Chapter Fifty-Four: Arishok
The grand causeway was absolutely filled with bodies. Qunari of all races were packed in between the buildings and even along rooftops, shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to ribcage, all ranks and castes were intermingled in front of the viddathlok steps. The sun was hot and high overhead, beating down on thousands of heads all tilted up toward the highest tier of the pyramid. They had heard the rumor and later the announcement. The Arishok had been accused of treason—of betraying the Qun to the Tevinter filth—and had been killed by a hero returned from the dead.
That hero was not only due a crown of laurels. The entire antaam had declared him Arishok. Now, as all of Qunandar watched and waited in anticipation, the Ariqun and Arigena stood on the steps of the viddathlok, also turned and looking upward, waiting for the new leader of the Qunari military to emerge.
Marian waited with the rest of them. Isabela and Asari stood with her. Varric and Fenris were not far off. They were positioned on a platform near the Arigena with other witnesses of the duel and those that could speak for Taarbas' good character. It was a shockingly large group, filling both sides of that tier on either side of the stairway. Soldiers that had served under him in Seheron and Kirkwall and other places. Qunra and venerable, retired warriors that had trained him, educated him, tamassran that had raised him. Some of them bore pale yellow ribbons, tied to their arms or in their hair or otherwise displayed. Marian had asked what it meant, for she had been given one, too. It was a symbol, Asari had told her, of one forced to bear shame they didn't deserve.
She looked down the sloping granite to the causeway. The antaam headed up the massive crowd. Ranks upon ranks of Qunari warriors in full battle dress stood at attention. Behind them was everyone else, stretching away so far that it was impossible that most could even see the specks of people on the viddathlok steps let alone hear anything that was said. That wasn't the point, however. An important ceremony as this was not missed by anyone. The feasting that would come after was guaranteed.
A soldier in the ranks let loose a shout, beating his sword rhythmically upon his shield. Others quickly followed suit, sounding the same cadence with their weapons and voices. "Ataash! Ataash!" Glory. Glory was his that was worthy to lead them. Gazes flew upward to the top of the steps, to the pillared chamber at the pyramid's peak. Taarbas stood there, fitted in the red leather pauldrons, the black leggings and boots, the blue leather chaps. His horns were ringed in bronze. His ears cuffed in the same gleaming metal. His shoulders were squared, his arms at his sides. He looked every inch the warrior he was born to be. But he was a warrior still without a weapon.
He descended the steps at a reserved pace, his eyes first taking in the expansive crowd. He might have been gaping. Marian couldn't tell from this distance. He lowered his face quickly, focusing on where he was going, on the two women waiting for him—the Ariqun with a crown of laurels and the Arigena with a long parcel of plain cloth balanced in her arms. As soon as he reached the platform with the others, he fell to his knees, his hands touching the sun-warmed stone as he bowed to touch his forehead to the ground between them. The Amell shield was still strapped to his back. Silence immediately fell over the crowd.
Abandon struggle and submit to the will of the Qun.
"Rise, Qunari." The voice of the Ariqun was firm to carry as far as it could. Taarbas did as he was commanded, and the laurels were placed upon his brow between his horns. "Ours is the relentless tide in the changeless sea, but even we know troubled waters. Even in exile, your will was that of the Qun. You upheld its undeniable truths even as one of our brothers betrayed them. For your service, Qunari, you have been found worthy of Sataareth, the soul of he who razed the foreign city of Kirkwall."
The Ariqun gestured, and Taarbas turned his attention over to the Arigena, the small kossith woman bowing her head in respect as she held her bundle up to him. With an almost gentle reverence, Taarbas pushed back the cloth to reveal the shining blade, newly polished and sharpened. He grasped it by the hilt and raised it above his head and out over the crowd.
"Victory in the Qun!" he bellowed.
Defend the Qun in the face of adversity.
The Arigena turned a little and motioned for Marian and Asari to step forward. Also Isabela and the others. The pirate looked more than a little afraid. It was bad enough that she was up here in front of thousands...maybe millions...and that debacle with the Tome of Koslun still haunted her in the back of her mind. Marian understood. To be double-crossed so many times was to lose all trust. But the Champion of Kirkwall held out her hand for Isabela to take. She did, and they stepped forward together, each giving strength to the other.
"But no Qunari should feel he need act alone." It was the Arigena's turn to speak. "It is through the bonds of our kinship in the Qun that we are strongest. It is our shared wisdom, our shared sense of justice, our shared understanding that we are not only able to endure but persevere. A capable leader knows to turn to his brothers and sisters for guidance." She nodded to another Qunari standing close by, a small elven woman who looked to be barely out of childhood. She wore the white robes of a viddathari but the lavender drape of the Arigena's office. She held several wreaths of sweet-smelling white flowers. Marian recognized them. Andraste's Grace. An appropriate yet ironic thing to be crowned with as each companion bowed in turn to receive their honors.
Embrace all Qunari as one's brothers and sisters in the Qun, regardless of race or origin.
"These same brothers and sisters that so aided this worthy Qunari began this journey as the unenlightened," the Arigena went on after the roar of cheering died down. "From the filth of corruption they crawled, aiding one that to them was a stranger. Through their trials, they have found and embraced their true purpose. Welcome them, brothers and sisters. Welcome them not only as worthy viddathari but as Qunoran. Their efforts should be an example to others—even those of us born into the Qun."
The sound that came next was deafening. Arms pumped in the air and hands waved. Makeshift banners flew as people held sashes and other bits of cloth aloft, speckling the sea of bodies with even more color. Marian could hardly breathe. This was the first time in years...years...that she felt like she'd actually done the right thing, made all the right choices, and the response was nothing but positive. This was not the desperation of Ferelden. Neither was it the arm-twisting of Kirkwall. This was...something so wonderfully unfamiliar to her she could do nothing but stare and smile dumbly.
Spread knowledge of the Qun to those ignorant of its teachings.
When the hush came again, the Ariqun's voice rang out once more. "And, thus, it is with beating hearts that we bestow this Qunari with the rank and title of Arishok, that he might lead our armies to victory, uphold our values in the face of adversity, and represent the will of the Qun in foreign lands. Aid him, brothers and sisters. It is with one Soul we feel, one Mind we understand, and one Body we act. One cannot function without the other—and we must never forget this. This, above all. Know your purpose. Perform your duty. Submit to the will of the Qun!"
Excel in your purpose that you might best serve all Qunari.
The thunder of voices and clashing weapons and clapping hands shook the very ground. Marian couldn't hear herself think. Asari was hugging each of them in turn, bouncing excitedly down the line and saying something but whatever it was was drowned out. Isabela, too, made a comment that never made it to Marian's ears. They were eventually all shuffled inside, back into the cool interior of the viddathlok, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the light. The din died down quickly.
Varric was at Marian's side in an instant.
"So. Hawke." His voice was low, conspiratorial.
She didn't respond verbally, merely tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. She was still significantly overwhelmed by the whole experience that just happened.
"Refugee, Mercenary, Templar, Champion, Viscount...and now Kingmaker? That's quite the resume you're racking up."
"I promise I won't let it go to my head," Marian replied with a small smirk. "But an Arishok isn't a king, you know."
"I know that...and you know that. But the general readership audience could care less about semantics."
