Chapter Text
Everlund
Alturiak 10, 1487
The Phantom Knight Inn
“Are you gonna help me with this or what?” Aelius asked, somewhere in the middle of grooming his and Promise’s warhorses. He was leading her grey back inside the stable attached to whatever Inn this was—Promise knew, he didn’t care so long as they had a decent cook, a decent bath, and a decent bed. He’d have shared one with the entire Company at this point, so long as it was horizontal.
Both were fractious and irritated that he was keeping them from warm mash and a dry stall in order to groom the mud from their coats and the stones from their hooves. Promise’s horse was done and settled, finally, and now he clicked his tongue at his mount and took up the lead to bring it into the yard where he could see better.
“They do not like me,” Promise said, and to be sure her own mount pawed at the door to the stall as the tiefling approached, the horse’s ears laid back. Promise flicked out her fingers, the moonlight glimmer of her magic beginning to gather around the tips. “But perhaps I can do something else?”
“Y’know what? Nevermind,” Aelius shook his head with a bit of a smile for his partner. “Just… stand clear, then.”
“Gladly,” Promise said. She followed him out into the yard (patches of frost-covered grass and piles of three-day-old snow, which would surely add yet another coat of mud to the horses once it thawed out) where he tethered the Black on the lee side out of the wind. The grooming bucket was already there and he retrieved the hoof pick like he was going into battle.
He heard her take up a watch position, leaning against the wall out of kicking distance, where she could see him and all of the yard. Then he had no more thought to spare to anything but the task of getting his stupid horse to lift its stupid hooves so he could clean them.
There were other people moving in and out of the yard, patrons and revelers and travelers. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up to hear them where he couldn’t see them, but he trusted Promise and tried to put it out of his mind.
Until his partner spoke up, sounding uncertain. “Aelius. You have a sister, do you not?”
“Got a bunch of sisters,” he grunted, finally digging a rock out from under the Black’s shoe with enough force it pinged against the side of the barn. The Black snorted and yanked its hoof from his hands, stamping down and nearly missing his booted foot. “Why?”
Promise didn’t reply, which set a warning shiver up his spine that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the deep winter wind and everything to do with the new set of boot steps crunching up behind him.
“Aelius?”
“That’s me, what d’ya want?” The voice hailing him was naggingly familiar, but he didn’t immediately turn to look.
“Is that really how you’re gonna greet family, you ass?”
Family?
Fuck.
Aelius turned around slowly, flipping the hoof pick in his hand. There was a tall aasimar girl standing just outside kicking range. He’d have known she was aasimar even if he hadn’t lived with them since he was six years old. Her skin shimmered with a faint golden glitter as if someone had dusted her with ground mica, her eyes were pale icy blue and her mass of braided hair was so white-blonde it almost glowed. She stood out from the background as if she didn’t quite belong on this plane, haloed by otherworldliness. Gods he hated it.
The sword she bore on her back clinched any doubt he might have had about whether or not this particular aasimar was one of his siblings. It was a greatsword as wide as both of his palms and nearly as tall as Promise, of blued steel chased with gold; he knew without looking the pommel was engraved with the icon of his—of Summerheart. He’d seen it in the hands of its original wielder, a lifetime ago.
“You’re Atarah.”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. He kept his chin up, knowing full well she saw the dark mirror of their father; black hair, dark olive skin, dark eyes--smudged with dirt and grime from a long two weeks of travel. Even his furs were dark, whereas she wore the thick white and gray spotted pelt of a crag cat over her shoulders.
“Holy shit, you grew.” His baby sister wasn’t so baby anymore. She was shorter than him but only by a hair, and stood much like a fighter would; as if she was so used to the weight of armor without it she was unfinished and light. He could sympathize; even heavy winter furs wasn’t quite enough to feel normal. But it was annoying to do chores in full plate; his was up in their rooms with Promise’s set.
Atarah rolled her eyes and he saw briefly the petulant eight year old she’d been when he’d left. “That happens when you haven’t seen someone in ten years.”
“Yeah, well.” Aelius shrugged and dragged the grooming bucket closer, dumping the hoof pick and rummaging for a brush. “I was busy.”
