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Chapter Text

If there was one thing that Kotallo had come to understand and quickly, it was that wherever Aloy went, so did the eyes of all who encountered her. 

Like now. 

Sat in a quiet corner of a lively feasting hall deep within Meridian’s palace, surrounded by all manner of new and familiar faces. Each one telling tales of adventure, commiserating with one another over stories of the lost and remembered. Their joy and infectious relief permeated every available inch of space- yet amongst it all Kotallo found himself watching. 

His gaze trained steadily on the figure of a man he might’ve killed given different circumstances- the Usurper, the Sun King, a Carja. He had been introduced by so many names of influence and yet Aloy simply called him, “Avad.” Something so commonly familiar it was a privilege that any could see was reserved for her alone. 

Hekarro had seen her potential. Her prowess as a warrior and perhaps more, and it stood… well… stands, to reason that of course Aloy should know yet another man of such significance and claim his respect. Because simply put, she was Aloy. The Champion of the Tenakth, the Savior of Meridian, the Anointed of her own people. 

But Kotallo knew she didn't care for the titles. He saw clearly how uncomfortable she appeared under the weight they placed on her shoulders. How she hesitated anytime she was treated with exception. Always preferring to say, "Just Aloy," but tonight she didn't correct anyone for their use of it.

"Perhaps for the sake of the Embassy," he mused. 

He took a quick swig from the flagon that Erend had come by with, asking about a game of Strike after the feast. And he had agreed in a way that by anyone else would have appeared dismissive, but Erend had taken it in stride. He too seemingly preoccupied with escaping the hall and Kotallo had not missed the way the Vanguardsmens eyes had flicked in the direction of his King as he strode out and away.  It was his gaze that had led his own to follow, his thoughts swirling as he took in the scene unfolding before him. 

Even a blind man could see the way that the newest Carja King held only Aloy in his gaze. 

Like a dying Tenakth in the abandoned desert discovering a wellspring. 

“Savior” he would call her- though he said it jokingly, it was not lost on anyone all the weight that it carried as it slipped reverently out of his mouth. Practically a pet name.  One so full of depth and longing it was like the yearning song the Utaru would weave for their Land Gods praying for return. 

And despite all manner of differences, ill-history, and general distrust, Kotallo felt some kind of bizarre kinship with the man. 

Because before them both stood Aloy. Wreathed in the sway of her flame-like hair. The air around her heavy with potentialities incomprehensible to men like them made ordinary in her presence.  

Somehow right within reach but each too in awe to grasp. 

Avad saw Aloy in a way that was more than a King grateful to the hero of his kingdom. He saw his savior, and more than that, Kotallo knew, Avad saw his own hopes contained within her. Freedoms, a life he must imagine beyond the shackles of being King all tucked secretively away in the curve of that knowing grin she so often wore.  

And Kotallo saw… he saw… well, what didn’t he see? 

A huntress? Certainly. 

A marvel? To behold. 

A miracle? Without question. 

And he was drawn to her, like so many others it would seem as if it were by some universal design, an inevitability that he was helpless to deny. 

 
Of course, it had been against all reason and better judgment when he had found himself bending to her will that night at Stone Crest. “For the security of the mission” he had muttered to himself as he watched her scurry along the crags of the Bulwark- her scheme then still unknown to him. 

And again when she ran off into the wood, he would think “For the Chief”, as he helped her to claim parts of a machine that any Tenakth warrior in the best of physical conditions, would have hesitated to approach. 

Still yet, he would convince himself, “For her own good," as he gave warning after warning for her to back-off and back-down from challenging Tekotteh. From fighting a battle that was so clearly a Tenakth issue and of no concern of her own beyond her deal with the Chief. 

Yet she never flinched. 

Not once. 

Not when facing the looming walls of the Bulwark, nor in her duty to maintain the Kulrut. A battle that would have easily earned her a place amongst the Marshals had the circumstances been different. 

Had she not been on a quest of her own, had there not been Regalla, the Blight, the Zeniths... everything. 

Would she too have made a home for herself amongst the people of the Lowlands, like Fashav? 

He let his mind wander to what could have been and the path felt dangerous in a way he had never known possible.

Any tribe would see her for who she was and accept her with ready arms. Easily. Squads of young, hopeful Tenakths would compete for her guidance and technique. If given the chance he knew, she would develop into an undeniable figure of strength donned in the armor of the Marshals and he would have been there beside her to see her grow. 

To listen to her heart beat amongst the others in the still of the night as they traversed the Lowlands enacting Hekarro's vision. To bond over triumphs and the ready companionship shared amongst those who worked towards the betterment of the tribes. 

A particular vision of Aloy, her face awash in the glow of a successful hunt, her hair wild and free, and a smile so bright flitted into his mind, and his heart clenched. 

Another life, maybe. 

But this one wasn't so bad. He was here, wasn't he? Sitting safely within the palace of a people he was raised to hate, feasting, and he would admit, jealously eyeing their king. 

But she was here. Within sight. Within reach. 

If he had any less restraint, he could not have stopped himself from the way his eyes begged to roll at the sight of the other man, as it were he was saved. Not by his strength but by the figure of Vanasha lithely coming to stand in his view. 

"Our Sun King has great regard for the little huntress." Her eyebrow quirked and her tone full of some meaning. 

"A woman of secrets." Kotallo thought to himself. 

Vanasha had been introduced at the Embassy as the nanny of Itamen, the Sun-King's youngest relative and next in line for the throne. The True Heir, he had been told. He hadn't questioned it then, but watching the way the Carja man seemed to hang on the promise of every word Aloy deigned to utter, he wondered if it were more than the shackles of being king that motivate him to step aside for his young brother. 

He contemplated raising his own eyebrow in response to Vanasha's, instead, he merely gestured to a seat beside him.

She took it gracefully. Well-coiled and poised. Kotallo was reminded of an animal he had seen in his Focus, something the Old Ones referred to as a "Panther".

They sat for a time, the raucous celebration of the feast around filling the air, both watching, waiting, and then Vanasha broke the silence, "She is fierce." She says, "Brighter than the Sun on some occasion, and probably more than our King can handle." 

The corner of his mouth twitched up, "More than anyone could handle, probably." Which he knew to be true. Aloy, a vision of the hunt and a woman who nearly prowled as she walked through the land- that image of her could not be contained by any life in the palace. Anyone could see how restless she would inevitably grow. 

