(Of tying off loose ends and hunting bad men with friends...)
Revenge was never a dish best served cold – it was a writhing worm, continuously festering and growing larger still with time. This needed to be finished as soon as possible, so that Sparrow could finally wash her hands and free herself of the grime and dust that had gathered there since her childhood. Who else might have helped her? There was only one individual who hated humans just as much as she did. Had it dulled with time? She selfishly hoped it hadn't. Hoped feverishly that he thought the world was better off without such a destructive race gallivanting where they wished, but somehow knew that Amalia was not like them in the least. Sparrow had always thought that way, though she'd been susceptible as of late, befriending flat-ears without so much as a second thought. It hadn't even struck her as peculiar. They'd weaselled themselves under her arms, effortlessly, and shouldered themselves into her heart. And even still, she couldn't ask anyone else to come along with her, for then they'd know her dirty secrets, and her humiliating past. She wasn't ready for that, yet.
Sparrow quick-stepped down the alleyways, threading herself carefully, and occasionally checking over her shoulder to see if anyone else was following. Kirkwall was ever-known for its shady assailants, skulking in dark corners in wait for passer-biers. How many gangs were there now? Too many to count. Women wearing shawls in creme-coloured helmets, donning shields and calling themselves the Invisible Sisters, which was far too ridiculous, for they weren't even close to being invisible or undetectable – and they weren't the worst, since there were highwayman, men pretending to be guards and redwater whatever's. They posed little threat to her, or her companions, but she'd rather move undetected to her destination. Who knew whether or not Ithilian would blame her for bringing leech-like gang-bangers to his doorstep. She needed him in his best spirits to convince him to help her. It would be difficult enough spitting the words out, because she never asked for help, specifically from strangers she hardly knew, let alone her own friends.
Pebbles skittered into the gutter, kicked and scuffed away from the toe of her leather boot, as she picked her way down another stairwell, momentarily struck dumb as to what she'd say when she found him. Oh, can you help me find and slaughter two humans somewhere in Kirkwall? In the woods? They're garbage, anyway. It sounded stupid. Would he even ask why she'd request such a thing? He didn't seem the sort to pry into private matters unless it somehow mattered to him. If he outright denied her request, what would she do then. She supposed that she'd have to find them herself, though her tracking abilities were mediocre as best. Asking Rilien was out the question. Having to drag himself back and forth from Tranquility to feeling all of those emotions was cruel. Ashton was out of town, somewhere, and she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to explain her story, in its entirety, to someone she nearly saw everyday.
Finally, Sparrow entered the Alienage's clearing. She stared up at the enormous tree, bedecked with colourful patterns and terracotta pots holding lopsided candles and various feathers, and sighed. Had she been born in the Dalish clan like her mother, perhaps asking wouldn't be so difficult. All Dalish felt a kinship with one another. The want to help others was instinctual, but she hardly fit there, nor here, with her nominal pedigree. No doubt, Ithilian felt the same way towards her. Not quite disliking her, but finding no reason to like her, as well. He owed her nothing at all. And there he was, sitting on a rock. Sparrow cleared her throat, pushed the white locks from her eyes and approached him as she would a particularly skittish deer (for reasons she could not readily discern). As she drew nearer, subtlety sailed straight through the window.
“Ithilian,” She greeted with a slight inclination of her head, eyes already blazing with her unspoken question. She would not address him as a Qun today, for no Qun would aid her with this quest. To them, it would seem a selfish task that would be better left forgotten. “I need your help,” Sparrow began, fiddling with the gaudy bracelets dangling around her wrists. There was no easy way to say it, so she merely looked at him and added, “Tracking and killing someone. Someones, rather.”
Ithilian was in the process of getting reacquainted with the flute, which was more or less like catching up with an old hunting friend from his original Dalish clan. Awkward at first as each tried to discern where the other had been all these years, but then once the time had been summarized, they were able to go back to business as though nothing had changed. It was a rather small thing, sadly not carved by his own hand, but he knew it as though it had been. A few elven children had stopped to listen for a while, but he was not so compelling as Amalia was with her harp, or perhaps she was just better with children.
