Post #2477298 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

For once, it was easier to forget the squalor they lived in.

Marriages were an important event for the elves, and since they lived in such tight-knit communities, they were usually celebrated by all, resulting in an Alienage or clan wide celebration that would last the entire day. Preparation for the marriage taking place today had lasted for roughly a week ahead of time; now that the work was done, the Alienage looked a positively festive place. Ithilian had to look down at his feet to remember that he was standing on little more than dirt. A modest platform had been erected around the base of the vhenadahl, where the marriage itself would take place. For the moment, however, the entire population of Kirkwall's Alienage was out in the streets, feasting and drinking and enjoying the kind weather.

Ithilian had heard tales of human disruption of elven marriages, horror stories of prejudice and racism. He was not fully armed, as he didn't wish to alarm anyone, but he still wore Parshaara at his hip, as a last resort. He sincerely doubted any troublemakers would descend on them today. By now, word had spread far and wide of what became of those who made enemies of the Alienage's defenders. There would be no trouble today.

Still, someone had to keep a watch, and Ithilian found standing somewhat apart from the celebrations useful for another purpose. The scene didn't evoke exact memories; the marriage, while an agreeable one for both parties, had been arranged by the elders, and it was taking place around a single tree rather than hundreds, but it was still an elven marriage. It was slightly disheartening that the mere sight of joyous elves could remind him of a specific moment in his life, but then again, it was one of those moments that would linger in his mind for the rest of his days, and one he never wanted to forget.

Lia was about somewhere, likely dancing with whatever boy was brave enough to ask for one. She had become quite popular in the last year, as she'd grown taller, slowly transforming into a woman. There were talks of who she would be paired with now, though that day would still be years ahead. A few of the elders from other families had even gone so far as to approach Ithilian with the subject, but he refused to speak to them of it. That was a father's task, not his. Without a father, it would be up to Lia to speak for herself. He knew she would want it that way, regardless.

Amalia, on the other hand, was reminded of absolutely nothing. The Qunari did not have marriages, and she had to admit, there was a time when she would have rather stayed inside her hovel, behaving as though all of this festivity was not going on outside. She would have seen it as thoroughly pointless. The match had been arranged in whatever peculiar way these people used to determine who was best suited to produce children with whom, what more need be done? But… she could see now that there was more to it than that, at least for some people. Arranged or not, this event had some connection to the future of a people. More than that, it was an opportunity for everyone in the community to gather together in a celebratory fashion, and it provided, she did not doubt, some measure of vitality to the collective consciousness of the Alienage residents. Something which they needed to weather the constant batterings they received as a result of being trodden upon by the higher echelons of the society in which they lived.

The natural comparisons it elicited from her analytical thought process necessitated a reminder, however: she was no longer entirely young. Right now, her work for her people was no doubt more important to them than her capacity as a bearer of children, but there was no guarantee that it would always be so. Especially not when the Antaam left this place. She may well have to go with them—most, if not all, of the viddathari would be. Without them, her task here was very limited. Perhaps the only reason she was not already someone’s mother was because it had been assumed from a very early point in her life that the match was an easy one… and the other party was obviously Marcus. There was a time when the thought was not displeasing, actually. She didn’t claim to know anything of the emotion that other cultures referred to as love, but spending one’s life in whatever capacity with someone one was close to was vastly preferable to spending it with a stranger.

Now the thought of returning to Par Vollen was unsettling, for reasons related to this train of thought and others. She had only one choice to make, but it no longer seemed that the answer was clear to her. Shaking her head slightly, Amalia exhaled through her nose and moved through the crowd. She was garbed again as she had been for Sophia’s birthday party, save that the warmer summer weather had prompted the removal of the mantle and the sleeves of the tunic. Though her hands from knuckle to elbow were still wrapped, the skin from there to her shoulders was bare, the pale scars on dark skin evident. She didn’t mind it so much, anymore.