He watched as the Sun King pressed his head closer, like a moth drawn to flame. Their conversation was changing in tone, his face alternating between anxious and hopeful. And then there was Aloy, her posture quickly evolving into that of a cornered machine. The easy comfort she had held herself with throughout the evening now leaving her body and instead her muscles were tensing, her eyes dropping away from Avad and off into some distance. An exit, maybe? His eyes narrowed just slightly, his mind alert and ready for whatever may come next. 

Her mouth moved in some response and then she was standing. Not so quickly as to raise alarm, but quickly enough to let those who knew her know hat she was escaping, She was making her exit. Her figure disappearing from the hall and out into one of the many terraces this place seemed to contain in excess. 

So he had been right. 

Vanasha sighed beside him.

"Do you see? Not easily handled that one," and she moved to stand as well, her hand extending out to him as an offer of assistance. But he didn't need it. He moved his eyes purposefully from her to her Sun King, his head tilting as if to wordlessly say "Go ahead." 

And at that her own secretive smile somehow grew even more. Widening only a fraction as she took him in, and then she was off. Her quiet footsteps the mark of a skilled hunter leading her back to Avad, and it would be known perhaps only to her why her smile seemed to grow wider still as she heard Kotallo's final words at her back,  "Because she does not need handling."

His low tone vibrated the air between them. Heavy, and full of something she saw now in her King as he watched Aloy slip away from him once more. 

Kotallo's words, a rare gift from someone who said so little and gave even less away.

A privileged piece of information for her to tuck into a corner of her mind.

Another secret for her to carry. For now. 

Chapter Text

The rising sun in Meridian was certainly something to behold. 

Kotallo could admit that much. 

Maybe it was the way that their sun burned bright. It dyed the plains and cliffs surrounding the palace in a particularly vibrant shade of red that lent itself quite naturally to his favor. Like a jewel in the desert, or the glowing embers inside an Oseram forge. 

If he had been in the right state of mind, perhaps it would have even registered as something he wouldn't soon forget. 

But the sunrise only managed to register so far as a nominal distraction from the consequences of a restless night.  

He had waited, of course, a respectful amount of time before he had downed what was left of his flagon and had quietly taken his leave. No had one stopped to keep him either, though he had tolerated the flash of “knowing” in Vanasha’s eyes as he passed her by. 

A dangerous woman indeed. He had made a mental note to keep away from her during the remainder of the Embassy, lest she collect any more secrets from him. Not that he had many. Or any... well, perhaps just the one. But could a person even be counted as a secret?

He was drawn to her, yes, that much was clear to himself.  But the mess she left in his mind, the way she reduced him to his days as an inexperienced whelp in even the simplest of exchanges- was that feeling alone grounds for being considered something so salacious as a secret? 

He didn't think so, but he also didn't feel like having all of the Sundom in on the turbulent way his body and emotions seemed to be out of sync with each other when it came to a certain flame-haired huntress. 

Whom he had found on a terrace, just as he had suspected. Her feet dangled over the edge of the railing as she sat on the banister. Her eyes were trained off into the distant sky, and she was… whistling? 

His eyes tracked from the small pucker of her mouth, the sharp tone of her call bright and clear, to the swooping glint of metal in the sky. 

The Sunwing. 

Of course. 

Of course, she would have found a new way to communicate with the metallic creature.  He knew the Focus had helped them all to see machines in new ways, but once again he felt a step behind.

She was always thinking, always analyzing new ways of interacting with their world- it was second nature to her at this point. Anyone could see how she dove into learning like a Glinthawk into a scrap pile. So of course, why wouldn't she use it as a source of distraction? His eyes softened just ever so to the untrained bystander, and he counted himself lucky that Aloy had not looked at him directly yet. 

Her instincts were too strong for him to surprise her. He knew this. She had seen him in the peripheral well before he had made it within fifteen feet of her, and he watched as she changed her posture into something more… something more contained. He frowned, but he would leave it be.  

When he was within arms reach of her, she whistled quickly, the pitch of it one abrupt note that rose as quickly as it appeared, and then it was over. Faster than he could blink she gave the signal and the Sunwing swooped from the sky to land on its perch within the castle grounds. 

Another thing that Avad had arranged for her.  Kotallo's eyebrow ticked at his own mental note. 

The silence filled the air between them and he wondered if he should say anything at all. If there was anything he could say that wasn’t, “I was watching you, tonight.”  But he needn’t have worried as she took the initiative, her voice measured and thick with something she rarely shared. 

“Rost had always been a silent man. He never prepared me for things like this.” And she gestured loosely at their surroundings. 

“He had always known that one day I would go back to the Embrace, back to Mother’s Heart, and I know he had thought that I would learn there. But I didn’t. I couldn't. There... hadn't been time.”  

She looked forlorn.

And Kotallo had never felt more helpless.  

Aloy rarely shared about her time in the Nora lands- the only context any of their motley squad had gleaned about the faraway East was shared by Varl, who had said many times that his time there was definitively different from hers and could not be compared. 

No one probed further, instead they each had somehow agreed to wait for Aloy to share. When- they didn't know, but they would be ready to receive should it happen. 

And now it was and Kotallo stood quietly, feeling something tug deep in the cavity of his chest with each carefully chosen word. 

“I don’t know how to be all these things that people say they need from me. I barely know how to be the me who is honoring Elisabet's mission. But I’m trying and-“ Aloy cut herself off with a shaky breath. Her face turned upwards, her eyes piercing the sky as if willing them open to her. 

“It’s just hard… people- people are hard.” 

Kotallo saw the way her eyes shone in the dim light of the new moon. Tears. He swallowed hard and turned his own face to the sky, mimicking her movement. It was a wordless gesture of privacy for the errant droplets that might still stubbornly escape. 

But she hadn’t needed it, of course, because she was Aloy and instead she plastered on a brave smile and faced him. 

“Thanks for that, Kotallo. I hope I didn’t burden you.” Her voice was steady, only her breathing shook as she inhaled. Always so strong. He wanted to frown but he refrained. 

Instead, he carefully trained his face into something closer to neutral. Something safe. Only his eyes conveyed his sincerity as he said, “Never a burden.”  

He had hoped that she understood, and he was rewarded with a real smile. Something soft and full of relief. He felt his stomach flip as the tension in his chest uncoiled and instead was replaced with something warm.

Kotallo made a mental note to speak with the Utaru woman, Zo, over the focus when he had a spare moment. Was it sickness perhaps that was the cause of all these unexpected and foreign sensations? Perhaps only a doctor could tell...

