Flowers had their own personalities, too. Sparrow had taken to naming them after her friends. She questioned whether or not she was spending too much time tending to them, but the books she'd borrowed from Rilien, specifically on botany and herbalism, strictly directed would-be greens-keepers to treat their flowers as if they were little people—or else, the author was the strange one. She didn't mind it. There was a small row of sunflowers, startlingly tall; ripe for the picking. A small satchel swung at her hip, holding seeds that she plucked in passing. Sunny-yellow petals, with stalks reaching out into the sky; higher than the others, they reminded her the most of Aurora. She, like the others, missed her in Kirkwall.
The most fragrant of the bunch lied in twisted bunches; mixing with blue-bells and twisted branches: alyssum. Dainty white flowers that didn't look like much until you swept past them and caught a whiff. Perfumed with the sweet scent of honey that often dominated the entire garden, and the main attractor of colourful beetles and flighty lacewings; they reminded her of Ashton. Unassuming from the outside, but capable of bringing out the best in people. The comparison would've been better if he were a woman. Looking closer at the hanging bluebells, lied starry-pink flowers that appeared as if they were bursting into long strands. The name eluded her: puff-balls, she'd decided. If she puffed on the blossom-shaped petals, the leaves would close in on themselves. Similar to how Amalia used to be, but surrounded by all of the other flowers, without interruption, they would open up all on their own.
There lied the upturned Calla lilies, assorted in colour; pure-white, with shades of yellow, green and purple. They were sculpted like vases. Delicate with strong stalks; delicate and strong—Nostariel for certain. While she may have scoffed hearing herself being viewed in such away, Nostariel, at least to Sparrow, was very much a woman. For all of the knightly things she'd done in her life, with and without the Wardens, she'd seen her change throughout the years. Become stronger and happier and brighter, while still maintaining the same strength she admired. She crouched down in the dirt and sifted clumps through her fingers, examining her dirty fingernails. As of recent, she'd been returning home with fresh callouses, dirt-stained hands and smelt of flowers (fortunately for anyone around her, for it always beat stinking of fish and brine).
To her right was the only Yarrow bush in the entire garden. Growing on the outskirts, outside of where she'd meant to plant it. However it was clearly the hardiest of the bunch; throughout cold bouts, droughts and heat, it hardly withered. Spicy-scented and strewn with yellow and red clusters, she was aptly reminded of Ithilian. Watching from a higher vantage point but not straying too close unless he was asked to; a guardian to his own garden, his home. Even when he tried his best not to be noticed, it was near impossible. His presence was always impossible to ignore.
Closest to her feet, nestled between flowers, grew a patch of Sage. Had it not been for Aurora's good eyes, she never would have found it—might've trampled over it, too. It was perfect for herbalists; an all-purpose plant used to reduce swelling and heal wounds, cook wonderful food and as a curative for sore throats, colds and fevers. Hidden from view and growing in the strangest of places, convenient when you understood it, but puzzling from its appearance; there were no flowers at all, only fuzzy leaves. Velvety to the touch and the closer she looked, the more it looked like ash or snow had fallen. To anyone else, it might've looked like a weed. Rilien, perhaps. Sometimes, she brought leaves back to him to have hung up and dried, for whatever use he may have. Sometimes, she watches. Most of the time, she doesn't understand.
Sparrow took a deep breath from her nose, and exhaled through her mouth; wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Together, in the unlikeliest places, flowers and people could grow.
Ithilian made his way out of his house once more, now wracked by a considerable amount of soreness, in places he never would have expected. Amalia's routines had really pushed him, but he knew it would be beneficial in the end, even if it was a pain in the ass now. For the moment, the Alienage was not in need of regular protection, given the way the entire city had calmed down in the wake of the chaos. Now that the dust had fully settled, it was as though everyone had lost their will for troublemaking for the time being. It would not last, but it was nice while it did, and Ithilian meant to make good use of the time.
He'd intended to make his way up out of the Alienage to what was now Lia's shop, though it was still ultimately owned by Ashton. Lia had worked the store on her own for several days now, and was doing well to start out, but Ithilian still felt that regular check-ins were warranted. Amalia and Nostariel and Ashton would swing by when they could, but this morning was Ithilian's turn. He was stopped short, however, upon sighting Sparrow, crouched down among flowers and dirt.
