For once, Kirkwall felt less stifling to her. The crumbling walls no longer pressed in on her and Darktown's musky stench hardly swayed her unfaltering stepsāshe was on a mission. Not one that involved murky magic-dabblers, which always tended to lean on the dark and bloody scale, nor were there any wayward, vicious Qunari involved. No no, not this time, at least. And she led someone in tow, flapping her gums about nothing in particular. Somehow, she'd managed to convince poor Rilien to accompany her somewhere special. It was the most information she would give, which was hardly any at all. Not that Rilien seemed to mind.
Though it had taken a some convincing for him to simply leave the work he'd been poring over; partially, because she'd been relentlessly badgering him. First from the staircase, perched like a stubborn songbird; staring intently until he settled down his quill. From there, she'd moved a few feet away from his working table. Scrunched up with her knees to her chest. Obviously waiting for something, expectant as a child. Sparrow wanted people to ask what she was doing so that she could bluster on with what she actually wanted. Rilien, more than anyone else, understood that.
Whether or not she'd actually bothered him was a mystery. She supposed that if he was ever bothered by her incessant pecking in the past, she would've been thrown out ages ago. Thankfully, Rilien had the patience of a Saint. Half of the time she did not look where she going. Speaking over her shoulder and walking backwards, seemingly without purpose. But she was heading somewhere in particular. She just didn't want to spoil the surprise. They'd hardly had any time to speak between her heated argument, the Qunari invasion, Sophia's comatose state and Aurora's parting.
Kirkwall was anything but a sleepy little town and they always seemed neck-deep in another catastrophe. Not that she was complaining. Had she been born anything other than who she was, and if she had any other friends other than those she currently had, her life might have been a great deal duller. She grinned to herself and knuckled her nose. āBesides, it's nice to get away from work every once in awhile, y'know?ā A little play in his life might've done him some good. Books and quills and mixing potions was well and good, but what fun could be found in that? Her contributions came in the form of needling entertainment and brief brushes of newly-discovered areas spanning across the entirety of Kirkwall. This was her home now, so it was imperative that she touched every corner of it. There was no doubt that the Wounded Coast was far prettier. However, the dark history Kirkwall presented had its own gritty appeal. Dark alcoves, hidden spaces, and great views. She wanted to share that with someone.
They finally arrived at the Docks and Sparrow led them down a straightforward stairwell ending in a small, rickety pier. Her boat awaited her, bereft of the sailors they'd once slaughtered. With the remainder of her money made in the Deep Roads, she'd maintained and improved the trusty little vessel. It was small enough not to be a bother and large enough to fit several someones should she ever wish to leave Kirkwall.
But today, she was on a mission. There was a smug pleasure in having freedom swaying just at your fingertips, and being able to share something as secret as a her discovered nook. Not too far from where they wereājust around the bend, maybe. The craggy rocks and intimidating statues provided perfect cover to dissuade curious sea-farers from venturing too close, and so, they were hers to claim. āAlright, then. Get on!ā She chirped, springing onto the deck. She turned to offer her hand, as a gentleman might to a fair lady, and only barely hesitated before doing it anyway.
āI was thinking that we've much to talk about.ā
Rilien eyed the boat with the faintest trace of skepticism, unsure he could affirm that Sparrow had enough knowledge of seafaring vessels to maintain one in decent condition for travel. Also, he was unsure how the dinghy itself was relevant to whatever it was that she might want to discuss with him, but he accepted that this at least was one of her many strange idiosyncrasies. Unlike himself, she could not simply say whatever it was that she wanted, regardless of setting. Quite the contrary, she had to feel comfortable enough, and this was apparently where she had decided she would be comfortable today. Raising an eyebrow just slightly at the outstretched hand, he bypassed it, stepping gracefully onto the boat and sinking into a seated position, pulling his legs up underneath him on the bench.
"Is that so?ā His reply was neutral, eyes fixed on her as she went about the process of casting off and getting the vessel into working order. He was willing to help, of course, but he did not know an especially large amount about boats, only the basic principles, and thus he may only be in the way if he acted without direction. "I think you would find nearly universal assent to the proposition that I generally have very little to talk about.ā It was another half-joke, only really funny because of how utterly not funny it was. If indeed there was any humor to be found in it at all. He could no longer claim to know, particularly.
"But if you find yourself with the desire to speak, I will listen.ā He always did.
