Family matters in a place as remote as Skyhold⊠it was the last thing Zahra thought sheâd have to deal with.
In retrospect, she supposed her idea was foolish to begin with, but she couldnât stand her fatherâs biting insults anymore. The way he looked at her with unseeing eyes as if he knew all of the things sheâd done since leaving Pressa and thought her less for it all. Discomfort couldnât adequately describe their encounters. Their little, clipped conversations; her feeble attempts to mend a broken bridge. He was unpleasant and riddled with an age-old fury that hadnât dampened over the years. For a blind man she had nothing to fear from, his words rattled her to the core. He was not the same. Neither was she.
It wouldnât have bothered her so much if he simply wagged his tongue at her. But he seemed to have judgments in spades when it came to her friends as well. Of course, about the ones who had been unfortunate enough to meet him in Llomerryn. Apparently, Cyrus reeked like a Tevinter dog. He could tell from his voice; haughty, proud. Just like the others, heâd said. Leon: a brute. Not a commander, but a war-monger. Rom seemed to be the only one he hadnât commented on. She was quick to remind him that without their aid, he would have died in the gutter. In some alley. Scorched by the Tevinter he hated so much. Perhaps, left to starve in Farajiâs personal cell. A useless hostage.
The truth was ugly. It seemed to shut him up, at least. For a time, until he filled his belly with ale and roared across the Heraldâs Rest. She hadnât outright said that she would have left him there to die, but each time he spoke ill of her companions, it came close to leaving her lips; an arrow she refused to let loose. Cyrus would be proud. As of late, sheâd been watching Maccio there, cheek pressed against the wood of a table, milky eyes shuttered closed. Snoring. A line of drool at the corner of his lips. A shade of what she remembered. Of what she tried to recall. At night, she dreamed of them. A kinder version. Her father, her mother, her siblings.
The memory of her fatherâs arms and her motherâs scent. Fresh grass and pine, fish and salt. The feel of rain on her skin. His wide, goofy grin and the pitiful look in his eyes when he described the world beyond the reef. How large it was. How good of a girl sheâd been that day. His face was no longer decorated with lines of laughter, but instead with crinkles around the mouth; a derisive sort that formed from frowning too much. His spine, much too rigid. She had no good memories of her mother. Even now, she couldnât seem to remember what her she looked like; she was less tangible, a shrew-eyed woman barred behind a door she was not allowed to enter.
This was a bad idea.
Zahra oft wondered why she even cared to change his mind about the Inquisition. About the Irregulars, and all those she fought beside. Maybe she wanted to prove a point. That everything she had done amounted to this. A good cause. Something she was actually proud of. She was a part of this. Saving the world. Her absence, however much he viewed as a slight, had been necessary. Sheâd found a place for herself. A home. She wanted him to see that. And if anyone could leave a good impression on someone, it was Asala. The familiarity wouldnât hurt. Maccio used to deal with the Qunari for as long as she could remember, making round trips to nearby villages, trading fish native to Pressa.
Besides, Asala was the kindest person she knew. She was soft. Like daisies, or tulips. Colorful. Lovely. A light in the darkness. It was the reason she stood in front of her door. The reason this might work. She had her knuckles poised a few inches from the wooden frame, her eyes coming to shut as she rummaged through her mind for an appropriate explanation. Hiâmy father is a wretch and I wanted to introduce you to him so he wonât think that weâre all treacherous snakes, only me. It sounded all wrong no matter which way she tried to piece the words together. Perhaps, she would understand regardless. She hoped so. Humming softly, Zahra pulled the laces looser on her billowy tunic. It felt restrictive.
Only then did she clear her throat and knock.
Nothing stirred on the other side of the door. No gentle footsteps, no soft voice asking for a moment, nothing. Seconds passed in silence, and it appeared that the door would remain shut. Eventually, footfalls could finally be heard, but not from inside. "Zee?" Asala called from behind her down the hall. She'd come from outside somewhere, as she had the look of recent activity to her. Her clothes were loose, in the style she usually wore when she didn't have a cloak pulled over them. Her shirt had a wide neckline undoubtedly to allow for her horns, and the pants she wore were pulled up to her knees, revealing strong calves and bare feet. With her hair tied up into a messy bun behind her horns, she looked like summer.
As she walked, a marmalade cat weaved in between each step she took, though she didn't pay it much mind. Apparently it wasn't a uncommon thing, with how she continued without much heed to the feline. "Were you looking for me?" she asked, pulling up to a stop, the cat missing the next step, before pausing himself, and looking upward toward the two of them. "Sorry, I just thought that we would go for a walk. It was a lovely day," she explained with a happy smile.
âAhâ!â An embarrassing noise squeaked out as Zahra jumped away from the door. Sheâd had her ear nearly poised against it for fear that she hadnât knocked hard enough and was moments away from trying once more. A mess of curls flung themselves in front of her face, as she attempted to rake them back into place. There was no point acting as if she hadnât been startled. Just a little. She turned on her heels and swung her gaze to Asala, mouth poised in a foolâs grin. It took her a moment find her voice and quiet the staccato beat of her drumming heart. âI⊠really thought you were inside.â
She drew a fist to her mouth and grinned behind it, clearing her throat with a theatrical flourish. Of course, she was stalling. Buying herself time to pose the question without sounding like she was losing her mind. Perhaps she was. She did look rather pretty, though. That in itself was worth the visit. She felt overdressed in comparisonâas if she were going to war, or at least dressed for a battle. Leather and laces, covering most of her body. Less like a scurvy raider with questionable attire; less like a brothel whore, heâd said. The fare, from what he could remember. Clothes that all pirates wore. What did he care? He couldnât see anymore.