She wasn't exactly a common sight in the Alienage, though she was known enough by now to be welcome. Ithilian wasn't actually aware if she and Amalia had worked out whatever differences they had fully, but if they hadn't and Amalia didn't want Sparrow around, he assumed she would have taken care of that already. She was harmless enough, in intentions at least, and much more of a friend to elves than many. It was enough for him.
"We should be paying all you gardeners," he commented, stopping once he was close enough to speak comfortably. "The Alienage was downright drab before." Ithilian was certainly no gardener. No Dalish were, really. The idea of a garden relied on being stationary, and that was the opposite of what the clans were.
As always, Sparrow did not hear Ithilian's approach, rather she jerked away from the shrubs like a child with its hand jutting out of the pantry—not that she was doing anything particularly wrong, but she never expected Ithilian to approach her willingly. Even if they were on better terms than before, though she suspected the majority of it was a mild-mannered tolerance born from her relationship with Amalia. Perhaps she was wrong and he genuinely saw her as someone of respect. Or else, he might have just seen her as a moderately irritating stray cat that drifted in and out of the Alienage, doing no damage that would warrant shooing her away (with the pointy end of his knives).
She swept her hand back across her head, smudging dirt and flecks of pebbles across, before pushing herself back to her feet with an exaggerated yawn, as if she hadn't been surprised by his sudden appearance and she'd just finished what she'd been doing. Of course, Ithilian no longer caused her to bristle. Not quite, anyhow. He no longer posed as a threat when it came to Amalia, either, though the age-old green monster sometimes stewed like the remnants of a smothered fire. Immaturity still reigned its ugly head, but she was growing; she was sure of it. Hopefully.
“Paying?” Sparrow parroted and scratched her chin, mock-considering such a proposition. Her reasons for sporadically visiting the Alienage and tending the gardens did go beyond boredom, or doing Aurora a favour in her absence. However, she didn't understand herself enough to acknowledge those reasons. She felt like she'd found a home in Kirkwall, for all its dark secrets and histories, but she only half belonged. It was in the way people tended to look at her—humans and elves, alike. The elves in the Alienage fought for their freedoms, and the humans in Kirkwall fought to maintain what they had. She wasn't so sure what she fought for.
“Consider it a favour, of sorts.” She eluded to none in particular, of which there were many. Her serious expression demurred, and crinkled into amusement. “It does look nice, doesn't it? Though if I let them be, you might find yourself trekking through a forest of flowers and prickly shrubs.” Sparrow took a few steps back and eyed the garden, nodding her head. She hummed low in her throat and tipped her gaze up towards the tree growing in the center, coloured with bright reds and blues and greens: beautiful. It reminded her of something. “You left the Alienage for awhile, hadn't you?” She paused and shifted her gaze towards the sky, squinting. “Did you happen onto any... y'know, others like you?”
She supposed that part of the reason she appeared so often was because she was waiting. A stupid, hopeless child, still searching.
"Other Dalish, you mean?" Ithilian asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-elf. He wasn't sure why the question was phrased as it was. She knew full well the people he came from, and what to call them. Willing to pin it on her awkwardness around him, Ithilian carried on.
"I did, actually. I sought them out on information given to me by Lucien." In hindsight, it was fairly strange that he'd made such a move on the words of a human mercenary at a time when he had not yet relinquished his hold on blind hate, but he'd also been in a strange state of mind, and more willing to accept things that had slipped by him before. And it had really only affected the direction of his search, not his decision to search in the first place.
"I found the Relaferin clan in Ferelden, and stayed with them for a time. Why do you ask?" The details of that trip were rather intensely personal, and he was not of a mind to delve into them on a whim, but it was possible that she sought something else.
“Dalish!” Sparrow parroted again, albeit full of daft bluster. Her eyes widened expectantly, as if he'd inadvertently cleared all of the confusion. Or any of her awkwardness—either way, it was an admission that he had seen some, right? Of course! She stepped forward and barely contained the urge to grab him by the shoulders, in order to squeeze the information out of him in the kindest way possible. Her social conventions and civilities were as polished as the dirt crusted under her fingernails. That is to say, Sparrow blundered through them with bearish force.
