The night was dark. The attack was a surprise. Elayne looked at the man. He was larger, by about five inches, and weighed at least seventy-five pounds more than she did. However, there is no reason to panic. There are several techniques that give a smaller, more agile fighter an advantage over a stronger, slower one. The application of pressure to several different nerves can cause a great deal of pain with minimal force. In addition, if one is able to get a choke hold on the attacker, locked with the less-dominant hand, weakness and loss of consciousness can ensue in as little as ten seconds. The preferable first course of action is to get the attacker to commit to a move, before responding with a dodge or throw. The correct dodge or throw, of course, depends...
Varric skimmed the rest of the paper, which continued in much the same vein. He cleared his throat and searched for something positive to say to the woman whose chocolate-brown eyes eagerly searched his.
"I made sure to include plenty of detail this time, just like you said."
"You certainly did!" Varric tried to inject some enthusiasm in his voice. "You certainly did. And, if I was the editor of a journal on unarmed fighting, I would have no hesitation in including this piece, with only minor revisions."
Her blossoming smile rewarded his efforts. "Truly, Varric? So I am getting better?" Her lightly accented voice held the faintest trace of vulnerability in it.
"Yeees," he allowed, drawing the word out, wondering how to phrase his next sentence. "The only thing is--and I blame myself for this for not being clear enough--when I said you needed to include more detail, I meant more detail about the story. Like, for example, in this case: who is Elayne? Why is she out at night? Where is she?"
"But Varric," she said, the slightest hint of a from appearing, along with a crease between her eyebrows, "you told me to write about what I know. I don't know about Elayne or where she is. I know about how to defend yourself in unarmed combat." She gestured toward the paper. "So that's what I wrote about. Just like you said."
"Yes, Cassandra, you're right, only--and I'm just thinking about the readers here--do you think many of them would be interested in unarmed combat techniques?" Varric was proud of himself for keeping any hint of amusement from his voice.
"If they're not, they should!" she said, indignantly. "I can't tell you how many people I've seen without the first clue as to how to defend themselves. Why anyone would want to be so helpless and vulnerable, I don't know, but certainly, they can only benefit from such knowledge!"
She looked at him, her cheeks flushed, passionate in the defense of her writing.
In the interest of self-preservation, Varric decided now was not the time to tell her she looked adorable when she got worked up about something.
He slowly removed his glasses, pretending to be pondering the point. In reality, he was deep in prayer.
Uh, Andraste? I know we don't chat often, but if you could do me a solid here, I would really, really, appreciate it.
As if on cue, an ear-splitting wail pierced the air.
I totally owe you one. A big one.
"I just put her down a half-hour ago!" his wife said, frustrated. "What could she possibly want?"
"I'll go check!" he said, nearly tripping over the leg of his desk in his haste to escape.
"Should I work on this while you're gone?" she asked.
"No!" he said loudly. "I mean," he moderated his voice, "why don't you get some sleep? This will still be here tomorrow."
"Thank you," she said, drawing him in for a brief kiss, a light touch of lips, after which she immediately yawned. She looked at him sheepishly. "I guess I am tired."
"Then get to bed," he whispered. "I'll take care of everything. And..." he winked, "I don't mean that the way I usually do."
She made a disgusted noise and tried to look stern, but ended up laughing.
"You are incorrigible," she said, her voice trailing him as he walked down the hallway to his infant daughter's room.
Totally worth it, Varric thought. Totally worth it.
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