The caravan was on the move again, but Amell forfeited her usual seat next to Sorrel. Instead, she and Sten hopped up in the back of the wagon and, among crates and sacks, she started telling him everything.
At first, it was only general information, about lyrium overdose. Then, it was about her lack of control and how she ended up freezing that field. She made a brief conversational detour into Sorrel's problem, but eventually, she found herself having to tell him about her spontaneous crossing through the Veil.
It was difficult to convey just how unsettling the experience was, or why, but he'd been into the Fade as well, so he had to have some inkling.
"It's not something that happens without reason," she said conclusively, feeling drained by talking so much.
"I see," Sten said, more to himself than to her.
"Do you?" she sighed.
She began wringing her hands, an uncharacteristic gesture of nervousness.
"I see that it would be unwise to go through with Sorrel's request."
Amell looked at him in surprise.
"What? But... if there's really a maleficar--"
"If there really is a maleficar, are you in any condition to do anything about it?"
She started to reply, but he interrupted her.
"Be honest, kadan. Towards me and towards yourself. In your current state, could you face a maleficar and hold your own?"
"I don't know," she answered despondently and buried her face in her hands. "I don't know," she repeated, her voice muffled.
"Then we will not risk it," Sten decided.
"No--" She looked up and hesitated for just a second before continuing, "No, it might pass. I could be recovered by the time we reach Mintara."
Sten stayed silent, but his doubts hung heavily in the air between them. Amell felt foolish all of a sudden.
"If you are recovered by then, we will do as you wish," he relented in the end. "But... I will not allow you to risk your life needlessly."
"I don't need your permission," she said petulantly.
"Yet you still want it," he replied. "You are a strange woman."
Amell huffed, but she still had to bite back a small grin.
* * *
Evening arrived.
Amell watched in apathy as the camp was set in the ruins of a former Tevinter outpost. The stone was gnawed down by time, but it was still the highest thing in the prairie, even though there was not even a wall left taller than a man's stature.
She set her bedroll behind a wall, in the shadows, away from sight. She hadn't seen Sorrel yet. She dreaded her next encounter with the woman and the disappointing conversation that might ensue. Added to that was the dread that she might never recover. That any spell she cast from this point on would drain her dry and run out of control.
But these were not things she wanted to think about, so she pulled out the skyball from her pocket.
The polished stone was as dark as the sky above, but the tiny dots across the surface glowed like pinpricks of moonlight. This surprised her. She'd never actually seen the skyball at night before. She usually played with it during the day, rubbing it like a worry stone, but even though she always told herself that she would compare it with the night sky one day, she just as often forgot about it completely.
Now, she began to wonder what kind of paint had been used to achieve this effect.
Her musings were cut short by firm footfalls approaching. She raised her head to see Sten.
"Do you wish to be alone?" he asked softly, as if not wishing to impose his presence if it was unwanted.
"No," she replied. "Please stay."
He nodded and left for a short while, before returning with his own bedroll.
He set it next to her and she wondered, briefly, how he'd known she was even there. She was concealed from view almost completely. But she was not about to complain that he was there now. He started unlatching his armor and removing it in practiced motions. Amell returned her attention to her skyball.
Eventually, he sat down next to her and they were both leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder.
Amell noticed just then how cold it had become and how much heat Sten emanated, but she remained still, staring blankly at the orb in her hand, incapable of recalling what she was thinking about before that moment.
She looked up at the stars as if they could provide an answer.
"Do you know any constellations?" she asked, struck by a sudden curiosity.
"Yes."
She waited for him to continue and almost sighed when he did not.
"Could you show me?" She moved the hand holding the skyball closer to him.
He took the polished stone, fingers brushing her palm as he grasped it, and turned it around. After a while, he started speaking.
"This--" He pointed to a cluster of dots that looked no different to Amell than others, "is Ossun, the Water-Bearer."
"Water-Bearer?" she muttered, even though she was not sure what she was looking at.
"It represents the image of a woman carrying a jug of water on her head."
"Why?" she asked.
"...Why?" he repeated, seemingly incapable of understanding the question.
"Why is she wearing a water jug on her head?"
"It is how women carry water in Seheron."
"What's wrong with their arms?"
"I assume jugs are slippery."
"So why not use buckets?"
"...This conversation is absurd."
"I'm sorry," Amell grinned unapologetically. "I never really understood constellations. I mean-- I don't see the shapes other people see in them."
Sten raised an eyebrow, but then he leaned in conspiratorially and admitted, "Neither do I."
Amell chuckled.
"However, stars are useful for navigation and travel in general. They provide orientation."
"Oh."
Amell readjusted her position, only by coincidence leaning against Sten's shoulder slightly.
"This one," Sten continued, showing another constellation star by star, "is called Shakan. They say it was once a beautiful bird, kept in a cage by a prideful shah. When the cage was opened one day, it flew out and so high into the sky that it became part of it."
"Shah?" she queried.
"Long ago, before the Qun, the nations of my people were united under the rule of a shah. A... king of kings, I suppose humans would call him," he explained.
"Who rules the Qunari now?"
"We are ruled by the Qun."
It was not the answer she wanted to hear, but she knew Sten well enough to realize it was the best she'd get.
"Were there many of these shahs?" she asked instead.
"Countless. They were assassinated quite frequently," Sten said bluntly. "But of those times, the legend of the Shakan remains. Its name literally translates as 'shah's pride'."
"So the shah lost his pride?" Amell surmised.
"In a sense. His pride was placed in something that could never truly belong to him, so it was lost completely."
They remained silent for a long time.
"Does it worry you?" Amell asked at some point, her voice low and soft. "Do you fear that you'll lose me because you think I'm not really yours?"
"Not in particular. I have also lost things that were truly mine, before."
"You mean Asala?"
"And my wife."
Amell thought she'd misheard at first. But as she turned her incredulous gaze on him, something about his posture and his expression told her that this was truly happening. He was looking into the distance as if remembering, as if this insanity were true...
"I-- I didn't know you--" she started, but couldn't find the words to continue.
"When I was young and first distinguished myself as an apt soldier of the Beresaad, the Tamassran considered me worthy of a wife. Eventually, I became married to an artisan from Par Vollen. We had only one year together before she suffered her untimely death."
He spoke this in such a normal voice that Amell started wondering if this was some bizarre dream. And somewhere along the line, she started wishing it were.
"How did she die?" Amell asked, feeling hollow as she did.
"An illness," Sten replied sedately. "Such things happen. It was a long time ago."
Amell nodded dumbly, even as she felt blood rushing in her ears.
She rose to her feet awkwardly, her head feeling light from the shock. He made a move to rise as well, but she gestured for him to stop.
"Don't! Just... I'll be back. Please, wait here," she said.
And then she disappeared into the darkness of the open fields, confused and uncertain.