And as the black clouds came upon them,
They looked on what pride had wrought,
And despaired.
-Canticle of Threnodies 7:10
Ithilian marched with the army, though he would yet again not be fighting.
He was never going to get used to this, he imagined. It was the same as sailing to Kirkwall, that wretched feeling of knowing those he loved would be throwing themselves into the worst kind of danger, and all he could do was wait and hope that they returned to him alive and whole. His own daughter, trying to chase down the man that took his arm, the man that had scarred Amalia in so many different ways.
No, he would never get used to that thought.
They marched quickly, heading west around the mountains. There was little time for calling allies. They'd been notified and would send help, but the bulk of the fighting here would be the Inquisition's alone. It was growing warmer even at Skyhold, and here on the road it was comfortable. The heat of the sun was perhaps even a little annoying, for those making the trip in armor.
It felt different this time. This was the Venatori's play, their most aggressive move with the most to gain and the most risk. If it paid off for them the Inquisition could well be destroyed in a month's time. If not, the opposite could be true. Either way, this was going to come to an end. Ithilian had to believe that was true of their personal conflict as well. Someone was not going to survive. It was inevitable.
"Not much farther now," Lia pointed out. They were heading south now, making straight for the Arbor Wilds. Normally Lia would be with the scouts ranging ahead, and there she would remain for the battle. This time she'd requested a special assignment, to remain with Amalia and be among the Irregulars that would be the Inquisition's fist in the fight. The place most likely to cross paths with Marcus.
"Not much farther," he agreed. Amalia had been quiet, but that was not unusual for her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
She turned slightly at the question, meeting his eye with both of hers. He could read the answer fairly easily in that moment, but she said the words as well. There were times when that was important. "This will be the last time," she said quietly. "I cannot say how I know this, only that I do." Perhaps it was that it had to be—though she was still strong, still capable, the prolonged fight was more difficult on her mind than her body, he knew, and for all her sturdiness of character, even Amalia had a breaking point.
The dragonhide gauntlets she wore creaked softly as she tightened her grip on the reins of her borrowed horse. Like many of their number, she'd geared up preemptively, now that their destination was within a day's march. "One way or another, it will end here."
He nodded. It was hard not to think of what would happen if the another came to pass. The idea of the Venatori winning wasn't even the most frightening one. If the worst happened, and Amalia and Lia and all the others died in battle, and the Inquisition's army was broken and Corypheus victorious, then he would soon join them, and really nothing would matter then. But if the Inquisition should win, and they were still taken from him... he did not know what he would become. What there would be left to him. He had friends besides them, it was true, but... some pieces simply could not be replaced, and this loss would be one loss too many.
His arm, he could live without. His soul, his reason for continuing... that he could not.
"This feels too big," Lia admitted, lowering her tone. "Too big for someone like me. I wasn't even strong enough to hold a sword when this started, and now I'm trying to finish it." She fell silent for a long moment, and then made sure to pull her horse up alongside Amalia's.
"Trying to help you finish it, rather." It wasn't Lia's fight, not really. She'd never even seen Marcus in person. She'd simply chosen the fight after how much she'd seen it take from the two she cared most about. After her father could fight it no more. "When it comes to a fight... what would you have me do? How can I help you the most?"
"The most important thing is that I be able to handle Marcus without distraction," Amalia replied immediately. "He is clever, and powerful, and even one slip could spell the end of it." Her features hardened, jawline tight; perhaps some memory overtook her in the moment, of some previous battle or slip or wound. Perhaps she was thinking of the last time they'd fought. But whatever it was, it passed, and she clarified. "It would serve best, I think, if you kept your distance. He is not powerless at range, but the greatest danger is when he is close. If you can fire at him freely, do, but it is most important that, even if the fighting is thick, I only need fight him. The more distractions you can eliminate, the better."
