The sun was just beginning to set when Amalia made the familiar trek halfway across the Alienage to Ithilianâs residence. Though she came empty-handed or carrying her harp only more often than not these days, in this particular instance, there was a medium-sized bundle tucked under her arm, apparently composed of or at least wrapped in a deep green fabric, the dye of it mottled with other shades of green, brown and grey, blurring together and indistinct. It was folded neatly, though some irregularity in shape suggested that there might be some other object or objects inside.
It may well have been impossible for Amalia to walk without a sense of purpose, even dressed casually as she was, but she did not seem to be in any great hurry, and stopped a few times to answer queries or greetings before she eventually found her way to her kadanâs front doorstep. Knocking was but a formality at this point, and while she still did it, it was well-understood that she would thereafter let herself in unless directed otherwise, which she in this case was not.
Just as there were now a few chairs in her home for someone more inclined to use them, there was here a clear space on the floor with only a thin cushion on it, as she tended to prefer. Settling herself down into it, she laid the object sheâd been carrying to the side. Ithilian, she surmised was in one of the other rooms. Heâd likely be out shortly anyway. It did not seem that Lia was currently present, though she may well be elsewhere in the small house also.
Ithilian had long since learned the sound of Amalia entering his home as compared to a stranger, and so he made little movement away from the pot he stood over in the neighboring room. His cooking skills were fairly limited, and while he produced a fairly solid stew, that particular result wouldn't come about if he became too distracted. "You're welcome to some of the stew if you like, lethallan. There will be some extra."
"And who could pass up such a tempting offer?" Lia teased, emerging from the room opposite Ithilian's. She looked fairly different from the last time Amalia had seen her; for one, her blond hair was cut from its former mid-back length to around her jawline. Most noticeable, however, were the tattoos now adorning her face, two symmetrical dark swirls curling away from her eyes around her cheeks, snaking lines coming from her jaw to mingle with them, an extra two coming up on either side of her chin.
"What do you think?" she asked, leaning up against the doorway to the side room. It was quite obvious that she herself enjoyed their look. Her mood in general seemed lifted from when Amalia had guided her out to the coast.
Amalia spared a smile for Liaâs obvious enthusiasm, assuming that Ithilian would interpret her silence as consent to his offer. She didnât find the stew at all disagreeable, though she did have occasion to miss the rich spice found often in the cuisine of Par Vollen. But it was obvious which question demanded her more immediate attention. There was a certain aesthetic value in the blood writing; it was smoother than the traditional patterns of ornamentation she was accustomed to, less geometrical, but she could see the careful control and artistry in them all the same. More than that, it was what they represented that mattered. As Amalia understood it, this was the official recognition that the person who stood before her was no more a girl, but now a young woman. While she did not think that Lia needed vallaslin to prove this to anyone, it was nevertheless worth being happy about.
âThey suit you,â Amalia replied honestly. âAre they Andruilâs?â She knew only a little of the elven pantheon, knowledge gleaned from conversations or references Ithilian made, or occasionally bits and pieces taken from the other Alienage residents. But most of their knowledge was bound to be warped and distortedâshe was given to understand that not even the Dalish had full memory of their myths and stories and history any longer. Still, what little she did know informed her that Andruil was the goddess of the hunt, and that seemed to suit Liaâs disposition and talents very well, whereas she knew for a fact that Ithilianâs writing was of Elgarânan, he of fatherhood and vengeance. Less vengeance and more fatherhood these days, it seemed. At least if she were capable of recognizing such things when she saw them. It was up for debate, all things considered.
Lia's face lit up when Amalia guessed correctly. "Yes! Yes, they are. The Lady of the Hunt. Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Creator of the Way of Three Trees."
At that moment, Ithilian entered with the stew pot, and several bowls and spoons. As Amalia preferred to sit on the floor, Ithilian and Lia did so as well, so that they could all eat at eye level with one another. Also it apparently gave Ithilian a chance to contort his legs into a position he was uncomfortable with, but steadily getting used to. "Careful, it's quite hot," he said, setting out a larger spoon and allowing the others to take what amount they desired.
