It was perhaps three months after returning from the Deep Roads that Nostariel finally plucked up the courage to go and talk to Amalia. This was no small feat, she was quite sure. The woman was intimidating to the Warden in a way that most people were not, including people with much more imposing physical presences. She'd thought it might be something unique to the Qunari, something to do with that absolute certainty that drove them all along relentlessly and only infrequently with anything like mercy, but though the Arishok had been plenty daunting, it was not the same. She'd put it down to just being some strange, indefinable quality of Amalia's after that, but whatever it was, it had kept her lingering only occasionally at the edges of the Alienage, never quite sure she really wanted to go in.
Today, though, fuelled by yet another nightmare, she decided that it had to stop. Her torment was not over, and maybe it never would be, but she was tired of it, and tired of letting the burdens of it rest on other people, no matter how gracious they were about it. She was the only one who could control how much she let the past get to her, and she was done dreaming about that day. At the very least, she was not going to let it spill over into her waking hours, too. She was chained, and she would be better off if she learned how to bear those tethers as the Qunari did-- they would not be of the same kind, as she had no desire to join the Qun, but if she could have even a fragment of that steady, steely certainty that Amalia displayed, she would count herself lucky.
As usual, the woman was to be found beneath the tree, shrouded in so many garments that nothing of her was visible save her face and hair. The plain robes were shapeless, even ascetic, moreso than the Chantry's, even. Was that a conscious choice? She was given to understand that Seheron was a hot environment, and the majority of the kossith she'd seen went about with exposed upper bodies. She'd never thought about it before, but for some reason it struck her just then, and she filed the question away, perhaps for later asking, but most likely not. She wasn't sure she'd ever have the fortitude to ask someone so intimidating something so personal. Nevertheless, she was about to ask a favor with nothing to give in return, was this not worse? Swallowing the thought, she approached with more confidence than she felt. If nothing else, commanding had given her a brave face to use when things got bad.
"Excuse me, Amalia? I don't know if you remember me; we last met helping Feynriel." When she said it that way, it sounded even worse. She was going to ask someone she wasn't even sure she'd spoken to directly for a favor. Nostariel didn't know where her sanity had gone, but it clearly wasn't with her anymore. Still, she needed this, and asking Amalia was the only way she could immediately think of to obtain it. "May I ask you something?"
This morning, Amalia was beneath the tree, legs crossed in meditation, trying to quell the rising agitation stuck somewhere between her throat and her stomach. It was primarily directed at herself, which was unusual but not unheard-of. She was agitated because she knew that hope and belief were entirely useless, and yet she felt them anyway. Each time a new pair of footfalls entered the Alienage, she looked up, even if she recognized no similarity between the tread and the one she was waiting to hear. Hope. It was entirely useless, and distracting furthermore. Believing in anything other than the Qun was even worse, much less believing in a person. What was a person? A fallible, mortal thing with no permanence and no use aside from what it could do for the whole. A person was simply not the kind of entity that one should be attaching belief to.
She needed to accept that she had been wrong. It was not, however, as easy as she'd thought it would or should be, given the relative ease with which she'd learned from past mistakes. Trust nothing but the Qun. Be prepared for anything-- anyone-- else to betray you. Expect harm when nobody else would. Death is inevitable. Things of this nature. Grim things, but true things, and ones that assisted the practical endeavor of bare survival. Beyond that, her goals need only be dictated by the Qun, her lessons found in its script.
A new set of footsteps entered the Alienage. She knew they weren't the right ones, but as ever, she looked up anyway, mildly surprised to find that these at least belonged to someone she recognized that did not dwell here. The woman approached tentatvely, and for a moment, Amalia was almost certain that some of her underlying irritation had shown on her face. Smoothing her expression over at once, she sat passively until the elf was done speaking, then nodded shortly. "You are the Warden, Nostariel. I remember." The request was given politely, but somewhat weakly. Perhaps that was to be expected. She wasn't exactly in a hospitable mood at the moment, if indeed she ever was, and this probably registered on some unconscious level with other people even if she did nothing to show it.
Forcing her shoulders to relax, followed by the rest of her musculature, Amalia nodded curtly. "Speak, Warden, and I shall listen." She would promise nothing else.