And as soon as Ithilian admitted that yes he had, her shoulders squared and excitement danced across her face. Perhaps, perhaps, he'd seen them after all. He wouldn't have known of any connections between them, lest they spoke of her. Unless they remembered her and still sought her out after all these years—perhaps. Attempting to wrestle down her childish hopes came as a brief twitch of her lips, which soon after liberated itself into an eager grin. Several questions bullied through her mind... like, how Lucien had obtained the information in the first place. And if he, too, might know of any other Dalish clans in the area, or if the Relaferin clan had spoken of the one she'd been briefly accepted into.
“You did? You stayed with them?” She blustered and shifted her gaze to the ground in an effort to conjure up the name. What was the clan's name again? It was her mother's clan, after all—so why couldn't she remember? Not that she was particularly interested in things like that as a child; its history and traditions remained a mystery. The only thing she could remember was their strange affiliations with the Halla. Almost every one of them had one of their own, connected as children, or so they said. Deer-things. Halla-riders? No. She turned back to Ithilian and pinched her stunted ears, waggling her eyebrows. “As you know, I'm a bastard. Er, I... were there any nearby clans? Full of Halla? I mean, Halla everywhere. Er, song of the people. I can't remember. An Elvish woman and a human man.”
She rubbed at her temples, and crossed her arms, scrunching her face up. She'd never once considered that they might have been dead. Or far, far away from her.
Ithilian was starting to see where this was going, and he was able to relax more now that he had a grasp on what Sparrow was after. This wasn't about him, no prying inquiries into his own past or anything of the sort; this was about Sparrow. The bird wanted to know if he'd heard anything about where her nest was. Sadly, he had not known to listen for that at the time.
"We encountered no other clans while I was with them, no. Messengers, sometimes, but no full clans. I certainly don't remember any mention of a clan with that many Halla." Clans sometimes kept in touch, but bad things tended to happen when too many elves gathered in one spot. Human kingdoms didn't seem to like it. With the whole of Thedas to wander, they often lost touch with one another, only to regain it a decade later.
"You're looking for your mother, then? Or... your father." He supposed that could be just as likely. Old instincts took a long time to fade, even more so when Ithilian was far beyond youth. He reminded himself that he didn't know the first detail of this union. It could have been love, like Arianni thought she'd had when she left the Dalish for Feynriel. Or it could have been something else entirely. And he didn't know the first thing about where Sparrow came from. Judging from the fact that she was a Dalish bastard and had past history with the Qunari at least in the form of Amalia, it wasn't anything remotely simple.
"It could be done, with a lot of luck. It was years ago when I visited the Relaferin. They may have moved since then, or they may not have. They may have heard news of this clan you're after. A lot depends on chance. The Dalish aren't supposed to be easy to find." There was the matter of his current lack of information, too. Ithilian hooked his thumbs behind his belt, glancing down a moment and beginning somewhat awkwardly with his question.
"Your mother was Dalish, you said, and your father human? That... tends to be complicated, if the relationship is one of consent. She likely would have been pressured into leaving the clan, for laying with a human. If she isn't with a clan anymore, then my help is quite useless, I'm afraid."
Sparrow stared at him, nearly bristling with energy—excited to hear any news comprised of what she was looking for, even though the chances were unlikely. She hated dipping her feet in disappointment and if she set her heart on something it was difficult enough realizing that she might have been unrealistic, so when Ithilian conceded that he hadn't seen any other clans, she appeared to deflate. Shoulders slumping and eyes slinking down to her dirty boots.
She did attach herself to a few of his words, and like a child bent on getting what it wanted, Sparrow's gaze flit back up to her only means of information. Personal space? No. She stepped closer to him, eyes spinning. Messengers. If there were messengers, then they must have come from another clan, somewhere in the distance. And if what Ithilian said was true, and she had no reason to doubt his experiences, then it might not be too far of a stretch to admit that the clan she sought could very well be in the area. Which meant she still had a chance.
“Both of them,” she babbled between bated breaths. Even the mention of such things—father and mother, Sparrow felt elated. She had barely flakes or a fragments of a memory to chew on, but she remembered the feelings as clearly as the beating sun on her face, as the salt on her skin whenever she sailed that unruly ship of hers. She remembered kindness, and warmth and love that drove them both to sacrifice their previous lives to construct a better life for them. She remembered stories, and a few Dalish words, as well as the Halla that influenced their lives. Of her parents, she remembered little; dark eyes, perhaps. Or skin as ruddy as her own.