"She didn't so much as flinch, from what I hear told," he continued, allowing himself a small smile in Lia's direction. Emerion, too, had seemed impressed, though Ithilian wondered if that was not more because an elf raised in the city had passed the trials of a Dalish. He chose to belief it was something more real than that. "And yes, they're very beautiful." He paused, as though debating whether or not to continue. "Not so different from how my wife's were, actually."
Lia stopped chewing for a very brief moment, but enough to be noticed by the perceptive. That was not a common subject for Ithilian to even mention. But there was no better company for it, he had decided, than this one.
Even to Amalia, Ithilian did not speak often of his life before Kirkwall. Then again, this was something true of both of themâthat as a matter of habit or respect or something else, they tended to restrict their conversations to the present, the future, or what little of the past they shared with one another. It wasnât that she hated the idea of talking about what was before that, though some parts of it were admittedly still difficult, but rather that it had always seemed unspoken that their focus ought to be on where they were going. Perhaps in his case, there was more actual reluctance, but she had never been quite so blunt as to inquire if that was so.
But it would seem that in this instance, he had, to use a metaphor she had heard before, cracked open the door of his own volition. Amalia was not certain what to do with thatâif indeed there was anything she should do, and for a long moment, she was silent, chewing over her food before she spoke. âMy people do not have family, not in the sense that others do. We are raised by many, with many. Nor at any point later in our lives do we ever bond so exclusively with so few.â It felt⊠important, somehow, to offer some kind of reciprocal understanding before asking what may be a very insensitive question.
Slowly, she looked up from her food, her glance flicking over Lia before she made eye contact with Ithilian. âWhat is it like, to have that? To have family?â
Lia looked to Ithilian when the question was asked, obviously not intending to speak herself. She had no siblings, and had been without parents for over four years now, so she did not consider herself any sort of expert on families. Ithilian, however, had experienced nearly all the angles of family ties. He'd grown up under the watchful eyes of two parents, married a woman that he'd loved dearly, had a daughter with her and raised her for some years, before the darkspawn took all of it away. Emerion had been like a brother to him, but he would not acknowledge the relationship as such. Brothers were not chosen, like he had been.
"The Dalish don't have the most separated of social structures," he admitted. "The communities are always fairly small, and so naturally the entire clan pitches in to the raising of the children. Everyone knows everyone. Still, my relationship with my family was separate from my relationship with my clan." It was hard to keep things truly private in such a tight-knit community, but for the most part, they tried their best to respect the privacy of others.
"It is..." he began, though he struggled with the explanation. It was strange, to try and imagine an upbringing that was so devoid of a family life, and then to explain such a thing to that person. "At least typically, among the Dalish, a child will have the undying care, protection, and guidance from the two that created them that a person simply can't offer to a group at large." At least, he didn't think so. It didn't seem possible to individualize treatment in that way. It would require making all the children as alike as possible, so that raising them all in the same way would have the best results for all.
"We don't choose the families we're born with," he continued. "I had no choice in my parentage, and my parents had no choice in me, other than the choice to create me at all. But we offer each other all the love we can regardless, because... that is what a family does." He had no way of words with this, nor had he expected to have to teach the qualities of a family system. But she was genuinely interested in learning, so he desired to do his best in the teaching.
"The families we make however, are chosen. A husband or a wife can be sought after for qualities that an individual admires, whatever those are. And the choice must be mutual, a choice to create a union between two souls that find something that completes them in the other half." That was how it was supposed to work among the Dalish, anyway. Ithilian understood such matters worked quite differently among humans, especially the nobility, trading away children to other families like they were a commodity to be sold in order to acquire something desired more by the parents.
Amalia, who had finished eating while Ithilian was speaking, carefully set down her bowl and spoon, bracing her elbows on her knees and resting her jaw in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. Evidently, then, the biological notion of family was part of the explanation, and she had expected that much. What she was more confused about was the rest of it. Amalia was not blindâshe knew how families worked among the humans and elves, how the units were constructed, that there was usually an emotional bond involved also in a procreative union.
