Khari was the kind of woman who took the stairs two at a time, despite the fact that her legs really werenât long enough for that.
She figured someone more inclined to metaphor would probably make a big deal out of this fact, say it was representative of her whole life, how sheâd spent most of it trying to push beyond boundaries that were just impossible to breach and suffering for it. Societal boundaries, racial ones, even the physical ones imposed on her by her generally small frame and short stature.
Khari was also the kind of woman who thought those people could go take a long walk off a short ledge.
Sheâd rarely ever met anyone who worked as hard as she did to get past limitations of that kind. Mostly because sheâd rarely ever met people who had as many of them to contend with as she did. People just didnât get it, usually, why she threw herself at absolutely every challenge she could, why she took every opportunity to make things harder for herself than they needed to be. Why she wanted the specific things she wanted in the first place.
But she thought that maybe, if anyone understood, it was Stel. Theyâd fallen so easily back into their routine of training together that it was almost like theyâd never left off. Sheâd gotten up the morning after they arrived at Skyhold, not really sure where the new Inquisitor would be, or if she would even still be able to or interested in running around before dawn and doing pull-ups till their arms shook. But Stel had been right there, at the bottom of the castle stairs, dressed as usual, and apparently waiting for her to show up as well. It was exactly Khariâs favorite kind of coincidence, and sheâd felt an unexpected happiness, like a little shot of adrenaline she hadnât been expecting.
After this morningâs workout, Stel had mentioned that she should come by the library later, because there was apparently something there she might be interested in. Khari had never had the opportunity to spend a lot of time in libraries; she figured it would probably surprise most people that she knew how to read, but she did. It didnât seem to surprise Stel, though. So, curious as to what this could all be about, she made her way up to the library at the appointed time, her boots falling more lightly than usual on the stone underfoot, the soft leather currently without the metal plating of her greaves.
âHey Stel? You up here?â
There was a soft rustling sound, and a few moments later, Stelâs head and shoulders appeared around one of the corners of a shelving unit, a little smile turning her mouth up at the corners. âHello Khari. Iâm just over here, if you want to come join me.â The library was on a lower level of one of the circular towers, and so it wasnât laid out in what might otherwise be the logical fashion, with rows of shelves and the like. Instead, periodically along the sides of the room, deep alcoves had been carved out and squared, so that all three walls of them could be lined with shelves, and there was enough room in each for cozy clusters of armchairs and thick, plush rugs.
Into the third one of these down, Stel had obviously quite comfortably settled. Several thick blankets were around, one of them currently in use, from the way it was rumpled on a squashy chair near the corner of the alcove. The low table in front of the chairs had a small stack of books on it, and a couple glasses of something golden were sitting on it as well, one of them partially consumed already.
âThat oneâs yours,â Stel said, pointing to the still-full one. âItâs apple cider, but with cinnamon in it. Itâs not bad, if I can say that about something I made.â The smile inched wider for a fraction of a second. âFeel free to make yourself comfortable.â
âDonât mind if I do.â The cider smelled delicious, but Khari had always been extremely fond of apples, so that was hardly a surprise. She stepped out of her boots, glad she was only wearing one of her old, very loose shirts, and soft breeches. Even she didnât need the armor in a damn library, surely. Settling into one of the chairs, she pulled the glass into her lap, pleasantly surprised to find that it was still warm. The scent of cinnamon wafted up to her, and, admittedly curious, she took a sip.
The balance between the flavors was subtle and delicate, extremely well-done, if she was any judge. The extra little kick from the spice only enhanced the warming effect, and Khari wondered if it mightnât end up making her sleepy. Itâd be rude to nod off, right? Mentally shrugging, she glanced around her at the books on the shelves. Many of them had titles she couldnât decipher, though she figured that was because they werenât in the trade tongue. The few she could read seemed to be primarily historical, from the titles.
