Post #2510106 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

The last of the day's light dipped below the horizon, casting the city into night, just as it fell into chaos. Wounded but remarkably still alive, the pair of Ithilian and Amalia worked their way silently from the scene of the botched execution. The rest of the crowd was not nearly so silent, and the frightened screams could be heard from several blocks away. The fear and panic soon seeped throughout much of the city, as the leaderless guard spread out in a disorganized, though quite fervent, search for the perpetrators of the attack.

Ithilian had attempted to choke down some of the health potion Amalia had left him following the fall, though much of it had only ended up on the ground. What he had managed to consume was probably the only thing preventing him from being entirely dead weight on his lethallan's shoulders. Amalia, too, seemed not as strong as she had been upon freeing him, though that was to be expected following a fight with a man such as Aatrox. Ithilian had only been able to listen to the fight, and he couldn't so much as see what wounds she had sustained, even with her right next to him.

They took to the side streets and twisting alleys of Hightown, the natural layout of the wealthy district aiding them in their escape. Eventually, they linked up with Ashton and Nostariel, the Warden doing what she could for their injuries, at least until they could find a safe place to stop. Their goal was Nostariel's clinic, but it was a slog to reach it. Lowtown seemed remarkably far away indeed when one needed to avoid the main streets, most notably the great stairway connecting the two halves of the city. The guards had fanned out widely, splitting up into smaller groups, though that was undoubtedly dangerous for them.

Perhaps two hours passed before they were finally able to stagger inside the clinic under cover of darkness, hiding themselves from the prying eyes of the guards. Ithilian managed to stagger over to a table, wincing as he threw himself onto it, rolling over onto his back. After that, he focused on remaining as still as possible. "Lia..." he croaked, hoarsely. "Where is Lia?"

"Safe," Ashton answered, "Hidden away in one of Nostariel's hiding places." As he spoke, he began the arduous process of slipping out of a guardsman uniform that was a size too small for him in the first place. He winced and heaved as he shed the armor like a snake molting its skin. With it and his weapons gone, Ashton's usual fare of clothing replaced them, hiding his bandages once more. Trading the guardsman sword for his machete, he also found a cloak and threw it over his shoulders as well, making his way to the door. "I'll go get her. She'll be glad to see you," He said with a weak smile. She wouldn't like seeing him injured as he was no doubt, but to see him alive? That was the important part. With that, Ashton slipped back out into the night.

Ithilian focused on slowing his breathing, which became difficult in spikes, when shooting pains occurred in any of the innumerable places he was severely injured. His tunic was cut away, leaving him bare from the waist up, and it became apparent the extent of the injuries the captain had inflicted on him. His entire chest and both of his sides were a strange mix of colors, anything other than what they should have been, but mostly a mix of dark browns, yellows, reds, and even blue. More of his ribs appeared to be broken than had remained intact, and it was more than likely that some number of internal injuries had been suffered. The captain had hardly needed the noose to finish the job; simply waiting would have done him in. Nostariel worked as quickly as she could, but there were many injuries that required her attention.

Some of which were Amalia's. She had not come out of the fight unscathed, though as far as he understood, there was nothing life threatening. He felt... relief, yes, that he was alive and that Amalia was alive and that Lia was safe for the moment, even if the city seemed poised to explode and consume them all, but he also felt a guilt, a shame, a regret that he had not known since he had turned his blades on his lethallan in the Fade. This was not the same, of course. His actions then had been borne out of pride, selfish pride, a traitorous backstabbing of a friend who had allowed herself to trust him. This time he had acted out of care, out of a desire to shield her from what he felt he knew would come, but his choice had brought pain on them all the same, and only too late did he realize it.

"Amalia," he whispered, turning his head in her general direction. He still could not see her, and this frustrated him. "I'm sorry. I've been a fool again. Your kadan is an utter fool."

Amalia was content to wait until Ithilian’s injuries had been treated before her own were seen to—her alchemy would see her through in the meantime. At the very least, the brew she’d consumed had set her ribs back in place, though they would still need work before it was painless to breathe again. The mark down the side of her face continued to drip blood at a sluggish, lazy rate as the wound clotted and began to scab, but deep as it was, it was tolerable. It could wait, she could wait, and she told Nostariel as much, though the Warden was a good enough healer to know, perhaps, without needing to ask.

She pulled up a chair next to the table he was prone on, leaning her sternum up against the back of it to alleviate some of the pressure on her lungs. When he spoke, she exhaled softly, the barest of huffs. She could feel the last of her anger disappear, just like that, draining with it what remained of her adrenaline and letting finally the emotional and physical toil of the day make itself known in full. Her chest ached, her cheek throbbed, and she resisted the urge to flinch when she shuddered, the motion jarring her torso and sending spikes of pain into her ribcage.

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged quietly. Perhaps he was a fool, still a fool. Perhaps he would always be a fool, stepping out in front of people to place himself between them and pain. Perhaps that would make it worse more often than it helped anything. The reasons had changed, but that fundamental drive of his had not, it seemed. “But he is still kadan.” It was her way, she supposed, of saying that it was forgiven. He was alive, however close to death, and right now that seemed the important thing in the whole situation. Maybe it meant they were both fools. Surely she was, for doing the one thing she had always been taught she must never do—for caring about someone in a way she did not care about others. It had scarred her before, and it had scarred her now.

But this one, she would never think to hide.

"When we were caught, surrounded by the guards," Ithilian said, "it should have been death. I truly believed it was death." He swallowed thickly, resisting the sudden urge to cough. Doing so would have sent racking pains throughout his entire body, and he did not think he could handle that right now. "There was a time when I would have welcomed death. But in that fight, all I could think of was returning here. I was willing to die, but not ready. Not yet."