Her expectations were often outrageous. She couldn't understand why Rilien, or anyone else for that matter, hadn't thrown themselves aboard, full of bluster and adventure. The ship was seaworthy enough and she'd already spent inordinate amounts of time among sailors to know how to keep the vessel afloat.Well, she knew enough not to severely damage it. There were telltale signs gouged into the side of the dingy; obvious indications that it had taken some rough handling to get used to. Like all things, she never learned easily. All in all, she and the ship were still alive, so that must've counted for something. Sparrow snorted, as if to say suit yourself. Surely, any maiden would have gladly accepted her aidābut, in retrospect, Rilien was no maiden, and he was far more capable than she when it come to grace and balance. She mm'd at his choice of seating and bustled around setting up the sails, tying down the rigging and finally taking her place at the wheel. Obviously, she'd done this many times. Practised manoeuvres and many mistakes later, and she wasn't so bad anymore. It was her only means of showing off as well, so she did little instructing and far more pea-cocking.
Sparrow stared down at him, dangling her arms dangerously through the wheel and leaning her chin across the wooden bands. They were going in the general direction she intended to go, anyway. No need in being overly cautious. She did laugh, but not particularly because it was funny. Partially because she did not believe it, and partially because what she wanted, and needed, was what was so difficult to achieveāRilien often said what needed to be said, and tended to speak his mind far more than she imagined any Tranquil would, even if it took prior initiative or relentless needling. He listened and she rattled on. He stood vigilant while she crashed against the shoreline. They were made up of variants and variables, spontaneity and tendencies. She craned her neck owlishly, blinking. Universal assent might have been that Rilien was nothing but different. Even in his sameness, in his proposed general lack of conversational skills. What little he did say always seemed to speak volumes. A soft sigh escaped her lips, proceeded by a grin. āSometimes, I suspect that's a selective trait.ā
She withdrew her arms from their wooden shackles and stretched them over her head, settling them on the pegs of the wheel. Now that they were alone, swaying on the sea and rounding the aforementioned bend towards the craggy caves and mountainside, Sparrow felt uneasy. As if all of the questions and all of the things she'd wanted to say were being clamped shut by chokedust. Asking questions, and talking at someone, were two different matters altogether. She was not so foolish to admit feeling discomfort in situations that called for genuineness. Her process involved boiling over at a breaking point and Rilien, simply put, did not. She had no memories, no glimpses or images, to call uponāno brief touches of who he'd once been. In that regard, she was shamefully jealous of her companions.
Sparrow clicked her tongue and arched an eyebrow. āAnd what about you? I've got ears, too.ā Her gaze drifted away from the top of his head, and settled on the looming statues up ahead. Rusty chains hung from their arms. Great sentinels guarding terrible secrets. She closed her eyes briefly and scratched the back of head neck, āTell me a story about yourself. Anything, really. You know too much about me already. I'd say that's fair, given that I'm letting you sail on the Fair Maiden.ā Her lips twitched into a stiff smirk. Far easier to venture down that avenue, then to ask him outright.
So she had invented for him a debt owed, and now requested her recompense. Rilien was not surprised. Perhaps, had he even been capable of much in the way of shock, he still would not have been. His fingers, resting motionlessly on his knees, twitched slightly, an old piece of instinct. A Bard never told his own storyāhe was merely a conduit for other kinds of information, the stories of others. The natural reflex was to expect a lute or lyre in his hand, but here, there was none. Only what words he could conjure to mindāand those were not generally many, even if they did sometimes have meaning.
Still, he supposed, he was not a Bard any longer. There was no particular reason not to answer, though he doubted what he had to say would be what she wanted to hear. "There is only one story about me.ā While perhaps not literally true, it was certainly true in a sense. When most people asked him for something of that natureāand lots of people had, onceāit was only the one that they wanted. The one that began with a boy who had the world at his fingertips and ended with a hollow shell imprinted with the Makerās mark on his brow. He thought, sometimes, that he had picked up on instruments so easily because he knew so well the feeling of being able to make something from almost nothing, to transmute the world around him, long before he ever used song as the medium for the transformation.
For a moment, he tipped his head back, letting the rays of sunshine hit his face, narrowing his eyes to half-mast and squinting against the luminance. "I remember the faces of my parents, but not their names. I was sold to Lady Aurelie Montblanc sometime before my tenth year of life. She attempted to keep me out of the Circle when I discovered my magic, but she was unsuccessful.ā He tipped his head back down, meeting eyes with Sparrow. "This only grows less pleasant. Are you certain you really wish to know?ā She was not known for her staying power when things became difficult, after all, and while the tale could hardly cause him any distress, he supposed the same was not true of her.
