The very next evening, Amalia was standing in front of a broken shard of mirror that sheād borrowed from one of the viddathari. She had no cause for such items herself, and had not properly seen her reflection in years. It was not something she chose to dwell upon or really wanted to see, but she needed to at present. The small pot of red warpaint on the table in front of her might have given the reason why, and indeed, she was quite focused on the angles of the various intersecting triangles on her face, over her cheeks, forehead, and chin. The design was incredibly intricate, but different in kind from what the warriors wore on their bodies. Frankly, all the red made her single blue eye look a little strange, but she was not concerned with aesthetics in the conventional sense. These were marks of merit, and so they were beautiful. Marks of shame were ugly. That was all.
Lowering the brush back into the clay pot, she sighed. If only it were all so simple. Shaking her head, the Qunari closed the lid on the vessel and replaced it upon her shelf, leaving her muffler on the hook it hung from, but arming herself with her usual repertoire. There were no robes to disguise her armor today, and no scarf to conceal her face. The ones she was meant to slay would know exactly who slew them. And he would know what had become of her. The normally-composed woman took a moment to shudder, to acknowledge that the dark feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach was real, but then she pushed it aside. Petty grievances could not get in the wayā¦ and that was why she could not do this alone.
She made eye contact with nobody as she crossed the Alienage to Ithilianās home, and nobody was foolish enough to interrupt her progress. Despite her fearsome visage, the knock she leveled against his door was almost tentative in nature. So much was unspoken between them, and most of it she would not know how to describe even if she did feel inclined to speak. If she did this, her past and her present would intersect in ways she could not fully predict, and even that assumed that he would be willing to risk this much, to incur a non-trivial chance of being apprehended, to say nothing of the risk of death that the mission itself entailed.
But she could not, would not, ask it of anyone else.
"She's a bit of a pompous princess sometimes," Lia said, her bare feet kicked up lazily on the table, "but she's not all that bad anymore. We have an understanding, you see." Ithilian looked up from his fletching, setting one completed arrow aside and starting on another. Lia was skilfully slicing away at a block of wood with a small knife, eyes narrowed and focused on the task at hand. He'd gone and shown her the basics of woodcarving, the modest skills he'd learned, and in a few short months she was better at it than he was. Already he could see the shape of the mabari's head and snout, that proud nobility of a warhound with a bit of a spoiled streak. Not unlike the city's future Viscountess, no? Perhaps he was overly harsh on her. Her actions were often quite selfless, he heard, even if he thought her somewhat dim.
"And what is this understanding?" he asked her, picking an arrowhead out of the pile and fitting it onto the shaft. Smithwork was not often of the greatest quality in Lowtown, so the arrowheads were commonly not up to his usual standard, and the number of arrows he still had from his days with the Dalish were dwindling.
"She doesn't mess with me, I don't mess with her," Lia said, slicing a bit off the ear to make it look more natural. "We learned pretty quick that we can both make life a living hell for someone that gets on our bad side, so we've got a truce. Sometimes negotiations break down, and we'll have a week long war or something, but they never last long. I'm as good at the puppy eyes as she is. Better, even. She's no puppy anymore." The corner of Ithilian's mouth quirked upward, and she noticed, spreading into a grin herself. That smile she had...
"And you've never had any trouble while you're there? Even when the shop is left to you?" She shrugged. "Most people are nice enough to me. Snuffy's usually around, and no one in their right mind would mess with a mabari, especially when she gets bigger. And besides, I can take care of myself. I learned from none other than my uncle Ithilian."
Uncle. She'd taken to calling him that recently, and while it had given him pause at first, he no longer minded, and actually felt a strange feeling in his chest whenever she did, like someone had flicked a finger against his heart or something. It was as close of a familial relationship with her as he was willing to acknowledge. She too, loved her own father well enough to respect his memory and not substitute Ithilian for him, and as for him... there was no replacement for what he had lost, no matter how close she came.
