Ilaria Obsidian moved through a row of shops, trailed by a handful of attendants. Her favorite was not among them today – and she was of a mind to find something special for Caesennia. A surprise. This bookseller had something promising, held up over the counter between his wrinkled hands. He turned the pages slowly, each a delicate work of art featuring one large gilded letter and a profusion of objects that began with it.
It was the finest children’s primer that Ilaria had ever had cause to admire. It was also, perhaps, the first time she’d ever had cause. Children had never featured much in her life and generally she found adults with handicaps like not knowing how to read or being barely able to cast a spell more annoying than anything else. Certainly not worth showering gifts upon. Even so.
She left the shop with the precious book clutched to her chest, inordinately pleased. Even the cover felt nice – Ilaria ran her fingers back and forth over it as she walked, like petting an unusually hard and rectangular cat. As her attendants loaded other purchases into the Obsidian carriage, Ilaria paused to consider the rest of her day.
And nearly jumped out of her skin as her gaze slid over another dark haired woman in the market, further down the street. Her pulse raced and she was uncomfortably aware of it pulsing there in her chest. Her mouth filled with saliva, as though she was about to be sick. Pupils blown wide, the mid morning sun far too intense. For a moment, Ilaria had no idea what was happening.
Andoral, though, had no such hesitation. It set her running after the other woman, never mind anything else, still holding that stupid/splendid book in her arms.
How was this happening? Ilaria had worked so hard, sacrificed so much – just to steal away a small sliver of Andoral’s being hundreds of years ago. How could it be possible that her god lived in someone else?
Tevinter had so many complicated feelings attached to it for one from the south. There was a darkness that tainted even the mention of it, a stain that could never quite come clean, a constant alarm bell that never quite dimmed all the way. And yet, for mages it had also symbolized freedom. A place where they could not only live their lives but be uplifted by their magical birthright rather than be scorned as dangerous. The Chantry stories she grew up with were written deep on her soul, but she couldn't deny that it was a nice change to not be judged quite so harshly simply for being a mage.
She was under no illusions that she wouldn't be watched, however. The barrier's fall had surprised everyone, and those from the south were not entirely welcome. Yet she had been allowed in - perhaps in part because she was a mage and held more weight here than in the parts of the world she knew. Perhaps there were other reasons, but what mattered was that she was here. That was what mattered to Andoral as well.
When the barrier fell it was like something had awakened in them. She'd studied their history as best she could, visiting the places she could access to any clues to where the other soul shards might be, but until Tevinter had reopened nothing had borne any fruit. Now, however, she was inexplicably draw to Minrathous. Even though she'd never been there was a familiarity to it, as well as an oddness, as if she had visited the place long ago and was returning to it in a changed state.
She was ambling through the market, waiting for something, anything to catch her eye when suddenly she felt it. She turned and found herself facing a seemingly younger woman with dark eyes, yet somehow she knew that she was older than she appeared. There was a pull within her, an ache that came from the shard of Andoral as it recognized its kin. She had to quiet the calls for immediate reunification, for such was not possible on demand.
I was looking for others - for you, it seems. I didn't know there was anyone else until recently, when the barrier came down. The small talk was skipped as the soul bearers recognized each other, and Bethany had to remind herself that she really didn't know who she was talking to - only that they too carried a piece of the Old God.
My name is Bethany - perhaps we should go somewhere to talk more?
Ilaria blinked slowly, quite forgetting to emote, to smile, to put anyone at ease. There were people staring. High House ladies did not accost unaccompanied foreigners out in the market street. Gradually, she remembered to make her mouth form the proper shape.
Looked for. That boded poorly. Some Tevene families still paid lip service to their old gods, when they felt it was fashionable to do so. Her own was rather more devoted and yet even still, Andoral remembered the slaying of the high priests. There were any number of potential enemies here in this crowd.
“You’re right dear, of course.” Ilaria set her trailing entourage into motion and picked a restaurant at random. Low tables, soft cushions, a handful of patrons enjoying an early lunch. She handed one of her attendants a purse of coins.
“See that everyone leaves and then wait outside. Oh, but leave the cook.” Her own appetite was deadened entirely by the way Andoral seemed to be thrashing beneath her lungs. But perhaps this Bethany might desire something. Ilaria spent a long, indecisive moment picking a table – torn between having her back to a wall and worry about being overheard. The one she finally settled on was in the middle of the restaurant, equidistance to everything.
“Ilaria of House Obsidian.” She settled into the cushions, folding her legs and fussing with the arrangement of her skirts. Finally, she returned to staring at Bethany with something like open hunger, perhaps from Andoral craving itself.
Perhaps for the curiosity of a puzzle she could not immediately solve.
“Was Garahel that weak? How did you get it – explain to me how there can be two.”
A ruddy faced man lingered in the kitchen doorway, to wait on their whims.
The next moments were almost a blur as she was swept along in the woman's wake. Clearly she was someone important, wealthy, perhaps belonging to one of the great Houses here if she had the means to clear an entire restaurant just for them to talk. She allowed herself to be herded along, doing her best to stay out of the way as the preparations were made, until it became clear where they would sit. She settled into the soft cushions, still not used to this manner of sitting, but made herself as comfortable as she could.
House Obsidian. She made a note, for she was not familiar with them, but clearly they were important given the display Ilaria had just put on. Andoral was stirring - anxiously? Happily? It was hard to tell, but they were awake and very intent on the other piece of themselves sitting across the table.
No, Garahel did his duty. I don't know how, not precisely, but when the Veil came down all manner of spirits were unleashed, including pieces of - " Her eyes flicked briefly to the man in the doorway as she hesitated to name the one that linked them in the presence of the cook. Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but this was not her land and until she knew it better she'd rather be careful.
I knew there must be others, but I had no idea where until the barrier came down. She'd followed Andoral here, guided by the pull they felt to reunite with the other pieces of themself. She wished she knew more about how this had come to pass, but she could only speculate.
“When the Veil came down.” Ilaria echoed, brow creasing slightly as she thought. Grey Wardens had not been of much consequence in Tevinter during her lifetime, but she was familiar with the theory. An Old God’s soul would jump upon death to an empty vessel. Warden rituals fouled the matter.
Her own magic had accomplished something … Not entirely dissimilar, though she had not been fool enough to grab the whole thing. How strange it was, to ponder that Andoral’s return had been inevitable. It had taken a man’s death to carry most of the God beyond the Veil, but now the Veil was no more.
Had her God chosen this Bethany woman on purpose? Presumably, since possessions were not inherently random. The host often shaped the entity at least as much as the entity shaped them. Ilaria wasn’t sure if that held true for Old Gods. Perhaps not. She felt her own symbiosis had clear but concerning boundaries.
“You think there are more pieces out there?” Bad enough to learn she was not singular in all the world. Now there could be three – or ten – or a hundred. Ilaria turned her head to address the cook. “Tea and dolma. Quickly, please.” She narrowed her eyes and watched him shuffle into the kitchen. With that taken care of, she turned back to the other mage.
“Well. If you’ve come looking for them, Bethany … What do you intend to do now that you’ve found one? I’ve lived with this dragon for four centuries. It is not extricable from my essence.” At least not without doing herself great harm. Would she crumble to dust immediately, like a sheet of old parchment? However it went, she had no doubt it would be ghastly.
