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If there was one thing Idralia was fully incapable of doing, it was keeping her big mouth shut. Right now, as she expelled the contents of her stomach over the side of The Defiant a few miles off the coast of Neketaka, sailing as fast as they could to get away from the city, it was a sardonically beneficial trait.
She hadn’t said a word to anyone since the battle at the Kahanga Palace. Onekaza had pushed her too far. This entire venture, she’d done her best to do right by everyone. But the politics of the Deadfire were what had driven her away from here in the first place and it was only fitting that it nearly became the end of her again for daring to return.
“What the hell have I done?” she croaked out over the port side railing, and she closed her eyes nearly as tightly as her white-knuckled, desperate grip. Gently, she felt a hand rest on her back, the touch apprehensively soft, as though it wasn’t sure if the comfort was welcome.
“You were unequivocally you in there,” Aloth’s voice was soft and neutral, though there was a tinge of sadness she recognized. She staggered off her resting grip to wipe her face and eyes, then held her forehead, fighting a dehydration headache that was sure to kick into full swing any moment.
“I killed people. And then I killed more people. All because I couldn’t tell one gods-damned lie,” the moment of pointed attention from everyone, of all her former allies looking to her to say the magic words that would weave Onekaza’s desires together, that she failed to deliver, rushed back all too quickly and she pushed down the nausea it re-induced. She was fairly certain there was nothing more she could eject had she tried.
“You refused to compromise who you are at the behest of someone who asked too much of you. I cannot blame you for choosing not to make an impossible decision,” he leaned forward on the railing next to her, looking out over the ocean as they watched the rapidly dissipating Huana city fade on the horizon. “In truth, I rather admire that you preserved that part of you,”
She scoffed, largely to herself, though she missed the slight frown it induced on her companion. “You don’t think I was terribly irresponsible and made the wrong choice? Because that’s how it feels. I failed the Huana. I failed the Rauataians. I may have even failed the Vailians as an added bonus. I threw it all away, and why? Because I had to be me?” she had turned to him now and he saw, perhaps for the first time, a completely vulnerable, unguarded Idralia. ‘She’s more lost right now than I’ve ever been,’
She smiled bitterly as she ran her hands up and over her face, removing her eye patch and hat, and dropping them unceremoniously to the deck of the ship. Her cropped hair had grown longer in the rapid-fire months of action that had driven them to this point. Though her posture betrayed the changes that had taken hold, she physically looked much as she did the night they’d shared mead and conversation in Caed Nua before facing Thaos. “I’m not even certain who 'me’ is anymore,” her voice wavered and the tears he could see gathering left an ache in his chest. How different the circumstances were now.
He began slowly, carefully constructing each thought. “In the time that we’ve spent together, from the first moment we met in Dyrford, you were always concerned for my well being. As time grew, specifically in regards to preserving my sense of self. Over time, you helped me realized who that was, by helping me quiet the noise and focus on the things I truly desired. And though I’ve constantly sought your guidance, never once did you tell me who I should be. You left that for me to decide and even-” he hesitated, and she met his gaze. That seemed to give him enough resolve to continue. “-and even came to love me for it,” he finished quietly, privately reaching over and threading his fingers with hers.
“If there is anything I can give you now, it should be the reassurance that you’re more than what others make of you. You’re not just the Watcher. You’re not just Berath’s Herald. You’re Idralia, of Aedyr, of the Deadfire, of Caed Nua, of the Defiant,” Aloth’s words grew with a pace of conviction, and he smiled gently at her. “You’re my Idralia,” he grew quiet and pointed again, as though, even now, there was a chance she might reject his words. “And, though you may not see the results right now, or even in our lifetimes, Eora is all the better for having you in it.”
She closed her eyes tightly, and took a slow, steadying breath. “I appreciate the pep talk, but let’s at least get through whatever Eothas has planned before declaring I’ve been a good influence on the fate of all kith,” she smiled at him again, though this one held more dark amusement and much less despair. He found the side of his own mouth quirked upwards in a smirk despite the heavy conversation. ‘There she is,’
“I have absolutely no doubt you will do what’s best, what’s within your power, when the time comes,” she squeezed his hand at the affirmation, and he reached up with his other hand to brush her eyes clear of the moisture that had gathered, but not yet fallen. “While I can’t bear this weight with you, I will be at your side to see it through. You have my word.”
Her mouth made the motions of words of thanks, but no sound left her throat. All this time, she had held it in. She’d tried to remain stoic, hefted the weight of the literal world on her shoulders, and grinned and bore it while it crushed her. In all her adventures, right now was the first, possibly only, time she truly felt its gravity. She gripped his hand tighter, and he could feel her trembling, beginning to crumble. He wasted no time in pulling her protectively close before proceeding to escort her below deck to her quarters, shooing curious crew away with a pointed look.
Away from the crew, away from their other compatriots, and away from the world in general, Idralia let every tear, pain, regret, and emotion she’d held in for years spill forth. Aloth, only Aloth, always Aloth, was there for every moment of it.