All true, no doubt, but also no doubt agreeable to Amalia because it minimized the risk to Lia. There was no way to prevent any risk at all, and even ranged support was in danger of catching the wrong end of Marcus's formidable magic, but as they had both long discovered, it was when that magic was blended with the once-Magister's physical capabilities that it was most potent and effective.
Lia was no doubt aware of Amalia's motives, but they happened to line up with the realities of the situation. She was best put to use from a distance, regardless of what position would be safest for her. Ithilian could tell that it was something she wanted to protest, but could find no reason to. It was understandable; she'd always looked up to Amalia at least as much as she did to him. She wanted to be her equal, but had the self-awareness to know that she was not, and could not occupy the same role in this fight.
"I'll try to keep my distance, then, if the field allows for it." Ithilian had heard the Deep Roads were not accommodating, and that she'd adapted reasonably well to it. Thankfully others had been able to take care of Leta. Lia had been training with Amalia almost every day for months now, ever since their discussion in Kirkwall, but there was no fight quite like one against Marcus. No real way to prepare for that, other than to survive it.
"There was one more thing I was hoping to ask," she said, almost tentatively. "Something we never really covered at Skyhold. When things go wrong... what do you do? What do you use to push through pain, more than you should be able to?" She had to know she was asking the foremost authority on such things. Ithilian had never known anyone able to endure quite so much so evenly, especially without the added benefits of something like berserker training or alchemical effects. But it was obviously something that had to be learned the hard way. Something that Marcus had taught her, indirectly.
"I think..." Amalia trailed off, pushing a loose strand of wheat-gold hair behind an ear. The motion made the scar on her cheek obvious, a white slash, pale against the deep tan of her skin. "The answer to that is different for everyone who must find out." She paused, regarding Lia solemnly. "I hope that you never have to." It went without saying that the amount of agony required for that to happen was not something she'd wish upon most enemies, let alone someone she cared about.
"As for me..." Amalia inhaled; slow, controlled. "There came a time when the prospect of more pain was no longer something I feared. It took... it took time, and suffering, but I came to understand that all pain is temporary. But death is permanent—and to give up on life because of pain is a fool's bargain. I understood that if I did so, I would be defeating myself." She pushed the rest of the breath out, shaking her head as if the words were unsatisfying to her, but then she offered the both of them the tiniest of smiles.
"And there are some things about living that are worth any amount of pain. I try always to think of these, and nothing else."
Lia did not answer immediately, instead remaining silent and thinking on Amalia's words. She didn't get nervous easily, Ithilian knew. From what he'd heard she jumped at the chance to lead the Inquisition's scouts, just as she'd jumped at the chance to join Lucien's Argent Lions, or leave Kirkwall behind for a strange and daunting new city. She didn't hesitate at the prospect of facing red templars or corrupted dragons. But Marcus... she'd seen what the man had done to the two of them. She was nervous about that, there was no hiding it.
"It's a kind of endurance to be admired," he said, breaking the silence, "but maybe not aspired to. If you ever are forced to suffer that much, then Amalia and I will have both failed you as teachers."
"Right, yeah," she agreed, quietly. "Better to just avoid it."
The march continued without interruption, though reports did from in from returning scouts that Venatori had been sighted. Scouts of their own, no doubt reporting to their main force that the Inquisition was coming in full force. It wasn't the best sign. The enemy was ahead of them. They picked up the pace into a forced march, and by the mid-afternoon they'd reached the outskirts of the Arbor Wilds.
The trees were not as massive here as they were in the Emerald Graves, but the Wilds were without a doubt the thicker forest, green and lush with the heat and sunlight of summer. Every few minutes they encountered another stream, and the general denseness of the forest made it difficult to find an appropriate place to make a base camp.
When they did find a suitable clearing, the soldiers worked quickly to set everything up, clearly still possessed of the energy they'd need for the fight. The day's march wasn't going to stop them from facing the Venatori, who had no doubt been hurried as well. Ithilian left his horse alongside Lia and Amalia's two; no doubt they wouldn't be needing them as they moved further into the woods. The Irregulars were called to meet with the Commander in the main tent, to receive their final reports and mission objectives before the battle.