Somehow, it didnât really surprise her that Stelâs idea of a pleasant afternoon was reading stuff like this, but Khari couldnât help wondering if sheâd miscalculated somehow and thought Khari would also prefer to spend her time in that kind of way. Itâd be hard to think, probably, considering exactly how much reverence she ever showed to history, elven or otherwise. âSo, uh⊠not that I donât like spending time with you, Stel, but⊠why the library?â
A glimmer of amusement entered Stelâs eyes, and she reached forward from where sheâd settled into her own chair, picking up the top book on the stack of them and handing it over to Khari. It was bound in simple red-dyed leather, the lettering done in some kind of gold-colored leaf, probably not actual gold. The book itself was slightly less than a foot tall and eight inches across, thick enough to fit her grip quite well, and heavy. Stamped across the front were the words: Tales and Songs of the Orlesian Chevalier: The Unabridged Collection.
âI found that yesterday when I was looking through what we have on folklore and such,â Stel explained. âI thought you might be interested.â
Khari cracked the book with a reverence usually reserved for sacred objects, picking a random page and grinning widely when it revealed an illustration on the left, of Ser Aveline locked in combat with Kaleva. Ser Durand had told her the story, and so she recognized the scene very well. Carefully, she ran a finger down the page, closing it over carefully and looking back up at Stel.
âHas anyone ever told you youâre basically the nicest person in the world? Iâm serious.â She wasnât joking, even though her tone was amused. Khari hadnât met a lot of people who took the time to think of others the way Stel did. She didnât have to. She certainly had enough things to deal with on her ownâhell, she was leader of the whole bloody Inquisition, now; she could easily be forgiven for not taking the time to do something so simple as this. No one would have known. No one would have thought less of her. But then, she didnât do things like this because she cared what people thought. She did them because she wanted to, because she genuinely gave a damn. And that was really, really rare as far as people went.
âUm.â Stel cleared her throat, breaking eye contact and reaching up to fiddle awkwardly with the end of her ponytail. âItâs not anything so great like that. I mean, itâs not even mineâI just.â Her complexion was turning a soft shade of red, and she pulled a face. âI mean, youâre welcome. But um.â Stel sighed, returning her eyes to Khariâs. âSorry. Iâmâyouâre welcome.â She cut herself off there, likely tired of not quite being able to say what she wanted to, and took several swallows from her glass of cider.
âI really like folktales and epics, too, actually,â she continued, apparently interested in changing the topic. âI spent a lot of time in libraries, when I was growing up. Once I got through all the stories in the Trade Tongue and Tevene, I bothered Master Horatio until he taught me to read them in other languages.â Her smile was fond, and her nervous fidgeting eased considerably.
âWait. Master?â Khariâs brows furrowed, and she regarded Stel with a slight frown. âYou werenât a slave too, were you?â She was really going to be pissed at Tevinter if both her new friends had been subjected to that. Not like she needed another reason, but still.
Stelâs eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head emphatically. âNo, no. Nothing like that. Um. How to say this⊠the word âmasterâ means the same thing for people in the Imperium as it does elsewhere. It refers to the master of a trade, like an armsmaster or a master carpenter. Itâs actually what the Tevene word âMagisterâ means, though because of the implications that one has elsewhere, we only use it as the title for someone in the Magisterium, usually. We might call our teachers or craftsmen Master so-and-so whether or not theyâre also Magisters, you see?â She paused, pursing her lips.
âServants might also use it for those they serve, if they serve a merchant or something instead of a lord. Itâs very general. Slaves, um⊠the most common practice is for them to use the Tevene word dominus for a man or domina for a woman. Those carry the implication that the person has, well, dominion over the speaker. I was never a slave.â Something about the way she said it suggested something more than was being said, like maybe the last fact was a near thing or a technicality rather than obvious, but she didnât elaborate any further.
âHuh.â Khari thought she understood the difference now. Still, it wasnât too hard to make the inference from the word 'master' to slavery, probably because it seemed to be one of the only two things people talked about whenever Tevinter was mentioned, the other, of course, being the mage-lords. She glanced down at the book in her hands, then back up at Stel. Clearly there was something else there that she wasnât quite saying, but Khari figured Stel could decide for herself whether it was too uncomfortable, and so she chose not to push it.
So she changed the subject a bit. âWhat does Tevinter have folktales about, then? I donât know much about the place, but it hardly seems like the kind of culture to tell stories about knights and stuff.â And of course, those were the best stories.
