled, a hint of the old, roguish Bajie coming through. Besides, if things ever do get out of hand, you and me? We’re not exactly the type to go down without a fight.
Bajie turned back to the food stall, grabbing another honey cake and offering it to Flea. So what do you say? Let’s give these young ones a run for their money, huh? Show them what real fighters look like.
He winked, trying to lighten the mood, but the undertone of his words was clear: the future might be uncertain, but they would face it together, come what may.
Memories aside, she listened to Bajie talk about Megara, about the passion he seemed to have behind the vision the woman had for the area. It was like what Ailwin had for their people. A vision, and they just needed the people to make it happen -- believe who would believe in the plan. That's what a movement, an idea needed, not a leader, but the first follower. A leader without a follower was just.. a man dancing alone. But once someone had a follower, and another, and another, well, then change happened. Everything else fell into place and would or would not get worked out depending on the person who everyone looked at to be in charge.
Not tough in the sense that we'll have to act like a police force, right? I don't like the idea of policing people. There had been a time that the pits had a riot, and they had used them to keep people from the places that needed to be guarded. Because she could hold a shield, and a sword -- she was no soldier. Killing someone because they were a cunt, that she could do -- keeping a person from food because someone else owned that food? Especially when that person looked just like her? No, she couldn't do it, her heart -- as selective as it was with what she could and could not be morally ambiguous about -- could not bear the idea of hunger, or death, because someone was just trying to live.
Bajie's continued words pulled her from her deeper thoughts though, So no slavers and war merchants coming through and peddling flesh, right? She couldn't remember when she had been sold the first time, nor her parents face, but she'd fight to ensure no one else had to have holes in their memory like she had. Perhaps that was because of too many blows to the head in the pits, she had seen others in the past go simple as they aged from too many hits to their head. His hand on hers, calming her, chased the thoughts away again. Someone who knows what it's like to have to fight just to live. And make no doubt, this social project needed to fight to live.
And seeing Bajie so animated about it.
Flea wanted to see it live.
As long as they know it's your and mine's hides before theirs. She could be a bleeding heart, but at the end of the day, she would always chose Bajie and herself over others. It was simply part of her nature. Maybe that would change one day, but for now, she knew he was the only one she would fight for again. I suppose. It's not like there's anything else I could really do. Never learned to do anything but fight real well, you know? The corners of her mouth gently tugged upward. She could do this, teach others to fight. Let me guess, you have the first class already lined up and we're heading there now, because you were so certain I would say yes...
As for policing? He waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes at the thought. Nah, we’re not here to play guards. Megara’s big on freedom—don’t get me wrong, they’ve got rules. But no one’s about to make us the bad guys just for standing here and teaching ’em a few good moves. This is about self-defense, the strength to walk the streets and know you don’t need to look over your shoulder every five seconds. Slavers? They’d be lucky to make it past the border. We’re here to keep people safe, but we’re not about to turn into the iron-fisted ‘peacekeepers.’
Bajie took a breath, looking up at the towering trees, their ancient branches stretching toward the sky, the city bathed in the light of the past and the possibility of a future they could be proud of.
This is a place of hope, Flea, he said, his voice quieter now, something solemn in his gaze. A place that’s been given a second chance, just like us. And if it means a little sweat and some hard-earned bruises to give these folks a shot at keeping it? I’m all in.
His eyes found hers, and he could see her coming around to the idea, piece by piece. The fight to live was something she knew intimately, and this was just another way of making sure others had a chance to fight and live on their own terms.
So, what do you say, Flea? Ready to teach these poor fools a thing or two about staying alive? I’ll make sure they don’t give you too much lip—although, knowing you, you’ll handle it just fine.
He winked, a glint of the old mischief that had gotten him through more scrapes than he cared to count. He could already picture it: Flea drilling the eager new recruits, a look of hardened resolve on her face as they looked to her not just for training, but for a sliver of her spirit, the iron will that had kept her standing even when everything else had tried to knock her down.
Thank goodness, I wouldn't have been able to stick around if they were using us to police people. She never liked the term peacekeeper. It usually meant mercenary, or murderer, in her experience. True peacekeepers never fought, they used words first, and she wasn't one for using words, she didn't have a lot of them to begin with, not on good days, and certainly not on bad ones. I'm not afraid of sweat and bruises. She wasn't afraid of a lot of things.
You always have a way of talking me into doing things I'd rather not be doing, but not in the bad way, in the way .. that you know what's good for my spirit. It was the most she had said in one time in a while, but it was true, Bajie had a way of instilling in her a want to do what was for the good of others, not just herself, to not just be a cog in a machine that had chewed up better than her, and spat back out the worse than her. She was middling in that machine, and Bajie was giving her a way to say enough was enough and leave it all behind.