She had once asked that question herselfāhad anyone asked for Rilien's story? Of course, it wouldn't have surprised her if people had asked him throughout his journeys. Those inflicted with the Rite of Tranquility were already considered oddities on their own and people in general, whether Elven or human, had always been curious creatures who needed and wanted to hear about things they did not currently understand. Truthfully, she'd never met any other Tranquil, and she still had trouble considering him anything but who he was. He was Rilien. Composed of serene seas, and uniform seashells. Of greater and far more resilient statues than those that cast their shadows over Kirkwall's harbour. The only time she found herself painfully reminded of their differences was when she wanted more than he could give, and she was such a beast who never stopped reaching out.
Thinking back on all of the colourful folk she'd met along her own adventures, Sparrow had never met any Bards, either. She understood now that they were a secretive people who traveled throughout each and every kingdom, carrying songs and stories and tales of grander escapades, and traded whispers if one should so seek their counsel. She only knew these things because Rilien had told her, and even then, they sounded otherworldly. Qunari had no such vocations. They spoke as plainly as Amalia, and sheared through half-truths, much as she did not. She found herself leaning forward, draped across the wheel. Only one storyāshe wondered what he meant by that, but kept her mouth clamped shut for fear that the story would end prematurely. There was a sadness, she supposed, that resonated from that statement, even if his tone remained temperate, unruffled.
Sparrow anchored her attention back to Rilien, owlish and eager, with her hands digging into the wheel, anticipating a waterfall of something washing over her. Realization or sorrow; she was not so sure what Rilien would say next, but she'd learned early on that the majority of stories that mages had to tell ended in hardship and an ache they couldn't quite shake off. She was sure that his would be no different. However, where her companions were involved, she felt and ached for them with an acuity she'd never believed she had. Common sense might have flown from her as a child, but empathy for her loved ones had strewn thorns and barbs in its wake. The future hardly swayed her, but looking at Rilien now, she wondered who he might have been had he never gone through with the Rite. Beautiful, and perhaps, not much different. She blinked. āAurelie Montblanc,ā she echoed softly, curling the words in her mouth.
Her eyes fell to Rilien's, and she realized he was asking a question. āYes.ā A simple exhale of assent. However, Sparrow paused and took a deep breath from her nose, leaning precariously backwards, while hooking her hands through the spokes. āThat's not all I wish to knowāwho was Aurelie? Was she kind? Were you afraid of your magic then? Do you wish to find your parents? Did you try to run away?ā As she had. These were the questions she sought. Pieces of Rilien she'd wanted to assemble to better understand who she may never have the opportunity to see, to know. āThe Circle. What happened there? Aurora once said, she told me that she'd learned to dance there. What was it like?ā
Rilien pursed his lips, though if it was evidence of anything, it didnāt pan out conclusively. His answers bordered on monosyllabic, mostly because he took her to be asking irrelevant questions. Perhaps this was why he avoided being the person doing most of the talking in any given situation. It was much easier to listen. āA bardmaster. Not especially. No, no, and no, respectively.ā Kind and unkind were not really the applicable adjectives for a relationship of the kind heād had with Lady Montblanc. She was a bardmaster and thus a teacher, as well as a collector of exotic rarities of one kind or another. He doubted sheād have looked twice at him were he more average of coloration, but he also knew that the reason for that was simply business. One had to stand out among others, if one was to be a successful Bard. At least in Orlais. It may serve a Crow well enough to blend, but the nobility where he was from would often refuse to engage a person perceived as bland or boring. His talent had made him good at what he did, but the simple fact was that his appearance had gotten him in the door to begin with, and continued to open other ones thereafter.
āThe Circle was nothing special, I do not believe. It had Templars and other mages, both with varying degrees of skill and talent. I recall being bored with the vast majority of them. Speaking in generalities, the mages were fond of me and the Templars were not. I suspect this was largely a consequence of the fact that I frequently deceived them into scenarios designed to produce discomfort or humiliation, but with no actual harm. On balance, I spent approximately one third of my nights in solitary confinement because of this tendency.ā Before heād had much opportunity to be a talented Bard, he was a talented mage, if a troublesome one. It was not as though he could not recall it clearly, it just produced nothing in him any longer. He felt no residual traces of amusement at what heād done, nor any righteous anger, nor any shame, though he recalled all of the feelings with clarity and distinctness.