Stelâs smile reappeared on her face, then, brightly so. It would seem Khari had struck upon a topic she quite liked. âEvery culture has folktales. And actually, Iâve found that theyâre very revealing of the general contours of the country they come from. Especially, believe it or not, the romances.â Her expression morphed into something quite embarrassed, and she coughed. âIâve, um⊠Iâve read a lot of those.â
Khari, rarely one to pass up an opportunity to tease somebody, ran with that. âEstella Avenarius. Are you telling me you read salacious, trashy serials? The Randy Dowager, even?â Sheâd heard of that one in a Val Chevin pub once. Someone had been drunk, and there was a dramatic reading involved. She hadnât laughed that much in a while.
âMaker, no!â Stelâs usually-fair face was the shade of a ripe tomato, and she buried it in her hands. âNothing like that, for goodnessâ sake.â Her tone was utterly mortified, a sure sign that Khariâs teasing had been extremely successful in getting the expected reaction. Stel rubbed at her flaming cheeks, casting a baleful look in Khariâs direction. âI said folklore and epics; itâs not the same at all!â
Khari, of course, knew the difference. That didnât stop her from cackling at Stelâs reactionâpoking fun at her was quite entertaining, and she probably could have made it worse if she continued, but she decided to exercise a bit of mercy. âOkay, okay. If you say so.â She grinned to show that she did, in fact, believe her. Part of what was funny about the joke, after all, was that it seemed so extremely unlikely in the first place. âDonât die of shame on me, Stel. Why donât you have some more cider and tell me about this theory of yours, with cultures and stories and all that?â She was genuinely interested, after all. Khari had loved stories since she was a little girl, but had eventually tired of the ones the Hahren told.
Apparently deciding this was sound advice, Stel took a few deep swallows, and by the time she set the glass back down on the table and sighed, her color had almost returned to normal. âI swear, Khari, if I ever hear a rumor to that effect, Iâll never forgive you.â From the expression she wore, it was a joke, at least mostly. Her features softened, though, and she nodded to the book Khari still held.
âOrlesians love tragedy. They also have a penchant for both extremely noble heroes whose foibles come back to haunt them and very clever trickster characters with ambiguous morality. Not really that surprising for a culture that both has a knightly order preoccupied with honor and a nobility that plays a constant game of wit and manipulation, is it?â
She settled back into her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. âFereldans have stories about more humble things. Their heroes are more pragmatic, usually, and the themes of the romances often involve family and duty and loyalty. Without ever having been there, I guessed that they were a much more practical culture, and in general, thatâs not wrong. Everything has exceptions, of course, but thereâs a sort of, I donât know⊠spirit of the place thatâs like that. Theyâre very fond of tales where people overcome trials together, and they like happy endings a lot more than Orlesians tend to. Draw your own conclusions about that, if you like.â She half smiled and shrugged.
Khari could see how that made sense. âI think the Dalish like tragedies even more than Orlesians do.â She frowned when she spoke. âThatâs all any of the stories are ever about: how we were victims of this or that, or how humans have done terrible things to us. Itâs never our fault. Everything we talk about, everything we do, is just one endless dirge.â No one where she was from ever talked about honorable heroes overcoming long odds or anything like that. It was always nostalgia for how great elven civilization used to be, or how a bunch of people had died. Even their knights just died, their skill and daring rendered utterly useless against the tide of humanity.
She hated the Peopleâs stories.
âHow about everywhere else? I canât imagine people in the Anderfels tell really fluffy stories.â If they made people like Leon and the Grey Wardens, it was probably quite the opposite.
Stel was quiet for a moment, head tilted curiously, regarding her with steady eyes. In the end, though, she didnât pursue what Khari had diverted her from, instead answering the question. âThey donât. Every folktale Iâve ever read from Anderfels has at the very least a dark twist to it. Thereâs always a struggle, and their heroes are more likely than anyone elseâs to be common people, rather than nobility or others with status. Most of them are deeply flawed, too. Faith is also a big theme, of course, and sacrifice.â
She paused, then smiled slightly. âSome of the Antivan tales are maybe a little scandalous. Master Horatio didnât let me near most of those until I was old enough by his reckoning.â She laughed softly. âOr so he thinks, anyway. Theyâre⊠colorful, certainly. Lots of them have to do with the Crows, and they favor guile over straightforwardness in their protagonists. They and the Rivainis also have a lot of stories about the ocean.â
Well, that made a lot of sense. It was hardly surprising, considering. âAnd Tevinter?â
Stel seemed to consider that one carefully. âMost people think that the Imperium is composed exclusively of evil Magisters and downtrodden slaves,â she said gently, her eyes somewhere else. âAnd I wonât pretend that there arenât significant numbers of both of those kinds of people. But the thing to understand about Tevinter is that it is, first and foremost, a culture of rigid structure. Hierarchy is just as significant to them as it is to the Orlesians, sometimes moreso.â She exhaled, something melancholy in the sound.