Harp in one hand, nothing in the other, she picked her way around celebrants and came to stand beside her closest, and perhaps only, friend. “I do not believe I have ever seen them so… unburdened,” she observed, in typical dry fashion.

"They make use of the time they have for such things," Ithilian commented softly, eyes settling on Lia's golden curls for a moment before she swirled back into the crowd. As he understood it, Qunari did not marry the way humans or elves did; their pairings were purely for reproductive purposes for suitable matches, the offspring of which wouldn't even be raised by the parents, but rather someone with a skillset closer to Amalia's. He did not know if such a system was more effective, nor did he particularly care. The most efficient way of living a life was not always the best way.

The Dalish, while typically expected to marry and produce children, out of the need to keep their people alive, did not arrange matches for their children, but allowed them to choose for themselves. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to keep their people alive, but Ithilian couldn't imagine not being allowed to choose who he tied himself to. He remembered the way he'd made a fool of himself chasing Adahlen around the camp for weeks, until she finally decided he was worthy of the attention he sought. These two being joined today were fortunate enough to be fond of each other even before the marriage was arranged. Not all elves here were so lucky.

"Tomorrow it will be as though this day never happened, save for the new pairing," he said. He'd seen it before. They would make an absolute mess of this place by nightfall, but by morning, all evidence of the festivities would be gone.

“Remember when we used to do this for the children back in Antiva?” Aurora spoke aloud, her hands full of tawny tresses, the owner of which was a young elven lady—still no more than a child. Laughter and smiles came easy for the child, talking and laughing with another girl across from her while she worked on her hair. She was actually a bit envious of the child’s easy cheer, but she too tried to match her smile for smile. The fact that Milly sat across from her, doing the hair of the other child made the process that much more enjoyable. “I remember doing this for your hair more than the children's!” Milly said, chuckling as she did.

Hands darted to and fro, weaving an intricate dance with the children’s hair, pausing only pluck a flower from a nearby basket to braid into their locks. Nearing the end of her braid, Aurora paused for a moment and gave Milly the most puzzled look. With a creeping grin, she raised her hand above the child’s head and revealed that she’d somehow managed to braid her finger into her hair. Milly paused in her work to stare, before she broke into raucous laughter, shortly followed by her own child and then Aurora herself. Deftly plucking her finger from the braid, she tied the braid off with a brightly colored strand of yarn and sent the child on her way. In no time the girl shot off toward the group of other children and began playing with them. “I bet that braid doesn’t last the day,” Aurora easily admitted, keeping her smile as she stood up.

Shortly after Milly finished her own child’s braid, but another quickly replaced the first. “Go ahead, I’ll find you when I finished. I can’t leave a single mop of hair undone—Now can I dear?” She said gently tugging the child's and evoking a gigglin fit. “You were always better at it than I was. Better at just about everything actually,” Aurora admitted, bowing out gracefully. Aurora was aware that she was perhaps the only other human beside Amalia in the Alienage, but much like the Qunari, the elves had grown accustomed to Aurora’s presence. She’d even caught a few children frolicking through her garden on occasion—Children she’d then enlisted to aid her in tending it. Aurora threw a glance in the garden’s direction, feeling the sense of pride and joy at its sprouting colors well up inside. Between her, Sparrow, and the children of the Alienage, it was coming along nicely. Enough so that Aurora had even managed to pass along a bouquet to the mother of the bride-to-be.

She couldn’t help but be infected by the wealth of good cheer floating through the air, and a smile stayed impressed to her lips as she walked through the festivities. Aurora was as dressed up as she could be for the day’s festivities. An entire wreath was tied up in her hair, a ponytail of crimson cascading down her back. Another, a purple violet, was tucked in behind her ear, drawing a contrast from her bright red hair. As for what she was wearing—it was perhaps the first time since she was a small girl she could be found wearing a long skirt along with a sleeveless shirt and the scarf she never took off wrapped around her neck. A discolored scar sat high on her arm, a gift from Arcadius when she had assisted Sparrow once. But she paid it no more mind than she would anything else—a scar earned in the need of a friend was one to be proud of. Her knuckles and hands, however, were wrapped in white cloth, hiding the callouses underneath.