âI was, actually.â Zahraâs gaze drifted down to the feline settled at Asalaâs feet. Far more well-mannered than some hounds sheâd seen. Her eyebrows drew together, before she looked back up. None of this was easy. Weathering Maccio was horrible enough for her. Subjecting Asala to him as well⊠felt much worse. A soft sigh sounded as she rocked back on her heels, twining her hands at the base of her back. âIâm sure youâve heard already about my father being here. Somewhere. Well, mostly in one place.â She gave her head a shake, âand Iâm not sure if itâll help at all, but I thought, maybe, if he met someone familiar to him, he wouldnât be so difficult all the time.â
She had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. It was. Sheâd understand if Asala rejected the idea outright. Bloody hell, she mightâve, in her place. âI was hoping youâd help me, ah, tame the beast⊠in a manner of speaking.â
"Familiar?" Asala asked with an inquisitive tilt of her head. It was obvious she wasn't aware on how she might be considered familiar, but regardless she shrugged. "I mean, if you think it may help," she added quickly with a nod of her head. She then paused for a moment in thought, and huffed a little in light humor. "It certainly could not hurt... Could it?" Asala asked with an ivory brow raised. She chuckled and raised in hands in a show of trust, willing to follow Zee on this.
She then reached by Zahra, and twisted the handle on the door, and let it swing open. The cat at their feet then darted through their legs and entered the room on his own accord, and made his way toward her desk-- particularly the part that had a ray of sunlight shining down on it. From the outside, it appeared that her book collection was steadily growing, with only enough space cleared out on her desk solely for her and the cat. "Be nice, Bibi," Asala said, poking her head in after him. With the cat returned home, she then turned back toward Zee.
"So, what would you like me to do," Asala asked, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.
Zahra stopped bouncing on her heels and unclasped her hands. Her toothy grin tempered itself into a smaller smile. Though sheâd long since come to expect Asalaâs kindness in these situations, it still surprised her. She was all give, give, give, while she simply took and usually offered nothing in return. It was a habit she was working on breaking. Surrounded by such selfless people, she assumed that one day, theyâd rub off on her. After all, she was growing used to asking for help. Not long ago she would have rather swallowed a sword than stoop so low. Debts were as unpleasant as dealing with Maccio. This, however, did not feel that way.
She laughed a little. Familiar, yes. The fact that Maccio wouldnât even be able to recognize one of the people he used to trade with was a problem sheâd considered from all angles. Her voice, perhaps? Accent. Sheâd been hoping that he could place it as he had done with Cyrus. A stretch, definitely. Impossible? She doubted it. If anything⊠perhaps Asala could gore him with her horns as proof. The thought provoked an involuntary snort. âHe used to sell speckled trout from our home to some of the surrounding Qunari villages. Vindar, Kont-ar. The smaller fingers, too.â She paused and lifted her shoulder, âWell. It canât do much worse.â
Sidestepping to allow Asala to open the door, Zahra watched as the cat zigzagged around their feet and disappear into her chamber. Geez. Sheâd thought Cyrusâ book collection was accumulating. A chaotic mess of words and whatever else they stuck their noses into. Things that went far over her head. Probably. Hers, however, appeared a little more organized. A flip of tail and the door swung back into place. She waved a hand back in the direction sheâd come, âTo the Heraldâs Rest. His favorite place to mope.â
What, indeed. âIâd like you to convince him that the Inquisition isnât what he believes it is.â Her voice lowered an octave, taking on the tone of what she seemed to think a withered, old man sounded like, âA warmongering waste, filled with unsavory characters. A mockery to all of Thedas.â She cleared her throat once more, and spoke normally, âSeems as if he believes the opposite of anything I say.â
She frowned at that, tilting her head to the side as they walked. She thought about it for a moment before she spoke, "I... do not know I can change his mind," she said quietly, before glancing back up at her. Her eyes widened and she began to shake her hands, like she was trying to fight off her own words. "I mean, I do not agree with him--obviously," she added with a nervous chuckle. "You all are wonderful people and not at all unsavory-- I think you are all very savory..." She let the slip of words hang in the air for a moment before she closed her eyes and huffed in embarrassment.
"What I am trying to say is," she said, the blush ebbing from her features, "I am unsure that a few words from me will be able to shift his opinion." She nodded, apparently pleased with finally saying what she initially meant to say. Only afterward she allowed herself a self-depreciating smile. "I am not the... best at talking. Clearly," she said, with another small laugh. "But if you want me to, I will most certainly try," she added, giving Zahra a wide smile.
Zahra pinched her chin between forefinger and thumb. There was a very good chance that Asala was right. Maybe Maccioâs mind couldnât be changed. Maybe he only hated the things she loved because of the premise of it all. It was something she held close to her heart and heâd already shown disgust at anything sheâd found outside Pressaâs reef. Outside of her family. Even so. She studied Asalaâs expression as they walked and focused on her words, only glancing away long enough so that she wouldnât walk into a wall. Her jaw worked for a response, and staggered to a startling halt as soon as she processed what had just been said.