A soft knock on the door stirred him from his thoughts. It was likely one of the neighbors. They usually tended to be shy when speaking with Ithilian, as he was not the most personable of men around those he wasn't very familiar with. "See who that is?" he asked Lia, and she flipped her feet from the table, standing smoothly and skipping over to the door, pulling it open. "Oh. Hi, Amalia!" He frowned. He could usually tell when it was she that was coming to visit. Rising and setting down the arrow on the table, he came to stand behind Lia.
"Check out what Ithilian's teaching me," she said, holding up the half-finished Snuffy carving for the Qunari woman to see. Ithilian took a moment to take in her appearance, without robes and already in armor, her face left entirely unconcealed, as his was tonight. Even her face was painted, which Ithilian had yet to see done. There was something very unique about the visit tonight, he could tell, and judging by the blades, it would not end peacefully for someone. "You should go home, Lia," he said softly, without giving room for argument. She knew that tone by now, and obeyed, giving Amalia a wave as she went.
Ithilian was momentarily unsure what to say. "You look..." That sentence didn't make it far, and he quickly forgot what he'd planned to say about her appearance. "Ah. Come in." He wasn't exactly prepared to receive visitors, but he didn't expect she would mind. She wasn't the type to concern herself over such things.
Amalia was brought from her grim thoughts long enough to acknowledge Lia, and something like a breathy snort passed through her nose upon sight of the carving. āI believe I know this creature,ā she said, tapping the whittled nose with an index finger. It was a motion more delicate than she seemed dressed for, and indeed, she appeared to remember herself shortly thereafter, and dropped the hand back to her side. āIt is skilled work,ā she finished simply, and nodded to the girl as she departed. She was not here to speak of idle things tonight, even ifā¦ even if she might have liked to. Even if her opportunities to do so were rapidly-dwindling. She felt like she was losing something sheād never truly held, but what else could she do? She would leave something behind either way, she knew, and her choice was between what sheād never grasped in the first place and the only anchor sheād had through more storms than she could count.
Ithilianās aborted sentence drew her brows together for just a moment, but then she smoothed them out and shrugged. She looked like a Qunariāhuman or not, it would be impossible to even glance at her now and see anything else. That was the intent of it. Perhaps it didnāt really need saying. āIā¦ did not mean to interrupt,ā she offered, looking about the house but neither commenting nor passing particular judgement upon the matter of its appearance. It served its purpose, as all such dwellings did. It had not the architecture of Par Vollen or Seheron, but that was no fault of its occupant. Ithilian took a seat in the chair he'd been occupying before, waving a hand in dismissal. "That's fine... the girl stays up too late anyway." Maybe if she went back home she'd get bored enough to get a good night's sleep.
Searching for the words for a moment, Amalia wet her lower lip with her tongue and picked a wall to lean up against. āI have a favor to ask of you. But I do not want you to accept without understanding the parameters.ā There was a time, she thought, where perhaps either of them would have agreed to such a thing, no questions asked, but she did not think this was the case right now. Perhaps that was fortunate. It was, she was learning, almost as difficult to bear that kind of trust as it was to part with it. The Qunariās eyes fell shut, and she arranged the words the way she wanted them before she allowed herself to speak again. āThe Arishok is angry. If the people of this city do not capitulate soon and leave him to his task, he will slay them, and he will not spare this place. There is a chance, however, that I can prevent this. I mean to show them that Hightown is not safe from the wrath of my people, and in doing so, I plan to scare them into compliance, if indeed that is possible.ā
The generalities done, she moved into the specifics. āA few days ago, an envoy from the Tevinter Imperium arrived. There are a senior magister, a junior magister, about ten guards, and some two dozen slaves. The Qun demands the death of the senior magister, and his guard. I intend to set free the slaves that will leave, as well. But you must understand: these are diplomatic guests of Kirkwallian nobility. If I am discovered, the Antaam will not save me, nor you. This will have been meāand you, if you are with meāacting alone, and we will neither ask nor receive any mercy for it.ā
Ithilian had been hearing some other troubling things of late. A number of elves were taking an increased interest in the Qunari on the docks, some of them even considering converting. They had heard that the Qunari did not subjugate the elves like the humans did. If Ithilian understood them as he did... well, they seemed to subjugate everyone equally. Somehow they seemed to find some kind of freedom in this. Personally, Ithilian had felt more free these past few weeks than he had his entire life, and while he was not at his happiest, he felt as though he had some breathing room to choose what he wanted now. If that was going on in her head, too... well, he'd never been able to see in there too well.