He was giving her a way out, like he had tried to so long ago. A way to be more than just a fighter and a killer. A way to feel proud of what she was doing, to feel good about what she was doing. And as much as the realist in her hated to admit, a way to feel the hope this place was promising. If they talk back it'll be laps, like I had to do, all those years ago. laps are good for character building. She had to run a lot of laps in her early years.
Bajie let out a deep, hearty laugh at Flea’s mention of laps, the kind that echoed off the ancient trees of Arlathan and seemed to make the air around them lighter. He gave her a playful nudge with his elbow, his wide grin stretching ear to ear.
Laps, huh? he mused, wiping a fake tear from his eye. Good for character building, sure, but I think you’re just trying to torture the poor souls. Not that they don’t need it—gods know half of them probably couldn’t outrun a drunk snail. He shook his head, still chuckling, but there was pride in his eyes as he looked at Flea. She was coming around, finding her place in this new world, and Bajie couldn’t be prouder of her for it.
You’ve come a long way, kid, he said, his voice a bit softer now, more serious. And it’s not just about the fighting. It’s about finding something worth fighting for. These people—they’re not asking you to be something you’re not. They want what you already are: a survivor. A fighter with heart. And yeah, maybe they’ll complain about the laps, but they’ll respect you for it. Because you’ve earned that respect ten times over.
Torture is for those who can't get on board for the cause, or need to be reminded that I'm not a nice person, either way... She teased back, as they passed a grouping of recruits along the way, her eyes looking for those who stepped lightly, for those who's arms were swollen from manual labor, for those who were too skinny for their own good -- they were to teach them to fight, but that didn't mean one size fit all, when fighting. A warrior needed to be able to heft a shield and sword, an archer needed strong arms to pull a draw weighted string, an assassin needed steps that never bothered leaves on the path, and a spy needed to be able to fit into the smallest spaces to escape. She and Bajie had trained warriors before, a few archers, true, but if they tried to make everyone who stepped forward into a toe to toe fighter, they'd fail.
So she looked, and made mental notes, as she heard his voice softening, drawing her attention away from sizing up their candidates, They know what it is to have to fight to survive, like we did, it makes them kin in the ways that matter. Because not all of them were elves, there were humans here and there, and she thought she had saw a dwarf in there at one point, though, they had looked as if they could take care of themselves. And who knew, some of these blood lines could have been from her family, she wouldn't know, she had slept the better part of millennias after all, had missed so much history and time, but it was.. it would be better now. Even if she couldn't get over the fact that they had found one another so easily.
It's much harder to have someone follow from love, than it is from fear. I could scare them, but, if I do it with love and respect they'll be all the more loyal, yes? She thought she remembered something like that, from him, in the past.
Bajie smiled warmly, a rare moment of softness breaking through his usual roguish demeanor. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly as they strolled past the recruits. His eyes followed hers, noticing how she was already assessing each potential fighter, instinctively categorizing their strengths and weaknesses.
Ah, see? That right there? That’s why you’re going to be better at this than you think, he said, gesturing toward the recruits. You’ve got the eye. You know what to look for—what’s worth building on, what needs toughening up. And yeah, you’re right. Leading with love is harder. Fear’s the easy path, the quick way to make people fall in line. But love? Respect? That takes time, patience... and more than a few laps. He smirked.
He stopped walking for a moment, his gaze following a group of young recruits struggling to lift practice weapons clearly too heavy for them. He sighed, shaking his head before glancing back at Flea.
Thing is, you’ve already got their respect. They see someone who’s been through the fire and come out the other side still swinging. They might not know the details, but they don’t have to. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you look at them like you actually *see* them. That’s not something you can fake.
Bajie turned to face her fully, his expression more serious now. And yeah, they’ll grumble. They’ll curse your name under their breath when their arms are sore and their legs feel like lead. But when the time comes? When it’s their life—or someone else’s—they’ll remember what you taught them. And that? That’s worth every bit of sweat, every bruise, every second you spend out there with them.
He grinned, the playful spark returning to his eyes. Plus, let’s face it—there’s a certain satisfaction in watching them run laps while we sit back and enjoy a nice bottle of wine. You know, for morale.
Did you have the same struggles with me, when they brought me to the Pit, and dumped me out of the crate they had tossed me in to try and transport me there? I must had been feral by the time they opened it. I remember little of that day, but she remembered the crate. Being sealed inside it, and then being unceremonially dumped on the ground, thankful beyond all to be able to see the sky again. What had happened after that had become a blur of training, her own path to becoming the fighter she was now.
I don't remember you making me run that many laps, but, time has a way of softening memories and making it more difficult to remember the exact details. A woman carrying a large shield struggled for a moment, as Flea used the moment to help her get a better grip on the leather straps, Try the blacksmith, this one will slow you down, have them trim the sides and bottoms, if you can't move the shield is useless in the end. The woman nodded and went along as Flea drug a hand down her face.