Well, it wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of her continued presence, but it was something, and Nostariel supposed she should be grateful she hadn't been dismissed out of hand. She couldn't pretend to understand the Qunari, but something told her that they weren't the sort to just shoo a person off if they had something to ask or say. At the very least, even the Arishok had been understanding on some level, allowing them to clarify their involvement with the Javaris situation and leave without protest. Certainly, they weren't the most hospitable people, but they certainly weren't Darkspawn, and probably actually fell short of some of what the Chantry had to offer.
Now there was a grim thought.
But she was wasting her opportunity to say something, and Amalia was still waiting for her to get to the point. Her patience was surely not limitless. "I realize I have no real right to ask you for something, but... I thought that maybe since you'd helped Feynriel without gain to yourself, you might be willing to do the same again." Granted, she honestly knew nothing of the woman's motivation for helping the lad; perhaps she'd only done it because Ithilian had asked? He seemed to have a more readily-accessible motivation for doing so, but she doubted Amalia would ever do anything without an actual reason. But maybe she presumed to know too much.
"I have been... troubled, of late, by dreams that I can't seem to escape. They're connected to some events in the past that I regret, and I can't seem to be rid of them. I thought that maybe there was something you did, to maintain peace of mind, and that perhaps I could learn to be as you are. If... if you don't mind, that is." In words, the whole thing came out a little more ludicrous than she'd been expecting, and Nostariel shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to another.
Amalia snorted. "Asking is not about rights, and life is not a mere exchange of debts and obligations. If I act, it will be because I deem the cause worthy or necessary." She grew weary of this strange human's-world treatment of favors and kindnesses. Even that they were called such. Did nobody understand that she did nothing she did not see the merit in? Her choices were not always easy, but the actions she took were always justified by something. Standing, the Qunari dusted off the front and back of her loose garments, apparently ignoring the other woman, at least for a moment. It was ironic, truly, that the Saarebas seemed to flock like sheep to the one wolf in the entire city who would not slay them for being what they were. She wondered if she managed to project some kind of strange benevolence she was not aware of. Had someone decided to point out this, one of the few idiosyncracies she had, to the world at large? Perhaps tattooed it across her face? If so, she owed someone a disembowelment.
Still, she was not without sympathy, not entirely. And the difficulty Nostariel admitted to was one she understood well, too well, in fact, for her to ignore it. Tilting her head downwards, she studied the Warden for several long moments, unblinking. Exhaling shortly, she pointed to the spot beneath the tree she'd previously occupied. "Sit. Before we begin, understand this: you will owe me nothing. But you will do everything I tell you to do, and if I don't answer your questions, you will accept that there is a reason for this. You will answer all of mine. Those are the terms."
Feeling a bit... chagrined, perhaps, Nostariel sat where she was instructed, leaning her staff up against the painted tree and making her best approximation of Amalia's flawless lotus position, though she was fairly certain there were significant differences. The Qunari's terms were uttered in short, clipped phrases, her tone none too kind, but Nostariel thought she might be able to see the reasoning behind them. It was like any other kind of instruction, really; the teacher had to be in control of the rate and amount of information dispensed. That much, the mage was quite used to. It was often the same in the Circle. If a newly-found apprentice went about casting powerful elemental magics at first, widespread destruction was likely to occur.
Granted, she wasn't exactly sure how knowing anything about peace of mind too soon could be a bad thing, but maybe it would simply slow her progress. So the elf nodded. "I understand, and I accept your terms. Thank you."
Amalia simply nodded, prodding Nostariel's knee with a foot. "Not like that. Loosen up; you're far too tense for this to help." Crouching in front of the Warden, she moved the latter's feet and legs at will, until they were properly folded. It was uncomfortable for someone who'd never sat so before, she knew, but the appropriate muscles had to stretch. Eventually, it would be simple, and much more stable and balanced than most people were even anchored to the ground. She tapped the elf's spine, to indicate that it needed to be straightened. "Your posture is important. Don't slouch; it's counterproductive. There are physical aspects to this as well as mental. The better the air can circulate in your lungs, the more centered you'll feel after a few hours meditating."
Let it never be said that she did anything halfway.