Rilien folded his hands in his lap and cast his eyes out over the ocean. Kirkwall was still visible, though from this distance, it was quite small. āIf you care so much about the damned Tranquil, then you can be one.ā His words were flat as ever, apropos of seemingly nothing. It was clear enough that he was quoting someone else, though he did not specify the context of the statement. He turned his head so as to glance at Sparrow out of the corner of his eye. āThere is no justice in the world, and I long ago gave up on seeking it.ā It was enough to do what he did, and provide the means for those few who concerned themselves with him to remain as safe as one could in such a world. He had no aspirations to anything grander, not anymore. He left the aspiring to other people, and kept his own feet planted firmly upon the ground.
And so, Sparrow learned that Aurelie was a Bardmasterānot that she particularly understood what the difference was, for weren't all Bard's exclusively masters of their instruments? Perhaps, Aurelie played a myriad of instruments, keeping them all secured to her back while she traveled, but by the sounds of it, the image seemed unlikely. However irrelevant her questions might have been, she still found herself disappointed that this woman hadn't been kind to him. Or kind, in general. He never wondered about his parents, even now? She found it difficult to believe. If he did not remember their faces, surely he wouldn't recall why he had been sold in the first place. If her parents had sold her, she doubted that she would have any interest in finding them, as well. Slavery in itself, or the act of being sold to another, hardly existed in her realm of thoughts. Yes, she'd been born in a segregated part of some smelly city, but she'd also experienced the joy and freedom of the Dalish forests, short as that time was. Rilien had been little more than an accessory being shipped from hand to hand; first, his parents, then Aurelie's, and finally, the Circle's. Afterwards, she wasn't so sure. She supposed that story may have been happier, even if he hadn't felt that way.
She never considered him a tool to begin with. No one was. People simply wereāeven if Rilien had explained the manner in which Orlais functioned, with all of its systems and snobbish workings, Sparrow would not have understood, nor appreciated any of its intended splendour. Nobility, in her opinion, had no such attraction. They might have worn bejewelled shackles, but they were shackles all the same, and they chose to spend their time oppressing others. It was an ugly system she wished to see unraveled. Her eyebrows drooped down and pinched together. Rilien had no use for any of her sympathies, and comforting words were often unnecessary. Even still, she wished to soothe the sorrows he could not feel. To be robbed of the selfish opportunity made her feel hollow. What had she expected? Something of the ordinary. Or the kind of reaction a woman might have had, while attempting to calm their quivering lips. Rilien was neither, so her repertoire of savvy responses was like an empty coin-purse. She, did, however, listen without interruption. The only indication that she wanted to ask more questions was a brief puff of her cheeks.
Reflecting on the wooden masterpieces Ashton had created, it didn't surprise her that Rilien had been somewhat of a rascal. She was still glad to hear it. In those caves, for whatever brief time they'd been in there, Ashton and the others had glimpsed the missing pieces of Rilien from long before. They'd also seen something that could have been. Whether or not she'd ever come to grips with the fact that he'd chosen differently, and did not suffer the consequences, Sparrow wanted to see him that way. She wanted to see him cry and scream and laugh with the genuineness reserved for those who could. No amount of questions could bring about the reception she wanted. But she would try. She couldn't stop. His answers painted pictures across a great canvas, and even if she alone stood as a single, selfish observer, she would stay. Cranking the wheel hard to the right, Sparrow steered the ship towards the Wounded Coast but stopped short and turned inwards, towards an outcrop of slanting rocks and smoothed out stone. She busied herself moving the sails into position and snapping the rudder towards the rocks. It was only upon closer inspection that the questionable harbour could be seen, and she managed the dinghy with surprising confidence.
If you care so much about the damned Tranquil, then you can be one. Sparrow's shoulders grew rigid as Kirkwall's statues, and her stomach felt as heavy as their foundations. Whatever source those words had come from felt startlingly relevant to her own life, as well. Her mouth slivered open, then snapped closed. He might've been right. She wasn't ready to hear the rest. His life was a landscape, as far as the eye could see, of brackish hostility. Of the deepest distress and betrayals. She was not ready. If there were no good moments to give, then she was only scraping her nails across old wounds he could not feel. The lump in her throat jumped and settled like an iron fist. She, too, did not believe in justice. Not the kind that knights carried at their hips. Not the kind that the Chantry waved in the air, either. She fought for making herself feel better, but that sort've thing never cloaked itself under the veil of honesty. āI don't know about justice,ā she replied breathlessly, ābut there are some things best not to give up on.ā Motioning with her hand, she beckoned him to stand while she finished all the essential preparations to keep the ship from sailing away without them. Without a moment's hesitation, Sparrow threw herself across the gap and landed on the mossy wooden slats, already clambering up the rocks.