But then, Aloy had placed her hand atop his. Feather-light, the roughened callouses from years of weapons training just barely grazing across the tops of his own. Both resting on the cool marble banister of the terrace and the contrasting heat of her skin felt like fire as his nerve endings roared to life at her unexpected touch. 

His eyes moved from their joined hands to her face, every ounce of his control and training fighting to maintain his composure and Kotallo only registered that she had stepped closer to him, their shared space having deliberately become so small- so imperceptible-  long after it had happened. Everything about her in that moment had been a visage of warmth and sincerity and Kotallo had stopped breathing. 

Her eyes searched for something in his own- seconds or an eternity, time passed, and for how long he didn't know. But whatever it was that she found seemed to satisfy her, because the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly up. 

“Thank you.” She had said. Her voice had been soft, but not meek. It was something low and deliberate, and it was laced with… he didn’t know. Couldn’t place it, but it washed over him like the radiating warmth of a burning fire. And then she was gone. Her soft steps disappeared into the palace shadows. 

But Kotallo had stood, rooted. His hand gripping the edge of the banister for all that he was worth- he had been shaken and all she had said was "Thank You." 

Years spent training to gain mastery over himself only to be undone by so slight a woman. Her slender hand had seared its likeness onto his own. 

He didn't know how for how long he had remained there. The moon's shadows stretched and yawned around him and then, somehow, he was in bed. 

Though he could hardly say he slept. 

 And now he stood watching as the sun crested the horizon. Its languid climb into the sky the only thing to note the time that had passed.  His mind overrun by a tangled mess of red hair, spattered freckles, and the phantom touch of her hand. 

By the Ten grant him strength, because Kotallo knew not how he was supposed to manage the remaining days of this Embassy. So much of it unnecessarily weighed down by pomp and circumstance- yet made tolerable by Aloy's presence alone. 

He knew Hekarro had thrown her name into the briefing on the Embassy on purpose. Had watched the way he clamped down on his reactions so as not to give anything away- and perhaps that is what had given everything away. Hekarro knew. He knew and this was his way of giving a blessing he didn't need. A blessing he didn't have the right to lay claim to. 

He needed to contain himself. 

She was his Commander, and she had a mission. And Kotallo knew better than any what it meant to serve your mission. To put it first before everything. So why was he here, in this over-assuming palace, watching the Sun-King trip over himself for even a shred of her attention? 

And not just the Sun King- there were others. How could he place himself amongst their ranks, knowing how much their feelings only weighed her down? 

Because he couldn't help himself. 

Just like the others- he couldn't help but crave the days that closed the distance between them. He couldn't help but wait for her command, though his time as her self-appointed subordinate had long since passed, all he needed was an order. He could take that. He didn't have to have her hand- though the memory of it lingered and he flexed his hand in response. 

An order brought certainty- certainty of his position in her life and the way that it might continue. 

So maybe even that was why he was truly here. Not for this Embassy or for the talks of peace- he knew that Aloy had all but assured those things on her own.

No, he was here to determine his place. 

Beside or behind, it mattered not-just so long as he had one. He would be satisfied, and this greed he felt that burned inside him would abate. 

A ragged sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sun. He let the warmth of it cascade over him much like her words the night before and he shut his eyes even tighter. 

Clear thoughts, clear mind, clear body. Clear thoughts, clear mind, clear body. 

The mantra cycled feebly through his mind and he grimaced at the effort. 

Today would be a long day indeed. 

Chapter Text

By the ten this day might never end.  

Kotallo resisted the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose. An action that would do little to ease the tension that was undoubtedly brewing there, but might at least serve as a distraction to make being here even that much more tolerable. 

It had been hours now spent around this table of self-important Carja, listening to them snivel and whine for their chance at input. Each of them laden in brocades and silk, with not a scrap of armor on a single one of them. 

Kotallo wondered how the Sun King could stand to hear any of it. 

After a lifetime of Tekotteh’s slithery schemes, he was certain that if he could go the rest of his life without having to listen to the privileged plights of these people- he swore would hang up his spear and die at peace tomorrow. A true rarity amongst the Tenakth -practically unheard of- but unparalleled in its appeal in this moment. Oh, how he would trade if the Ten would but offer.  

Nothing about this day had felt truly fruitful and it was closer to listening to Tekotteh than he could ever possibly care for. From the Bulwark to the Sundom, somehow there would always be fools in their towers playing at being clever. It was to his credit that the Sun King did appear to be genuine in his effort to broker a lasting peace between the clans. One that might at least marginally mutually beneficial in some small way. 

Most of it through the exchange of frivolities- luxuries that have little place in the rough wildlands of the west, but what else could they offer? Military might? He nearly snorted at that. Aloy might have some use for it, but the Tenakth as a people? He contemplated tucking that thought away to tell Hekarro later for a laugh. 

Still, it was something, and with the recovery from the damage done by DEMETER through the Blight being something that could not be rushed, there was truth that the clans were not without their own needs. 

Food had always been a scarcity and that scarcity was even greater now. Crop sharing and agriculture beyond what the Utaru alone could supply would be no small thing. Every little bit would go a long way because the Tenakth would make it so. It was he supposed, worthwhile to sit and suffer through these regrettably tedious discussions if only for that reason alone. 

And they as the Tenakth, what could they really trade in return? Man-power? Land? Most of it was still teeming and damn-near overrun with machines. He couldn’t picture any of these delicately ornamented Carja nobles stepping one foot into a place so potentially treacherous. They’d agreed on returning the items and people lost to them during the Raids, but for how long could that pacify them before they demanded something more in return? 

Aloy had brilliantly suggested machine parts. The takedown of machines was largely for sport in the Sundom, while the Tenakth saw it as a way of life. They could easily trade valuable parts and pieces should the reparations of the lost no longer be enough. 

But of course, always scheming and ready to pounce on any opportunity they could, the nobles had then suggested that Aloy be present as a mediator for every interaction between them during future Embassies. No doubt looking to aid their king in securing a lasting partnership with their Savior. Possibly evenearn a little favor of their own with the monarch. 

The way that Kotallo had almost outwardly scoffed at the King’s hopeful face could have landed him in trouble later with the Chief, but he endured the urge. Instead another of the Tenakth, one of the new young Marshalls who had fought alongside Aloy during the Kulrut spoke up, stating firmly that they could not possibly impose on the Champion in such a way. That they would not. 

It booked no room for argument. 

