The way the Keeper always told it, she stayed a halla forever, and though Andruil still loved her, they could never be together. When we have to bury our dead, [ Which he should know, since he'll have to be witness to such things, ] we sacrifice a halla in Andruil's name so Ghilan'nain's spirit can guide our souls to the Beyond, and afterwards be reunited with her beloved.
[ He thinks about asking if that's what she intends to do when they go. Half with interest—how will she find one? Does she know how? And half with trepidation, because he's fond of animals, and watching one die for a ritual would be difficult.
But she wanted to talk about happy things, so he doesn't ask, and his face doesn't change in any way that would suggest he was considering it. ]
Do the Dalish have an—an afterwards? Like how the Chantry says someday the Maker will return and make everything perfect. Is there a time coming when they would be together forever?
[ Athessa herself is fond of animals, and though she's a decent hunter there is still a difference between killing for food and killing for ritual. Not that the halla will go to waste; she'll have to make sure that the animal doesn't suffer, and use ever part of it to honor its sacrifice.
But it's still nerve-wracking. What if she does it wrong? ]
Supposedly when we die, our spirits walk the paths in the Beyond until they reach the Eternal City, where they'll live forever among the gods and receive the answers to life's mysteries.
[ It's one of those things where the more you think about it, the less sense it makes. She laughs, rueful. ]
I wish I'd paid more attention to the stories the Keeper told us, now.
[ Redacting more line items on the papers in her lap is a perfect stalling tactic while she tries to work out how to word her fears in that respect. ]
Once or twice, but...I dunno. I always figured, best case scenario I'd get treated like a child because I don't have the tattoos. Or get turned away for the same reason I never wound up in the Alienage here. She's not one of ours.
[ If the best case scenarios bother her, she doesn't show it. This is bitterness that she's carried around long enough to be used to it. ]
[ She laughs, though the idea of being kept feels overly confining. ]
Maybe, if I can find another clan, and they can get past the lack of a vallaslin, and all the affronts to elfdom I'm guilty of, and don't require me to stay with them forever, or expect me to make elf babies.
[ Should be easy to find a clan that'll forgive all that, right? Piece of cake. Walk in the park. ]
[ He’s flexible. He’s also not serious. The real answer, right now, would be melancholy, and he doesn’t even think about it long enough to decide not to say it. He thinks around it, neatly as stepping over an uneven cobblestone. ]
—in need of a tutor for their eleven unruly children, each won over by a different song, until at the end of the line the widow-or-widower says, Bastien, we cannot imagine life without you here, please stay forever and read all of my books. And they kiss very well.
[ She purses her lips and hums thoughtfully. Her real answer would also be somewhat bleak, so what she comes up with is as much a fabrication as his. ]
Maybe after some aging noble takes a shine to me for my singing and my refreshing honesty, she'll leave me her estate and there'll be enough room for me and all my many petit amies without anyone feeling tied down or stifled.
Only on the very rare occasion that everyone is home at the same time and they all want my company at the same time.
[ A schedule, then, since a first-come-first-serve queue smacks too much of what she left behind with Ciara. ]
Otherwise I expect most of them to be out in the world doing what pleases them, same as me. Because this is an ideal scenario, of course, there wouldn't be a war to fight after this one, and the world would be a nicer place, so everyone would be free to do as they wish.
[ There's a moment where something cuts through the veneer of daydreaming, when she actually has to think about what it'd be like for someone to simply want to be with her for more than a few hours, a night, a day. A novel concept, really. Then the introspection is smoothed over again. ]
I guess that depends on if they'll come with me when I wander, or if they'd want me to stay put.
Oh, nonsense and rubbish. Whole shelves of mysteries and adventures—and a hidden trove of romances that stretch the boundaries of good taste, where the eleven children could not find them. Or where we could all pretend they had not found them. Of course they would. Children are clever.
[ Barely paying attention to what he's saying, because share a bed and actually sleep is such a simple thing to want. And he sympathizes.
But they're talking about happy things. ]
And once I had finished them all, a new crate every month.
I'd visit often, and whenever you tired of a book I'd take it and read it and the next we visited I'd tell you about my favorite parts and purposefully mispronounce your favorite character's name.