Savory. You.
The small staircase leading out into Skyholdâs grounds almost stopped her entirely. Her foot lifted and found air, forcing her to overcompensate, and fling her arm out to catch herself against the cobblestones of the wall. A laugh sounded. Her too-loud, too-obvious awkward laugh that echoed down the hallway. Had she been properly prepared for that she would have been ready for an inappropriate quip to turn the tables. It died on her tongue, murky eyes trained on Asalaâs face until could face her no longer. She quickly ascended the staircase, nudged the door open with her shoulder, standing halfway outside, waiting for her, âWell, that might do it. Tell him that weâre all savory in the Inquisition.â
A deflection. A joke. The warbling grin hid itself behind one of her hands as she turned her gaze back across the grounds. There were subtle sounds. Busy sounds. The clanging of metal and hammers and people working on something or another. It was a welcome distraction from the warmth spinning uncomfortably in her guts. Making assumptions and reading between lines when there was likely nothing there. When Asala joined her side, she shut the door behind her and began leading them towards the Heraldâs Rest. Her footfalls were no longer curt and crisp, but sluggish and dragging. Delaying the inevitable. âYou might be right, kitten. No use giving up until weâve tried, right? Us Irregulars are stubborn as hell.â
The scent of herbed meat and grilled vegetables met their noses as soon as the door opened. Tankards were in the process of being filled and laughter rang out across the din. Closer to the empty fireplace, strings were being softly plucked. A gentle breeze billowed the brightly-colored curtains aside, windows pushed open to accommodate the patrons. An early day for drinking. Hardly surprising. The Heraldâs Rest served some of the best food in Skyhold with Brialle at the mantle, and those tired from a long day of training oft came to unwind. Zahra held the door for Asala and stepped through herself afterwards.
Spotting him wasnât difficultânot that she thought it would be. He was perched on one of the benches by himself. She braced herself at Asalaâs side, eyebrows coming to knit. His milky eyes sat above splotchy scars, staring in their direction. There was a distinctive look on his face, one that sheâd come to expect since heâd come to Skyhold. The frustrated pinch to his lips, the disappointment that already preceded each and every step sheâd taken to get where she was today. A wretch. Treacherous snake. Pirate, raider, waste. Had he called her a kinslayer, she would not have been surprised. He could do little more than blame her for all of his woes; for everything that had befallen their family.
She lowered her voice and leaned towards Asala, âFair warning. Heâs rather unpleasant.â
She turned toward Zahra and hitched her shoulders with her palms raised, wordlessly asking what now? A passing moment, it seemed, as her eyes turned back toward the man in question. She visibly hesitated for a second or two before shrugging--mostly to herself. She must have decided on something, or perhaps decided to just do with it, because soon she was crossing the tavern's floor. She caught some of the eyes of the other patrons, a fact she undoubtedly noticed herself, as one arm wound across her body to clutch at the other's elbow. Though as awkward as she seemed, she did not seem frightened, just... uncomfortable.
Once she reached Maccio's table, she hovered for a moment most likely in an attempt to find a suitable greeting. "Um, hello," she began, "Do you, uh, mind if I took a seat?" she asked gesturing toward the bench in question. Eventually, she took one glance into the man's face, then looked back at her still gesturing hands before she finally stilled them. Apparently she just realized the futility of it. Fortunately, he'd miss the ebb of crimson to her cheeks as well.
Zahra dogged her heels a little more hesitantly. She wasnât exactly frightened. Just wary. Her skin itched the smaller the distance became, and for once, she found herself following Asalaâs lead. She eyed the curious patrons with a much more definitive lookâonly long enough for those gazes to turn away. She didnât particularly mind any flavor of attention but she understood well enough that it might bother her. Or at least make her uncomfortable. Seeing how she wasnât a regular resident of the establishment beyond the impromptu celebrations they sometimes had⊠it was expected that sheâd turn heads.
She maintained her silence, partly because she was unsure what would happen. How he would react to someone actually trying to speak to him. The grumpy expression on his face seemed to have the effect of dissuading any polite exchanges. Beyond simple greetings, heâd kept to himself. Though he did raise his head in Asalaâs direction and blink owlishly; eyes all the more unsettling now that they stood in front of him. His lips peeled back into a scowl before it smoothed itself over into a speculative, thin-lipped frown. An uncomfortable silence passed until he broke it with a lift of his shoulder, âYou may.â
The voice that came from Maccio was as ragged as his appearance. A dragging roll of the tongue that betrayed his origins; a fishermanâs drawl. It was still as gravelly as she remembered; as if from disuse. He hadnât spoken to anyone but her, and only when he had to. Zahra took great pains to sit next to Asala without making any noise, and for a moment, she thought that heâd heard her. The moment passed just as quickly and he turned his attention back towards the sound of Asalaâs voice, the lines of his face pulling along his forehead. Confusion clear as day. âAnd why would a young lass sit with such an old man? Thereâs plenty of seats here, I reckon.â
Asala shrugged, then raised a brow-- perhaps internally noting the futile gesture. Regardless, she continued. "There are, uh," she answered, glancing around at the other empty chairs before returning to the man who sat in front of her. She did not retreat beneath his eyes, perhaps understanding that he could not actually see to stare. "It just seemed that you, um... Could use the company?" Asala asked, more than stated, followed by a sweet smile.