He was playing a slow tune, not a particularly cheery melody, but something more akin to a lament. His wife had taught him how to play it, but he was trying not to think of that particular fact at the moment, and simply listen to his own music, ensure that the sound was as he remembered it. He came to a close just as a visitor arrived, who he noted as the half-breed elf woman, Sparrow. The one with some form of history with Amalia, judging by their last meeting.
She was straight to the point, and that Ithilian could at least respect. Perhaps she was wise, too, if she chose to come to him for help with tracking and killing. Playing the flute reminded Ithilian of how many humans he'd killed with it. Well, not with the flute directly, but it was a preferred tactic of his to lure trespassing shemlen into a clearing with music, and then allow his brothers and sisters to put them down from afar. Indeed, they'd been separated for far too long.
"Tracking and killing are what I do, it's true," he said, one eye studying her to try and find more information than her words would give. "What I don't do is sell my skills for coin, however, so I'll need a reason why this is worth my time before I can say any more."
Playing the flute for the Alienage's oppressed children? Seemed like he'd taken a leaf out of Amalia's book, though Sparrow wondered just how soft he could be under all that bluster, under all that aggression and indifference she'd witnessed in the Deep Roads. She did not know him well – could not directly form any judgement beyond the small interactions she'd had with him when they'd first met, and when they'd slaughtered drakes and dragons in a deep, dark place she'd rather forget about. Initially, she was jealous of him. Jealous of the friendship he'd found in her once-friend. It hadn't seemed unfair that they lived in the same vicinity, and somehow, thisseemingly random person had seen the newer version of Amalia that she'd wanted to know and bonded with her in ways that seemed impossible to her now. She'd wanted to know every piece of her childhood friend: hidden troves, soliloquy thoughts and unspoken messages that shun as brightly as the moon, crisp and clear as daylight. Apparently, not forever because forever meant something that would remain solid and unchanged. They both moved on, and they'd changed, after all.
Sparrow glanced over Ithilian's shoulders, feeling a little foolish for blurting such a request in front of gawky-eyed fledgelings, who were openly listening in onto what she was saying. Not that she really blamed them. They didn't have much else to do beside huddling around scary-faced elders playing the flute, or else, listening to their actual elders who'd tell stories of a better life, and a better culture, lived somewhere faraway. She understood. She remembered. They would hope for the best, but most likely live the rest of their years in perpetual fear, hoping blithely that things would change – and people like Ithilian would try to make those changes. She wasn't so sure whether anything would make a difference. But, she wasn't here for that, anyway. She took a deep breath, and returned her gaze back to Ithilian. Sparrow didn't believe that this particular person, no matter how similar he and Amalia seemed, could read between the lines and know all of things she hadn't said, but managed to convey. Still, his steady gaze was a little off-putting (perhaps, another trait he'd managed to acquire from her).
What could she say? That she'd been brutalized in the woods as child by shemlen-defilers. That she was not who she said she was, and not what she seemed to be. That her parents were most likely in some travelling clan she refused to return to, and that they probably thought she perished. How much could she tell? It took her by surprise that he was unwilling to accept her offer – uninterested in killing humans just for the sake of killing humans. She knew Ithilian wasn't a monster, only a sentinel, a guardian, and a shepherd to his people, but even still, Sparrow believed that his hatred was a blinding thing that drove him forward like a blade in the night. Foolish thought. Amalia's influence, and the Qun's teachings, were unswervingly against anything as transparent as vengeance.