âBut⊠I think also that of all the places in Thedas, Tevinter is the one with the most volatile spirit. Rebellions are crushed swiftly and brutally, always. Sedition has a penalty of death. And yet⊠there are rebellions and sedition still. And thereâs an extent to which moving across boundaries, shattering expectations, rejecting the idea that something is impossible⊠thereâs a sense in which that is part of the ethos as well.â Stel shrugged slightly, as though she didnât really expect to be believed. âThe stories are often about just that. People transcending their established place in life. Forbidden romances, that kind of thing. Thereâs also a pattern of stories about people taking very big falls, if they start with a lot of status.â
âIâd never have guessed that.â Khari meant it, too. She supposed she fell into the category of people who thought only of slaves and wicked Magisters when someone mentioned Tevinter, but she believed what Stel was saying. She was from there, after all. If she really believed there was something redeeming in the culture, something beyond the two-dimensional representation everyone had, then, well, Khari believed it too. Maybe she'd even seen parts of it. Rom and Stel weren't anything like the sterotype.
Crossing boundaries, shattering expectations⊠that all sounded really appealing, actually. Maybe sheâd have to read some Imperium folktales someday. After she was done with the ones about chevaliers. âThen⊠I hope that one day, when they tell the story about us, about the Inquisition⊠itâs more like a Tevinter story than an Orlesian one.â Khari grinned, her eyes glittering with mirth.
Stel smiled back, and nodded. âI certainly hope that, too.â
She figured someone more inclined to metaphor would probably make a big deal out of this fact, say it was representative of her whole life, how sheâd spent most of it trying to push beyond boundaries that were just impossible to breach and suffering for it. Societal boundaries, racial ones, even the physical ones imposed on her by her generally small frame and short stature.
Khari was also the kind of woman who thought those people could go take a long walk off a short ledge.
Sheâd rarely ever met anyone who worked as hard as she did to get past limitations of that kind. Mostly because sheâd rarely ever met people who had as many of them to contend with as she did. People just didnât get it, usually, why she threw herself at absolutely every challenge she could, why she took every opportunity to make things harder for herself than they needed to be. Why she wanted the specific things she wanted in the first place.
But she thought that maybe, if anyone understood, it was Stel. Theyâd fallen so easily back into their routine of training together that it was almost like theyâd never left off. Sheâd gotten up the morning after they arrived at Skyhold, not really sure where the new Inquisitor would be, or if she would even still be able to or interested in running around before dawn and doing pull-ups till their arms shook. But Stel had been right there, at the bottom of the castle stairs, dressed as usual, and apparently waiting for her to show up as well. It was exactly Khariâs favorite kind of coincidence, and sheâd felt an unexpected happiness, like a little shot of adrenaline she hadnât been expecting.
After this morningâs workout, Stel had mentioned that she should come by the library later, because there was apparently something there she might be interested in. Khari had never had the opportunity to spend a lot of time in libraries; she figured it would probably surprise most people that she knew how to read, but she did. It didnât seem to surprise Stel, though. So, curious as to what this could all be about, she made her way up to the library at the appointed time, her boots falling more lightly than usual on the stone underfoot, the soft leather currently without the metal plating of her greaves.
âHey Stel? You up here?â
There was a soft rustling sound, and a few moments later, Stelâs head and shoulders appeared around one of the corners of a shelving unit, a little smile turning her mouth up at the corners. âHello Khari. Iâm just over here, if you want to come join me.â The library was on a lower level of one of the circular towers, and so it wasnât laid out in what might otherwise be the logical fashion, with rows of shelves and the like. Instead, periodically along the sides of the room, deep alcoves had been carved out and squared, so that all three walls of them could be lined with shelves, and there was enough room in each for cozy clusters of armchairs and thick, plush rugs.