This is gonna be a lot of work. She inclined her head when he mentioned the bottle of wine, I may be mistaken, but that doesn't seem to do much for their morale. Flea grinned as she paused to kick a ball back towards a group of youth that were playing, the leather inflated bag having landed near their feet. It's not easy. Had Ailwin not helped me find you, I would have fallen back into the same patterns as when we were enslaved, and right there for the few months after, killing for money because it was the only skill I had.
Oh, don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten that crate, Bajie said, his tone light but his eyes shadowed with memory. Feral? That’s putting it mildly. You came out of there like a wildcat with a chip on your shoulder and teeth bared for anyone dumb enough to step close. Took a lot of talking and even more dodging to get you to calm down long enough to listen. He grinned, his usual irreverence slipping into his words. But hey, I saw it even then—the fight in you. The heart. You just needed someone to help you focus it. Like trimming a blade, you know?
He watched her adjust the recruit’s shield, his expression softening as he observed the way she instinctively guided others. Her leadership wasn’t just about commands; it was about understanding, meeting people where they were and helping them rise higher.
Laps or not, you’re a natural at this, Flea. And yeah, it’s gonna be work—hard work. But you’ve faced worse, haven’t you? Besides, it’s not just about teaching them to fight. It’s about giving them what you never had back then. A chance to fight for something that’s theirs. A place they can call their own, a life that’s their own.
He chuckled at her quip about wine, rubbing the back of his neck. Alright, fair point. Maybe the wine’s more for my morale than theirs. Can you blame me? Watching you turn into a proper drill sergeant is thirsty work.
As she mentioned her past, her voice quieter now, Bajie’s expression shifted, his playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.
You’ve come a long way, Flea, he said, his voice steady, carrying the weight of years and experiences shared between them. What you went through back then... that could’ve broken anyone. But it didn’t break you. And yeah, maybe you stumbled a bit after. We all do. What matters is where you’ve landed now. Right here, with these people looking to you for guidance. For hope. That’s not nothing, Flea. That’s everything.
He tilted his head, offering her a small, encouraging smile. Besides, if anyone can whip this lot into shape without losing their mind, it’s you. And if it gets too much? Well, you’ve always got me around to complain to. Or throw things at. Your call.
Bajie turned back toward the group of recruits, clapping his hands together loudly to get their attention. Alright, you lot! Enough standing around like trees taking root. Let’s see some movement! Laps for everyone! And don’t bother cursing my name—I’ve heard it all before!
He glanced back at Flea, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. See? Character building.
She heard his words and took them to heart as they continued along their way. She knew Bajie had unquestionable faith in her to do what was needed, but at the end of the day, she had trouble believing in herself enough. She was still freshly woken, even as long as she had wandered in her sleep, she still felt like the fighting pits were a few months back. What you so desperately tried to secure for me in the past, a life that was mine and mine alone.
It didn't help that she was better at killing, at murder. Slipping a blade in-between ribs, a dagger to the throat, wet works that stained her hands red, so deeply that she could never wash the stain away. It would be harder for her to leave that behind, to truly step away from all of it. She was afraid she'd fall right back into her old methods, the moment she ran up against something to difficult. It was far easier to kill, and hide a body, than it was to face up to emotions, to feelings, to having to work on something, truly work on it, sweat and labor involved.
Sometimes I think you put too much faith in my ability to do this, but you taught me more than just the fight, and you're still teaching me that, well, maybe more telling me and I'll make the choice what to do with it, the humor in the words was a little dry, she could work on the delivery a little more, but the smile that threatened to widen on her face was hard to keep under wraps, Always did tend to have a mind of my own, huh?
A mind of your own? Bajie let out a scoff, throwing his hands up dramatically. Flea, you’ve got a mind like a damn steel trap—once it snaps shut on something, not even the gods themselves could pry it open. He smirked, but there was warmth in his gaze as he watched her, the way she mulled over his words, weighed them like a blade in her hand, deciding if they fit just right. That was the thing about Flea—she never just accepted things at face value. She had to test them, turn them over, make them hers before they became real.
He let out a slow breath, glancing at the recruits—some still running, others trying to look busy enough that he wouldn’t make them join in. He’d always known this wouldn’t be easy for her. Not the training, not the fighting—that was second nature. But believing in herself? That was the real battle.
Listen, he said, more serious now, I didn’t try to give you a life of your own because I thought you needed to be someone different. I just wanted you to see what was already there. Yeah, you’re good at killing. So was I. So was every poor bastard who ever got thrown into that pit. But you? You’ve always been more than that. You don’t just fight to survive, Flea. You fight to *live*. That’s the difference.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And yeah, maybe I’ve got too much faith in you. But what can I say? Old habits die hard. Just… humor me, alright? Give this a real shot. Give *yourself* a real shot.
