Fortunately, the alienage had not been hit very badly at all in the fighting, and when it started to die down again, many of the residents emerged from their homes, surveying what damage had accrued and checking on one another. Some would never return, Amalia knew, either because they were viddathari or because they were dead. Many of those who converted would probably desert now that the need for protection had seemingly passed, and she did not doubt that was part of the reason the Arishok had used them so carelessly. The Qunari wasted nothing, even what was only available to them for a short time. She lingered for a while, little more than a watchful shadow on a wall, while Ithilian and Lia found their way home, and the rest of these did the same, or found one another, or found corpses.
The dust settled again over Lowtown, and word reached them all of what had happened in the Keep. Amalia was not particularly surprised to hear that Sophia had challenged the Arishok, though the outcome was not the one she would have predicted. Regardless, the others had the Tome of Koslun now, and the Arishok was replaceable. Everything was, really. Her people would return to Par Vollen, and regroup. She didnât much doubt that they would be doing so in order to prepare for conquest, because they were always either preparing or conquering. It was what they did best, and for a people who did many things very well, this was saying something.
It had reached afternoon on the day after the battle, and Amalia made her way quietly from her home, armed and armored still, as there were looters about and she would rather not converse with them. She found herself down by the docks, watching from a small rise as the Qunari boarded their ships once more, filing in with precise order and those viddathari that had both survived and committed to the Qun as a way of life. She knew nearly all of them, by what they had been called before, but those names would be relinquished when they reached the jungle-cities or the desert sand. This place would be relinquished in them, too, and everyone they had known here. Much of that, she knew, was her doingâand she wondered how it was that she felt about that.
She traced the still-healing line running from beneath her right eye to the edge of her jaw with her index finger. The wound wasnât infected; it would mend and scar cleanly.
Ithilian was hardly able to rise from bed until the afternoon after the battle, and he only did so at Lia's urging. He would have gladly slept his injuries off for a day or more, especially considering that Nostariel was no longer available to speed along the process. It was unfortunate for him, but he had a steady supply of potions to work with, and Nostariel's talents were needed elsewhere. He found it remarkable that the Warden was still functional after all of this. Her own physical injuries were nonexistant compared to what some of them had gone through, but in terms of sheer effort and willpower, Ithilian doubted any in the city could match her.
But it was not for Nostariel that he dragged his aching body out of his house. Lia had informed him that she'd seen Amalia leaving the alienage quietly. Ithilian knew that the Qunari would be departing today, not wanting to stay any longer than was absolutely necessary now that they had their sacred artifact in hand, and for a moment, a brief lance of icy fear shot through him, at the thought of Amalia going with them. It occurred to him that there was no real reason for her to remain, no real role for her to play here anymore. The viddathari would be gone, and unless she desired to start over and instruct new ones, she would have only people of other cultures surrounding her.
It occurred to him that he might be her biggest reason to stay. He was kadan to her, the one and only she allowed herself. He did not know if he would be enough.
He hoped so, though. He had come to rely upon her like few others in his life, this woman he had once called shem, believing her lesser for the shape of her ears, for the chance of her birth. A great fool, he had been, before coming to know her. Slipping into his armor again and taking up his weapons, he departed the alienage with Lia at his side, the girl also armed. The city was a chaotic mess in the wake of the battle, and though Ithilian still managed to look fearsome, he would not be back at his full form for sometime. There was a chance he would never fully recover from the injuries he'd sustained. There was only so much suffering a body could endure before the damage went more than skin deep. Besides that, Lia did not seem inclined to let Ithilian out of her sight, and he was fine with that.
It took some time to find Amalia, especially considering the slow pace that Ithilian felt was best for himself. He had managed to let himself believe that if Amalia was actually going to leave with the Qunari, she would at least come to say farewell. It was all the opinion he was going to allow himself to form on the subject. When he located the rise upon which Amalia was watching the ships, Lia gave Ithilian some space to speak with her alone. He came to stand beside her, observing the new scar she had earned.
"I expect we'll have quite a bit of time soon to think about what, exactly, we are." To each other. To those we hold dear. To our cultures, to the world. To ourselves. "I also expect that there is no real answer to that question."