What didnât make sense to her was the language of completion. Of being as halves. She understood very well what it was to be part of something greater than herself. All Qunari understood that, perhaps better than anyone else. But they never believed themselves to be only partial without the whole. âDoes that not create too much dependence?â Amalia voiced her thought as well as she could manage, given her own shortcomings. âWould it not be better, if two people who were already complete, already whole, should as one be greater than they would be as two? Change for the better, but not lose their distinctive traits?â Perhaps she was describing something that made for ill couplings; she certainly had no idea.
âIs it not a higher form of respect, of⊠love, to be wanted than to be needed?â She needed basic sustenance, but it did nothing for her soul. Companionship, purpose⊠these things were higher things, and she acknowledged that she did not need them. They were not necessaryâshe could be whole even in solitude. But she desired them, wanted them, because they brought with them emotions and thoughts that were better, more sublime, than those she merely required.
"Maybe... maybe it is a higher form of love to acknowledge that without this other person, you would be lost, shattered even... and then to trust them with that anyway." Ithilian had not eaten as much of his own meal as he had planned to, having done more speaking instead, but Lia had had plenty of time while the two talked, and had since finished. She now carefully set her bowl down, smiling somewhat awkwardly.
"I'm... going to head out, I think. I'll see you tomorrow." Ithilian gave her a nod of understanding, and she took her leave quietly out the door.
"Maybe it isn't a matter of being incomplete to begin with... but of choosing to give a piece of yourself over to another, to let them share in that. To choose one person over any other in the world who you believe to be worthy of that." Ithilian had never felt incomplete before he'd met Adahlen. He'd been satisfied in who and what he was at the time... but he became unsatisfied with the fact that he was not able to share himself with another as closely as he desired. And when he tried to choose a candidate, there had been no other he could have eyes for.
But he was no expert on these things, nor a man who had spent long periods of time meditating on them. He'd just lived, and did what he felt was best. "Maybe it does create too great a dependence. Gods know that I was... broken, for a long time after I lost my family. I don't know what way is best, I only know the way I lived. But I can't imagine my life without taking that risk. It wouldn't be me."
âIs that the difference, then?â The question was murmured, almost as if Amalia was asking it of herself rather than him. Her brows furrowed together, and she shook her head slightly. âIt seems I do not understand even still. What you have just described, the exchange of a piece of oneself, that kind of trust and elevation⊠I have felt that. I do feel that. It is why I am here, and not in Par Vollen.â She smiled slightly, then shrugged her shoulders. It was evident that there was something about all of this that she did not quite grasp, but mastery of new ideas was not the matter of a dayâs work. She would leave it be for the moment; it did not seem necessary to continue and prod Ithilian on the matter. What he had said already was not the easiest of things to say, and she knew that.
âIt seems that Lia departed before I was able to fulfill my original purpose for being here.â She picked up the bundle at her side and slid it across the floor to Ithilian. The fabric wrapping the outside was in fact a waterproofed cloak, the mottled colors of it making it ideal for blending in shadow or forest, as one might on a hunt. Inside of it was a short, curved knife, of the kind useful for a number of everyday purposes more than for fighting, made from the same bright white bone as Parshaara, as well as an archerâs bracer, made of the leather sheâd had the young woman work on their trip to the Wounded Coast. âI suspect you will see her again before I do, if you would not mind giving her my congratulations.â She was not of the Dalish, but she did not think that they were so different from everyone else that the items here would be of any less use to them.
It was hard for Ithilian not to be a little uncomfortable, and not just because he was delving back into painful memories. He was used to that by now. What he was not used to was confronting the fact that he too, felt in the way he had just described, but for all that, this discussion had clearly proven that they were still quite different of mind, the two of them, at least in the ways they were raised. She didn't fit in with the system he had known, as much as he may or may not have wanted her to. Not yet, at any rate. Whether he would be able to handle issues that would arise if and when that happened remained to be seen.