Resuming her own seat, Amalia placed herself knee-to-knee with Nostariel, then placed her hands loosely over her knees. "For now, grow accustomed to sitting like this. There will be movement in the future, but that is not necessary now. If you have your choice, assume this posture at all times. Otherwise, at least keep your back straight. There is no hunching over bar counters to be found here." Though she was not particularly acquainted with the Warden, she knew enough to understand this particular habit of hers, and also to suppose that a more straightforward manner would be useful here than with somebody else. She was given to understand that people tended to wear the kid gloves with this woman, but the Qunari did that for nobody, and she did not desire that Nostariel come to expect anything of the sort from her.
Nostariel's repositioned self was in a fair amount of discomfort, but she supposed that was to be expected. She didn't spend a lot of her time twisting herself into pretzel-shapes, after all, but apparently Amalia did. Though she didn't know much about the correspodence between good posture and breathing, she supposed it did seem a bit easier this way. Or maybe that was just her trying to reassure herself that she could focus on something other than the awkward contortion of her legs. The comment about bar-counters caught her off-guard, but for all that, it was true. She just wasn't sure how Amalia had come to know it. Another thing to tack onto the list of 'things she didn't understand about the Qunari.'
The woman's words were spoken plainly, with no subtle gentling or tactful avoidance, and honestly, she wasn't really used to that anymore. It had at first almost started the guilt stirring in the pit of her stomach, but then the other woman was speaking again, and she was too focused on listening to the instructions to bother with being guilty just yet. She might even get used to this sort of manner. The bluntness maybe wasn't something she'd think appropriate for every situation, but at least she knew she could expect to be told of things as they were, with no attempt to save her pride or her feelings. Exhausting, probably, but... nice, in a way.
"Does... does the Qun teach this?" she asked, genuinely curious. It seemed like an odd pasttime for most of the Qunari, but then again it might explain that quietly foreboding stoicism they had about them most of the time. Well, at least until somebody made them mad.
"Not to all of its followers," Amalia replied evenly. "Certain members of the priesthood have cause to learn, but it is not seen as particularly necessary for warriors. Our ferocity is to be contained, tempered, sharpened; theirs is to be held back only loosely, and loosed in waves. Some artisans use it, if they find that a centered state of mind is useful to their craft." She herself had only learned after a situation resembling Nostariel's own. Troubled by nightmares, she'd sought the counsel of the Ariqun, who had appointed from the ranks of the Tallis, the solvers, an instructor in these methods.
"No more speaking. Close your eyes, banish your thoughts. Your mind is to be empty, blank. Hissra find no purchase when there is nothing to hold."
Today, though, fuelled by yet another nightmare, she decided that it had to stop. Her torment was not over, and maybe it never would be, but she was tired of it, and tired of letting the burdens of it rest on other people, no matter how gracious they were about it. She was the only one who could control how much she let the past get to her, and she was done dreaming about that day. At the very least, she was not going to let it spill over into her waking hours, too. She was chained, and she would be better off if she learned how to bear those tethers as the Qunari did-- they would not be of the same kind, as she had no desire to join the Qun, but if she could have even a fragment of that steady, steely certainty that Amalia displayed, she would count herself lucky.
As usual, the woman was to be found beneath the tree, shrouded in so many garments that nothing of her was visible save her face and hair. The plain robes were shapeless, even ascetic, moreso than the Chantry's, even. Was that a conscious choice? She was given to understand that Seheron was a hot environment, and the majority of the kossith she'd seen went about with exposed upper bodies. She'd never thought about it before, but for some reason it struck her just then, and she filed the question away, perhaps for later asking, but most likely not. She wasn't sure she'd ever have the fortitude to ask someone so intimidating something so personal. Nevertheless, she was about to ask a favor with nothing to give in return, was this not worse? Swallowing the thought, she approached with more confidence than she felt. If nothing else, commanding had given her a brave face to use when things got bad.
"Excuse me, Amalia? I don't know if you remember me; we last met helping Feynriel." When she said it that way, it sounded even worse. She was going to ask someone she wasn't even sure she'd spoken to directly for a favor. Nostariel didn't know where her sanity had gone, but it clearly wasn't with her anymore. Still, she needed this, and asking Amalia was the only way she could immediately think of to obtain it. "May I ask you something?"