The tent, large as it was, had been the first one erected, and was now nearly full, between the Irregulars, the few like Lia and Amalia who were not usually among that number but had been pulled in for particular reasons—including, it seemed, the elf who called himself Harellan and the little Dalish mage, Astraia—and the command support staff. Still, there was enough room for everyone to at least sort of see the map laid out over the table, and no one would ever have difficulty spotting the Commander, towering over everyone else as he did.
He had the kind of voice that could reach over noise, too, and he put it to use now. Apparently, the three of them were the last people he needed to get the strategy discussion going. "The Venatori are massing deeper in," he said without preamble. "We've had a few independent sightings of Corypheus, so we're proceeding on the assumption that he is in fact here. Their progress is slow—Scout-Lieutenant Signy believes that they've encountered some traps, perhaps defense mechanisms connected to the temple itself. We'll want to be cautious of the same, but I don't think we'll have quite the same level of difficulty." He glanced once at Vesryn, then turned his attention back to the map.
Vesryn looked sickly, though he still wore his armor and carried his bardiche axe. By now everyone in the Inquisition knew of his deteriorating health, though most were still unaware of the cause, Ithilian included. All he knew was that Vesryn intended to continue fighting, until he could fight no more. That alone was inspirational to many of the soldiers.
"Traps or no traps," he said. "We need to find a way inside that temple ahead of Corypheus. We can't settle for chasing him in." He looked to their leaders again. "What's the plan of attack?"
A little surprisingly, it was Khari who answered the question. In sharp contrast to Vesryn, she'd never looked in better health, the prospect of a long, hard battle ahead seeming to invigorate her more than anything. Her armor was polished to a shine, as was the hilt of the enchanted sword just visible over her left shoulder.
“Okay, so. Here's the thing: these trees mean we don't get a conventional battlefield. It's going to be a lot of grappling for space, and positioning will be easier to hold than to gain. So we gotta move fast." She picked up a token and set it down on what seemed to be a very specific spot on the map, some distance to the east of the temple. “This is our high ground. We stage from here. To make sure we can do that, there's already an advance party on the way there to secure it as fast as they can. We're going to be taking all the space we can get vertically, too: archers in trees. Mages, too, if their aim's good enough. Once that point's ours, it's literally downhill from there: we fall on Corypheus's army from that spot and try to punch our way through to the temple." She drew a line with her finger from the token to what looked like a bridge on the east side.
“After we've made a gap, we send the Irregulars through to deal with the actual temple bit, and the rest are going to use the hole in Corypheus's line as a wedge, and separate his people into two halves. Everyone not needed on the hill or below is going to go flank the smaller half so we can get rid of them fast, and then everyone pushes together against the bigger half. If it works... no more Venatori."
"This seems sound, for the Venatori," Amalia noted, crossing her arms and looking down at the map. "But what of the particularly dangerous among them? Corypheus himself, or that dragon he commands?" It went without saying, at least to Ithilian and anyone who knew her well enough, that she considered Marcus just as dangerous—but it was also quite clear to probably everyone in the room what the plan was for dealing with him.
"Corypheus wants the Well of Sorrows, inside the temple." Harellan sounded absolutely certain of it. "He will not waste any time fighting anyone he does not have to in order to get to it. The trick will be stopping his progress, and that, I think, is best left to those who enter the grounds in any case."
“The army's been training a lot, but he'd thresh them." Khari's agreement was sober. “As for the dragon... no one's seen it yet, so it's hard to know exactly what to do. If it comes, we'll need to throw some of our best at it, for sure, even if it's not ideal to split us up."