“WIth what? Where’ve you been ?” Atarah said, heat and venom entering her voice. She didn’t quite step closer, so she showed some horse sense, even though it was clear she wanted to. “Mama’s been worried sick—you never wrote, you never even visited Papa, we had no idea—”
“None of your fucking business, that’s where,” Aelius spat back, saving her the trouble and getting into her face. There was a lot of their dad in that face. How dare she show up here, reminding him of everything he’d tried to get away from. “Go on home, then, you’ve seen me—”
“No. I’m taking you home too, jerk. But first I’m taking you to the Temple—”
“I’d like to see you try—”
Aelius had a split second to recognize the look in her eye before he got a closed fist slammed into his stomach. He, veteran of a ten year mercenary career and more fights, fists or otherwise, than he could count, really ought to have seen that bloodlust spike.
He stumbled back a step, huffed a breath around his spasming diaphragm, and grinned.
Somewhere off to his right he saw Promise intercept someone behind his sister; he got a flash of short horns and more blonde hair (another tiefling?) before he threw himself forward. He hit Atarah hard in the middle with a shoulder and bore them down into the frozen yard.
Their fight was nothing that could have been called fair or even a decent display of skill. They tumbled in the yard like a pair of tavern brawlers, each trying to pin the other. Atarah got him good in the nose with an elbow and then for insult dumped a double handful of snow down the back of his coat. He, in turn, ground her face into the yard they were quickly churning to mud and smeared her pretty white furs with it for good measure.
“You’re going if I have to knock you down and drag you—!” Atarah snarled, driving a knee into his back.
“I left for a godsdamned reason,” Aelius growled, heaving her off and twisting to slam her into the mud.
“I don’t give a shit for your reasons,” She huffed around a faceful of dirt, hanging onto his arm like dead weight, dragging him down. “Everyone always leaves and I’m fucking tired of it!”
“Yeah, well, join the fucking club.”
In the end they were both bleeding from a handful of pressure cuts or bloodied noses, equally covered in filth and equally unable to get the upper hand on the other. Aelius was stronger, but she was much better at finding ways to deprive him of leverage and twist him up.
“Truce?” Atarah said, breathing hard into the back of his neck. She had his right arm twisted up between his shoulder blades but he was up on one knee, his other arm clamped around her leg, and was pretty sure he could slam her into the dirt again …And was equally sure she would dislocate his shoulder if he tried.
He didn’t respond right away, weighing his options. She put a little more pressure into her hold until he had to grind his teeth against the ache—yeah. She could definitely put his shoulder out of joint and with not a lot of effort.
“Yeah. Truce.”
She let his arm go and he let her leg go. He surged to his feet and wiped his nose with the back of his arm, smearing blood across his face. Atarah grinned at him through her own smear, eyes bright and cheerful, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “You didn’t do too bad, baby sister.”
She smacked him on the shoulder, a friendly hit this time, and light blossomed under her open palm. Sunlit magic rippled through him and he felt the divine touch of their father soothe every little cut and bruise she’d just given him away into nothing. He didn’t growl at it, but it was a near thing. And a vastly different flavor than Promise’s moonlight-and-stormcloud healing.
“So, paladin?” he said, pulling a brush from the bucket as if he hadn’t just gotten into a fist fight and applying it with vigor to the Black’s coat.
“Yeah. Papa’s paladin.” She applied the same sunlight magic to her own face, then wiped off the blood with a rag fished from a belt pouch. “Can we get a drink or something and talk, now? I have a ton of news for you.”
He sighed. “You’re not gonna leave me alone till I go with you, are you?”
“Nope!”
“Fuck. Alright. Lemme put the Black away and we’ll go get a drink. I’m gonna need one if we’re gonna go see Dad anyways.”
Promise appeared in the barn as he was stuffing a flake hay each into both horses’ feed nets. She had been talking with the other tiefling— Atarah’s companion, apparently— during their tussle, wisely knowing when she was needed to step in and when he just needed to hit something. “Are you alright? With her?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. She’s just as annoying as she was as an eight year old.”
Promise touched his chin and made him turn to look into her eyes. The blank silver expanse of them had been unnerving when he’d first met her, but he’d learned better since and saw nothing but concern now. “That is not what I meant, Aelius Stormsworn.”
Aelius leaned in and touched his forehead to hers, just between the horns, his arm sliding around her waist. “I mean it. I’ll be ok. Should have figured Dad would send someone to check up on me eventually. You should know—it’s real hard to escape a god. Even a weak one.”
“If you’re sure.” She drew away slowly at his nod. “I’ll wait for you inside, then, with Tranled. Come in when you’re ready.”