He turned to her, reaching out slowly with his hand, which eventually came to settle on one of her knees. The swelling was finally beginning to fall back on his eye, and he could see her once more, a blurry representation of his lethallan, at least.

"I will never ask you to leave me again. Nor do I want you to."

Amalia sighed, unsurprised for once at the amount of relief in it. She’d given up knowing what to expect in this companionship of theirs, because it was like nothing else she’d ever known or even heard of. But the reassurance was decidedly welcome, and she nodded slightly, dropping one of her arms to her knee to place a palm over the back of his hand. She wasn’t sure she could handle the anxiety of what she’d endured the day past a second time. Hopefully, she would not have to. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she wouldn’t leave, but she could not quite pass the words over her lips. She knew what stayed her words, and she knew that the time came when she would have to face that, and make a choice. A choice that she had always been taught didn’t even exist.

But that time was not yet upon her, and so she chose instead to let herself feel the relief to which she was inclined, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a nearly imperceptible smile. “I will hold you to that, Ithilian.”

It was then that Ashton reentered the clinic and he brought with him not Lia, but a look of failure. Looking first to Amalia, and then meeting Ithilian's eye, he let his head drop letting the movement break his view of the elf. "She... Wasn't there," He said, the words hard for him to swallow. He entered the clinic better, throwing the cloak to the ground with a hint of anger, but he continued to explain. "A guard had been killed near where we left her. A crowd had gathered by the time I arrived," He said as he moved the a nearby seat. His shoulders tensed, and despite the exhaustion in his face he occupied only the edge of the chair.

"I asked around. The guard were searching for her and someone who saw told them where we hid her," He said resting his chin on the whites of his knuckles. "When the guards came looking, the viddathari showed up and fought them off. The last anyone saw, the viddathari were taking Lia to the docks for protection," He managed before finally leaning back, the look of defeat falling over his face like a lead veil. "I'm sorry..." He apologized.

“Then she is safe,” Amalia said, though there was no need to vocalize the obvious implication at the end of the sentence. For now. Straightening slightly in her chair, she stood slowly, reaching up onto one of Nostariel’s shelves for another potion. She was out, and the ones with that hint of pearlescence to them were a touch better than hers, anyway. She understood the Tranquil friend of Sparrow’s made them. Uncorking it, she knocked the thing back and set the vial down on an empty counter. “I will go speak with the Arishok. I… cannot promise it will work.” But she would do her best. Hopefully, he would be inclined to agree that the viddathari were still a matter for her dispensation where she wished to exercise her authority.

But with conquest so immanent, she really did doubt it. Taking her leave, Amalia pushed open the clinic door and slipped out into the dark.

The docks... Ithilian wanted to slam his fist against the table, but he knew that would only cause him tremendous pain, and solve nothing. He thought at first to ask Ashton if he knew the name of the elf that had given Lia away to the guard, but he stopped himself. This was not a time for petty revenge, and whoever had done it likely acted purely out of an interest to avoid having the guard rampage through homes in the Alienage looking for escaped criminals. Those elves who stayed in the Alienage, holding on to their way of life rather than joining with the Qunari, had no hope of fighting against the city guard, especially not while their ire was up following the death of their captain, and many of their comrades.

"If the Arishok will not relinquish her," he said, staring up at Nostariel, "I will find her myself. I will not allow her to be caught in a war, not--" his words were cut off by a sudden fit of coughing, one that left tears streaming down the side of his face from the pain. He groaned. "How long will it be before I am healed?"

“You most certainly will not.” Nostariel‘s answer carried an edge of crossness. She hadn’t really meant it to be there—she could understand his desire to be out there, to help someone he held so dear. But she also understood that he was simply in no condition to be doing so. “Ithilian, if you go out there tonight, you’ll die, and I distinctly recall that being something you are not ready to do.” Her tone gentled on the last, though she was cut off by a slightly alarming noise from the other side of the room, and she had to hurry across it to prevent Ashton from falling out of her chair by slumping forward. Apparently his energy had run itself out at last, and she managed to catch him by the collar and right him so that he was leaning back against the wall instead.

Shaking her head, she wondered how she was still moving. Without injury, yes, but she was running entirely on lyrium at this point, and it was fraying her usual temperament at the edges. Proceeding a little more slowly back to Ithilian, she picked up the thread of her words again. “I can only repair so much damage in a night, and even then, you’ll need rest, otherwise your system could go into shock from all the repairs I’m putting it through.” To say nothing of what it had been through to need the repairs. “And Amalia and Ash both still need help as well.” His injuries were the worst, to be sure, but she knew Ashton’s were still bad, and she honestly had no idea what kind of state Amalia was in—the woman hid any lapse in her usual grace and poise so well Nostariel would not have known she was hurt save for the way she’d been leaning against the chair—and the large cut on her face.

Ithilian sighed, knowing she was right, as she usually seemed to be. If there was one thing that could comfort him, it was that until any battle began, the Qunari compound was probably the one place in the city that the guard could not reach anyone. It would have to be enough, until he was strong enough to help her again.

It was about half an hour after she’d left that Amalia returned, her face set in that mostly-blank expression that meant she was deliberately not giving anything away. It was an artifact of her venture to the compound more than of the desire to keep anything from anyone here, and when she spoke, it fell away to reveal her fatigue. She had not slept well the previous night—at all, really, and she’d been up all day since then. “The viddathari are under my care no longer. The Arishok intends to use them as a screen tomorrow, that he and his might advance more quickly for Hightown. If she is to be found, our best chance is then.”

The Chanter's Board has been updated. The Noose has been completed.

Snippet #2510106

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

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