Maccio made a humming noise in the back of his throat as he stared at her. There was a moment of recognition that passed across his face; a twitch of his eyebrows, raising along his salt and pepper hairline. He squinted at her, though it was clear that he couldnât actually see her. Probably a force of habit more than anything else. The next silence that followed felt much more considerate, as if he were mulling her words in his head. âWell. I wouldnât mind the company,â he dragged his palm across the table, before finding his tankard and bringing it to his lips, taking a long dredge.
Zahraâs surprise was short-lived. In all likelihood, he probably saved all off his animosity for her. Stored it up in a bottle until it threatened to spill over. Someone could only stay angry for so long or itâd be exhausting. As soon as he set the tankard down, he squinted once more. He cleared his throat and tilted his head to the side, âMind telling me where yerâ from? You donât sound like the rest of âem, is all.â
"Oh, uh," she began, "From a small fishing village on the south coast of Rivain?" she answered, easily enough. After though, she tilted her head and added, "But... before that? Par Vollen." Undoubtedly she added the last bit for him to confirm that she was, indeed, a Qunari. "I, uh, heard you were from somewhere similar? Not Par Vollen-- of course," she corrected quickly, giving herself and embarrassed chuckle, "But a fishing village?"
Only then did Maccioâs eyes light up. The solemn lines in his face seemed to soften and crinkle up into a smile. A semblance of one. That too seemed to be a rarity. He tapped a hand against the table, causing some of the bottles and his tankard to bounce, and settle once more. âPressaâjust a wee finger off Llomerryn. But our fish couldnât be find anywhere else, not a lick. Iâd of loved to visit Par Vollen.â He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug as if to say that it was a shame.
The conversation faded into the soft strums of Brialleâs lute, accompanied by her words. Singing something about the shadow in the tower. The whisperer of crows. The white-haired man with eyes in the walls. Maccio set his elbows on the table, and leaned forward slightly. âWhatâs someone like you doing in such a wretched place?â There was a twist to his lips, though he maintained an amiable demeanor, âSharks, the lot of them. Just like the Imperium.â
Asala frowned at that, but it wasn't an angry frown. No, it was more of a... thoughtful frown. She did not immediately try to tell him he was wrong, or try to justify the Inquisition to him, but instead she simply tilted her head and spoke. "I... feel like I can do good here," She began, "I have been here since the beginning. I have seen our share of victories... and our defeats," she frowned at that. As a part of the medical team, her point of view on both was undoubtedly more visceral than for the ordinary soldier. She had seen first hand the costs the Inquisition had to pay, for both their victories and defeats.
"But they try, regardless. All of them," she answered with a warm, and nearly proud smile. "They try, in spite of the costs to themselves because they believe what they are doing is right," she continued, with a glance to her side at Zahra. Her smile widened by a fraction, before she turned back to Maccio. "And I believe that they are." she added.
The blind man looked at her, hard-eyed; a gaze as sharp as newly-whet steel. It made Zahra bristle at Asalaâs side, hands poised on the bench as if she were readying to clear the table. She wanted to: dearly. Outraged words threatened to fling themselves from her tongue, because he was wrong. Only when Maccio tilted his head to the side, clearly focused on her words, did she shift her weight back down on the bench. She caught Asalaâs sidelong glance, and matched her smile with one of her own; a few shades smaller. Had it not been for her presence, she was sure she would not have been able to weather his obvious distaste, his ignorance.
"Skyhold is not so bad," Asala added with a thoughtful look. She looked across the table at the older man and pursed her lips. "I, uh, do not know if you have gotten the chance to take a walk through her grounds, but if you would like... I would be more than happy to show you around, and show you what I mean." She paused for a moment, before she quickly began to gesture awkwardly with her hands again. "I mean, uh, if you would like to of course," she added quickly.
There was something magic about her, besides the obvious. Her hands. Animated, lively things. A little hypnotizing. She was sure that if Maccio saw her, as well as heard her, heâd be as smitten as she was.
âDo good, you say?â
Maccio raised a hand to the scruff of his chin and scratched idly. There was another bout of silence, filled in with the clatter of tankards and the tavernâs general ambiance. This one, however, felt less heavy. He shuttered his eyes closed for a moment and suddenly pushed the bench backwards a few inches, scraping it against the floor. Bushy eyebrows raised as he opened his milky eyes and scooted away from the table, straightening his spine in feeble attempt at a stretch. He held his elbow aloft and looked in the direction he seemed to believe Asala was in. His mouth pursed itself into a thoughtful line, âIf youâve got time to show an old trawler aroundâŠ. whoâm I to refuse?â
The closest thing to a yes she would get from him, Zahra was sure. She set her elbow on the table and leaned her chin into her upturned palm. Seemed like she wasnât needed at all. Mightâve done much worse if sheâd announced her presence in the first place. Sheâd have to thank Asala later. How, exactly, she wasnât sure. She arched an eyebrow, puffing an errant curl of hair away from her face before mouthing a thank you.