Into the third one of these down, Stel had obviously quite comfortably settled. Several thick blankets were around, one of them currently in use, from the way it was rumpled on a squashy chair near the corner of the alcove. The low table in front of the chairs had a small stack of books on it, and a couple glasses of something golden were sitting on it as well, one of them partially consumed already.
âThat oneâs yours,â Stel said, pointing to the still-full one. âItâs apple cider, but with cinnamon in it. Itâs not bad, if I can say that about something I made.â The smile inched wider for a fraction of a second. âFeel free to make yourself comfortable.â
âDonât mind if I do.â The cider smelled delicious, but Khari had always been extremely fond of apples, so that was hardly a surprise. She stepped out of her boots, glad she was only wearing one of her old, very loose shirts, and soft breeches. Even she didnât need the armor in a damn library, surely. Settling into one of the chairs, she pulled the glass into her lap, pleasantly surprised to find that it was still warm. The scent of cinnamon wafted up to her, and, admittedly curious, she took a sip.
The balance between the flavors was subtle and delicate, extremely well-done, if she was any judge. The extra little kick from the spice only enhanced the warming effect, and Khari wondered if it mightnât end up making her sleepy. Itâd be rude to nod off, right? Mentally shrugging, she glanced around her at the books on the shelves. Many of them had titles she couldnât decipher, though she figured that was because they werenât in the trade tongue. The few she could read seemed to be primarily historical, from the titles.
Somehow, it didnât really surprise her that Stelâs idea of a pleasant afternoon was reading stuff like this, but Khari couldnât help wondering if sheâd miscalculated somehow and thought Khari would also prefer to spend her time in that kind of way. Itâd be hard to think, probably, considering exactly how much reverence she ever showed to history, elven or otherwise. âSo, uh⊠not that I donât like spending time with you, Stel, but⊠why the library?â
A glimmer of amusement entered Stelâs eyes, and she reached forward from where sheâd settled into her own chair, picking up the top book on the stack of them and handing it over to Khari. It was bound in simple red-dyed leather, the lettering done in some kind of gold-colored leaf, probably not actual gold. The book itself was slightly less than a foot tall and eight inches across, thick enough to fit her grip quite well, and heavy. Stamped across the front were the words: Tales and Songs of the Orlesian Chevalier: The Unabridged Collection.
âI found that yesterday when I was looking through what we have on folklore and such,â Stel explained. âI thought you might be interested.â
Khari cracked the book with a reverence usually reserved for sacred objects, picking a random page and grinning widely when it revealed an illustration on the left, of Ser Aveline locked in combat with Kaleva. Ser Durand had told her the story, and so she recognized the scene very well. Carefully, she ran a finger down the page, closing it over carefully and looking back up at Stel.
âHas anyone ever told you youâre basically the nicest person in the world? Iâm serious.â She wasnât joking, even though her tone was amused. Khari hadnât met a lot of people who took the time to think of others the way Stel did. She didnât have to. She certainly had enough things to deal with on her ownâhell, she was leader of the whole bloody Inquisition, now; she could easily be forgiven for not taking the time to do something so simple as this. No one would have known. No one would have thought less of her. But then, she didnât do things like this because she cared what people thought. She did them because she wanted to, because she genuinely gave a damn. And that was really, really rare as far as people went.
âUm.â Stel cleared her throat, breaking eye contact and reaching up to fiddle awkwardly with the end of her ponytail. âItâs not anything so great like that. I mean, itâs not even mineâI just.â Her complexion was turning a soft shade of red, and she pulled a face. âI mean, youâre welcome. But um.â Stel sighed, returning her eyes to Khariâs. âSorry. Iâmâyouâre welcome.â She cut herself off there, likely tired of not quite being able to say what she wanted to, and took several swallows from her glass of cider.