âOnce,â Amalia replied, âthere would have been nothing to think about.â She had always known what she was, even when she had not quite been sure of whom. Or rather, the questions had always seemed to have the same answer, as simple as naming back the role she had been given. It was her very identity, and comprised the core of everything she was and did. Rightly soâshe had been born to it, trained for it from her very youth. There had been no need to find or discover it, or any of the other strange metaphors other people used in relation to themselves. It had always just⊠been.
But if she were truly Ben-Hassrath any longer, she would already be aboard that ship. There were no more viddathari in Kirkwall, and besides that, she had only been teaching those there were because no Tamassrans were there to do it. She wondered distantly if the ones on Par Vollen would find the work she had done satisfactory in this respect. There was no one else here the Qunari particularly desired dead, no deserters to hunt down and reeducate.
Except maybe herself.
Was she deserting? She supposed she could justify her choice to stay in terms the Qun would understand and accept, were she pressed to do so. She could say she remained because this was a volatile place, to spy, to gather information for when the Qunari did return. A thin reason, but enough of one, considering there wasnât much incentive to return, either. But whether it would work or not, it was not her real reasonâthose were different. The biggest one was currently standing beside her. She took strength from that, no longer feeling the temptation to take just another step closer to the ship, closer to the absolute assurance that a reversion would allow her. It would be an illusion anywayâshe could try to forget this place, forget them, forget him, but she would not be able to. And she would always wonder.
âNow⊠perhaps there will be many answers.â It was hard for her to accept that there would be none. Amalia didnât know what she was going to do with herself, now. How was she to function in a world of humans and elves and dwarves? Was she human now? She had never felt herself so before, because she was Qunari, and that had been all that mattered. Could she really accept that she was other than she had ever been? Or could she be Qunari still, in some way, even though she did not stand amidst the others, did not live by their every tenet exactly? They were daunting questions, but she had to believe they had answers.
"I was much the same, as you well know," he reminded her. It seemed, at this point, as though Ithilian was perhaps adjusting to a new purpose, or rather a lack of one, somewhat better than Amalia was. Perhaps because previously Ithilian's purpose had not been so dominating, as adherence to the Qun tended to demand. But Ithilian had been forced to confront his separation from the dogma of years past a little sooner than Amalia, and a little more abruptly. Ithilian had been the betrayer in the Fade, not Amalia, as he recalled. That had been the moment when he'd been convinced of the wrongness in his ways.
"I think there is much that you and I can still do here, though," he said, folding his arms across his chest and watching the last few Qunari board their ships. "Not as Dalish or Qunari, teachers or hunters, but... whatever it is that we are. There are good people here, though the wicked may outnumber them. I can improve their lot, with what strength I have, and I'll do it not because of their race or the gods they do or do not worship. I'll do it because they deserve better, and I may still have the power to give it to them. That, I feel, might be an example worth following."
He wanted to hide for a time, to safeguard only those who meant the most to him, but this was not his way, could not be his way forever. Not when there was more that could be sought after, with the wiser views that this pit of a city had somehow instilled in him. That she had instilled in him.
"I would welcome your help. I have proven many times over that I am a fool without you."
Amaliaâs mouth ticked up into a wry half-smile, but it vanished in the next eyeblink. Could she really do that, she wondered? Just⊠pick up another cause, use it to fill the space in her soul where the Qun had once been? There were people here without whom she would not feel fully alive, but it may just be that the same was true of what she had to let go to stay with them. Perhaps she was only choosing her half-life. If so, she was choosing this one, and not the one that awaited her if she boarded that ship. But it was still half her world, half her self that she was giving up, and she did not quite think she could just⊠replace it with something else. She did not know if she would ever be able to hold to another purpose like she had held to the Qun, because there was nothing else in the world like it, to her knowledge.
But still⊠Amalia sighed softly. It could be something. She could try, and see what came of it. She could continue to do what sheâd started nearly a year ago, without the faintest idea that it would bring her far. She had opened her eyes, and she had seen. Now she had only to decide how she wished to shape the things she saw. Without her people guiding her hand, it would not be easy, but if every part of it were even half as rewarding as guiding her own eyes had been, thenâŠ
âFor now, it is enough.â She took a long look at the ships, watching as the gangplanks were drawn up, anchors hauled and sails hoisted, and she opened her hands, allowing the last grains of sand to scatter into the wind. They were hers in truth now, to use for reaching to whatever she wanted. Perhaps one day she would know what that was.