"Of course," he said, setting his hand atop the cloaked package. "I suspect she'll want to thank you personally." He knew, after all, the quality of the gifts that Amalia gave to those she saw fit. "I'm glad she's decided to look up to you. She hasn't had a woman in her life to look to for a long time." Amalia could not be a mother to her, not truly, but there was little stopping her from being a mentor, and Ithilian was pleased that it had worked out that way.
It may well have been impossible for Amalia to walk without a sense of purpose, even dressed casually as she was, but she did not seem to be in any great hurry, and stopped a few times to answer queries or greetings before she eventually found her way to her kadanâs front doorstep. Knocking was but a formality at this point, and while she still did it, it was well-understood that she would thereafter let herself in unless directed otherwise, which she in this case was not.
Just as there were now a few chairs in her home for someone more inclined to use them, there was here a clear space on the floor with only a thin cushion on it, as she tended to prefer. Settling herself down into it, she laid the object sheâd been carrying to the side. Ithilian, she surmised was in one of the other rooms. Heâd likely be out shortly anyway. It did not seem that Lia was currently present, though she may well be elsewhere in the small house also.
Ithilian had long since learned the sound of Amalia entering his home as compared to a stranger, and so he made little movement away from the pot he stood over in the neighboring room. His cooking skills were fairly limited, and while he produced a fairly solid stew, that particular result wouldn't come about if he became too distracted. "You're welcome to some of the stew if you like, lethallan. There will be some extra."
"And who could pass up such a tempting offer?" Lia teased, emerging from the room opposite Ithilian's. She looked fairly different from the last time Amalia had seen her; for one, her blond hair was cut from its former mid-back length to around her jawline. Most noticeable, however, were the tattoos now adorning her face, two symmetrical dark swirls curling away from her eyes around her cheeks, snaking lines coming from her jaw to mingle with them, an extra two coming up on either side of her chin.
"What do you think?" she asked, leaning up against the doorway to the side room. It was quite obvious that she herself enjoyed their look. Her mood in general seemed lifted from when Amalia had guided her out to the coast.
Amalia spared a smile for Liaâs obvious enthusiasm, assuming that Ithilian would interpret her silence as consent to his offer. She didnât find the stew at all disagreeable, though she did have occasion to miss the rich spice found often in the cuisine of Par Vollen. But it was obvious which question demanded her more immediate attention. There was a certain aesthetic value in the blood writing; it was smoother than the traditional patterns of ornamentation she was accustomed to, less geometrical, but she could see the careful control and artistry in them all the same. More than that, it was what they represented that mattered. As Amalia understood it, this was the official recognition that the person who stood before her was no more a girl, but now a young woman. While she did not think that Lia needed vallaslin to prove this to anyone, it was nevertheless worth being happy about.
âThey suit you,â Amalia replied honestly. âAre they Andruilâs?â She knew only a little of the elven pantheon, knowledge gleaned from conversations or references Ithilian made, or occasionally bits and pieces taken from the other Alienage residents. But most of their knowledge was bound to be warped and distortedâshe was given to understand that not even the Dalish had full memory of their myths and stories and history any longer. Still, what little she did know informed her that Andruil was the goddess of the hunt, and that seemed to suit Liaâs disposition and talents very well, whereas she knew for a fact that Ithilianâs writing was of Elgarânan, he of fatherhood and vengeance. Less vengeance and more fatherhood these days, it seemed. At least if she were capable of recognizing such things when she saw them. It was up for debate, all things considered.
Lia's face lit up when Amalia guessed correctly. "Yes! Yes, they are. The Lady of the Hunt. Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Creator of the Way of Three Trees."
At that moment, Ithilian entered with the stew pot, and several bowls and spoons. As Amalia preferred to sit on the floor, Ithilian and Lia did so as well, so that they could all eat at eye level with one another. Also it apparently gave Ithilian a chance to contort his legs into a position he was uncomfortable with, but steadily getting used to. "Careful, it's quite hot," he said, setting out a larger spoon and allowing the others to take what amount they desired.
"She didn't so much as flinch, from what I hear told," he continued, allowing himself a small smile in Lia's direction. Emerion, too, had seemed impressed, though Ithilian wondered if that was not more because an elf raised in the city had passed the trials of a Dalish. He chose to belief it was something more real than that. "And yes, they're very beautiful." He paused, as though debating whether or not to continue. "Not so different from how my wife's were, actually."