âI really like folktales and epics, too, actually,â she continued, apparently interested in changing the topic. âI spent a lot of time in libraries, when I was growing up. Once I got through all the stories in the Trade Tongue and Tevene, I bothered Master Horatio until he taught me to read them in other languages.â Her smile was fond, and her nervous fidgeting eased considerably.
âWait. Master?â Khariâs brows furrowed, and she regarded Stel with a slight frown. âYou werenât a slave too, were you?â She was really going to be pissed at Tevinter if both her new friends had been subjected to that. Not like she needed another reason, but still.
Stelâs eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head emphatically. âNo, no. Nothing like that. Um. How to say this⊠the word âmasterâ means the same thing for people in the Imperium as it does elsewhere. It refers to the master of a trade, like an armsmaster or a master carpenter. Itâs actually what the Tevene word âMagisterâ means, though because of the implications that one has elsewhere, we only use it as the title for someone in the Magisterium, usually. We might call our teachers or craftsmen Master so-and-so whether or not theyâre also Magisters, you see?â She paused, pursing her lips.
âServants might also use it for those they serve, if they serve a merchant or something instead of a lord. Itâs very general. Slaves, um⊠the most common practice is for them to use the Tevene word dominus for a man or domina for a woman. Those carry the implication that the person has, well, dominion over the speaker. I was never a slave.â Something about the way she said it suggested something more than was being said, like maybe the last fact was a near thing or a technicality rather than obvious, but she didnât elaborate any further.
âHuh.â Khari thought she understood the difference now. Still, it wasnât too hard to make the inference from the word 'master' to slavery, probably because it seemed to be one of the only two things people talked about whenever Tevinter was mentioned, the other, of course, being the mage-lords. She glanced down at the book in her hands, then back up at Stel. Clearly there was something else there that she wasnât quite saying, but Khari figured Stel could decide for herself whether it was too uncomfortable, and so she chose not to push it.
So she changed the subject a bit. âWhat does Tevinter have folktales about, then? I donât know much about the place, but it hardly seems like the kind of culture to tell stories about knights and stuff.â And of course, those were the best stories.
Stelâs smile reappeared on her face, then, brightly so. It would seem Khari had struck upon a topic she quite liked. âEvery culture has folktales. And actually, Iâve found that theyâre very revealing of the general contours of the country they come from. Especially, believe it or not, the romances.â Her expression morphed into something quite embarrassed, and she coughed. âIâve, um⊠Iâve read a lot of those.â
Khari, rarely one to pass up an opportunity to tease somebody, ran with that. âEstella Avenarius. Are you telling me you read salacious, trashy serials? The Randy Dowager, even?â Sheâd heard of that one in a Val Chevin pub once. Someone had been drunk, and there was a dramatic reading involved. She hadnât laughed that much in a while.
âMaker, no!â Stelâs usually-fair face was the shade of a ripe tomato, and she buried it in her hands. âNothing like that, for goodnessâ sake.â Her tone was utterly mortified, a sure sign that Khariâs teasing had been extremely successful in getting the expected reaction. Stel rubbed at her flaming cheeks, casting a baleful look in Khariâs direction. âI said folklore and epics; itâs not the same at all!â
Khari, of course, knew the difference. That didnât stop her from cackling at Stelâs reactionâpoking fun at her was quite entertaining, and she probably could have made it worse if she continued, but she decided to exercise a bit of mercy. âOkay, okay. If you say so.â She grinned to show that she did, in fact, believe her. Part of what was funny about the joke, after all, was that it seemed so extremely unlikely in the first place. âDonât die of shame on me, Stel. Why donât you have some more cider and tell me about this theory of yours, with cultures and stories and all that?â She was genuinely interested, after all. Khari had loved stories since she was a little girl, but had eventually tired of the ones the Hahren told.
Apparently deciding this was sound advice, Stel took a few deep swallows, and by the time she set the glass back down on the table and sighed, her color had almost returned to normal. âI swear, Khari, if I ever hear a rumor to that effect, Iâll never forgive you.â From the expression she wore, it was a joke, at least mostly. Her features softened, though, and she nodded to the book Khari still held.