“I-I, they were...” she began, nearly mumbling, and tried pressing on a little louder, “I was separated from my clan, before Amalia. Long ago, after leaving Tevinter. And I was attacked.” Her eyebrows screwed up, knitting tightly and her hand busied itself in her hair. “A group of them, shemlen. They attacked me, and I-I found them. They're here in Kirkwall, somewhere. Maybe, in the woods,” she explained hoarsely, eyes swirling skyward, “They're parasites, cysts, pockmarks. They deserve—”
Judgement, justice. Most of all, death. It was difficult trying to explain what they'd done to her as a child. Harder still to convince someone that someone else deserved to die, that it would be better off for everyone if they ceased to exist. What if these children wandered too far from the nest? They were vulnerable, too. They could be hurt like she'd been hurt. And then, they'd run away from their once-friends, lose themselves, and become someone entirely different. They would run, never stopping to consider anyone else. Surely, he'd understand.
Meanwhile, not too far away, Aurora was busy working in her garden. Weeds were beginning to attack her precious plants, but they would not have her garden if she had anything to do with it. A rusty tin watering can waited beside her to finish her weeding. She had planned on watering soon after, but the arrival of Sparrow sought to change that plan. She (Aurora was still getting used to that) had gone to Ithilian, and she couldn't help herself. She ended up inadvertantly eavesdropping as she weeded. About midway, Aurora stood and pulled her gloves off, tossing them on top of the watering can. She then approached Sparrow from behind, patiently waiting until she was completely finished.
"I'll help," Aurora spoke first. Her plants could wait, they would be there when she returned. It was not in her character to ignore a friend in need, even if she wasn't specifically asked to help. She just hoped Sparrow wouldn't percieve it as Aurora inviting herself in on a private matter, leaving her mouth working itself for a few moments. She could have chosen better words, yes, but it wasn't like she could swallow them again. Finally, she put words in her mouth and added, "If you need me, that is," she said apologetically.
She'd drop everything to help a friend, she'd offer the same aid if it was Amalia, or Nostariel, or even Lucien. She had found friends in them, in a place long away from her home. They made it feel more like home than it was. And though she was averse to killing, the last being a bandit she had killed some odd years ago in anger, when Ketojan was being led out of Kirkwall, she'd follow Sparrow into this. Besides, the way she spoke of it, they deserved it anyway. Aurora was not their judge, that title belonged to Sparrow.
"Killing humans sounds like fun, does it not?" she added dryly for Ithilian, but she quickly reined in her tongue. It would do Sparrow no good if they bickered back and forth while hunting for these men. If anything, she hoped the comment would drive him into the request. She'd be remiss if she didn't admit that she knew nothing about tracking.
"Says the human," Ithilian said rather darkly. He wasn't armed at the moment, aside from the flute, but it was still quite possible that he looked no less menacing than usual. After Sparrow's explanation, he was no longer conflicted on whether or not to help, however. The descriptors Sparrow used sounded accurate. Parasites. Threats only if they were allowed to linger here. The Alienage itself had been pressed not as hard lately, thanks to the combined efforts of all those who sought to protect it, but that only stressed on Ithilian the need to not grow complacent. There was no reason to wait for danger to strike home when he was capable of meeting it on its own ground. Better that the elves never see the inside of Nostariel's clinic at all.
It still left the matter of how this was to be done, however. "I can find them and kill them," he said, "but the woods are not a small area, and you don't sound sure they're there at all. We may end up going out there and tracking down some shemlen hunter for hours. I'm not fond of wasting my time." He rose slowly to his feet, leaning back up against the great tree behind him, crossing his arms. "Do you have any more definite evidence of their location? I'm often needed here as well, and I can't commit unless I know this won't be a fruitless search."
She mentioned she'd been part of a clan. Were she still, he would not have hesitated. Were she even entirely elven, he also would not have questioned her like this. But she was not elven, nor was she Dalish. She was a half-breed, and cursed to receive perpetually unfair treatment from Ithilian. It was nothing she could change. He disagreed with whatever choice her elven parent had made, to try and raise a child split between worlds. A harsh view, no doubt, but one he knew to be necessary.