If what Ithilian said was true, finding a Dalish clan with a human... clansmen, kin, could be impossible. How then, did she remember living among them? She was so sure that he'd been there, as well. She took a deep breath and studied Ithilian's face, uncomfortably close. A foot between them, as she might have if Amalia had been the one standing before her. Personal space? Never. Qunari had no use for that. And she certainly didn't either. Seemingly ages ago, she'd been a much different person. Colder, harsher. Until meeting Amalia, and going through the process of becoming someone new. It occurred to her that she'd never actually met anyone Dalish since she'd shed that skin, and even if she did happen onto her family, she wouldn't know how to approach them. Sparrow was many things, but not of the Qun, and not Dalish; hardly an elf.
“You're the only one that could help me,” she mused, heedless of the fact that he hadn't actually consented to help her. Sometimes she asked, and other times she artlessly anticipated. Surely, Ashton could help her track them down, but he knew just as much as she did about Dalish traditions, or their etiquette, and secretive nature. Being pin-cushioned with arrows seemed a high probability if they found any clan, especially looking like two wayward humans, and with little more than a few Dalish words spoken between them, there would probably more than a few misunderstandings. “You're the only Dalish I know of, and I, even if I were to find them on my own, I wouldn't know how... I'm not Dalish. I don't remember.”
She watched as his gaze dropped to the ground, and finally stepped back as soon as the question was stated. Stumble, rather. A bubble of indignant warmth swirled in her gut as an errant muscle jumped along her jaw, “Of course it was consensual! They were in love. We were together,” Sparrow's voice rose and trickled away, like the momentary spurt of anger. Trickling through her fingers, because she could not clearly recall the things she needed to know. To prove that they'd been together in the clan: accepted as one. Hadn't they? Her head throbbed. She wheeled back towards Ithilian, eyebrows scrunched. “What if she were the Keeper? They make the rules, right? It can't be the same for every clan. It isn't fair. That isn't fair.”
"The world isn't concerned with fair," Ithilian said, somewhat firmly. "You should know that by now." Any mage should, especially any mage who had gone through what Sparrow had. Apart from that... he was honestly having a bit of trouble processing this. Sparrow was a Keeper's daughter? The Keeper fell in love with a human man, and the three of them were together. That was what Ithilian had to go on.
"The Keeper does not make the rules," he corrected. "They guide the clan, lead the clan, but the Dalish have traditions, things that are tied to who we are as a people. The Keeper's task is to keep these traditions alive." The Keeper's authority rested on the clan's belief in their wisdom. They were not rulers. "First among these traditions is our separation from the shemlen. The clans interpret this law differently, but it is treated as law. No human can ever be Dalish. If your mother, a Keeper of a clan, allowed a shem to live with the clan out of attachment for him... I'm sorry, but I can't see that going well."
The Dalish were not always opposed to hospitality, but there was a difference between the kindness of finding a lost shem and saving them and allowing them to live with them. Such a transgression would cause the clan to be seen as little different than the city elves, if the Keeper allowed it to stand. The result, as far as Ithilian could guess, would be the removal of the Keeper if she refused to change her stance. Even if the clan got behind her, the other clans would likely cut off communication with them. Either way would make it difficult to find her or the human father.
But... there was clearly something he was overlooking here. Sighing, Ithilian tried to ignore Sparrow's childish nature as she bounced around him. Truly, she was worse than Lia. "As it happens, I know someone who may be able to help. He may have knowledge that only the Keepers are privy to." It was unlikely Emerion had been to an Arlathvhen himself, still being the First, but his Keeper could possibly have told him of it. A subject like this would have undoubtedly come up at a meeting of the Keepers.
"I will ask him for you... but don't get your hopes up."
Like a ragged pup that was finally tossed the scraps of a bone, Sparrow's eyes brightened considerably. So there was hope, and as long as Ithilian's nose was to the ground and his ears were open—she would find them. She'd never doubted his abilities, and perhaps, with a little insistence, he would also give her some quick lessons on the Dalish. Even with his frankness, squashing the hopes that her father and mother were still merrily living together in a faraway clan, she still believed that it was possible. They'd been in love, she was sure of it. She chose to cling onto the few words that she liked, and clamped the rest in a box she'd rather forget.