She moved easily through the crowd, somehow getting a few drinks shoved into her hands as she did, and came out on the other side to see the backs of Amalia and Ithilian not too far away. She moved toward them quietly, hearing the tail end of whatever conversation they were having. “Maybe not,” Aurora answered, coming to a stop beside Ithilian, looking into the crowd to try and see what he saw. “Or maybe the memory of this night will get them through tomorrow.” She said smiling optimistically as she held out a pair of cups for both Ithilian and Amalia to take. “Everyone needs release every now and then.”

Amalia cautiously took the wooden vessel from Aurora’s hand and sniffed at it. Satisfied that it was neither alcohol nor fetid water, she kept it. She very much doubted she would ever share her former student’s optimism when it came to such things—she was much more inclined in the direction of Ithilian’s own cynicism when it came to matters such as these. What was the point in a day of celebration if it would only be forgotten the next day? If nothing changed for truth? Then again… maybe the point was nothing more than these few hours, and it was certainly different right now. It was a strange thought, and she didn’t know what to do with it, really, so she let it pass.

Someone in the crowd had found a flute, however, and what had generally been somewhat-disorganized milling around reorganized itself in some fashion, until large groups of people were whirling around in what she took to be a form of dancing. There seemed to be clusters of three or four, who would place one hand against the others’, and they’d spin about for a while, before changing groups in a more-or-less regular pattern, their feet moving lightly, booted or bare, along the dirt and stone floor of the Alienage, currently strewn with rushes and sweet-smelling plants, which released their fragrances when crushed into the earth. It was a thoughtful touch, Amalia supposed, allowing one to forget for the moment that the location was normally not of most pleasant odor.

The beverage she was holding turned out to be some kind of bitter, cold tea. It wasn’t terrible, actually, though she wondered if she’d ever taste a papaya again. What a bizarre thought—apparently, the atmosphere was producing very unusual patterns in her usually-linear way of thinking. She pursed her lips together faintly, but chose to let Ithilian be the one to respond to the hypothesis, if indeed there was any response to be had. Amalia had none.

Ithilian accepted the cup, and drank after much less examination than his Qunari friend. It could have been a potent alcohol, and he would not have particularly cared. He had never been much of a drinker, though he suspected that he could have easily become such, given what he had been through in recent years. The drink would have made days like this one easier, and the mornings after more horrible.

Ithilian had cleaned up as best he could for the celebration, his hair recently washed and neatly combed back away from his face and tucked behind his pointed ears. He didn't own a great deal of nice clothes, as they had rather little purpose in the forest compared to traveling or hunting gear, but he had made the attempt all the same, wearing a rarely used dark green jerkin over a fresh white tunic. He felt even less comfortable for wearing it, but he understood by now that many of the elves here looked up to him, and he did his best to make an example worth following.

"You misinterpret me," he corrected Aurora, gently. "I spoke in terms of appearances. An outsider could visit the Alienage tomorrow and have no idea there was a marriage here yesterday. We're in agreement. Days like this one are what makes their daily toil worth the effort. Horror is unbearable if there is no hope." It was what made him truly astounded that he still lived to this day. He could see glimmers of it in his own life now, but years ago... he supposed it was anger and rage alone that had sustained him, carrying him along as though he were in a dream. He was glad to have woken up.

Aurora tilted her cup backward, tasting the bitter liquid as it slipped down her throat. She winced at first, expecting something sweeter but made no complaints. It wasn’t bad, honestly, just not what she was used to. She nodded as Ithilian revealed his own sentiments, pleased to find out that she wasn’t too far off the mark. A hum found its way to her throat as she agreed with his sentiments. As she stared out into the crowd of elves a thoughtful mood descended upon her. Her head tilted as thoughts made her way in and out of her head, and her cup hovered inches away from her mouth as she spoke. “Don’t forget that they have each other too. Hope is better if it’s shared. They have community. Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown, Mages, Templars, we put so many labels on ourselves. The elves? They’re elves, and that’s it. You look out for one another,” She said with a smile upturned to him. They were proof of that, Ithilian and Amalia both.