She had much to be thankful for.
In retrospect, she supposed her idea was foolish to begin with, but she couldnât stand her fatherâs biting insults anymore. The way he looked at her with unseeing eyes as if he knew all of the things sheâd done since leaving Pressa and thought her less for it all. Discomfort couldnât adequately describe their encounters. Their little, clipped conversations; her feeble attempts to mend a broken bridge. He was unpleasant and riddled with an age-old fury that hadnât dampened over the years. For a blind man she had nothing to fear from, his words rattled her to the core. He was not the same. Neither was she.
It wouldnât have bothered her so much if he simply wagged his tongue at her. But he seemed to have judgments in spades when it came to her friends as well. Of course, about the ones who had been unfortunate enough to meet him in Llomerryn. Apparently, Cyrus reeked like a Tevinter dog. He could tell from his voice; haughty, proud. Just like the others, heâd said. Leon: a brute. Not a commander, but a war-monger. Rom seemed to be the only one he hadnât commented on. She was quick to remind him that without their aid, he would have died in the gutter. In some alley. Scorched by the Tevinter he hated so much. Perhaps, left to starve in Farajiâs personal cell. A useless hostage.
The truth was ugly. It seemed to shut him up, at least. For a time, until he filled his belly with ale and roared across the Heraldâs Rest. She hadnât outright said that she would have left him there to die, but each time he spoke ill of her companions, it came close to leaving her lips; an arrow she refused to let loose. Cyrus would be proud. As of late, sheâd been watching Maccio there, cheek pressed against the wood of a table, milky eyes shuttered closed. Snoring. A line of drool at the corner of his lips. A shade of what she remembered. Of what she tried to recall. At night, she dreamed of them. A kinder version. Her father, her mother, her siblings.
The memory of her fatherâs arms and her motherâs scent. Fresh grass and pine, fish and salt. The feel of rain on her skin. His wide, goofy grin and the pitiful look in his eyes when he described the world beyond the reef. How large it was. How good of a girl sheâd been that day. His face was no longer decorated with lines of laughter, but instead with crinkles around the mouth; a derisive sort that formed from frowning too much. His spine, much too rigid. She had no good memories of her mother. Even now, she couldnât seem to remember what her she looked like; she was less tangible, a shrew-eyed woman barred behind a door she was not allowed to enter.
This was a bad idea.
Zahra oft wondered why she even cared to change his mind about the Inquisition. About the Irregulars, and all those she fought beside. Maybe she wanted to prove a point. That everything she had done amounted to this. A good cause. Something she was actually proud of. She was a part of this. Saving the world. Her absence, however much he viewed as a slight, had been necessary. Sheâd found a place for herself. A home. She wanted him to see that. And if anyone could leave a good impression on someone, it was Asala. The familiarity wouldnât hurt. Maccio used to deal with the Qunari for as long as she could remember, making round trips to nearby villages, trading fish native to Pressa.
Besides, Asala was the kindest person she knew. She was soft. Like daisies, or tulips. Colorful. Lovely. A light in the darkness. It was the reason she stood in front of her door. The reason this might work. She had her knuckles poised a few inches from the wooden frame, her eyes coming to shut as she rummaged through her mind for an appropriate explanation. Hiâmy father is a wretch and I wanted to introduce you to him so he wonât think that weâre all treacherous snakes, only me. It sounded all wrong no matter which way she tried to piece the words together. Perhaps, she would understand regardless. She hoped so. Humming softly, Zahra pulled the laces looser on her billowy tunic. It felt restrictive.
Only then did she clear her throat and knock.
Nothing stirred on the other side of the door. No gentle footsteps, no soft voice asking for a moment, nothing. Seconds passed in silence, and it appeared that the door would remain shut. Eventually, footfalls could finally be heard, but not from inside. "Zee?" Asala called from behind her down the hall. She'd come from outside somewhere, as she had the look of recent activity to her. Her clothes were loose, in the style she usually wore when she didn't have a cloak pulled over them. Her shirt had a wide neckline undoubtedly to allow for her horns, and the pants she wore were pulled up to her knees, revealing strong calves and bare feet. With her hair tied up into a messy bun behind her horns, she looked like summer.
As she walked, a marmalade cat weaved in between each step she took, though she didn't pay it much mind. Apparently it wasn't a uncommon thing, with how she continued without much heed to the feline. "Were you looking for me?" she asked, pulling up to a stop, the cat missing the next step, before pausing himself, and looking upward toward the two of them. "Sorry, I just thought that we would go for a walk. It was a lovely day," she explained with a happy smile.
âAhâ!â An embarrassing noise squeaked out as Zahra jumped away from the door. Sheâd had her ear nearly poised against it for fear that she hadnât knocked hard enough and was moments away from trying once more. A mess of curls flung themselves in front of her face, as she attempted to rake them back into place. There was no point acting as if she hadnât been startled. Just a little. She turned on her heels and swung her gaze to Asala, mouth poised in a foolâs grin. It took her a moment find her voice and quiet the staccato beat of her drumming heart. âI⊠really thought you were inside.â
She drew a fist to her mouth and grinned behind it, clearing her throat with a theatrical flourish. Of course, she was stalling. Buying herself time to pose the question without sounding like she was losing her mind. Perhaps she was. She did look rather pretty, though. That in itself was worth the visit. She felt overdressed in comparisonâas if she were going to war, or at least dressed for a battle. Leather and laces, covering most of her body. Less like a scurvy raider with questionable attire; less like a brothel whore, heâd said. The fare, from what he could remember. Clothes that all pirates wore. What did he care? He couldnât see anymore.