[ It's the simplest wants that break her, time and time again. She doesn't want much, and yet it always seems to be too much. ]
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[ Athessa shrugs, gesturing with her pen. ]
There's a lot left to interpretation, though.
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But she wanted to talk about happy things, so he doesn't ask, and his face doesn't change in any way that would suggest he was considering it. ]
Do the Dalish have an—an afterwards? Like how the Chantry says someday the Maker will return and make everything perfect. Is there a time coming when they would be together forever?
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But it's still nerve-wracking. What if she does it wrong? ]
Supposedly when we die, our spirits walk the paths in the Beyond until they reach the Eternal City, where they'll live forever among the gods and receive the answers to life's mysteries.
[ It's one of those things where the more you think about it, the less sense it makes. She laughs, rueful. ]
I wish I'd paid more attention to the stories the Keeper told us, now.
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Once or twice, but...I dunno. I always figured, best case scenario I'd get treated like a child because I don't have the tattoos. Or get turned away for the same reason I never wound up in the Alienage here. She's not one of ours.
[ If the best case scenarios bother her, she doesn't show it. This is bitterness that she's carried around long enough to be used to it. ]
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[ A little bit of a joke. Athessa can be kept by whoever she’d like, obviously, if anyone at all. ]
But maybe someone could teach you?
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Maybe, if I can find another clan, and they can get past the lack of a vallaslin, and all the affronts to elfdom I'm guilty of, and don't require me to stay with them forever, or expect me to make elf babies.
[ Should be easy to find a clan that'll forgive all that, right? Piece of cake. Walk in the park. ]
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[ That’s what makes a good uncle, right? He wouldn’t know, he’s never had one. ]
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[ She shrugs again, unless that's too many shrugs in too little time in which case she doesn't. ]
I dunno if I'd be an amazing mother, though. Or if I even want babies. I'm definitely nowhere near ready to settle down.
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What would be the ideal settling-down scenario for you, Baz? If there is one.
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[ He’s flexible. He’s also not serious. The real answer, right now, would be melancholy, and he doesn’t even think about it long enough to decide not to say it. He thinks around it, neatly as stepping over an uneven cobblestone. ]
—in need of a tutor for their eleven unruly children, each won over by a different song, until at the end of the line the widow-or-widower says, Bastien, we cannot imagine life without you here, please stay forever and read all of my books. And they kiss very well.
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Athessa whistles appreciatively. ]
Eleven children? Sounds like this widow-widower does more than just kiss very well.
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Mmmmhm.
[ With an abbreviated eyebrow wiggle, just once up and down. ]
What about you?
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Maybe after some aging noble takes a shine to me for my singing and my refreshing honesty, she'll leave me her estate and there'll be enough room for me and all my many petit amies without anyone feeling tied down or stifled.
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Would there be a schedule posted outside your bedroom? Or a queue? First come, first served?
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[ A schedule, then, since a first-come-first-serve queue smacks too much of what she left behind with Ciara. ]
Otherwise I expect most of them to be out in the world doing what pleases them, same as me. Because this is an ideal scenario, of course, there wouldn't be a war to fight after this one, and the world would be a nicer place, so everyone would be free to do as they wish.
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[ There's a moment where something cuts through the veneer of daydreaming, when she actually has to think about what it'd be like for someone to simply want to be with her for more than a few hours, a night, a day. A novel concept, really. Then the introspection is smoothed over again. ]
I guess that depends on if they'll come with me when I wander, or if they'd want me to stay put.
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[ Instead of laying awake with nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat in the dark. ]
What books would your widow-widower have for you to read?
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[ Barely paying attention to what he's saying, because share a bed and actually sleep is such a simple thing to want. And he sympathizes.
But they're talking about happy things. ]
And once I had finished them all, a new crate every month.
Would you come visit me?
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I'd visit often, and whenever you tired of a book I'd take it and read it and the next we visited I'd tell you about my favorite parts and purposefully mispronounce your favorite character's name.
[ It's the simplest wants that break her, time and time again. She doesn't want much, and yet it always seems to be too much. ]
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[ Preemptive, good-natured. ]
Never mind. You are not invited.
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And to think I gave you a key to my estate!
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