Lia stopped chewing for a very brief moment, but enough to be noticed by the perceptive. That was not a common subject for Ithilian to even mention. But there was no better company for it, he had decided, than this one.
Even to Amalia, Ithilian did not speak often of his life before Kirkwall. Then again, this was something true of both of themâthat as a matter of habit or respect or something else, they tended to restrict their conversations to the present, the future, or what little of the past they shared with one another. It wasnât that she hated the idea of talking about what was before that, though some parts of it were admittedly still difficult, but rather that it had always seemed unspoken that their focus ought to be on where they were going. Perhaps in his case, there was more actual reluctance, but she had never been quite so blunt as to inquire if that was so.
But it would seem that in this instance, he had, to use a metaphor she had heard before, cracked open the door of his own volition. Amalia was not certain what to do with thatâif indeed there was anything she should do, and for a long moment, she was silent, chewing over her food before she spoke. âMy people do not have family, not in the sense that others do. We are raised by many, with many. Nor at any point later in our lives do we ever bond so exclusively with so few.â It felt⊠important, somehow, to offer some kind of reciprocal understanding before asking what may be a very insensitive question.
Slowly, she looked up from her food, her glance flicking over Lia before she made eye contact with Ithilian. âWhat is it like, to have that? To have family?â
Lia looked to Ithilian when the question was asked, obviously not intending to speak herself. She had no siblings, and had been without parents for over four years now, so she did not consider herself any sort of expert on families. Ithilian, however, had experienced nearly all the angles of family ties. He'd grown up under the watchful eyes of two parents, married a woman that he'd loved dearly, had a daughter with her and raised her for some years, before the darkspawn took all of it away. Emerion had been like a brother to him, but he would not acknowledge the relationship as such. Brothers were not chosen, like he had been.
"The Dalish don't have the most separated of social structures," he admitted. "The communities are always fairly small, and so naturally the entire clan pitches in to the raising of the children. Everyone knows everyone. Still, my relationship with my family was separate from my relationship with my clan." It was hard to keep things truly private in such a tight-knit community, but for the most part, they tried their best to respect the privacy of others.
"It is..." he began, though he struggled with the explanation. It was strange, to try and imagine an upbringing that was so devoid of a family life, and then to explain such a thing to that person. "At least typically, among the Dalish, a child will have the undying care, protection, and guidance from the two that created them that a person simply can't offer to a group at large." At least, he didn't think so. It didn't seem possible to individualize treatment in that way. It would require making all the children as alike as possible, so that raising them all in the same way would have the best results for all.
"We don't choose the families we're born with," he continued. "I had no choice in my parentage, and my parents had no choice in me, other than the choice to create me at all. But we offer each other all the love we can regardless, because... that is what a family does." He had no way of words with this, nor had he expected to have to teach the qualities of a family system. But she was genuinely interested in learning, so he desired to do his best in the teaching.
"The families we make however, are chosen. A husband or a wife can be sought after for qualities that an individual admires, whatever those are. And the choice must be mutual, a choice to create a union between two souls that find something that completes them in the other half." That was how it was supposed to work among the Dalish, anyway. Ithilian understood such matters worked quite differently among humans, especially the nobility, trading away children to other families like they were a commodity to be sold in order to acquire something desired more by the parents.
Amalia, who had finished eating while Ithilian was speaking, carefully set down her bowl and spoon, bracing her elbows on her knees and resting her jaw in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. Evidently, then, the biological notion of family was part of the explanation, and she had expected that much. What she was more confused about was the rest of it. Amalia was not blindâshe knew how families worked among the humans and elves, how the units were constructed, that there was usually an emotional bond involved also in a procreative union.