There was nothing usual about her request tonight. The way she looked was different, the way she was behaving was different... bits of her unease filtered through, and that Ithilian was able to pick up on. As far as the request went, Tevinter magisters weren't exactly common in the Free Marches anymore, and killing one would not be easy, especially if they were detected at some point. But the motives here... preventing war, protecting the Alienage, freeing slaves, slaughtering magisters, all right under the noses of Kirkwall's arrogant and pompous ruling class... there was nothing that Ithilian disagreed with here. Helping her never seemed to be unwise. He'd never been able to see it before, not until he'd opened his eyes. Even half blind he could see more clearly now than ever before.
"Then I am with you," he said simply, pushing himself back to his feet. It was a simple choice.
Amalia nodded, releasing a breath she had not known sheād been holding, but the worst of it was not yet done. āThere is one last thing,ā she said, staring resolutely at the floor, arms crossed almost protectively over herself. āThe otherā¦ the remaining magister. He must not die. So spoke the Ariqun. This is why I need youāif he discovers our presence, he will confront us, and I do not know how I will react if this occurs. I may well attempt to slay him, but it must not happen.ā She swallowed tightly, and forced her eyes back up to his. āNot by my hand, and not by yoursānot tonight.ā The hands gripping her biceps tightened for a moment, and there was a certain troubled cast to her brow, but she would say no more than that, not now. If she went into the details, they would only muddy the clarity of the situation. One of the Magisters was to die, the other must live to carry the message. It was likely a test, as wellāthe Ariqun no doubt wanted to know how she would react. So she was taking precautions.
The Qunari was quite aware of how strange it was, to be asking Ithilian to prevent a Magisterās death, but it absolutely must be prevented. That black feeling deep in her guts was growing in strength, and unless she did this now, tonight, she was unlikely to be able to keep it from overtaking her, whatever it may be. There were some things for which even death was inadequate punishment, but the desire for his ending was bound up with shame and revulsion and, perhaps more than anything, fear. Amalia was afraid, and it had been so infrequent in her life thus far that she had no idea what it would make her do.
He'd actually almost asked if there was a reason not to just kill everyone, but honestly he'd figured she wouldn't have asked for his help if that were the case. He wasn't the best at choosing targets selectively, especially when all the targets undoubtedly deserved to die. There was something very strange about how she delivered this to him. If this was simply some magister, surely she would be able to control herself when confronted, and yet she claimed she needed him of all people to stop her. It was in the way she stood, for once seemingly without confidence, and that was a trait she had never lacked for. It was... concerning, and it showed slightly on his face.
"You know this magister at all?" he asked, turning away to grab his gear, starting with the headscarf. The action had two purposes. One, he obviously needed to be armed and ready in a few minutes, and two, he still felt tentative about showing outright concern of that kind, for some reason that was far beyond him. There was just... danger in it, though he did not know how it would manifest itself.
It was probably obvious, wasnāt it? Perhaps she should have expected that this would come back and explode in her face at some point, but she had counted on being moreā¦ centered, when it finally came to pass. As things stood, this confrontationāand she knew there would be one, with more certainty than she knew most anything anymoreācould not have occurred at a worse time. Already, she was the victim of her own doubt, of that gripping uncertainty that had made itself apparent now for reasons she still did not fully understand, and to have her own worst failing paraded in front of her again at a time like thisā¦ she was only glad of the long years sheād spent learning to keep the worst of her feelings from her face, lest her dread manifest more obviously.
āNot as well as I should have, and more than I care to,ā she replied at last. It was an inadequate answer, if a true one, and she feltā¦ discontent with that. But it was not a story she could tell now, not one she had the time for, or the strength for. āIf we are done and you still have questions, I will answer them. But not now.ā It was the best she could do, even if some part of her hoped he simply wouldnāt find a reason to ask. It was a boundary they hadnāt really negotiated before, this one of history. She wasnāt sure how to go about it, either.