Leon nodded there, taking over for Khari and addressing the assembled. "The forest is hardly the ideal location for the dragon anyway. If it does appear, we'll have quite a lot of cover to make use of. It's important to maintain our flexibility as much as possible, since it's likely that there will be complications along the way. But as a general strategy, this seems to be the best option. The important thing—more important than anything else we do—is stopping Corypheus or Marcus from getting what is in that Well. If things come to a choice, choose that, regardless of the other option."
"Best of luck, everyone." The quiet encouragement came from the Lady Inquisitor, standing next to her counterpart. She had a face that was difficult to read, but anyone could see the tension there now.
The group dispersed. They had a few moments to prepare before they would be moving out into battle. Ithilian felt... naked, perhaps, was the right word. No bow on his back. No dagger on his chest. No armor protecting him. He carried his old Dalish blade on a hip, but it would be of little use to him in a fight against Venatori in their prime. He couldn't move nearly as well as he used to, even before the lack of arm was considered. Too many old wounds. He doubted even Nostariel could've held him together, had she been with him the whole time.
"I know I'm wasting my breath," Lia said, as the three of them exited the tent. "But try not to worry too much, okay? Everything's going to be fine."
"You're right." His words were soft, almost lost in the camp activity all around them. "You are wasting your breath."
She rolled her eyes, and hugged him tightly. He tried to be prepared for that, but somehow it still surprised him. Every time. He hugged her back as best he could. "Go. Prepare. Focus on the task."
She broke the hug, offering a brief nod to Amalia before she left them to group up with the others. Ithilian watched her go. He hoped it would not be for the last time. But hope was all he could do, and that would never not be painful.
"There is nothing to say that has not already been said." He looked back to Amalia, and settled his hand on her shoulder. "End him, and come back alive."
Amalia's eyes fell shut for a brief moment; her hand found his own on her shoulder, and she squeezed firmly. Not firmly enough that he couldn't detect the slightest of tremors in her fingers. A bracing breath helped her still the shake, and she cracked her eyes open again to meet his own.
"I will." The words might have been a statement, but the way she said them made them something much more deliberate. They were a promise.
He was never going to get used to this, he imagined. It was the same as sailing to Kirkwall, that wretched feeling of knowing those he loved would be throwing themselves into the worst kind of danger, and all he could do was wait and hope that they returned to him alive and whole. His own daughter, trying to chase down the man that took his arm, the man that had scarred Amalia in so many different ways.
No, he would never get used to that thought.
They marched quickly, heading west around the mountains. There was little time for calling allies. They'd been notified and would send help, but the bulk of the fighting here would be the Inquisition's alone. It was growing warmer even at Skyhold, and here on the road it was comfortable. The heat of the sun was perhaps even a little annoying, for those making the trip in armor.
It felt different this time. This was the Venatori's play, their most aggressive move with the most to gain and the most risk. If it paid off for them the Inquisition could well be destroyed in a month's time. If not, the opposite could be true. Either way, this was going to come to an end. Ithilian had to believe that was true of their personal conflict as well. Someone was not going to survive. It was inevitable.
"Not much farther now," Lia pointed out. They were heading south now, making straight for the Arbor Wilds. Normally Lia would be with the scouts ranging ahead, and there she would remain for the battle. This time she'd requested a special assignment, to remain with Amalia and be among the Irregulars that would be the Inquisition's fist in the fight. The place most likely to cross paths with Marcus.
"Not much farther," he agreed. Amalia had been quiet, but that was not unusual for her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
She turned slightly at the question, meeting his eye with both of hers. He could read the answer fairly easily in that moment, but she said the words as well. There were times when that was important. "This will be the last time," she said quietly. "I cannot say how I know this, only that I do." Perhaps it was that it had to be—though she was still strong, still capable, the prolonged fight was more difficult on her mind than her body, he knew, and for all her sturdiness of character, even Amalia had a breaking point.