Shaking her head faintly, she turned her back to the departing boats. âWhere would you suggest we begin?â
The dust settled again over Lowtown, and word reached them all of what had happened in the Keep. Amalia was not particularly surprised to hear that Sophia had challenged the Arishok, though the outcome was not the one she would have predicted. Regardless, the others had the Tome of Koslun now, and the Arishok was replaceable. Everything was, really. Her people would return to Par Vollen, and regroup. She didnât much doubt that they would be doing so in order to prepare for conquest, because they were always either preparing or conquering. It was what they did best, and for a people who did many things very well, this was saying something.
It had reached afternoon on the day after the battle, and Amalia made her way quietly from her home, armed and armored still, as there were looters about and she would rather not converse with them. She found herself down by the docks, watching from a small rise as the Qunari boarded their ships once more, filing in with precise order and those viddathari that had both survived and committed to the Qun as a way of life. She knew nearly all of them, by what they had been called before, but those names would be relinquished when they reached the jungle-cities or the desert sand. This place would be relinquished in them, too, and everyone they had known here. Much of that, she knew, was her doingâand she wondered how it was that she felt about that.
She traced the still-healing line running from beneath her right eye to the edge of her jaw with her index finger. The wound wasnât infected; it would mend and scar cleanly.
Ithilian was hardly able to rise from bed until the afternoon after the battle, and he only did so at Lia's urging. He would have gladly slept his injuries off for a day or more, especially considering that Nostariel was no longer available to speed along the process. It was unfortunate for him, but he had a steady supply of potions to work with, and Nostariel's talents were needed elsewhere. He found it remarkable that the Warden was still functional after all of this. Her own physical injuries were nonexistant compared to what some of them had gone through, but in terms of sheer effort and willpower, Ithilian doubted any in the city could match her.
But it was not for Nostariel that he dragged his aching body out of his house. Lia had informed him that she'd seen Amalia leaving the alienage quietly. Ithilian knew that the Qunari would be departing today, not wanting to stay any longer than was absolutely necessary now that they had their sacred artifact in hand, and for a moment, a brief lance of icy fear shot through him, at the thought of Amalia going with them. It occurred to him that there was no real reason for her to remain, no real role for her to play here anymore. The viddathari would be gone, and unless she desired to start over and instruct new ones, she would have only people of other cultures surrounding her.
It occurred to him that he might be her biggest reason to stay. He was kadan to her, the one and only she allowed herself. He did not know if he would be enough.
He hoped so, though. He had come to rely upon her like few others in his life, this woman he had once called shem, believing her lesser for the shape of her ears, for the chance of her birth. A great fool, he had been, before coming to know her. Slipping into his armor again and taking up his weapons, he departed the alienage with Lia at his side, the girl also armed. The city was a chaotic mess in the wake of the battle, and though Ithilian still managed to look fearsome, he would not be back at his full form for sometime. There was a chance he would never fully recover from the injuries he'd sustained. There was only so much suffering a body could endure before the damage went more than skin deep. Besides that, Lia did not seem inclined to let Ithilian out of her sight, and he was fine with that.
It took some time to find Amalia, especially considering the slow pace that Ithilian felt was best for himself. He had managed to let himself believe that if Amalia was actually going to leave with the Qunari, she would at least come to say farewell. It was all the opinion he was going to allow himself to form on the subject. When he located the rise upon which Amalia was watching the ships, Lia gave Ithilian some space to speak with her alone. He came to stand beside her, observing the new scar she had earned.
"I expect we'll have quite a bit of time soon to think about what, exactly, we are." To each other. To those we hold dear. To our cultures, to the world. To ourselves. "I also expect that there is no real answer to that question."
âOnce,â Amalia replied, âthere would have been nothing to think about.â She had always known what she was, even when she had not quite been sure of whom. Or rather, the questions had always seemed to have the same answer, as simple as naming back the role she had been given. It was her very identity, and comprised the core of everything she was and did. Rightly soâshe had been born to it, trained for it from her very youth. There had been no need to find or discover it, or any of the other strange metaphors other people used in relation to themselves. It had always just⊠been.