But right now, there was a magister to slay, and people to free. The rest would come about in its time, if it really needed to. Two shadows slipped out of the Alienage, and in the dark, it wasnāt so obvious that they were as different as they thought themselves.
Lowering the brush back into the clay pot, she sighed. If only it were all so simple. Shaking her head, the Qunari closed the lid on the vessel and replaced it upon her shelf, leaving her muffler on the hook it hung from, but arming herself with her usual repertoire. There were no robes to disguise her armor today, and no scarf to conceal her face. The ones she was meant to slay would know exactly who slew them. And he would know what had become of her. The normally-composed woman took a moment to shudder, to acknowledge that the dark feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach was real, but then she pushed it aside. Petty grievances could not get in the wayā¦ and that was why she could not do this alone.
She made eye contact with nobody as she crossed the Alienage to Ithilianās home, and nobody was foolish enough to interrupt her progress. Despite her fearsome visage, the knock she leveled against his door was almost tentative in nature. So much was unspoken between them, and most of it she would not know how to describe even if she did feel inclined to speak. If she did this, her past and her present would intersect in ways she could not fully predict, and even that assumed that he would be willing to risk this much, to incur a non-trivial chance of being apprehended, to say nothing of the risk of death that the mission itself entailed.
But she could not, would not, ask it of anyone else.
"She's a bit of a pompous princess sometimes," Lia said, her bare feet kicked up lazily on the table, "but she's not all that bad anymore. We have an understanding, you see." Ithilian looked up from his fletching, setting one completed arrow aside and starting on another. Lia was skilfully slicing away at a block of wood with a small knife, eyes narrowed and focused on the task at hand. He'd gone and shown her the basics of woodcarving, the modest skills he'd learned, and in a few short months she was better at it than he was. Already he could see the shape of the mabari's head and snout, that proud nobility of a warhound with a bit of a spoiled streak. Not unlike the city's future Viscountess, no? Perhaps he was overly harsh on her. Her actions were often quite selfless, he heard, even if he thought her somewhat dim.
"And what is this understanding?" he asked her, picking an arrowhead out of the pile and fitting it onto the shaft. Smithwork was not often of the greatest quality in Lowtown, so the arrowheads were commonly not up to his usual standard, and the number of arrows he still had from his days with the Dalish were dwindling.
"She doesn't mess with me, I don't mess with her," Lia said, slicing a bit off the ear to make it look more natural. "We learned pretty quick that we can both make life a living hell for someone that gets on our bad side, so we've got a truce. Sometimes negotiations break down, and we'll have a week long war or something, but they never last long. I'm as good at the puppy eyes as she is. Better, even. She's no puppy anymore." The corner of Ithilian's mouth quirked upward, and she noticed, spreading into a grin herself. That smile she had...
"And you've never had any trouble while you're there? Even when the shop is left to you?" She shrugged. "Most people are nice enough to me. Snuffy's usually around, and no one in their right mind would mess with a mabari, especially when she gets bigger. And besides, I can take care of myself. I learned from none other than my uncle Ithilian."
Uncle. She'd taken to calling him that recently, and while it had given him pause at first, he no longer minded, and actually felt a strange feeling in his chest whenever she did, like someone had flicked a finger against his heart or something. It was as close of a familial relationship with her as he was willing to acknowledge. She too, loved her own father well enough to respect his memory and not substitute Ithilian for him, and as for him... there was no replacement for what he had lost, no matter how close she came.
A soft knock on the door stirred him from his thoughts. It was likely one of the neighbors. They usually tended to be shy when speaking with Ithilian, as he was not the most personable of men around those he wasn't very familiar with. "See who that is?" he asked Lia, and she flipped her feet from the table, standing smoothly and skipping over to the door, pulling it open. "Oh. Hi, Amalia!" He frowned. He could usually tell when it was she that was coming to visit. Rising and setting down the arrow on the table, he came to stand behind Lia.
