Chapter Thirty-Seven: Panahedan, Kadan

To those that have never seen a Qunari dreadnaut, it is quite the thing to behold. It is a ship longer than any other in known Thedas, broader, and made of a wood so hard that even elves swear that it is likely ironbark. It is a marvel of engineering with two helms, two levels of gunports armed with bronze cannons, sails arranged more economically than even the most expert Antivan shipwrights could conceive, and housing for more than four hundred souls while still being able to cut through choppy seas at fifteen knots under full-sail. The Raiders avoided the north seas. For good reason.

Isabela fell in love the moment she got over her irritation with Aqunaran. The viddathari that had been charged to wait on them were curious and a little amused by her behavior, her broad smiles, her childlike glee. Marian didn't need to remind herself that this was the woman who loved big boats. Really loved them. She half-wondered if the reason why the pirate was so promiscuous while ashore was due to being separated from her one and only true love and was trying desperately to fill the void. She realized immediately that trying to apply logic to such a situation would get no one nothing but a headache.

They were being escorted to the mess for luncheon. Both women were as freshly cleaned as salt water could get them, hair bound up tightly with red cording, and they were dressed identically in similar uniforms to the ship's officers—the red sleeveless tunics and black trousers. The officers, it turned out, were almost all female, the males designated to common sailor ranks or soldiers serving aboard the ship as its standing military. What they found when they got to their destination was just as surprising for two women who had spent most of their time in the Chantry-saturated south.

The level of noise was amazing. The room was full of bodies—kossith, human, elven—pressed together in no particular order as they laughed and caroused and ate. Marian decided right then that kossith smiles would probably never get old. It had been a rare enough thing to see from Taarbas even once he got comfortable around them all. To see kossith, not just Qunari, in their own element had a feeling of newness that was positively exhilarating.

Isabela was instructed to sit with the viddathari, and Varric was already there, regaling the lot of them (mostly elves) with stories of their exploits in Kirkwall and the journey here. He had their rapt attention but looked up just long enough to toast Marian with his glass of water and shoot her a wink. Isabela gave her friend's arm a squeeze before she sat down, passing on a wink of her own before she nudged Marian further along to the table where Fenris and Taarbas were crowded in with Asari, Aqunaran, and a few of the other officers.

"I trust everything is satisfactory, Ben-Hassrath?" Aqunaran, the obvious captain, asked in fluid Qunari as Marian approached and tried to find a space to sit on the long wooden bench crowded with bodies. She wound up wedged between Asari and a rather stiff, cotton-smocked Fenris.

"Yes, Aqunaran, thank you." Marian looked quizzically to Asari for some explanation that the ben-hassrath title was being used so officially, now, but got no response. She thought it had only been borrowed armor. Was she not viddathari here? A plate of spiced fish was placed in front of her, and she very quickly forgot anything else she might have been worried about. Stopping the hunger pangs took priority.

"We were discussing the current affairs as Asari has been able to relate them to me. I do apologize for my...gruffness earlier. I stand by the orders we received and followed. However, we need to get you and the tamassran back to Par Vollen quickly to ensure this disaster is handled in as timely a manner as possible. The Ariqun must know. And the Arigena."

"What of the Arishok?"

"He had most of the military sent to the front in Seheron. He must surely be notified as well, but the other two are your best bet for expediency. Not all battles are fought with swords." Aqunaran punctuated that remark with a healthy bite of her food. "I have already sent messages to the surrounding ships. We will sail back in the morning, and they will close in the gap. Abandoning our current duty for this cause will be forgiven—I'm sure of it."

"I will ensure that you receive all due honors, Aqunaran," Asari said. She was looking at the captain but struggling to get the baby in her arms to consume something other than medicine at the same time. It was almost comical, the infant mashing food bits all over her face rather than letting it go in her mouth. Marian couldn't help but smile. Whatever the physician was giving her, it was working well enough. Looking at the child, it was impossible to see that she carried the Blight disease unless you got a close look at her slightly milky eyes. Otherwise, her skin was a healthy color and she had energy. Promising signs.

Taarbas cleared his throat politely. "And the skiff, Aqunaran? I may have use of that?"

The female kossith looked over at him, her motion sharp almost as if she had been startled out of some thought.

"Of course. I have already assigned a crew of twelve to sail you back to Seere."

Marian tried to look around Fenris to see her kossith companion, but the head of platinum white hair was always in the way. The elf even tried to move out of her way. It didn't work. The table behind them had gotten involved in a rowdy game of...charades? Whatever it was, they'd pushed their benches away from the table and had Marian's whole row crammed in even tighter.

And that was how the rest of the meal passed: cramped, crowded, close. The conversation was easy. Aqunaran actually was curious about life elsewhere in the world, particularly Ferelden as the country was remote enough to almost have a mythical quality to those native of the archipelago.

The mess emptied out in stages, groups of Qunari dispersing a little at a time as if going back on shift wherever they worked on the massive ship. As soon as a path was clear, Taarbas rose and took his leave, giving Aqunaran a nod of respect. It was unprefaced and sudden. Even Frenris was surprised when the large man seated next to him decided to get up and leave. He shifted over when he noticed that Marian was fidgeting, shooting looks over her shoulder as the kossith retreated across the long hallway of the mess. He let her get up to take care of whatever was bothering her.