Before any more words were exchanged, Aurora was suddenly thrust forward a couple of steps. Half of her tea was split to the floor by her surprise and a quick glance backward revealed the culprit. “Milly! Where’d you come from?” Aurora asked the girl-- who currently had both arms wrapped around her neck. Milly replied with her biggest smile and a hooked thumb backwards, “From where you left me. Where else?” Aurora rolled her eyes and shook her head. She should’ve seen that coming. A moment later, Milly had peeled her arms from around Aurora’s neck and simply stood beside her. “You have me now, remember? Someone has to make sure you don’t kill yourself,” She said with a mock-frown.

“Why aren’t you all dancing?” She asked with a look of puzzlement. Aurora simply shrugged for her answer—though she had an inkling feeling that not many elves would dance with a human. She might have been a usual sight in the Alienage, but she was still human. She didn’t fault the elves for this; it was the way they were, and for good reason. A curious look settled in Milly’s eyes as her gaze turned upon Ithilian. “Serah Ithilian… If I may ask, do the Dalish dance like this?” She asked, turning a hand toward the festivities that surrounded them.

Ithilian was tempted to tell the young elf that he was no knight, and there was no reason to call him serah, but he held his tongue. It was understandable, if Milly had grown up in a Circle tower like Nostariel had. The mages were hardly exposed to Dalish culture at all, locked away by the templars as they were. He glanced down at her with his eye, before looking back to the crowd. He was getting the sneaking feeling that she was a bit taken with him, or at least taken with the idea of him. It wouldn't be the first time an elf born in a city or a tower became enamored with the way others of their kind lived.

"Sometimes," he admitted, thinking back, "though the clans aren't as heavily populated as the Alienages, and so the dances tend to be less..." he searched for the word, "chaotic, I suppose." Ithilian was never much of a dancer, though he supposed the right person might be able to drag him away from his watch. Milly certainly wasn't her; the only reason she was here was because she knew Aurora, the Aurora from before she had been molded by Amalia, a girl Ithilian had found quite annoying. Aurora herself wouldn't have any luck if she asked. Amalia could potentially pull him into the other dancing elves, though he doubted she knew any of the steps, and he doubted she would want to, regardless.

"Someone needs to keep watch," he answered simply. "Humans have been known to disrupt these events in other Alienages."

“I'm sure they couldn't ask for a better watcher,” she said, finally taking in all of the bustling that surrounded them. Milly’s eyelids fluttered as she imagined how a Dalish celebration may have been like. She imagined a cheerful fire in the midst of a grove, elven voices rising and falling in turn, filling the trees with the sounds of song. She blinked the thought away, thinking it too silly to be expressed in words. It was only a fairytale that she dreamed up in the Circle.

She was quiet, but only for a moment before she began to speak again; though far more comfortable than she was when she had first addressed Ithilian. “The Circle had celebrations too,” She began, tossing a glance at Aurora, who replied with a knowing nod. “They… frowned on marriages, for the obvious reasons,” She said in a grimace. A child born of the union between mages had a chance to be a mage themself, and Maker knows that’s the last thing the Chantry wanted.