"Check out what Ithilian's teaching me," she said, holding up the half-finished Snuffy carving for the Qunari woman to see. Ithilian took a moment to take in her appearance, without robes and already in armor, her face left entirely unconcealed, as his was tonight. Even her face was painted, which Ithilian had yet to see done. There was something very unique about the visit tonight, he could tell, and judging by the blades, it would not end peacefully for someone. "You should go home, Lia," he said softly, without giving room for argument. She knew that tone by now, and obeyed, giving Amalia a wave as she went.
Ithilian was momentarily unsure what to say. "You look..." That sentence didn't make it far, and he quickly forgot what he'd planned to say about her appearance. "Ah. Come in." He wasn't exactly prepared to receive visitors, but he didn't expect she would mind. She wasn't the type to concern herself over such things.
Amalia was brought from her grim thoughts long enough to acknowledge Lia, and something like a breathy snort passed through her nose upon sight of the carving. āI believe I know this creature,ā she said, tapping the whittled nose with an index finger. It was a motion more delicate than she seemed dressed for, and indeed, she appeared to remember herself shortly thereafter, and dropped the hand back to her side. āIt is skilled work,ā she finished simply, and nodded to the girl as she departed. She was not here to speak of idle things tonight, even ifā¦ even if she might have liked to. Even if her opportunities to do so were rapidly-dwindling. She felt like she was losing something sheād never truly held, but what else could she do? She would leave something behind either way, she knew, and her choice was between what sheād never grasped in the first place and the only anchor sheād had through more storms than she could count.
Ithilianās aborted sentence drew her brows together for just a moment, but then she smoothed them out and shrugged. She looked like a Qunariāhuman or not, it would be impossible to even glance at her now and see anything else. That was the intent of it. Perhaps it didnāt really need saying. āIā¦ did not mean to interrupt,ā she offered, looking about the house but neither commenting nor passing particular judgement upon the matter of its appearance. It served its purpose, as all such dwellings did. It had not the architecture of Par Vollen or Seheron, but that was no fault of its occupant. Ithilian took a seat in the chair he'd been occupying before, waving a hand in dismissal. "That's fine... the girl stays up too late anyway." Maybe if she went back home she'd get bored enough to get a good night's sleep.
Searching for the words for a moment, Amalia wet her lower lip with her tongue and picked a wall to lean up against. āI have a favor to ask of you. But I do not want you to accept without understanding the parameters.ā There was a time, she thought, where perhaps either of them would have agreed to such a thing, no questions asked, but she did not think this was the case right now. Perhaps that was fortunate. It was, she was learning, almost as difficult to bear that kind of trust as it was to part with it. The Qunariās eyes fell shut, and she arranged the words the way she wanted them before she allowed herself to speak again. āThe Arishok is angry. If the people of this city do not capitulate soon and leave him to his task, he will slay them, and he will not spare this place. There is a chance, however, that I can prevent this. I mean to show them that Hightown is not safe from the wrath of my people, and in doing so, I plan to scare them into compliance, if indeed that is possible.ā
The generalities done, she moved into the specifics. āA few days ago, an envoy from the Tevinter Imperium arrived. There are a senior magister, a junior magister, about ten guards, and some two dozen slaves. The Qun demands the death of the senior magister, and his guard. I intend to set free the slaves that will leave, as well. But you must understand: these are diplomatic guests of Kirkwallian nobility. If I am discovered, the Antaam will not save me, nor you. This will have been meāand you, if you are with meāacting alone, and we will neither ask nor receive any mercy for it.ā
Ithilian had been hearing some other troubling things of late. A number of elves were taking an increased interest in the Qunari on the docks, some of them even considering converting. They had heard that the Qunari did not subjugate the elves like the humans did. If Ithilian understood them as he did... well, they seemed to subjugate everyone equally. Somehow they seemed to find some kind of freedom in this. Personally, Ithilian had felt more free these past few weeks than he had his entire life, and while he was not at his happiest, he felt as though he had some breathing room to choose what he wanted now. If that was going on in her head, too... well, he'd never been able to see in there too well.