âI was, actually.â Zahraâs gaze drifted down to the feline settled at Asalaâs feet. Far more well-mannered than some hounds sheâd seen. Her eyebrows drew together, before she looked back up. None of this was easy. Weathering Maccio was horrible enough for her. Subjecting Asala to him as well⊠felt much worse. A soft sigh sounded as she rocked back on her heels, twining her hands at the base of her back. âIâm sure youâve heard already about my father being here. Somewhere. Well, mostly in one place.â She gave her head a shake, âand Iâm not sure if itâll help at all, but I thought, maybe, if he met someone familiar to him, he wouldnât be so difficult all the time.â
She had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. It was. Sheâd understand if Asala rejected the idea outright. Bloody hell, she mightâve, in her place. âI was hoping youâd help me, ah, tame the beast⊠in a manner of speaking.â
"Familiar?" Asala asked with an inquisitive tilt of her head. It was obvious she wasn't aware on how she might be considered familiar, but regardless she shrugged. "I mean, if you think it may help," she added quickly with a nod of her head. She then paused for a moment in thought, and huffed a little in light humor. "It certainly could not hurt... Could it?" Asala asked with an ivory brow raised. She chuckled and raised in hands in a show of trust, willing to follow Zee on this.
She then reached by Zahra, and twisted the handle on the door, and let it swing open. The cat at their feet then darted through their legs and entered the room on his own accord, and made his way toward her desk-- particularly the part that had a ray of sunlight shining down on it. From the outside, it appeared that her book collection was steadily growing, with only enough space cleared out on her desk solely for her and the cat. "Be nice, Bibi," Asala said, poking her head in after him. With the cat returned home, she then turned back toward Zee.
"So, what would you like me to do," Asala asked, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.
Zahra stopped bouncing on her heels and unclasped her hands. Her toothy grin tempered itself into a smaller smile. Though sheâd long since come to expect Asalaâs kindness in these situations, it still surprised her. She was all give, give, give, while she simply took and usually offered nothing in return. It was a habit she was working on breaking. Surrounded by such selfless people, she assumed that one day, theyâd rub off on her. After all, she was growing used to asking for help. Not long ago she would have rather swallowed a sword than stoop so low. Debts were as unpleasant as dealing with Maccio. This, however, did not feel that way.
She laughed a little. Familiar, yes. The fact that Maccio wouldnât even be able to recognize one of the people he used to trade with was a problem sheâd considered from all angles. Her voice, perhaps? Accent. Sheâd been hoping that he could place it as he had done with Cyrus. A stretch, definitely. Impossible? She doubted it. If anything⊠perhaps Asala could gore him with her horns as proof. The thought provoked an involuntary snort. âHe used to sell speckled trout from our home to some of the surrounding Qunari villages. Vindar, Kont-ar. The smaller fingers, too.â She paused and lifted her shoulder, âWell. It canât do much worse.â
Sidestepping to allow Asala to open the door, Zahra watched as the cat zigzagged around their feet and disappear into her chamber. Geez. Sheâd thought Cyrusâ book collection was accumulating. A chaotic mess of words and whatever else they stuck their noses into. Things that went far over her head. Probably. Hers, however, appeared a little more organized. A flip of tail and the door swung back into place. She waved a hand back in the direction sheâd come, âTo the Heraldâs Rest. His favorite place to mope.â
What, indeed. âIâd like you to convince him that the Inquisition isnât what he believes it is.â Her voice lowered an octave, taking on the tone of what she seemed to think a withered, old man sounded like, âA warmongering waste, filled with unsavory characters. A mockery to all of Thedas.â She cleared her throat once more, and spoke normally, âSeems as if he believes the opposite of anything I say.â
She frowned at that, tilting her head to the side as they walked. She thought about it for a moment before she spoke, "I... do not know I can change his mind," she said quietly, before glancing back up at her. Her eyes widened and she began to shake her hands, like she was trying to fight off her own words. "I mean, I do not agree with him--obviously," she added with a nervous chuckle. "You all are wonderful people and not at all unsavory-- I think you are all very savory..." She let the slip of words hang in the air for a moment before she closed her eyes and huffed in embarrassment.
"What I am trying to say is," she said, the blush ebbing from her features, "I am unsure that a few words from me will be able to shift his opinion." She nodded, apparently pleased with finally saying what she initially meant to say. Only afterward she allowed herself a self-depreciating smile. "I am not the... best at talking. Clearly," she said, with another small laugh. "But if you want me to, I will most certainly try," she added, giving Zahra a wide smile.
Zahra pinched her chin between forefinger and thumb. There was a very good chance that Asala was right. Maybe Maccioâs mind couldnât be changed. Maybe he only hated the things she loved because of the premise of it all. It was something she held close to her heart and heâd already shown disgust at anything sheâd found outside Pressaâs reef. Outside of her family. Even so. She studied Asalaâs expression as they walked and focused on her words, only glancing away long enough so that she wouldnât walk into a wall. Her jaw worked for a response, and staggered to a startling halt as soon as she processed what had just been said.