This morning, Amalia was beneath the tree, legs crossed in meditation, trying to quell the rising agitation stuck somewhere between her throat and her stomach. It was primarily directed at herself, which was unusual but not unheard-of. She was agitated because she knew that hope and belief were entirely useless, and yet she felt them anyway. Each time a new pair of footfalls entered the Alienage, she looked up, even if she recognized no similarity between the tread and the one she was waiting to hear. Hope. It was entirely useless, and distracting furthermore. Believing in anything other than the Qun was even worse, much less believing in a person. What was a person? A fallible, mortal thing with no permanence and no use aside from what it could do for the whole. A person was simply not the kind of entity that one should be attaching belief to.
She needed to accept that she had been wrong. It was not, however, as easy as she'd thought it would or should be, given the relative ease with which she'd learned from past mistakes. Trust nothing but the Qun. Be prepared for anything-- anyone-- else to betray you. Expect harm when nobody else would. Death is inevitable. Things of this nature. Grim things, but true things, and ones that assisted the practical endeavor of bare survival. Beyond that, her goals need only be dictated by the Qun, her lessons found in its script.
A new set of footsteps entered the Alienage. She knew they weren't the right ones, but as ever, she looked up anyway, mildly surprised to find that these at least belonged to someone she recognized that did not dwell here. The woman approached tentatvely, and for a moment, Amalia was almost certain that some of her underlying irritation had shown on her face. Smoothing her expression over at once, she sat passively until the elf was done speaking, then nodded shortly. "You are the Warden, Nostariel. I remember." The request was given politely, but somewhat weakly. Perhaps that was to be expected. She wasn't exactly in a hospitable mood at the moment, if indeed she ever was, and this probably registered on some unconscious level with other people even if she did nothing to show it.
Forcing her shoulders to relax, followed by the rest of her musculature, Amalia nodded curtly. "Speak, Warden, and I shall listen." She would promise nothing else.
Well, it wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of her continued presence, but it was something, and Nostariel supposed she should be grateful she hadn't been dismissed out of hand. She couldn't pretend to understand the Qunari, but something told her that they weren't the sort to just shoo a person off if they had something to ask or say. At the very least, even the Arishok had been understanding on some level, allowing them to clarify their involvement with the Javaris situation and leave without protest. Certainly, they weren't the most hospitable people, but they certainly weren't Darkspawn, and probably actually fell short of some of what the Chantry had to offer.
Now there was a grim thought.
But she was wasting her opportunity to say something, and Amalia was still waiting for her to get to the point. Her patience was surely not limitless. "I realize I have no real right to ask you for something, but... I thought that maybe since you'd helped Feynriel without gain to yourself, you might be willing to do the same again." Granted, she honestly knew nothing of the woman's motivation for helping the lad; perhaps she'd only done it because Ithilian had asked? He seemed to have a more readily-accessible motivation for doing so, but she doubted Amalia would ever do anything without an actual reason. But maybe she presumed to know too much.
"I have been... troubled, of late, by dreams that I can't seem to escape. They're connected to some events in the past that I regret, and I can't seem to be rid of them. I thought that maybe there was something you did, to maintain peace of mind, and that perhaps I could learn to be as you are. If... if you don't mind, that is." In words, the whole thing came out a little more ludicrous than she'd been expecting, and Nostariel shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to another.
Amalia snorted. "Asking is not about rights, and life is not a mere exchange of debts and obligations. If I act, it will be because I deem the cause worthy or necessary." She grew weary of this strange human's-world treatment of favors and kindnesses. Even that they were called such. Did nobody understand that she did nothing she did not see the merit in? Her choices were not always easy, but the actions she took were always justified by something. Standing, the Qunari dusted off the front and back of her loose garments, apparently ignoring the other woman, at least for a moment. It was ironic, truly, that the Saarebas seemed to flock like sheep to the one wolf in the entire city who would not slay them for being what they were. She wondered if she managed to project some kind of strange benevolence she was not aware of. Had someone decided to point out this, one of the few idiosyncracies she had, to the world at large? Perhaps tattooed it across her face? If so, she owed someone a disembowelment.
Still, she was not without sympathy, not entirely. And the difficulty Nostariel admitted to was one she understood well, too well, in fact, for her to ignore it. Tilting her head downwards, she studied the Warden for several long moments, unblinking. Exhaling shortly, she pointed to the spot beneath the tree she'd previously occupied. "Sit. Before we begin, understand this: you will owe me nothing. But you will do everything I tell you to do, and if I don't answer your questions, you will accept that there is a reason for this. You will answer all of mine. Those are the terms."