“But there was always Satinalia,” She said, evoking a small chuckle out of Aurora. “For one week back in Antiva, the whole city lit up in lights and we celebrated, even in the Circle. We danced, we gave gifts, we made masks, and then we danced some more,” She said, her voice taking on a reflective tone. “The Circle had a fair amount of people you know, young and old alike, and we all celebrated the week away, kind of like this,” She said, stretching a hands out to the festivities occurring in front of them. The similarities were not lost on Aurora, though she chose not to speak them aloud. Milly laughed out loud as a funny memory returned to her. “Hey Rosy, remember Piero? He asked me to dance, only to fall flat on his face moments into the second chorus.” Aurora looked back at her and simply smiled and nodded. In truth, the whole memory was cloudy, like looking through a misted window into the past, and she was only vaguely aware of the incident. What she did remember clearly were the Templars that watched them like hawks…

“Hey… Amalia,” Aurora finally said, taking a sidelong glance at her once-teacher and since friend. “I’m curious. Do the Qunari have any celebrations like this, or holidays of any kind?” She said. There was never mention of any sort of celebration coming from the docks, and Aurora was having a hard time imagining the woman dancing. Not physically, Aurora believed that she possessed enough natural grace and dexterity to make even the finest dancers trip over their feet. It was just hard imagining her dancing, to let that little bit of herself go and let the music and mood take her.

Amalia, though she had not been ignoring the conversation, had been content to allow it to slide mostly past her, like a breeze—perceived, but not necessarily acknowledged in any particular fashion. She was watching the way the dancers moved, counting off the steps and finding the rhythm of it, largely for lack of anything else to do. Her watchful eyes would occasionally flicker towards the Alienage entrance, or to one of the celebrants that appeared to have been a bit heavier into the intoxicating beverages than others. Alchohol dependence was not a major problem in the area, largely because most could not afford the habit, but it did occur every once in a while, she had learned. Perhaps to be expected—some preferred to forget their surroundings. It was not one of her flaws, certainly, but on an abstract level, she could at least see the thinking that led to it, and the lack of thinking that sustained it.

Eventually, however, Aurora directed a question to her, and the Qunari’s gaze slid smoothly to the other three. Raising a hand, Amalia tapped her lower lip with the tip of her index digit, a slightly contemplative gesture. “Occasions of unrestrained revelry and religious observance are absent in Qunari culture,” she said, knowing well that this eliminated most of the ‘holidays’ Aurora referred to. “But if you are asking if there are organized occasions during which we are not required to do our usual work, then… yes. Art is appreciated, in all its forms. It is recognized that sometimes in order to create and enjoy it, one must be given reprieve from the mundane. There are also ceremonies, but these are largely role-specific, and they are not celebratory in the sense you’re inquiring about.” They had music and singing and dance, but these things were either the domain of nights in war-camps, when all else to be done was done, children who had no need to be doing anything else, or else exhibited on the days reserved for such things.

Spontaneity was not a Qunari trait, to say the least. But this was not to claim that they did not appreciate the better parts of what other cultures put in their celebrations. Amalia recalled learning to dance—it had been a long time ago now, and the steps looked very different from these. Like everything else, Qunari dances were based on strict geometries and precise measures of time. They were beautiful because they were so executed, not in spite of it. She’d had no cause to deal overmuch in art as a form of emotional expression, because in the way she had been raised, that was not its value, and sometimes a detriment.

The revelry continued on for a time, but it was eventually called to order so that the couple could at last be married. The assembled elves took a while to quiet down and gather, but the Alienage eventually fell into an almost reverent silence. They stood at the base of the platform assembled under the vhenadahl, peering up to where the bride and groom stood before the hahren, the Alienage's elder, who would be conducting the marriage.

Ithilian only vaguely heard the words that were spoken. The lad being married was young and fit; he would have been molded into an excellent hunter by now, were he among the Dalish. The bride looked radiant in her dress. Elves did not take up the human custom of dressing their brides all in white, and this was for the best; city elves hardly had the resources to make a dress specifically to be worn one day of a woman's life. Instead, the girl's dress was a cheery yellow gown, falling down across her slim figure to rest on the wood of the platform. In true elven fashion, the hem was already dusty from the day's dancing.

The pair was joined after a short, warm ceremony, a happy cheer rising from the crowd when their lips met. The unscarred corner of Ithilian's mouth quirked upwards at the sight, though he made no comment. He was glad they were still able to enjoy days like this. Such things were not always a guarantee.

Snippet #2477298

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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