For now, there was a chance. And that was all that mattered. She clapped her hands on his shoulders and stared at him for a few seconds, grinning. “Not so prickly after all. Thank you.” A compliment? Hard to tell. Without giving him time to respond, or shoo her away, she was gone. Spirited away with the remnants of caked mud flying in her wake, flitting off her boots.
The most fragrant of the bunch lied in twisted bunches; mixing with blue-bells and twisted branches: alyssum. Dainty white flowers that didn't look like much until you swept past them and caught a whiff. Perfumed with the sweet scent of honey that often dominated the entire garden, and the main attractor of colourful beetles and flighty lacewings; they reminded her of Ashton. Unassuming from the outside, but capable of bringing out the best in people. The comparison would've been better if he were a woman. Looking closer at the hanging bluebells, lied starry-pink flowers that appeared as if they were bursting into long strands. The name eluded her: puff-balls, she'd decided. If she puffed on the blossom-shaped petals, the leaves would close in on themselves. Similar to how Amalia used to be, but surrounded by all of the other flowers, without interruption, they would open up all on their own.
There lied the upturned Calla lilies, assorted in colour; pure-white, with shades of yellow, green and purple. They were sculpted like vases. Delicate with strong stalks; delicate and strong—Nostariel for certain. While she may have scoffed hearing herself being viewed in such away, Nostariel, at least to Sparrow, was very much a woman. For all of the knightly things she'd done in her life, with and without the Wardens, she'd seen her change throughout the years. Become stronger and happier and brighter, while still maintaining the same strength she admired. She crouched down in the dirt and sifted clumps through her fingers, examining her dirty fingernails. As of recent, she'd been returning home with fresh callouses, dirt-stained hands and smelt of flowers (fortunately for anyone around her, for it always beat stinking of fish and brine).
To her right was the only Yarrow bush in the entire garden. Growing on the outskirts, outside of where she'd meant to plant it. However it was clearly the hardiest of the bunch; throughout cold bouts, droughts and heat, it hardly withered. Spicy-scented and strewn with yellow and red clusters, she was aptly reminded of Ithilian. Watching from a higher vantage point but not straying too close unless he was asked to; a guardian to his own garden, his home. Even when he tried his best not to be noticed, it was near impossible. His presence was always impossible to ignore.
Closest to her feet, nestled between flowers, grew a patch of Sage. Had it not been for Aurora's good eyes, she never would have found it—might've trampled over it, too. It was perfect for herbalists; an all-purpose plant used to reduce swelling and heal wounds, cook wonderful food and as a curative for sore throats, colds and fevers. Hidden from view and growing in the strangest of places, convenient when you understood it, but puzzling from its appearance; there were no flowers at all, only fuzzy leaves. Velvety to the touch and the closer she looked, the more it looked like ash or snow had fallen. To anyone else, it might've looked like a weed. Rilien, perhaps. Sometimes, she brought leaves back to him to have hung up and dried, for whatever use he may have. Sometimes, she watches. Most of the time, she doesn't understand.
Sparrow took a deep breath from her nose, and exhaled through her mouth; wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Together, in the unlikeliest places, flowers and people could grow.
Ithilian made his way out of his house once more, now wracked by a considerable amount of soreness, in places he never would have expected. Amalia's routines had really pushed him, but he knew it would be beneficial in the end, even if it was a pain in the ass now. For the moment, the Alienage was not in need of regular protection, given the way the entire city had calmed down in the wake of the chaos. Now that the dust had fully settled, it was as though everyone had lost their will for troublemaking for the time being. It would not last, but it was nice while it did, and Ithilian meant to make good use of the time.
He'd intended to make his way up out of the Alienage to what was now Lia's shop, though it was still ultimately owned by Ashton. Lia had worked the store on her own for several days now, and was doing well to start out, but Ithilian still felt that regular check-ins were warranted. Amalia and Nostariel and Ashton would swing by when they could, but this morning was Ithilian's turn. He was stopped short, however, upon sighting Sparrow, crouched down among flowers and dirt.
She wasn't exactly a common sight in the Alienage, though she was known enough by now to be welcome. Ithilian wasn't actually aware if she and Amalia had worked out whatever differences they had fully, but if they hadn't and Amalia didn't want Sparrow around, he assumed she would have taken care of that already. She was harmless enough, in intentions at least, and much more of a friend to elves than many. It was enough for him.