"Good," he had thought to himself.  

All Tenakth at the table had been in agreement about this. After all, they knew that Aloy had her own mission to see to because he had ensured as much. No, they would not impede her chance at success despite how much her presence would ease the discomfort of coming. 

They would make that sacrifice for her.

Even if it meant that they would be left to deal with these fools and their lovesick King on their own. 

He had chanced a glance at her then, his mind easing at the tension he saw leave her face. One less thing. One less person demanding more from her. He was proud that they could so readily be the source of that support, even though disappointment knocked in the back of his mind. 

However, it was the curious eyes that were now peering at him from the other side of the table that took him out of his thoughts.  

Eyes that belonged to a certain young prince, Itamen.  

The tiny royal had been sneaking curious glances at him for the majority of the day and had done a poor job of hiding it. Beside him, Vanasha made even less of an attempt to be surreptitious with her own glances. Her face may have maintained a perfectly crafted mask of indifference yet somehow Kotallo knew differently. He could feel the smirk in her entire posture. It was very irritating. 

As if she had known he would choose to avoid her going forward and without even having to try, she had somehow subverted even the thought of the attempt. And now, he was once more within close enough range of her that he couldn't be anything other than painfully aware of the hole she was burning into the side of his head. 

This day could not end faster, the Ten give him strength. 

She was looking at him again and he ignored her.

Instead, he made it a point to catch the young prince who had once again, tried (and failed) to steal a look at him.  

He had caught onto his pattern awhile ago, so he knew that any moment now, the boy would turn his head ever so slightly as if to look at his caretaker and then down towards the table, then up- 

Ah!  

He caught him. 

Immediately, the boy’s face flushed, color flooding his cheeks as a sharp intake of breath unwittingly escaped him. His gaze casting down so quickly that Kotallo worried the weight of his royal headdress might pull his head forward and connect with the table. 

Miraculously, it did not. 

Vanasha however, grinned openly. Kotallo making note once again of an individual so rife with mischief and standing so easily beside the future and current King. The benefit of all this had been that one of the Nobles who deemed it pressing to regale them with their own overly loquacious speech about what Kotallo had assumed amounted to nothing, had blessedly come to an abrupt end.  Every eye in the room turning now to the source of the gasp. 

Poor kid. 

Kotallo held back his amusement only out of sympathy.

Without missing a beat the Sun King gracefully stood. Addressing the table, “Perhaps, our meeting today has drawn too long.” His voice cutting smoothly through the silence, easily maneuvering the attention away from Itamen, who visibly relaxed. “Let us reconvene on this again in the morning, fresh as the new Sun.” He turned his back then, effectively dismissing the room and helping the brother to save face. 

A skill that all leaders must have, he noted. 

Chairs scraped and the shuffling of feet signaled everyone’s eager departure but Kotallo simply slid his eyes shut. Drawing a deliberate breath, exhaling slowly. 

Such a long day. 

Made even longer still as he opened his eyes, spotting the Sun King himself with Itamen in tow, rapidly approaching. The young prince clearly doing his best not to give in to his instinct and hide behind the composed figure of his brother. But Kotallo saw the discomfort, his fidgeting hands and shuffling feet contained all the nervous energy the boy was no doubt feeling. 

It made him think of the young ones in the Sky Clan. Of the times when it was finally their day to make their first excursion. A simple errand of learning to harvest and gather machine parts for the tribe to use, but daunting to the inexperienced nonetheless. 

It would be their first experience of freely walking beyond the protective walls of the Bulwark- walls that would have still seemed impenetrable and safe.  

A natural rite of passage to the Sky Clan. Even his own feet had hesitated as he made to follow his squad leader that day. And only the Ten know how his knees had shaken then. 

But Avad was before him now, and all thoughts of his childhood were put quietly away. Shuffled to the back of his mind for perhaps another restless night. 

He was met by the Sun King's earnest face-polite and honest, and he felt something twitch uncomfortably in his chest. 

“Come Itamen,” he said, and he held his hand out for the young prince, “Come greet him properly. Just as we have practiced.” His voice remained kind as he spoke to the boy- full of patience, and he was struck then by the awareness of just how different this man truly was from the long-held vision he had cultivated all his life. 

And Itamen, though he could see the way his tiny arms fidgeted with the hem of his robes, bravely stepped forward in a slightly clumsy gesture (a movement that was certainly rehearsed) and bowed his own head in deference before carefully announcing, “The Sundom welcomes you, respected warrior, as do I, the Prince... Itamen!” 

It was naturally, a bit awkward for a child to get out but he understood. The ease with which Avad and his own mother, the Dowager Queen Nasadi introduced themselves was something that came with time and experience. Something he had not had of his own yet. There would be little room for childhood as a royal, and his time to grow into his place as King had to be practiced early. But he was a still in this moment a child despite the great burden that he shouldered.

And he was endeared to see the way the young prince nearly broke his bow in his excitement to confirm with his brother if he had done everything correctly. 

A smile and a small nod that wordlessly conveyed, "You have done well." it was the sort of private and sincere exchange between brothers that spoke volumes to the care that they held for each other. There was another pang in his chest and Kotallo was forced to recognize a simple truth: 

Avad was a good man.  

The Sun King was no tyrant, only an honest man working towards a vision not so dissimilar to Hekarro's own, and Kotallo hated it. 

This revelation somehow felt worse than any blow he could be dealt in battle.  

Vanasha stepped in then, sensing something, ushering the tiny royal away. Her promises of "Training with Uthid" following after them and then he was alone. 

Alone in a room with probably the last person he ever wanted to be. 

The sun had already sunk low and he spotted a flash of something shiny in the distance. He wondered if it was Aloy, riding free on the wings of her machine, eager to unburden herself of the weight of the day. He envied her. 

It felt a little jarring to be in this space, so close to a man who had only his best intentions in mind and whom he was currently, doing his very best to mildly tolerate. 

What could he do in this moment? What could he say?

Should he shake his hand and say something to the effect of, "You too, huh?" in regards to Aloy, or would that be out of line?

Definitely out of line.

And by that logic, even if he did do that, should he then extend the same sentiment to Erend? Might as well just make a proper squad of things. How many would they pick up along the way? 

It didn't matter... well, ultimately, it shouldn't matter so long as he understood his position. 

The tension in between the two men was stifling, and the headache he had developed over the course of the day wreaked havoc on his mind. By the Ten, this was excruciating. 