"I'll help." The voice, clear as jingling bells, came from behind her. She automatically pivoted on her heels, whipping around to face the newcomer, Aurora – and wondered absently how she hadn't noticed her while walking into the Alienage. Usually, her keen eyes were accustomed to spotting beautiful women, especially if they were preening weeds in a lovely garden. Had she always been there? Fading tendrils of electricity goose-pebbled her arms, flattened the raised hairs on her neck. She placed a hand on her chest, over her heart and exhaled dramatically. “Geez, Aurora. Quiet as a panther, you are.” Doubtlessly from Amalia's tutelage. There were few and far in-between that could walk as quietly as her once-friend, footsteps shushed and muffled. “I—”
It was peculiar. Sparrow still wasn't used to her companions offering their aid, even though Rilien, more often then not, worked behind the scenes to ensure she didn't get into too much trouble. He saw to so many things that she hardly noticed, at all. He did not ask, but simply did. The same thing could be said of the majority of her companions. She assumed that even Sophia could have brought her in, throwing her in a grimy cell, for a number of small crimes she'd committed during her lengthy stay in Kirkwall. By no means was Sparrow a slimy individual, sucking marrow from bones in Lowtown and awaiting poor, wealthy individuals in back-alleys to steal whatever coin they had – but, she'd done her fair share of stealing and squabbling when she needed to. No more, since their merry adventure in the Deep Roads, but she'd always been lucky. Someone wanted, after supposedly hearing her ridiculous request, wanted to help her, out of the goodness of their own heart? Had it been anyone besides Aurora, Sparrow would have scoffed.
When Aurora turned a dry, cutting remark at Ithilian, Sparrow winced. She hadn't meant that all humans were dirty shemlen. She hadn't meant that they all deserved the same sort of punishment, solely for being what they were born as. Those bitter thoughts were reserved for the Dalish who thought all humans were dreadful creatures bent on stealing away what little culture remained. She did not fit as nicely into those categories, and hardly believed herself to be this or that. Perhaps, this made her an impartial party: an outsider looking in on all their strife. She clinched her jaw, and awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. Whatever animosity Aurora had with Ithilian, or vice versa, it clearly dealt with Ithilian's dislike for human beings, and her disagreement with his attitude. Hopefully, there would be no more hostilities, though she wondered just how far he'd be willing to go for just a short, sharp jibe.
Her musty-brown eyes radiated, once more, but quickly became subdued, and thoughtful when Ithilian reminded her how difficult it would be to find two travelling worms hiding in the woods, or even in the dark recesses of Kirkwall. There were so many variants. They could be living in moderate wealth, having moved up in the world of petty mercenary-work. Hadn't she done the same thing? Minus mercenary-work. Far too excited to elbow her way into the Alienage, and ask him for help, that she'd forgotten to retrieve information from the source: Sophia. But, at least Ithilian hadn't outright denied her request. Her heart soared with rekindled hope, shifting gears and alighting anew. “Not exactly,” She admitted, tapping her chin with two fingers. “But, I have a friend who has documents with their names on them. They came over with the last shipment of immigrants, from Ferelden. With addresses, whereabouts, where they'd plan to be.” It wasn't exactly true. She wasn't even sure whether or not their names were on the ledgers. If Ithilian wasn't on board to help her, she'd never find them on her own.
“You've agreed, then?” Sparrow questioned, easily rhetorical. Of course he had! For the Alienage. For all of the Elven children he strove to protect, he'd follow her until they were rightfully brought to justice. Buried somewhere, or left in the gutter. They hardly deserved anything but brutality. And they would be their death-bringers. “I'll come back once I've gotten the information. Very soon,” She added quickly, swinging her gaze back to Aurora. Better to be done with this conversation before Ithilian decided it wasn't worth the effort. She felt like she'd succeeded in something, as if she were finally moving forward to a brighter, better tomorrow. And as much as she wanted to thank Ithilian, Sparrow understood that his cooperation would not be for her benefit, and it hadn't been completed, as of yet. A wary, though thankful, smile stretched over her lips.
“Yes, I'd like that.” Sparrow paused, eyeing Aurora's mucky knees, dirt still clinging to them. “I'll help with your garden, while I explain some things.”
"I'd appreciate the pair of hands," Aurora began. "The weeds are trying to choke all of the flowers."