What didnât make sense to her was the language of completion. Of being as halves. She understood very well what it was to be part of something greater than herself. All Qunari understood that, perhaps better than anyone else. But they never believed themselves to be only partial without the whole. âDoes that not create too much dependence?â Amalia voiced her thought as well as she could manage, given her own shortcomings. âWould it not be better, if two people who were already complete, already whole, should as one be greater than they would be as two? Change for the better, but not lose their distinctive traits?â Perhaps she was describing something that made for ill couplings; she certainly had no idea.
âIs it not a higher form of respect, of⊠love, to be wanted than to be needed?â She needed basic sustenance, but it did nothing for her soul. Companionship, purpose⊠these things were higher things, and she acknowledged that she did not need them. They were not necessaryâshe could be whole even in solitude. But she desired them, wanted them, because they brought with them emotions and thoughts that were better, more sublime, than those she merely required.
"Maybe... maybe it is a higher form of love to acknowledge that without this other person, you would be lost, shattered even... and then to trust them with that anyway." Ithilian had not eaten as much of his own meal as he had planned to, having done more speaking instead, but Lia had had plenty of time while the two talked, and had since finished. She now carefully set her bowl down, smiling somewhat awkwardly.
"I'm... going to head out, I think. I'll see you tomorrow." Ithilian gave her a nod of understanding, and she took her leave quietly out the door.
"Maybe it isn't a matter of being incomplete to begin with... but of choosing to give a piece of yourself over to another, to let them share in that. To choose one person over any other in the world who you believe to be worthy of that." Ithilian had never felt incomplete before he'd met Adahlen. He'd been satisfied in who and what he was at the time... but he became unsatisfied with the fact that he was not able to share himself with another as closely as he desired. And when he tried to choose a candidate, there had been no other he could have eyes for.
But he was no expert on these things, nor a man who had spent long periods of time meditating on them. He'd just lived, and did what he felt was best. "Maybe it does create too great a dependence. Gods know that I was... broken, for a long time after I lost my family. I don't know what way is best, I only know the way I lived. But I can't imagine my life without taking that risk. It wouldn't be me."
âIs that the difference, then?â The question was murmured, almost as if Amalia was asking it of herself rather than him. Her brows furrowed together, and she shook her head slightly. âIt seems I do not understand even still. What you have just described, the exchange of a piece of oneself, that kind of trust and elevation⊠I have felt that. I do feel that. It is why I am here, and not in Par Vollen.â She smiled slightly, then shrugged her shoulders. It was evident that there was something about all of this that she did not quite grasp, but mastery of new ideas was not the matter of a dayâs work. She would leave it be for the moment; it did not seem necessary to continue and prod Ithilian on the matter. What he had said already was not the easiest of things to say, and she knew that.
âIt seems that Lia departed before I was able to fulfill my original purpose for being here.â She picked up the bundle at her side and slid it across the floor to Ithilian. The fabric wrapping the outside was in fact a waterproofed cloak, the mottled colors of it making it ideal for blending in shadow or forest, as one might on a hunt. Inside of it was a short, curved knife, of the kind useful for a number of everyday purposes more than for fighting, made from the same bright white bone as Parshaara, as well as an archerâs bracer, made of the leather sheâd had the young woman work on their trip to the Wounded Coast. âI suspect you will see her again before I do, if you would not mind giving her my congratulations.â She was not of the Dalish, but she did not think that they were so different from everyone else that the items here would be of any less use to them.
It was hard for Ithilian not to be a little uncomfortable, and not just because he was delving back into painful memories. He was used to that by now. What he was not used to was confronting the fact that he too, felt in the way he had just described, but for all that, this discussion had clearly proven that they were still quite different of mind, the two of them, at least in the ways they were raised. She didn't fit in with the system he had known, as much as he may or may not have wanted her to. Not yet, at any rate. Whether he would be able to handle issues that would arise if and when that happened remained to be seen.
"Of course," he said, setting his hand atop the cloaked package. "I suspect she'll want to thank you personally." He knew, after all, the quality of the gifts that Amalia gave to those she saw fit. "I'm glad she's decided to look up to you. She hasn't had a woman in her life to look to for a long time." Amalia could not be a mother to her, not truly, but there was little stopping her from being a mentor, and Ithilian was pleased that it had worked out that way.