Well to hell with it, he could only take so much. He was only one Marshal, one warrior, and the day had been long enough, he needed to go train or- or hunt, or lie down. He needed to be anywhere but here. 

He was retreating. Like a dog maybe, but he was done with this. 

Nodding sharply at the man before him, he took quick note of the flicker of disappointment in his eyes before it was carefully concealed by a polite understanding and then he was gone. Unable to stand any more of the King's sincerity. Moving out and away from that room as fast as his stride could take him he left swiftly by the wind without once looking back.  

Of this day, he could say with certainty, he'd had enough. 

Chapter Text

Thwack! 

The sound of the metal edge of his spear forcefully connecting against the wooden training pole filled the empty courtyard. 

He had run. 

Thwack! 

The sharp crack of every blow flashing red in his mind. Every strike precise and powerful and just teetering on the edge of his control. 

He had been chased out by his own emotions. 

Like a child afraid of the storm- 

Thwack!! 

He had run. 

Thwack-THWACK!! 

His chest heaved under the effort of his exertion, his breath heavy. 

What was he doing here? 

All that talk about coming to determine his position but he couldn’t even stand to face the opposition with honor. 

How could he suffer Aloy the indignity of the service of a coward?

His lip curled at the word. 

His agitation sharpened till it pricked at the back of his throat and he all but roared as he slammed the blade of his spear into the unsuspecting training pole. 

Like lightning striking a tree, it split through the center, the impact of it embedding the blade of his spear deep into the base of it. 

He had released it then, his hand wrenching free from the shaft of it, glaring angrily into his palm as though offended by the remaining appendage.

His throat burned, his face hot with frustration.  

“Sure would hate to be that guy” The self-approving voice of Vanasha cut through the din of rushing blood in his ears- unwelcome as ever. 

Would he really never be free of this woman? 

He took in a deep steadying inhale, his eyes squeezing shut, his warrior's mantra said like a prayer in his thoughts. 

Clear thoughts, clear mind, clear body, Kotallo. 

He exhaled, and his face smoothed out into neutrality. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Vanasha?” His words were polite but empty. Hollow for the sake of diplomatic propriety.  His question was less of a question at all and more like an automated formality. Kotallo thought of the distant sounding voice mechanisms that Aloy often found during her delves- data points, she called them. 

A small noise of disgust sounded from behind him and he pictured her eyes rolling in annoyance. Clearly, displeased with his greeting. 

“You know I’m no Lady, Marshal.”  She said the word with distaste. 

Her feet carried her past Kotallo’s still form, only stopping when she was standing before his spear. The shaft of it protruding violently from the broken remains of its victim.  

He watched her circle it once, before bending towards the newly formed gouge in the pole. Her movement deliberate, almost theatrically so and he felt his irritation with the coquettish woman rising. 

“My apologies," he intoned, "Shall I refer to you as The Nanny Vanasha, then?” He kept his face passive despite the burning desire to smirk at his own quip, but she merely rolled her eyes. 

“If you wish,” she said flippantly, “though I’m sure you’ve figured out I’m a bit more than that by now.” Her hand, which she had waved dismissively at him now moved towards the spear. Dragging her finger along the edge of the stock as it curved to meet the shaft. To another man, it might've been an action that felt full of implication, but to Kotallo he felt nothing but annoyance. Her face a perfect mask of calculated mischief. 

His eyebrow ticked. 

“Indeed.”  

With a familiarity that could only have come from years of execution, she gave an expert tug, and wrenched the spear from the pole. 

The whole of it looking deceptively easy, as though anyone could have walked up and so easily pulled it free. But Kotallo had seen the way her whole form had engaged in the motion. Fluid. Graceful. 

Dangerous. 

Everything about Vanasha reminded Kotallo of the Stalkers that roamed the nearby jungles. Every action was one taken with seamless precision. 

She was a hunter, and at this very moment, he was the prey that she circled. 

Was it worth taking the bait that she was so obviously laying out for him to bite on? It was clear that she wanted something from him- or at least from this exchange and he didn’t feel particularly inclined to cooperate. However, remembering the way he had ended the day earlier, he supposed his pride couldn’t take another blow so soon after his last shameful retreat. 

He decided he would just get to the point instead of allowing her to toy with him any more than she already had. 

“What is your plot, Vanasha.” He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, “What is it that you want from this exchange?” 

"Plot? How sinister." She laughed, Her hands adeptly handled the weapon she held, "I don't have a plot. In fact I can't even say that I want anything in particular from you, Marshal- well, “ she paused, play-acting contemplation, “-perhaps I do want one thing. If that’s alright by you.” 

His temple pulsed on the side of his head. This woman was infuriating, "State your intention," He bit out. 

“Spar with me.” She shrugged before tossing his spear back to him. He caught it easily. 

“Spar with you?” He repeated, disbelievingly.

Surely that couldn’t be all? 

“Yes.” She said easily. “Spar with me.” 

Kotallo felt like he was perhaps walking into a trap, yet he couldn’t for the life of him think of a real reason not to accept her request. After all, what Tenakth would turn down a valid enough spar? Perhaps a tired one, but even then the chances of that were low. 

And he very well couldn’t just say that he didn’t want to, so fine. Fine. He would acquiesce even if bitterly so. 

“I accept.” 

Vanasha all but squealed in delight. Shedding her outer robe easily, it was immediately revealed that she had come dressed for the occasion. Of course she had. He rolled his eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see it- he had, after all,  suspected her of having a pre-meditated motive from the moment she had made her presence known. But still, how frustrating could one person be. 

Her simple attire spoke to a need for a range of motion and the lack of armor spoke of confidence. He readied his stance motioning for her to strike first. 

It was like an over-drawn arrow finally finding release. Like water bursting forth from a dam. From the very instant that she had made her move, she was on him. Surrounding, dodging, weaving, coiling, and releasing. He hadn’t intended to be right about her being like the Stalkers, but now he could not deny- the woman was a machine of her own making. 

Her palms struck at him like vipers. Deadly and fast before retreating just as quickly as they appeared. Her stance was refreshingly aggressive reminding him of Aloy’s own flare for fluidity in combat; always pushing into his own yet somehow always yielding away from him entirely. Vanasha filled the space around him, and every nerve in his body screamed of awareness. The sounds of their battle mingling with the crackling flame of the torches filling the courtyard. 

And for Kotallo, despite the frustration, he often felt with Vanasha, found himself grinning. In the cool night air, his body was hot with the sweet release of a worthwhile fight. His mind easing into the comfort of violence. The irony. 