The dragonhide gauntlets she wore creaked softly as she tightened her grip on the reins of her borrowed horse. Like many of their number, she'd geared up preemptively, now that their destination was within a day's march. "One way or another, it will end here."
He nodded. It was hard not to think of what would happen if the another came to pass. The idea of the Venatori winning wasn't even the most frightening one. If the worst happened, and Amalia and Lia and all the others died in battle, and the Inquisition's army was broken and Corypheus victorious, then he would soon join them, and really nothing would matter then. But if the Inquisition should win, and they were still taken from him... he did not know what he would become. What there would be left to him. He had friends besides them, it was true, but... some pieces simply could not be replaced, and this loss would be one loss too many.
His arm, he could live without. His soul, his reason for continuing... that he could not.
"This feels too big," Lia admitted, lowering her tone. "Too big for someone like me. I wasn't even strong enough to hold a sword when this started, and now I'm trying to finish it." She fell silent for a long moment, and then made sure to pull her horse up alongside Amalia's.
"Trying to help you finish it, rather." It wasn't Lia's fight, not really. She'd never even seen Marcus in person. She'd simply chosen the fight after how much she'd seen it take from the two she cared most about. After her father could fight it no more. "When it comes to a fight... what would you have me do? How can I help you the most?"
"The most important thing is that I be able to handle Marcus without distraction," Amalia replied immediately. "He is clever, and powerful, and even one slip could spell the end of it." Her features hardened, jawline tight; perhaps some memory overtook her in the moment, of some previous battle or slip or wound. Perhaps she was thinking of the last time they'd fought. But whatever it was, it passed, and she clarified. "It would serve best, I think, if you kept your distance. He is not powerless at range, but the greatest danger is when he is close. If you can fire at him freely, do, but it is most important that, even if the fighting is thick, I only need fight him. The more distractions you can eliminate, the better."
All true, no doubt, but also no doubt agreeable to Amalia because it minimized the risk to Lia. There was no way to prevent any risk at all, and even ranged support was in danger of catching the wrong end of Marcus's formidable magic, but as they had both long discovered, it was when that magic was blended with the once-Magister's physical capabilities that it was most potent and effective.
Lia was no doubt aware of Amalia's motives, but they happened to line up with the realities of the situation. She was best put to use from a distance, regardless of what position would be safest for her. Ithilian could tell that it was something she wanted to protest, but could find no reason to. It was understandable; she'd always looked up to Amalia at least as much as she did to him. She wanted to be her equal, but had the self-awareness to know that she was not, and could not occupy the same role in this fight.
"I'll try to keep my distance, then, if the field allows for it." Ithilian had heard the Deep Roads were not accommodating, and that she'd adapted reasonably well to it. Thankfully others had been able to take care of Leta. Lia had been training with Amalia almost every day for months now, ever since their discussion in Kirkwall, but there was no fight quite like one against Marcus. No real way to prepare for that, other than to survive it.
"There was one more thing I was hoping to ask," she said, almost tentatively. "Something we never really covered at Skyhold. When things go wrong... what do you do? What do you use to push through pain, more than you should be able to?" She had to know she was asking the foremost authority on such things. Ithilian had never known anyone able to endure quite so much so evenly, especially without the added benefits of something like berserker training or alchemical effects. But it was obviously something that had to be learned the hard way. Something that Marcus had taught her, indirectly.
"I think..." Amalia trailed off, pushing a loose strand of wheat-gold hair behind an ear. The motion made the scar on her cheek obvious, a white slash, pale against the deep tan of her skin. "The answer to that is different for everyone who must find out." She paused, regarding Lia solemnly. "I hope that you never have to." It went without saying that the amount of agony required for that to happen was not something she'd wish upon most enemies, let alone someone she cared about.