"We should be paying all you gardeners," he commented, stopping once he was close enough to speak comfortably. "The Alienage was downright drab before." Ithilian was certainly no gardener. No Dalish were, really. The idea of a garden relied on being stationary, and that was the opposite of what the clans were.
As always, Sparrow did not hear Ithilian's approach, rather she jerked away from the shrubs like a child with its hand jutting out of the pantry—not that she was doing anything particularly wrong, but she never expected Ithilian to approach her willingly. Even if they were on better terms than before, though she suspected the majority of it was a mild-mannered tolerance born from her relationship with Amalia. Perhaps she was wrong and he genuinely saw her as someone of respect. Or else, he might have just seen her as a moderately irritating stray cat that drifted in and out of the Alienage, doing no damage that would warrant shooing her away (with the pointy end of his knives).
She swept her hand back across her head, smudging dirt and flecks of pebbles across, before pushing herself back to her feet with an exaggerated yawn, as if she hadn't been surprised by his sudden appearance and she'd just finished what she'd been doing. Of course, Ithilian no longer caused her to bristle. Not quite, anyhow. He no longer posed as a threat when it came to Amalia, either, though the age-old green monster sometimes stewed like the remnants of a smothered fire. Immaturity still reigned its ugly head, but she was growing; she was sure of it. Hopefully.
“Paying?” Sparrow parroted and scratched her chin, mock-considering such a proposition. Her reasons for sporadically visiting the Alienage and tending the gardens did go beyond boredom, or doing Aurora a favour in her absence. However, she didn't understand herself enough to acknowledge those reasons. She felt like she'd found a home in Kirkwall, for all its dark secrets and histories, but she only half belonged. It was in the way people tended to look at her—humans and elves, alike. The elves in the Alienage fought for their freedoms, and the humans in Kirkwall fought to maintain what they had. She wasn't so sure what she fought for.
“Consider it a favour, of sorts.” She eluded to none in particular, of which there were many. Her serious expression demurred, and crinkled into amusement. “It does look nice, doesn't it? Though if I let them be, you might find yourself trekking through a forest of flowers and prickly shrubs.” Sparrow took a few steps back and eyed the garden, nodding her head. She hummed low in her throat and tipped her gaze up towards the tree growing in the center, coloured with bright reds and blues and greens: beautiful. It reminded her of something. “You left the Alienage for awhile, hadn't you?” She paused and shifted her gaze towards the sky, squinting. “Did you happen onto any... y'know, others like you?”
She supposed that part of the reason she appeared so often was because she was waiting. A stupid, hopeless child, still searching.
"Other Dalish, you mean?" Ithilian asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-elf. He wasn't sure why the question was phrased as it was. She knew full well the people he came from, and what to call them. Willing to pin it on her awkwardness around him, Ithilian carried on.
"I did, actually. I sought them out on information given to me by Lucien." In hindsight, it was fairly strange that he'd made such a move on the words of a human mercenary at a time when he had not yet relinquished his hold on blind hate, but he'd also been in a strange state of mind, and more willing to accept things that had slipped by him before. And it had really only affected the direction of his search, not his decision to search in the first place.
"I found the Relaferin clan in Ferelden, and stayed with them for a time. Why do you ask?" The details of that trip were rather intensely personal, and he was not of a mind to delve into them on a whim, but it was possible that she sought something else.
“Dalish!” Sparrow parroted again, albeit full of daft bluster. Her eyes widened expectantly, as if he'd inadvertently cleared all of the confusion. Or any of her awkwardness—either way, it was an admission that he had seen some, right? Of course! She stepped forward and barely contained the urge to grab him by the shoulders, in order to squeeze the information out of him in the kindest way possible. Her social conventions and civilities were as polished as the dirt crusted under her fingernails. That is to say, Sparrow blundered through them with bearish force.
And as soon as Ithilian admitted that yes he had, her shoulders squared and excitement danced across her face. Perhaps, perhaps, he'd seen them after all. He wouldn't have known of any connections between them, lest they spoke of her. Unless they remembered her and still sought her out after all these years—perhaps. Attempting to wrestle down her childish hopes came as a brief twitch of her lips, which soon after liberated itself into an eager grin. Several questions bullied through her mind... like, how Lucien had obtained the information in the first place. And if he, too, might know of any other Dalish clans in the area, or if the Relaferin clan had spoken of the one she'd been briefly accepted into.