âOrlesians love tragedy. They also have a penchant for both extremely noble heroes whose foibles come back to haunt them and very clever trickster characters with ambiguous morality. Not really that surprising for a culture that both has a knightly order preoccupied with honor and a nobility that plays a constant game of wit and manipulation, is it?â
She settled back into her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. âFereldans have stories about more humble things. Their heroes are more pragmatic, usually, and the themes of the romances often involve family and duty and loyalty. Without ever having been there, I guessed that they were a much more practical culture, and in general, thatâs not wrong. Everything has exceptions, of course, but thereâs a sort of, I donât know⊠spirit of the place thatâs like that. Theyâre very fond of tales where people overcome trials together, and they like happy endings a lot more than Orlesians tend to. Draw your own conclusions about that, if you like.â She half smiled and shrugged.
Khari could see how that made sense. âI think the Dalish like tragedies even more than Orlesians do.â She frowned when she spoke. âThatâs all any of the stories are ever about: how we were victims of this or that, or how humans have done terrible things to us. Itâs never our fault. Everything we talk about, everything we do, is just one endless dirge.â No one where she was from ever talked about honorable heroes overcoming long odds or anything like that. It was always nostalgia for how great elven civilization used to be, or how a bunch of people had died. Even their knights just died, their skill and daring rendered utterly useless against the tide of humanity.
She hated the Peopleâs stories.
âHow about everywhere else? I canât imagine people in the Anderfels tell really fluffy stories.â If they made people like Leon and the Grey Wardens, it was probably quite the opposite.
Stel was quiet for a moment, head tilted curiously, regarding her with steady eyes. In the end, though, she didnât pursue what Khari had diverted her from, instead answering the question. âThey donât. Every folktale Iâve ever read from Anderfels has at the very least a dark twist to it. Thereâs always a struggle, and their heroes are more likely than anyone elseâs to be common people, rather than nobility or others with status. Most of them are deeply flawed, too. Faith is also a big theme, of course, and sacrifice.â
She paused, then smiled slightly. âSome of the Antivan tales are maybe a little scandalous. Master Horatio didnât let me near most of those until I was old enough by his reckoning.â She laughed softly. âOr so he thinks, anyway. Theyâre⊠colorful, certainly. Lots of them have to do with the Crows, and they favor guile over straightforwardness in their protagonists. They and the Rivainis also have a lot of stories about the ocean.â
Well, that made a lot of sense. It was hardly surprising, considering. âAnd Tevinter?â
Stel seemed to consider that one carefully. âMost people think that the Imperium is composed exclusively of evil Magisters and downtrodden slaves,â she said gently, her eyes somewhere else. âAnd I wonât pretend that there arenât significant numbers of both of those kinds of people. But the thing to understand about Tevinter is that it is, first and foremost, a culture of rigid structure. Hierarchy is just as significant to them as it is to the Orlesians, sometimes moreso.â She exhaled, something melancholy in the sound.
âBut⊠I think also that of all the places in Thedas, Tevinter is the one with the most volatile spirit. Rebellions are crushed swiftly and brutally, always. Sedition has a penalty of death. And yet⊠there are rebellions and sedition still. And thereâs an extent to which moving across boundaries, shattering expectations, rejecting the idea that something is impossible⊠thereâs a sense in which that is part of the ethos as well.â Stel shrugged slightly, as though she didnât really expect to be believed. âThe stories are often about just that. People transcending their established place in life. Forbidden romances, that kind of thing. Thereâs also a pattern of stories about people taking very big falls, if they start with a lot of status.â
âIâd never have guessed that.â Khari meant it, too. She supposed she fell into the category of people who thought only of slaves and wicked Magisters when someone mentioned Tevinter, but she believed what Stel was saying. She was from there, after all. If she really believed there was something redeeming in the culture, something beyond the two-dimensional representation everyone had, then, well, Khari believed it too. Maybe she'd even seen parts of it. Rom and Stel weren't anything like the sterotype.
Crossing boundaries, shattering expectations⊠that all sounded really appealing, actually. Maybe sheâd have to read some Imperium folktales someday. After she was done with the ones about chevaliers. âThen⊠I hope that one day, when they tell the story about us, about the Inquisition⊠itâs more like a Tevinter story than an Orlesian one.â Khari grinned, her eyes glittering with mirth.
Stel smiled back, and nodded. âI certainly hope that, too.â