"As for me..." Amalia inhaled; slow, controlled. "There came a time when the prospect of more pain was no longer something I feared. It took... it took time, and suffering, but I came to understand that all pain is temporary. But death is permanent—and to give up on life because of pain is a fool's bargain. I understood that if I did so, I would be defeating myself." She pushed the rest of the breath out, shaking her head as if the words were unsatisfying to her, but then she offered the both of them the tiniest of smiles.
"And there are some things about living that are worth any amount of pain. I try always to think of these, and nothing else."
Lia did not answer immediately, instead remaining silent and thinking on Amalia's words. She didn't get nervous easily, Ithilian knew. From what he'd heard she jumped at the chance to lead the Inquisition's scouts, just as she'd jumped at the chance to join Lucien's Argent Lions, or leave Kirkwall behind for a strange and daunting new city. She didn't hesitate at the prospect of facing red templars or corrupted dragons. But Marcus... she'd seen what the man had done to the two of them. She was nervous about that, there was no hiding it.
"It's a kind of endurance to be admired," he said, breaking the silence, "but maybe not aspired to. If you ever are forced to suffer that much, then Amalia and I will have both failed you as teachers."
"Right, yeah," she agreed, quietly. "Better to just avoid it."
The march continued without interruption, though reports did from in from returning scouts that Venatori had been sighted. Scouts of their own, no doubt reporting to their main force that the Inquisition was coming in full force. It wasn't the best sign. The enemy was ahead of them. They picked up the pace into a forced march, and by the mid-afternoon they'd reached the outskirts of the Arbor Wilds.
The trees were not as massive here as they were in the Emerald Graves, but the Wilds were without a doubt the thicker forest, green and lush with the heat and sunlight of summer. Every few minutes they encountered another stream, and the general denseness of the forest made it difficult to find an appropriate place to make a base camp.
When they did find a suitable clearing, the soldiers worked quickly to set everything up, clearly still possessed of the energy they'd need for the fight. The day's march wasn't going to stop them from facing the Venatori, who had no doubt been hurried as well. Ithilian left his horse alongside Lia and Amalia's two; no doubt they wouldn't be needing them as they moved further into the woods. The Irregulars were called to meet with the Commander in the main tent, to receive their final reports and mission objectives before the battle.
The tent, large as it was, had been the first one erected, and was now nearly full, between the Irregulars, the few like Lia and Amalia who were not usually among that number but had been pulled in for particular reasons—including, it seemed, the elf who called himself Harellan and the little Dalish mage, Astraia—and the command support staff. Still, there was enough room for everyone to at least sort of see the map laid out over the table, and no one would ever have difficulty spotting the Commander, towering over everyone else as he did.
He had the kind of voice that could reach over noise, too, and he put it to use now. Apparently, the three of them were the last people he needed to get the strategy discussion going. "The Venatori are massing deeper in," he said without preamble. "We've had a few independent sightings of Corypheus, so we're proceeding on the assumption that he is in fact here. Their progress is slow—Scout-Lieutenant Signy believes that they've encountered some traps, perhaps defense mechanisms connected to the temple itself. We'll want to be cautious of the same, but I don't think we'll have quite the same level of difficulty." He glanced once at Vesryn, then turned his attention back to the map.
Vesryn looked sickly, though he still wore his armor and carried his bardiche axe. By now everyone in the Inquisition knew of his deteriorating health, though most were still unaware of the cause, Ithilian included. All he knew was that Vesryn intended to continue fighting, until he could fight no more. That alone was inspirational to many of the soldiers.
"Traps or no traps," he said. "We need to find a way inside that temple ahead of Corypheus. We can't settle for chasing him in." He looked to their leaders again. "What's the plan of attack?"
A little surprisingly, it was Khari who answered the question. In sharp contrast to Vesryn, she'd never looked in better health, the prospect of a long, hard battle ahead seeming to invigorate her more than anything. Her armor was polished to a shine, as was the hilt of the enchanted sword just visible over her left shoulder.