There was nothing usual about her request tonight. The way she looked was different, the way she was behaving was different... bits of her unease filtered through, and that Ithilian was able to pick up on. As far as the request went, Tevinter magisters weren't exactly common in the Free Marches anymore, and killing one would not be easy, especially if they were detected at some point. But the motives here... preventing war, protecting the Alienage, freeing slaves, slaughtering magisters, all right under the noses of Kirkwall's arrogant and pompous ruling class... there was nothing that Ithilian disagreed with here. Helping her never seemed to be unwise. He'd never been able to see it before, not until he'd opened his eyes. Even half blind he could see more clearly now than ever before.
"Then I am with you," he said simply, pushing himself back to his feet. It was a simple choice.
Amalia nodded, releasing a breath she had not known sheād been holding, but the worst of it was not yet done. āThere is one last thing,ā she said, staring resolutely at the floor, arms crossed almost protectively over herself. āThe otherā¦ the remaining magister. He must not die. So spoke the Ariqun. This is why I need youāif he discovers our presence, he will confront us, and I do not know how I will react if this occurs. I may well attempt to slay him, but it must not happen.ā She swallowed tightly, and forced her eyes back up to his. āNot by my hand, and not by yoursānot tonight.ā The hands gripping her biceps tightened for a moment, and there was a certain troubled cast to her brow, but she would say no more than that, not now. If she went into the details, they would only muddy the clarity of the situation. One of the Magisters was to die, the other must live to carry the message. It was likely a test, as wellāthe Ariqun no doubt wanted to know how she would react. So she was taking precautions.
The Qunari was quite aware of how strange it was, to be asking Ithilian to prevent a Magisterās death, but it absolutely must be prevented. That black feeling deep in her guts was growing in strength, and unless she did this now, tonight, she was unlikely to be able to keep it from overtaking her, whatever it may be. There were some things for which even death was inadequate punishment, but the desire for his ending was bound up with shame and revulsion and, perhaps more than anything, fear. Amalia was afraid, and it had been so infrequent in her life thus far that she had no idea what it would make her do.
He'd actually almost asked if there was a reason not to just kill everyone, but honestly he'd figured she wouldn't have asked for his help if that were the case. He wasn't the best at choosing targets selectively, especially when all the targets undoubtedly deserved to die. There was something very strange about how she delivered this to him. If this was simply some magister, surely she would be able to control herself when confronted, and yet she claimed she needed him of all people to stop her. It was in the way she stood, for once seemingly without confidence, and that was a trait she had never lacked for. It was... concerning, and it showed slightly on his face.
"You know this magister at all?" he asked, turning away to grab his gear, starting with the headscarf. The action had two purposes. One, he obviously needed to be armed and ready in a few minutes, and two, he still felt tentative about showing outright concern of that kind, for some reason that was far beyond him. There was just... danger in it, though he did not know how it would manifest itself.
It was probably obvious, wasnāt it? Perhaps she should have expected that this would come back and explode in her face at some point, but she had counted on being moreā¦ centered, when it finally came to pass. As things stood, this confrontationāand she knew there would be one, with more certainty than she knew most anything anymoreācould not have occurred at a worse time. Already, she was the victim of her own doubt, of that gripping uncertainty that had made itself apparent now for reasons she still did not fully understand, and to have her own worst failing paraded in front of her again at a time like thisā¦ she was only glad of the long years sheād spent learning to keep the worst of her feelings from her face, lest her dread manifest more obviously.
āNot as well as I should have, and more than I care to,ā she replied at last. It was an inadequate answer, if a true one, and she feltā¦ discontent with that. But it was not a story she could tell now, not one she had the time for, or the strength for. āIf we are done and you still have questions, I will answer them. But not now.ā It was the best she could do, even if some part of her hoped he simply wouldnāt find a reason to ask. It was a boundary they hadnāt really negotiated before, this one of history. She wasnāt sure how to go about it, either.
But right now, there was a magister to slay, and people to free. The rest would come about in its time, if it really needed to. Two shadows slipped out of the Alienage, and in the dark, it wasnāt so obvious that they were as different as they thought themselves.