It was the familiarity of it all he would say later, in the privacy of his quarters. The very foundation of battle a form of moving meditation for him. A fluid and changing practice in calculated loss and advantage. This was the break from his own mind that he had needed all along. 

But then, a flash of red caught his eye. The spark of it glimmering along the fringes of his peripheral and for a half-second he hesitated. 

Vaguely registering as Vanasha smugly called out, “Distracted!” Her victory imminent as her foot connected squarely with the corner of his jaw. She had delivered a powerful roundhouse that all but took him to the floor.

His knee the only thing that saved him, as it instinctively dropped, slamming forcefully into the ground. That was definitely going to hurt later. 

“Kotallo!!” 

His name rang out into still air, and what little might have been left of his pride shriveled into nothing. 

Of course, she had seen. 

He couldn’t look up. Something inside of him simply wouldn’t allow him to, and he kept his gaze trained dutifully on the ground, his mantra repeating in succession as he heard the telltale sound of Aloy’s Shieldwing activating. No doubt carrying her from the terrace she would have leapt from to get to them. He often wondered if she would ever use stairs again if she didn’t have to; what, with all manner of gliding and flying now so readily available to her.  A memory of her face and the wild spark of freedom that would glint sharply in the depths of her eyes as she vaulted off the edge of yet another cliff, rose, unbidden and he grimaced at the effort it took to push it back down.  

His hand clutched at his heart, its sudden erratic beating causing his breath to hitch uncomfortably.  His fingers digging into the rough-woven cotton of his training tunic. His body was a mess, his mind in disarray and here on his knee in the middle of the courtyard, he was forced to gaze at the smoking wreckage of his own mind. 

Absolutely pathetic. 

A slender hand reached out in front of him- no doubt an offering of peace.  

For as irritating as she may be, Vanasha had fought as fiercely as any Tenakth worth their ink, and he would give her the respect she was due. 

For the first time since meeting, Kotallo accepted Vanasha’s outstretched hand. Her body leveraging in an effort to pull his much larger one forward and back up to his feet. 

At the same time, Aloy alighted deftly beside him, nimble as ever. He didn’t need to see her to know exactly what sort of smile she would be wearing on landing. 

It would be similar to the one she wore when she was falling. Her hair a fiery swirl that snapped hither and yon in the rushing wind, a bronze coronet of blazing uninhibited release, her eyes creasing in unfettered joy. 

Vanasha spoke first, “It would appear that we have been blessed by the presence of The Savior." The lilt of her voice a silken tapestry of familiar mischief. 

Aloy chuckled good-naturedly.

“I know you know that it’s just Aloy by now, Vanasha.” There she was. Kotallo heard the smile in her words and felt his heart squeeze. She was in a playful mood. A mood that was becoming increasingly harder to find her in, more often than not frowning, overwhelmed by her consuming mission to the world. 

He couldn’t help it, he wanted to see her easy joy, his face lifted to hers. 

It was a mistake. 

Her comfortable stance and relaxed expression struck him with all the force of Vanasha's kick and he averted his gaze, as quickly as he had thought to look.  

By the Ten, he was unraveling. 

Like the frayed hem of his tunic, he was at the mercy of her hand. Her nimble fingers that picked and pulled at every thread of his carefully cultivated mind. The crafted barriers of his own mental fortitude coming apart as she so absentmindedly tore him to pieces. 

Would she look one day to find the threads of him all scattered in her palm and wonder what happened? 

He watched as she chatted so naturally with Vanasha- his gaze staying fixed on a point somewhere at the corner of her jaw and beyond, deep into the sea of braids and wild tendrils. He was too afraid to look upon her face in its entirety lest he lose yet another thread of his sanity to her. 

His cheek burned where he had been struck, and he refused to reach for it with his hand. Whether it was shame at his own loss borne of distraction or due only in part to Vanasha’s well-placed and expert kick he didn’t want to know. There was no doubt, however, that a bruise would be forming soon if it hadn’t already. 

Something like guilt, but closer to embarrassment trickled into the hollow of his chest. His reputation as a man of control was being called into question more and more with each passing day of this embassy and it was pitiful. What would Hekarro have thought of his mistake? What did Aloy think?

He was pulled from the churning pool of his thoughts by the feel of Aloy’s hand on his arm. The whisper of her worn skin against the roughened plane of his own, jolting his nerves to life. Electric and instantaneous. 

Even before confirming, as his head snapped up in surprise, he had known it was hers and not Vanasha's. Because how could he not know when she had all but branded him with the feel of it the night before. 

“Commander,” He choked out. 

“Kotallo,” She said playfully. His name slipping comfortably from her lips and he swallowed hard. 

She raised a slender brow at his lack of response, “You alright there Marshall?” She asked. 

She was teasing him, he knew, but shame burned deep in his chest. No, he was not alright. But he couldn’t tell her this- it would only burden her. So instead he brushed it off, just barely managing to keep the bitter taste of his words hidden, “It was my mistake.” He began to say, but Vanasha interrupted him.  

“It was mine.” She said quickly, her voice startling him. His gaze moving quickly to where she stood, aloof. So wrapped up in the surprising feel of Aloy's skin on his, he had forgotten she was there.  

She continued, “I’d heard from Erend of his ferocity in battle, and had wanted to see for myself what our Captain had been telling all the Vanguards about so fervently.” Her own arms crossing loosely, “Your Marshal here had said he was too worn from the day to spar, but I insisted.” She shrugged. “It was my fault for pushing him.” 

It was everything he could do to keep his jaw from falling open even partially in confusion. What in the name of the Ten was she doing? Helping him? 

His mind spun at the idea of owing her for this later. 

But Aloy’s face, which had dropped into concern at the bite of his words, searched his. 

So he shut his eyes, unable to bear the lie he would tell, and said, “…yes.” 

When he opened them, it was by the grace of some small mercy that Aloy had turned to Vanasha. Who in turn had taken on something of a reassuring expression as she spoke, “Don’t worry little Huntress, it was my mistake.” She grinned, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I should call it a night.” And the sly woman turned to leave, her body slinking away into the dim torchlight of the palace walls. 

But not, of course, before catching his eye to wink conspiratorially at him. And then she was gone. Vanished into the shadows as if she had never been there in the first place. 