Giving up.
Was that what he had done? Rilien did not know if that was the best characterization for it. He had simply decided that it would be better to cease depending on anything in particular. If the only things he needed were the things he could provide himself, then it would simply not matter what the world was or was not like, how far it sank or how high it rose, according to whose standards. If that was giving up, then perhaps he had. There seemed to be little value in doing otherwise. And yetāthere were some things Rilien still knew he could not always do for himself. Even he needed to rely on other things sometimes, other people, even. Certainly, he would not have been able to slay Abraxas by himself, magic or no. He had tried to choose the most solid, reliable people he could for these purposes, and ones who would not mind him overmuch for being what he was, butā¦ to get from that to relying on anything else seemed like a gulf he simply could not cross. He was self-contained, stretching out into the world just as far as his limbs would allow, to touch only what was closest. His feelings did not extend any further than that. They could not. Rilien stood on command, and trailed Sparrow up the bank, looking a mite odd climbing a rock face, so obviously urban as he was.
And this is what she wanted to show him. She neared the mouth and placed a hand across the lumpy stones. Another home away from homeāa place to escape, should he so desire to. Should they both desire it. Clear, unbridled satisfaction was riddled across her features; like a child with a toy held aloft in its hands. There were indications that she'd been here many times before. Some things had been moved here; chairs, a large chest and a fire pit a little further inside; as well as her old suit of armour hanging on its own wooden rack. āWhat d'you think, Ril? Glorious, isn't it? I mean, it smells a little, but if we were pirates, and needed somewhere to lay low, this would be it.ā Her throat grew thick again. There were squeaks and chattering coming from above, probably sea-birds nesting in her hideout. āI mean, if you ever wanted to escape. This place would be safe for you and I.ā
The environment was certainly about as far removed from Rilienās aesthetic as it was possible to get. The polished cleanliness and silks of his person were sharply at odds with the earthen hideaway, the fire pit with raw wood, and the faint smell of something odorous. But then something in his body language shifted a little, and in a blink, it was as though he had blended a little, blurred slightly at the edges, and the contrast was no longer so sharp. These were things he knew how to doāhold himself in certain ways, move certain muscles in his body or his face, and suddenly he was more or less intrusive, depending on his surroundings.
He could tell by the expression on Sparrowās face that she was quite proud of her accomplishmentāit was a look that people wore when they were expecting praise. Rilien moved his eyes back to the hideaway, and then back to her, and decided that there was no especial reason why he should not meet those expectations. It took him all of two seconds to remember how, but he pulled one side of his mouth slightly upwards, just barely, the expression flickering across his face for barely a moment before it was gone, like a shadow of something that had been, but could be no longer. "The location was well-chosen.ā Any hope that the inflection of his voice might change to match the tiny piece of affected pleasure on his face was dashed by the monotone. But stillāheād said it, and heād meant it.
Sparrow stood like a hound expecting a bone. Any measure of bedazzled fascination at finding such a hidden cove of... mostly brine, but she could bring treasure here if she so wished. Her expectations might have been a little misplaced, given that Rilien operated through pure, unrestrained logistics and always followed an unimaginable system that would make a librarian blush. But she still expected, as she always did. Shallow creatures groped for pretty words. Even if this particular discovery was moss-covered and smelled like a natural version of Kirkwall's dirty harbour. At least the water was cleaner. No bodies floating around, either. A perfect childhood hideaway. She was sure that if it had been Amalia standing in Rilien's place, the response might have been the sameāand for reasons she could not describe, she felt fortunate.
Her expression slowly ebbed away as she puzzled over his smile. A flicker of something. Or a twitch of the lips, more like. It lasted the length it took her to close the distance between them, until she stood in front of him and held her hands at the side of his face, dipping her head slightly to the side. Rough hands splayed beside his cheeks, not quite touching but inches from doing so. She yearned and craved and expected such compliments, and the fact that Rilien found them unnecessary in the most analytic way seemed to make them all the more gratifying. A more sensible mind may have presumed that Rilien expected excellence, and so, by remaining silence, it might have meant that she'd done well. Silence, in her opinion, only soured the milk. It never spoke volumes. It did not sate her hunger. She blinked and cupped his cheeks in her hands, pulling the corners of his mouth up with her thumbs.
Not quite how she imagined. Her face twitched. And when she could no longer hold it in, laughter bubbled from her lips as she released her loose grip on him and turned away to study the cove. āI'm glad, I really am.ā Sparrow leaned backwards with her hands on her hips and hopped beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. āOur secret cove, then.ā