Feeling a bit... chagrined, perhaps, Nostariel sat where she was instructed, leaning her staff up against the painted tree and making her best approximation of Amalia's flawless lotus position, though she was fairly certain there were significant differences. The Qunari's terms were uttered in short, clipped phrases, her tone none too kind, but Nostariel thought she might be able to see the reasoning behind them. It was like any other kind of instruction, really; the teacher had to be in control of the rate and amount of information dispensed. That much, the mage was quite used to. It was often the same in the Circle. If a newly-found apprentice went about casting powerful elemental magics at first, widespread destruction was likely to occur.
Granted, she wasn't exactly sure how knowing anything about peace of mind too soon could be a bad thing, but maybe it would simply slow her progress. So the elf nodded. "I understand, and I accept your terms. Thank you."
Amalia simply nodded, prodding Nostariel's knee with a foot. "Not like that. Loosen up; you're far too tense for this to help." Crouching in front of the Warden, she moved the latter's feet and legs at will, until they were properly folded. It was uncomfortable for someone who'd never sat so before, she knew, but the appropriate muscles had to stretch. Eventually, it would be simple, and much more stable and balanced than most people were even anchored to the ground. She tapped the elf's spine, to indicate that it needed to be straightened. "Your posture is important. Don't slouch; it's counterproductive. There are physical aspects to this as well as mental. The better the air can circulate in your lungs, the more centered you'll feel after a few hours meditating."
Let it never be said that she did anything halfway.
Resuming her own seat, Amalia placed herself knee-to-knee with Nostariel, then placed her hands loosely over her knees. "For now, grow accustomed to sitting like this. There will be movement in the future, but that is not necessary now. If you have your choice, assume this posture at all times. Otherwise, at least keep your back straight. There is no hunching over bar counters to be found here." Though she was not particularly acquainted with the Warden, she knew enough to understand this particular habit of hers, and also to suppose that a more straightforward manner would be useful here than with somebody else. She was given to understand that people tended to wear the kid gloves with this woman, but the Qunari did that for nobody, and she did not desire that Nostariel come to expect anything of the sort from her.
Nostariel's repositioned self was in a fair amount of discomfort, but she supposed that was to be expected. She didn't spend a lot of her time twisting herself into pretzel-shapes, after all, but apparently Amalia did. Though she didn't know much about the correspodence between good posture and breathing, she supposed it did seem a bit easier this way. Or maybe that was just her trying to reassure herself that she could focus on something other than the awkward contortion of her legs. The comment about bar-counters caught her off-guard, but for all that, it was true. She just wasn't sure how Amalia had come to know it. Another thing to tack onto the list of 'things she didn't understand about the Qunari.'
The woman's words were spoken plainly, with no subtle gentling or tactful avoidance, and honestly, she wasn't really used to that anymore. It had at first almost started the guilt stirring in the pit of her stomach, but then the other woman was speaking again, and she was too focused on listening to the instructions to bother with being guilty just yet. She might even get used to this sort of manner. The bluntness maybe wasn't something she'd think appropriate for every situation, but at least she knew she could expect to be told of things as they were, with no attempt to save her pride or her feelings. Exhausting, probably, but... nice, in a way.
"Does... does the Qun teach this?" she asked, genuinely curious. It seemed like an odd pasttime for most of the Qunari, but then again it might explain that quietly foreboding stoicism they had about them most of the time. Well, at least until somebody made them mad.
"Not to all of its followers," Amalia replied evenly. "Certain members of the priesthood have cause to learn, but it is not seen as particularly necessary for warriors. Our ferocity is to be contained, tempered, sharpened; theirs is to be held back only loosely, and loosed in waves. Some artisans use it, if they find that a centered state of mind is useful to their craft." She herself had only learned after a situation resembling Nostariel's own. Troubled by nightmares, she'd sought the counsel of the Ariqun, who had appointed from the ranks of the Tallis, the solvers, an instructor in these methods.
"No more speaking. Close your eyes, banish your thoughts. Your mind is to be empty, blank. Hissra find no purchase when there is nothing to hold."