“You did? You stayed with them?” She blustered and shifted her gaze to the ground in an effort to conjure up the name. What was the clan's name again? It was her mother's clan, after all—so why couldn't she remember? Not that she was particularly interested in things like that as a child; its history and traditions remained a mystery. The only thing she could remember was their strange affiliations with the Halla. Almost every one of them had one of their own, connected as children, or so they said. Deer-things. Halla-riders? No. She turned back to Ithilian and pinched her stunted ears, waggling her eyebrows. “As you know, I'm a bastard. Er, I... were there any nearby clans? Full of Halla? I mean, Halla everywhere. Er, song of the people. I can't remember. An Elvish woman and a human man.”
She rubbed at her temples, and crossed her arms, scrunching her face up. She'd never once considered that they might have been dead. Or far, far away from her.
Ithilian was starting to see where this was going, and he was able to relax more now that he had a grasp on what Sparrow was after. This wasn't about him, no prying inquiries into his own past or anything of the sort; this was about Sparrow. The bird wanted to know if he'd heard anything about where her nest was. Sadly, he had not known to listen for that at the time.
"We encountered no other clans while I was with them, no. Messengers, sometimes, but no full clans. I certainly don't remember any mention of a clan with that many Halla." Clans sometimes kept in touch, but bad things tended to happen when too many elves gathered in one spot. Human kingdoms didn't seem to like it. With the whole of Thedas to wander, they often lost touch with one another, only to regain it a decade later.
"You're looking for your mother, then? Or... your father." He supposed that could be just as likely. Old instincts took a long time to fade, even more so when Ithilian was far beyond youth. He reminded himself that he didn't know the first detail of this union. It could have been love, like Arianni thought she'd had when she left the Dalish for Feynriel. Or it could have been something else entirely. And he didn't know the first thing about where Sparrow came from. Judging from the fact that she was a Dalish bastard and had past history with the Qunari at least in the form of Amalia, it wasn't anything remotely simple.
"It could be done, with a lot of luck. It was years ago when I visited the Relaferin. They may have moved since then, or they may not have. They may have heard news of this clan you're after. A lot depends on chance. The Dalish aren't supposed to be easy to find." There was the matter of his current lack of information, too. Ithilian hooked his thumbs behind his belt, glancing down a moment and beginning somewhat awkwardly with his question.
"Your mother was Dalish, you said, and your father human? That... tends to be complicated, if the relationship is one of consent. She likely would have been pressured into leaving the clan, for laying with a human. If she isn't with a clan anymore, then my help is quite useless, I'm afraid."
Sparrow stared at him, nearly bristling with energy—excited to hear any news comprised of what she was looking for, even though the chances were unlikely. She hated dipping her feet in disappointment and if she set her heart on something it was difficult enough realizing that she might have been unrealistic, so when Ithilian conceded that he hadn't seen any other clans, she appeared to deflate. Shoulders slumping and eyes slinking down to her dirty boots.
She did attach herself to a few of his words, and like a child bent on getting what it wanted, Sparrow's gaze flit back up to her only means of information. Personal space? No. She stepped closer to him, eyes spinning. Messengers. If there were messengers, then they must have come from another clan, somewhere in the distance. And if what Ithilian said was true, and she had no reason to doubt his experiences, then it might not be too far of a stretch to admit that the clan she sought could very well be in the area. Which meant she still had a chance.
“Both of them,” she babbled between bated breaths. Even the mention of such things—father and mother, Sparrow felt elated. She had barely flakes or a fragments of a memory to chew on, but she remembered the feelings as clearly as the beating sun on her face, as the salt on her skin whenever she sailed that unruly ship of hers. She remembered kindness, and warmth and love that drove them both to sacrifice their previous lives to construct a better life for them. She remembered stories, and a few Dalish words, as well as the Halla that influenced their lives. Of her parents, she remembered little; dark eyes, perhaps. Or skin as ruddy as her own.