She caught up with him in the hallway that led to the barracks. His posture was stiff, his shoulders hunched and head down. It was like he knew she was there, could identify her steps, the cadence of her breathing, and he hoped beyond hope that she didn't actually see him. When she grabbed his arm to get his attention, he stopped walking but didn't look at her.

"What is this, Taarbas," she demanded, looking him in the face even if he refused to do likewise. "You don't talk to me for two days...and then decide you're just going to leave and not even tell me that?"

He gave no immediate response, but his jaw clenched. She could see the veins popping out along his temples through thin wisps of his pale hair. When he finally spoke, it was low, almost secretive, and his eyes kept shooting about to ensure they were alone.

"I am denied Par Vollen unless I return with the Qunari blades. It is my sworn duty to the Qun."

Marian almost laughed in disbelief, her mind torn between irritation and relief. The cargo they'd been forced to leave on the Hawke's Flight when they decided on an overland route to Kont-Aar...in all the chaos that had ensued since, she'd almost totally forgotten. Her expression softened as she squeezed his arm encouragingly. "You should have said. I'll go with-"

"No, kadan." His voice was firm but low and gentle. "You must go with Asari and the others. Your purpose lies in Par Vollen."

"Sataareth-"

"Is not enough. I need the weapon of every single Qunari that was lost in Kirkwall. You would not-"

"Understand?" It was Marian's turn to interrupt. She crossed her arms over her chest, an eyebrow rising on her forehead, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint. "I do. I understand quite clearly. But it doesn't change the fact that that jungle is crawling with darkspawn. I...I just couldn't..."

Voices carried from further along the narrow passageway. Laughing, speaking fluent Qunari. Taarbas guided Marian by the shoulder further along and into one of the bunks. Four netted hammoks hung unused on the walls. A small lamp was bolted to the wall and giving off that same magnesium light that had illumined the viddathlok. There was no privacy amidships, but one could always try.

"Kadan," he began, his body more relaxed and his tone resigned, "I wish I could convey...better...to you how I need to do this alone. I am what I am because of a mistake. And only I can correct that mistake."

"Was the mistake yours?"

He blinked at her, taken aback, almost alarmed. At least, that's how it appeared to her.

"...No. But I am still responsible."

She nodded, her arms still crossed but relaxed, her eyes lowered. She stared at his boots, the black trousers, the bare waist where his crimson sash should have been, the sash she was wearing instead. The warpaint had been completely washed from his chest. No obvious wounds. No sign of infection. When she met his eyes again, she couldn't swallow the lump in her throat. He was asking her to trust that he wouldn't fall prey to the darkspawn. That they wouldn't grow bolder and take Seere as they had Kont-Arr. When they had first encountered them, it was mere leagues outside the village. Who knows what two days (or nights, or both) of progress could have granted them.

She couldn't help it. She knew the fear was irrational, yet it had been proven to her time and again that it was very real. She lost her village, her brother and sister, the entire karataam of the Vashoth Stenok. All were gone to the darkspawn, the vashun. She would not—could not—risk losing Taarbas as well.

"The Bassrath-Kata," she said quietly, her voice quaking even as she kept her eyes locked with his, "you must take it."

"It is yours."

"You gave it to me out of those of the fallen."

He shook his head. "That one never belonged to the fallen. The one it was made for is now unworthy of bearing it, so it was given to one that was."

It took her a while to absorb his words. She stared at him in incomprehension for what seemed like hours, her mind whirring but going nowhere. Then, like the popping of the magnesium light jolted her back from whatever mental abyss she was circling, her mouth dropped open. She suddenly knew. And all she could feel was despair.

Her hands reached up for his face. Her mouth was trying to form words but tragically failing. He grabbed her wrists before she could touch him, one in each of his large hands. She was almost like a child in comparison, small, thin, frail. Her warrior's build counted for nothing in the shadow of a kossith. His grip was light but solid enough that she couldn't break free. If she had even wanted to break free. She knew herself better than that.

"Do not fret, kadan. Not for this and not for me. I will be fine."

"I should be going with you." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. The breath was too hard to push out.

He actually smiled. But it was not a smile of mirth or even satisfaction. He didn't speak even as he dropped his gaze, staring at her hands, relaxed, slender fingers curled. So small and fragile to him. He raised them to his lips and softly, so tenderly, kissed each palm.

"Panahedan, kadan," he said as he released her, his voice little more than a low vibration. "I will find you."

And he left her there, surprised and aching. He walked away calmly, resolutely, the sound of his steady strides fading as he went further down the corridor and to whatever secret place Aqunaran had assigned him. Before dawn broke the following morning, he was already gone. The skiff had departed with the assigned hands. Swoop had even gone with them, Varric told her. It had been the mabari that insisted. The Qunari merely acquiesced.

Hawke heard none of this. Her body was numb, her head filled with wool. She couldn't think or reason. That thing she had told Isabela wasn't true. She had lied all this time and it didn't surprise her to realize it. Taarbas had gone off into the sea mists of northern Rivain, back to a place that reeked of uncertainty, and it felt like her soul was being slowly torn from her, tugging at her chest, leaving her raw.

Blood from a stone.