Chapter Text

After Vanasha’s departure, Kotallo wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected out of the remainder of his evening. The day itself had been so excruciatingly long, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he could take for it to be any more than it already was. At best, he assumed that he’d at least head back to his quarters and prepare his report for Hekarro to be debriefed on once returned to the Grove. And at worst, he’d be tossing in his bed, wading through another sleepless night, tormented by thoughts of the woman who now stood before him.

But, when considering how nothing has really even remotely come close to going “according to plan” or even following any sort of vein of comfortable predictability, he supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find himself standing in front of something that Aloy had referred to as “The Alight”. 

The Alight, itself, being a hexagonal mesa inset by concrete slabs arranged in the shape of the Carja sun and surrounded by several pillars which were all varied in height. 

The slim vertical faces of each structure, stood illuminated in the silver light. Each leaving tall shadows in their wake that yawned far beyond the edges of the mesa with which they kept their post. 

To the west of the platform, lay a scattered jigsaw of mesas and plateaus. All interspersed and teeming with the dense forest growth that was so indicative of Meridian’s verdant lands. To the east, stood the rising peaks of a mountain range that lay far beyond the desert's reach. Their snow-covered peaks a stark contrast to the red earth of the Sundom that stretched eagerly to its base. In many ways, the differences of the eastern range from that of the one he had once spent his youth, were recognizable in a glance. Instead of the square jutting crags and crevices of Stone Crest and the Bulwark, the mountains beyond seemed to move with purpose towards the sky and he errantly wondered if there would ever come a day in which he would cross them to walk the paths of Aloy’s homeland, just as she had done his. 

Yet no matter where he cast his gaze, be it to the west or the east, or even the cold dominating structure of the Spire that stood opposite of him, he always found his way back to Aloy. Standing in the center of everything. Draped as equally in shadow as she was in the cool light of the waning moon.  

GAIA had once taught him of something she called “The Solar System”, and of its many wonders that existed far beyond the scope of their world. She’d even taught him what it meant for the world, the stars that he soon learned were other planets, and the moon to rotate around a single point, kept only by the sun. By some incredible coincidence, the Carja had indeed been right to fix their gaze to the sun and worship. But if such a thing existed in the fabric of his reality, then he would say, that the sun, the moon, and their world all spun around the singular point, of Aloy.  

A miraculous being that moved mountains and restored what was lost wherever she went. 

He felt, outside of himself. 

In front of him, Aloy’s hands toyed idly with something small and pointed. 

 A metallic sheen glided across its flat surface, glowing beneath the starlight. His eyes traveled the length of it, following its sheen till coming to rest on something resembling a hilt wrapped in blue. His throat constricted as the realization dawned. 

It was Fashav’s blade. 

The very one he had given to Aloy that fateful day at the edge of Barren Light. 

He stepped closer now, his feet taking him from the perimeter till he was within arms reach of her. 

Over the duration of their walk from the palace to The Alight, Aloy had kept largely silent. Neither divulging her reason for leading him nor feeling compelled to break the silence that had settled so comfortably around them. She had seemed content, and he was more than happy to walk beside her like this if it pleased her so. 

But now the weight had come back, all traces of levity vanishing from the set of her shoulders. The intangible veil of weariness overtaking her. 

Several emotions flitted across the tense planes of her face, all fighting for dominance before finally settling into a frown. The creases around her eyes tightened and the months of hard travel and desperate seeking that she had done were back again. Worn like the armor of a veteran soldier. 

Aloy rarely spoke of regret, and even less of her own losses- often preferring to keep her mind in a place of forward progression. Each day following the last as another to tick a box off of an endlessly running list of things that always needed solving. Clan requests, Oseram contracts, rebel camps in dire need of clearing, and then of course there was the ever-present concern of their world. The list was as unending as the sky was vast, but always she pressed forward. 

A stream that became a river, a river that became the sea, a sea that became an ocean. Always in motion. 

It was something that Kotallo often admired in her- her ability to keep placing one foot in front of the other no matter the path or its course. The Tenakth believed in strength, always training the young to understand what it meant to fall seven times and stand eight. Aloy exemplified that in essence. More often than not, her successes coming at the price of sacrifice and failure- be it hers or those around her. Whether it was unintentional or an inevitable choice, she was always in the churn of falling down and getting up again. 

Yet, he knew that the failures and burden that she carried, all the resulting losses that she’s taken in stride, clung to her. Each one stitching its likeness to her shadow and in true moments of solitude, he could see the true weight of her grief. Each fallen companion, every sacrifice, every loss, every fight embedded deep into the very foundation of her.  

The dull ache that had earlier claimed its place along his jaw, grew into something bigger now, something heavy that thudded its way down from his jaw, to his throat before finally settling in the center of chest as the seconds ticked by. 

And Aloy pushed her focus out beyond the horizon, her eyes trained on some invisible location. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was strained, “Avad said that this is where Fashav was buried.” She paused, her hand gesturing loosely around them, “Amongst the former Kings and leaders of the Sundom… he said that they buried him with all the honor they could ever possibly bestow.” 

"He-Avad- had wanted to bring you here himself, but I had asked if I could do it in his stead." There was an anxiousness that Kotallo was not used to seeing in Aloy, her hands gesticulating a little wildly, the blade in her hand swinging loosely through the air. "He'd seemed a little unsure of how best to approach you anyways- said something about you maybe being tired from the meeting..." She trailed off, her whole frame tensed. 

There was a restlessness that pooled its way into his feet, begging to take him even closer still, yet he stayed as he was. Choosing only to listen as she fell into her habit of pacing.  

“When I met Fashav," she began, “at the border of Barren Light, he was the only one amongst the Marshal’s who had been willing to listen to my impatient request,” and at this, she chuckled wryly, “He even told me many things- patiently answering each and every one of my questions no matter how personal. When he spoke of his time with the Tenakth, of coming to be there at all, of his journey through the west serving as a Marshal, he did so with nothing but fondness."

The knife turned absently in her hands, over and around, the tip of it balancing on its point and pressing into the end of her finger. He winced at the sight of her blood when the edge pricked at her. But she paid no heed to the injury. Deeming it minor in the greater scheme of her reason for bringing him here tonight.  

A beat, and then another passed as Aloy reclaimed some of her resolve, “I asked him about everything- even about his markings. Unlike the others, he was the only one that looked incomplete. The tattoos that had only covered the half of him had seemed like an accidental representation of a man torn between two homes.” A rueful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, “He told me that his life at that time  was  only half complete. That by the end he hoped to see his other side marked not with more tales of his martial deeds in the Tenakth lands, but instead with laurels of peace.” 