If what Ithilian said was true, finding a Dalish clan with a human... clansmen, kin, could be impossible. How then, did she remember living among them? She was so sure that he'd been there, as well. She took a deep breath and studied Ithilian's face, uncomfortably close. A foot between them, as she might have if Amalia had been the one standing before her. Personal space? Never. Qunari had no use for that. And she certainly didn't either. Seemingly ages ago, she'd been a much different person. Colder, harsher. Until meeting Amalia, and going through the process of becoming someone new. It occurred to her that she'd never actually met anyone Dalish since she'd shed that skin, and even if she did happen onto her family, she wouldn't know how to approach them. Sparrow was many things, but not of the Qun, and not Dalish; hardly an elf.
“You're the only one that could help me,” she mused, heedless of the fact that he hadn't actually consented to help her. Sometimes she asked, and other times she artlessly anticipated. Surely, Ashton could help her track them down, but he knew just as much as she did about Dalish traditions, or their etiquette, and secretive nature. Being pin-cushioned with arrows seemed a high probability if they found any clan, especially looking like two wayward humans, and with little more than a few Dalish words spoken between them, there would probably more than a few misunderstandings. “You're the only Dalish I know of, and I, even if I were to find them on my own, I wouldn't know how... I'm not Dalish. I don't remember.”
She watched as his gaze dropped to the ground, and finally stepped back as soon as the question was stated. Stumble, rather. A bubble of indignant warmth swirled in her gut as an errant muscle jumped along her jaw, “Of course it was consensual! They were in love. We were together,” Sparrow's voice rose and trickled away, like the momentary spurt of anger. Trickling through her fingers, because she could not clearly recall the things she needed to know. To prove that they'd been together in the clan: accepted as one. Hadn't they? Her head throbbed. She wheeled back towards Ithilian, eyebrows scrunched. “What if she were the Keeper? They make the rules, right? It can't be the same for every clan. It isn't fair. That isn't fair.”
"The world isn't concerned with fair," Ithilian said, somewhat firmly. "You should know that by now." Any mage should, especially any mage who had gone through what Sparrow had. Apart from that... he was honestly having a bit of trouble processing this. Sparrow was a Keeper's daughter? The Keeper fell in love with a human man, and the three of them were together. That was what Ithilian had to go on.
"The Keeper does not make the rules," he corrected. "They guide the clan, lead the clan, but the Dalish have traditions, things that are tied to who we are as a people. The Keeper's task is to keep these traditions alive." The Keeper's authority rested on the clan's belief in their wisdom. They were not rulers. "First among these traditions is our separation from the shemlen. The clans interpret this law differently, but it is treated as law. No human can ever be Dalish. If your mother, a Keeper of a clan, allowed a shem to live with the clan out of attachment for him... I'm sorry, but I can't see that going well."
The Dalish were not always opposed to hospitality, but there was a difference between the kindness of finding a lost shem and saving them and allowing them to live with them. Such a transgression would cause the clan to be seen as little different than the city elves, if the Keeper allowed it to stand. The result, as far as Ithilian could guess, would be the removal of the Keeper if she refused to change her stance. Even if the clan got behind her, the other clans would likely cut off communication with them. Either way would make it difficult to find her or the human father.
But... there was clearly something he was overlooking here. Sighing, Ithilian tried to ignore Sparrow's childish nature as she bounced around him. Truly, she was worse than Lia. "As it happens, I know someone who may be able to help. He may have knowledge that only the Keepers are privy to." It was unlikely Emerion had been to an Arlathvhen himself, still being the First, but his Keeper could possibly have told him of it. A subject like this would have undoubtedly come up at a meeting of the Keepers.
"I will ask him for you... but don't get your hopes up."
Like a ragged pup that was finally tossed the scraps of a bone, Sparrow's eyes brightened considerably. So there was hope, and as long as Ithilian's nose was to the ground and his ears were open—she would find them. She'd never doubted his abilities, and perhaps, with a little insistence, he would also give her some quick lessons on the Dalish. Even with his frankness, squashing the hopes that her father and mother were still merrily living together in a faraway clan, she still believed that it was possible. They'd been in love, she was sure of it. She chose to cling onto the few words that she liked, and clamped the rest in a box she'd rather forget.
For now, there was a chance. And that was all that mattered. She clapped her hands on his shoulders and stared at him for a few seconds, grinning. “Not so prickly after all. Thank you.” A compliment? Hard to tell. Without giving him time to respond, or shoo her away, she was gone. Spirited away with the remnants of caked mud flying in her wake, flitting off her boots.