Savory. You.
The small staircase leading out into Skyholdâs grounds almost stopped her entirely. Her foot lifted and found air, forcing her to overcompensate, and fling her arm out to catch herself against the cobblestones of the wall. A laugh sounded. Her too-loud, too-obvious awkward laugh that echoed down the hallway. Had she been properly prepared for that she would have been ready for an inappropriate quip to turn the tables. It died on her tongue, murky eyes trained on Asalaâs face until could face her no longer. She quickly ascended the staircase, nudged the door open with her shoulder, standing halfway outside, waiting for her, âWell, that might do it. Tell him that weâre all savory in the Inquisition.â
A deflection. A joke. The warbling grin hid itself behind one of her hands as she turned her gaze back across the grounds. There were subtle sounds. Busy sounds. The clanging of metal and hammers and people working on something or another. It was a welcome distraction from the warmth spinning uncomfortably in her guts. Making assumptions and reading between lines when there was likely nothing there. When Asala joined her side, she shut the door behind her and began leading them towards the Heraldâs Rest. Her footfalls were no longer curt and crisp, but sluggish and dragging. Delaying the inevitable. âYou might be right, kitten. No use giving up until weâve tried, right? Us Irregulars are stubborn as hell.â
The scent of herbed meat and grilled vegetables met their noses as soon as the door opened. Tankards were in the process of being filled and laughter rang out across the din. Closer to the empty fireplace, strings were being softly plucked. A gentle breeze billowed the brightly-colored curtains aside, windows pushed open to accommodate the patrons. An early day for drinking. Hardly surprising. The Heraldâs Rest served some of the best food in Skyhold with Brialle at the mantle, and those tired from a long day of training oft came to unwind. Zahra held the door for Asala and stepped through herself afterwards.
Spotting him wasnât difficultânot that she thought it would be. He was perched on one of the benches by himself. She braced herself at Asalaâs side, eyebrows coming to knit. His milky eyes sat above splotchy scars, staring in their direction. There was a distinctive look on his face, one that sheâd come to expect since heâd come to Skyhold. The frustrated pinch to his lips, the disappointment that already preceded each and every step sheâd taken to get where she was today. A wretch. Treacherous snake. Pirate, raider, waste. Had he called her a kinslayer, she would not have been surprised. He could do little more than blame her for all of his woes; for everything that had befallen their family.
She lowered her voice and leaned towards Asala, âFair warning. Heâs rather unpleasant.â
She turned toward Zahra and hitched her shoulders with her palms raised, wordlessly asking what now? A passing moment, it seemed, as her eyes turned back toward the man in question. She visibly hesitated for a second or two before shrugging--mostly to herself. She must have decided on something, or perhaps decided to just do with it, because soon she was crossing the tavern's floor. She caught some of the eyes of the other patrons, a fact she undoubtedly noticed herself, as one arm wound across her body to clutch at the other's elbow. Though as awkward as she seemed, she did not seem frightened, just... uncomfortable.
Once she reached Maccio's table, she hovered for a moment most likely in an attempt to find a suitable greeting. "Um, hello," she began, "Do you, uh, mind if I took a seat?" she asked gesturing toward the bench in question. Eventually, she took one glance into the man's face, then looked back at her still gesturing hands before she finally stilled them. Apparently she just realized the futility of it. Fortunately, he'd miss the ebb of crimson to her cheeks as well.
Zahra dogged her heels a little more hesitantly. She wasnât exactly frightened. Just wary. Her skin itched the smaller the distance became, and for once, she found herself following Asalaâs lead. She eyed the curious patrons with a much more definitive lookâonly long enough for those gazes to turn away. She didnât particularly mind any flavor of attention but she understood well enough that it might bother her. Or at least make her uncomfortable. Seeing how she wasnât a regular resident of the establishment beyond the impromptu celebrations they sometimes had⊠it was expected that sheâd turn heads.
She maintained her silence, partly because she was unsure what would happen. How he would react to someone actually trying to speak to him. The grumpy expression on his face seemed to have the effect of dissuading any polite exchanges. Beyond simple greetings, heâd kept to himself. Though he did raise his head in Asalaâs direction and blink owlishly; eyes all the more unsettling now that they stood in front of him. His lips peeled back into a scowl before it smoothed itself over into a speculative, thin-lipped frown. An uncomfortable silence passed until he broke it with a lift of his shoulder, âYou may.â
The voice that came from Maccio was as ragged as his appearance. A dragging roll of the tongue that betrayed his origins; a fishermanâs drawl. It was still as gravelly as she remembered; as if from disuse. He hadnât spoken to anyone but her, and only when he had to. Zahra took great pains to sit next to Asala without making any noise, and for a moment, she thought that heâd heard her. The moment passed just as quickly and he turned his attention back towards the sound of Asalaâs voice, the lines of his face pulling along his forehead. Confusion clear as day. âAnd why would a young lass sit with such an old man? Thereâs plenty of seats here, I reckon.â
Asala shrugged, then raised a brow-- perhaps internally noting the futile gesture. Regardless, she continued. "There are, uh," she answered, glancing around at the other empty chairs before returning to the man who sat in front of her. She did not retreat beneath his eyes, perhaps understanding that he could not actually see to stare. "It just seemed that you, um... Could use the company?" Asala asked, more than stated, followed by a sweet smile.