“Okay, so. Here's the thing: these trees mean we don't get a conventional battlefield. It's going to be a lot of grappling for space, and positioning will be easier to hold than to gain. So we gotta move fast." She picked up a token and set it down on what seemed to be a very specific spot on the map, some distance to the east of the temple. “This is our high ground. We stage from here. To make sure we can do that, there's already an advance party on the way there to secure it as fast as they can. We're going to be taking all the space we can get vertically, too: archers in trees. Mages, too, if their aim's good enough. Once that point's ours, it's literally downhill from there: we fall on Corypheus's army from that spot and try to punch our way through to the temple." She drew a line with her finger from the token to what looked like a bridge on the east side.
“After we've made a gap, we send the Irregulars through to deal with the actual temple bit, and the rest are going to use the hole in Corypheus's line as a wedge, and separate his people into two halves. Everyone not needed on the hill or below is going to go flank the smaller half so we can get rid of them fast, and then everyone pushes together against the bigger half. If it works... no more Venatori."
"This seems sound, for the Venatori," Amalia noted, crossing her arms and looking down at the map. "But what of the particularly dangerous among them? Corypheus himself, or that dragon he commands?" It went without saying, at least to Ithilian and anyone who knew her well enough, that she considered Marcus just as dangerous—but it was also quite clear to probably everyone in the room what the plan was for dealing with him.
"Corypheus wants the Well of Sorrows, inside the temple." Harellan sounded absolutely certain of it. "He will not waste any time fighting anyone he does not have to in order to get to it. The trick will be stopping his progress, and that, I think, is best left to those who enter the grounds in any case."
“The army's been training a lot, but he'd thresh them." Khari's agreement was sober. “As for the dragon... no one's seen it yet, so it's hard to know exactly what to do. If it comes, we'll need to throw some of our best at it, for sure, even if it's not ideal to split us up."
Leon nodded there, taking over for Khari and addressing the assembled. "The forest is hardly the ideal location for the dragon anyway. If it does appear, we'll have quite a lot of cover to make use of. It's important to maintain our flexibility as much as possible, since it's likely that there will be complications along the way. But as a general strategy, this seems to be the best option. The important thing—more important than anything else we do—is stopping Corypheus or Marcus from getting what is in that Well. If things come to a choice, choose that, regardless of the other option."
"Best of luck, everyone." The quiet encouragement came from the Lady Inquisitor, standing next to her counterpart. She had a face that was difficult to read, but anyone could see the tension there now.
The group dispersed. They had a few moments to prepare before they would be moving out into battle. Ithilian felt... naked, perhaps, was the right word. No bow on his back. No dagger on his chest. No armor protecting him. He carried his old Dalish blade on a hip, but it would be of little use to him in a fight against Venatori in their prime. He couldn't move nearly as well as he used to, even before the lack of arm was considered. Too many old wounds. He doubted even Nostariel could've held him together, had she been with him the whole time.
"I know I'm wasting my breath," Lia said, as the three of them exited the tent. "But try not to worry too much, okay? Everything's going to be fine."
"You're right." His words were soft, almost lost in the camp activity all around them. "You are wasting your breath."
She rolled her eyes, and hugged him tightly. He tried to be prepared for that, but somehow it still surprised him. Every time. He hugged her back as best he could. "Go. Prepare. Focus on the task."
She broke the hug, offering a brief nod to Amalia before she left them to group up with the others. Ithilian watched her go. He hoped it would not be for the last time. But hope was all he could do, and that would never not be painful.
"There is nothing to say that has not already been said." He looked back to Amalia, and settled his hand on her shoulder. "End him, and come back alive."
Amalia's eyes fell shut for a brief moment; her hand found his own on her shoulder, and she squeezed firmly. Not firmly enough that he couldn't detect the slightest of tremors in her fingers. A bracing breath helped her still the shake, and she cracked her eyes open again to meet his own.
"I will." The words might have been a statement, but the way she said them made them something much more deliberate. They were a promise.