But if she were truly Ben-Hassrath any longer, she would already be aboard that ship. There were no more viddathari in Kirkwall, and besides that, she had only been teaching those there were because no Tamassrans were there to do it. She wondered distantly if the ones on Par Vollen would find the work she had done satisfactory in this respect. There was no one else here the Qunari particularly desired dead, no deserters to hunt down and reeducate.
Except maybe herself.
Was she deserting? She supposed she could justify her choice to stay in terms the Qun would understand and accept, were she pressed to do so. She could say she remained because this was a volatile place, to spy, to gather information for when the Qunari did return. A thin reason, but enough of one, considering there wasnât much incentive to return, either. But whether it would work or not, it was not her real reasonâthose were different. The biggest one was currently standing beside her. She took strength from that, no longer feeling the temptation to take just another step closer to the ship, closer to the absolute assurance that a reversion would allow her. It would be an illusion anywayâshe could try to forget this place, forget them, forget him, but she would not be able to. And she would always wonder.
âNow⊠perhaps there will be many answers.â It was hard for her to accept that there would be none. Amalia didnât know what she was going to do with herself, now. How was she to function in a world of humans and elves and dwarves? Was she human now? She had never felt herself so before, because she was Qunari, and that had been all that mattered. Could she really accept that she was other than she had ever been? Or could she be Qunari still, in some way, even though she did not stand amidst the others, did not live by their every tenet exactly? They were daunting questions, but she had to believe they had answers.
"I was much the same, as you well know," he reminded her. It seemed, at this point, as though Ithilian was perhaps adjusting to a new purpose, or rather a lack of one, somewhat better than Amalia was. Perhaps because previously Ithilian's purpose had not been so dominating, as adherence to the Qun tended to demand. But Ithilian had been forced to confront his separation from the dogma of years past a little sooner than Amalia, and a little more abruptly. Ithilian had been the betrayer in the Fade, not Amalia, as he recalled. That had been the moment when he'd been convinced of the wrongness in his ways.
"I think there is much that you and I can still do here, though," he said, folding his arms across his chest and watching the last few Qunari board their ships. "Not as Dalish or Qunari, teachers or hunters, but... whatever it is that we are. There are good people here, though the wicked may outnumber them. I can improve their lot, with what strength I have, and I'll do it not because of their race or the gods they do or do not worship. I'll do it because they deserve better, and I may still have the power to give it to them. That, I feel, might be an example worth following."
He wanted to hide for a time, to safeguard only those who meant the most to him, but this was not his way, could not be his way forever. Not when there was more that could be sought after, with the wiser views that this pit of a city had somehow instilled in him. That she had instilled in him.
"I would welcome your help. I have proven many times over that I am a fool without you."
Amaliaâs mouth ticked up into a wry half-smile, but it vanished in the next eyeblink. Could she really do that, she wondered? Just⊠pick up another cause, use it to fill the space in her soul where the Qun had once been? There were people here without whom she would not feel fully alive, but it may just be that the same was true of what she had to let go to stay with them. Perhaps she was only choosing her half-life. If so, she was choosing this one, and not the one that awaited her if she boarded that ship. But it was still half her world, half her self that she was giving up, and she did not quite think she could just⊠replace it with something else. She did not know if she would ever be able to hold to another purpose like she had held to the Qun, because there was nothing else in the world like it, to her knowledge.
But still⊠Amalia sighed softly. It could be something. She could try, and see what came of it. She could continue to do what sheâd started nearly a year ago, without the faintest idea that it would bring her far. She had opened her eyes, and she had seen. Now she had only to decide how she wished to shape the things she saw. Without her people guiding her hand, it would not be easy, but if every part of it were even half as rewarding as guiding her own eyes had been, thenâŠ
âFor now, it is enough.â She took a long look at the ships, watching as the gangplanks were drawn up, anchors hauled and sails hoisted, and she opened her hands, allowing the last grains of sand to scatter into the wind. They were hers in truth now, to use for reaching to whatever she wanted. Perhaps one day she would know what that was.
Shaking her head faintly, she turned her back to the departing boats. âWhere would you suggest we begin?â