Maccio made a humming noise in the back of his throat as he stared at her. There was a moment of recognition that passed across his face; a twitch of his eyebrows, raising along his salt and pepper hairline. He squinted at her, though it was clear that he couldnât actually see her. Probably a force of habit more than anything else. The next silence that followed felt much more considerate, as if he were mulling her words in his head. âWell. I wouldnât mind the company,â he dragged his palm across the table, before finding his tankard and bringing it to his lips, taking a long dredge.
Zahraâs surprise was short-lived. In all likelihood, he probably saved all off his animosity for her. Stored it up in a bottle until it threatened to spill over. Someone could only stay angry for so long or itâd be exhausting. As soon as he set the tankard down, he squinted once more. He cleared his throat and tilted his head to the side, âMind telling me where yerâ from? You donât sound like the rest of âem, is all.â
"Oh, uh," she began, "From a small fishing village on the south coast of Rivain?" she answered, easily enough. After though, she tilted her head and added, "But... before that? Par Vollen." Undoubtedly she added the last bit for him to confirm that she was, indeed, a Qunari. "I, uh, heard you were from somewhere similar? Not Par Vollen-- of course," she corrected quickly, giving herself and embarrassed chuckle, "But a fishing village?"
Only then did Maccioâs eyes light up. The solemn lines in his face seemed to soften and crinkle up into a smile. A semblance of one. That too seemed to be a rarity. He tapped a hand against the table, causing some of the bottles and his tankard to bounce, and settle once more. âPressaâjust a wee finger off Llomerryn. But our fish couldnât be find anywhere else, not a lick. Iâd of loved to visit Par Vollen.â He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug as if to say that it was a shame.
The conversation faded into the soft strums of Brialleâs lute, accompanied by her words. Singing something about the shadow in the tower. The whisperer of crows. The white-haired man with eyes in the walls. Maccio set his elbows on the table, and leaned forward slightly. âWhatâs someone like you doing in such a wretched place?â There was a twist to his lips, though he maintained an amiable demeanor, âSharks, the lot of them. Just like the Imperium.â
Asala frowned at that, but it wasn't an angry frown. No, it was more of a... thoughtful frown. She did not immediately try to tell him he was wrong, or try to justify the Inquisition to him, but instead she simply tilted her head and spoke. "I... feel like I can do good here," She began, "I have been here since the beginning. I have seen our share of victories... and our defeats," she frowned at that. As a part of the medical team, her point of view on both was undoubtedly more visceral than for the ordinary soldier. She had seen first hand the costs the Inquisition had to pay, for both their victories and defeats.
"But they try, regardless. All of them," she answered with a warm, and nearly proud smile. "They try, in spite of the costs to themselves because they believe what they are doing is right," she continued, with a glance to her side at Zahra. Her smile widened by a fraction, before she turned back to Maccio. "And I believe that they are." she added.
The blind man looked at her, hard-eyed; a gaze as sharp as newly-whet steel. It made Zahra bristle at Asalaâs side, hands poised on the bench as if she were readying to clear the table. She wanted to: dearly. Outraged words threatened to fling themselves from her tongue, because he was wrong. Only when Maccio tilted his head to the side, clearly focused on her words, did she shift her weight back down on the bench. She caught Asalaâs sidelong glance, and matched her smile with one of her own; a few shades smaller. Had it not been for her presence, she was sure she would not have been able to weather his obvious distaste, his ignorance.
"Skyhold is not so bad," Asala added with a thoughtful look. She looked across the table at the older man and pursed her lips. "I, uh, do not know if you have gotten the chance to take a walk through her grounds, but if you would like... I would be more than happy to show you around, and show you what I mean." She paused for a moment, before she quickly began to gesture awkwardly with her hands again. "I mean, uh, if you would like to of course," she added quickly.
There was something magic about her, besides the obvious. Her hands. Animated, lively things. A little hypnotizing. She was sure that if Maccio saw her, as well as heard her, heâd be as smitten as she was.
âDo good, you say?â
Maccio raised a hand to the scruff of his chin and scratched idly. There was another bout of silence, filled in with the clatter of tankards and the tavernâs general ambiance. This one, however, felt less heavy. He shuttered his eyes closed for a moment and suddenly pushed the bench backwards a few inches, scraping it against the floor. Bushy eyebrows raised as he opened his milky eyes and scooted away from the table, straightening his spine in feeble attempt at a stretch. He held his elbow aloft and looked in the direction he seemed to believe Asala was in. His mouth pursed itself into a thoughtful line, âIf youâve got time to show an old trawler aroundâŠ. whoâm I to refuse?â
The closest thing to a yes she would get from him, Zahra was sure. She set her elbow on the table and leaned her chin into her upturned palm. Seemed like she wasnât needed at all. Mightâve done much worse if sheâd announced her presence in the first place. Sheâd have to thank Asala later. How, exactly, she wasnât sure. She arched an eyebrow, puffing an errant curl of hair away from her face before mouthing a thank you.
She had much to be thankful for.