She took one long shuddering inhale, the well of her long held-back emotions appearing to reach their brink. 

“And not even an hour later, he died.” There was some kind of finality there. Frustration tinging the edges of her words, and she looked lost. 

For Kotallo, there was hardly a day that came to pass with which the echo of that evening was not felt or remembered. And it was certainly never lost on him that had things gone differently, his place as the lead representative for this Embassy would have been Fashav’s. 

It would have been on his honor that he would stand in this place seeing this crucial piece of Hekarro’s vision through to its victory. 

But instead, he lay buried. 

And Kotallo stood in his place. 

Every moment of that day, every sensation, every emotion, every quietly held thought- it rushed to meet him then. 

He remembered it all; of the way that he and his banner-men, all breathless had rushed to join the others at the borderline. The sensation of the evening sun that had burned so hot at their backs as it began its descent from the far-reaching peak in the sky. The feeling of his resentment for Tekotteh even, still sharp after all this time. And the relief, that had washed over him as they arrived, still felt as palpable as the day that it had occurred and somewhere in the fringed edges of his memories, he recalled having seen them, Aloy and Fashav’s figures stood off to the side, each toeing their respective lines of the boundary, conversing easily. 

He had frowned at them then. Immediately seeing her as just another Outlander, pushing her way into their lands without regard or respect for any of their rules and agreements. 

It all seemed so far away now. With so much having filled the space between. That one evening had somehow managed to serve as the catalyst for so many fundamental changes to life as he knew it. 

His assignment to the Bulwark to assist her, the loss of his arm, his fallen squad and their eventual replacements through the hastily held Kulrut, and even now as he stood beside her, serving in Fashav's place- all of it, all of it was the result of a single evening. 

He supposed that not quite unlike the moment when Hekarro had conquered the Grove only to witness the Vision of peace- somehow life will always find a way to subvert even the smallest of expectations. 

“He gave me this, “ she said, breaking him out of his thoughts as she held Fashav’s blade up to him. “He told me to seek Hekarro and he granted me safe passage through the west, and then he...” Her expression darkened, her words trailing off into the empty night air. 

His heart went out to her. 

There was no sobbing, no grand display of emotion or release. Just the grim set of her mouth, and the unbearable weight of exhaustion as she held herself. Even now, even in this very moment, she was somehow shouldering the weight of a dead man's wishes and doing it as much alone as she possibly could. 

He closed the distance between them, catching her attention. 

"Fashav," he began, "like you, Aloy- fought for a better tomorrow. There is honor in the life that he lived." His voice felt stiff as he struggled to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat. 

"Our lives, as Tenakth, and as Marshal's are often very brief." Old visions of broken armor and fallen comrades swam to the surface of his mind and he breathed deeply once, steadying himself before continuing. "They are often marked by violence and above all, our service to the Clans. We pledge our lives to this, and wake every day prepared for it to be the last." 

He heard her frustrated huff at his words and smiled at the childishness of it. He knew she had her opinions on the unforgiving nature of life in the Clans, but just as well he also knew the great respect that she held for his people. He forced himself to look, unflinching, locking his eyes with hers as he held his hand out, palm open, a silent request for the blade. 

“Fashav was a man of two homes. As much a Carja as he was a Tenakth, and he lived as the best of both. He served his mission to both, and paved a new path with his sacrifice for us to succeed today.”

His voice remained steady, as he spoke. The many years of living and losing in the chaotic uncertainty of battle strengthening his final words with earned conviction. 

“Like the others, we honor them best when we respect their sacrifice as a choice made through their strength. Their strength of will, their strength of heart, and the strength of their body.” 

Her hands, so much smaller than his, had gently placed Fashav’s blade into his waiting one. And though her arm had moved, her body remained fixed, the intensity of her gaze boring into him as she hung on every word. 

“We each keep our own pledge, Commander.” He gazed at the weapon, in his hand its serrated edge glinting in the moonlight. 

From the blade to the hilt half blue and embellished with a single diamond, painted in yellow and centered along the ridge. Undoubtedly, this was Fashav's. And now, it belonged to her, handpicked by the fallen Marshal, as if he had known all along she would be the one to see his vision through in his stead. 

He held it back out to her, proffering it in the same ceremonial gesture as was deserving of the mantle of Marshal. There was no gravitas, sure, but this was bigger, more powerful by the grace of the circumstances in which he offered the last remaining symbol of a dead man's dreams. 

It took a moment, confusion warring with the curiosity that now bloomed in place of the bitter misery that she had worn earlier. But, slowly, very gingerly, she took hold of the blade, her fingers brushing against his as they came to wrap around the hilt.  

He smiled at her then. A tender, vulnerable thing, full of the ache that had long since burrowed deep into the fiber of him. 

“This is all that remains of Fashav's pledge,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "and now it is yours." 

Understanding seemed to wash over her, and suddenly she was back, the same strong Aloy but lighter now. 

"Do you have a pledge as well, Kotallo?" she asked curiously, a sincerity that bled into her honest question. 

It took him by surprise. He had thought it obvious that in all the many ways and simple phrases, that in every call of her title as Commander, that she was his pledge. To stand by her side, to fight for her mission, and to give all that was left of his life in support of her. 

It is what I choose.  

His first words of dedication filled his mind with their resolution, and he kept his gaze on her, cataloging every freckle, and every lash. Committing every scar left from battle, be it with machine or man to his memory. 

"I do." 

Aloy smiled. 

Chapter Text

There were few things as entertaining to Vanasha, as watching a group of people interact under forced conditions. 

A poised king trapped in his own uncomfortable meetings. 

A handful of pampered nobles stuck squirming under the unwavering stares of formidable tribespeople. 

The collective best of said tribespeople thinly tolerating the soft-handed elite. 

And the anxious Savior of the collective, the unfortunate singular point in which all three groups intersect. 

Truly,  sensational . A riveting time for them all. 

And while she did have to oversee little Itamen during these uncomfortable meetings, and by extension, his Luminance the blind-fool in love, Avad, it turned out that her unexpected consolation prize for having to curb His Majesty’s amorous enthusiasm came in the delightful shape of one surly Tenakth Marshal. 

Who, she had discovered, was just as much a fool in love as the King, and twice as much in abject denial about it. 

The man had clearly seen many battles through to victory just on appearance alone, but the way his face twisted and pulled as he warred with himself about his own feelings, was just as good an indicator of his impending defeat as clouds in the sky were to an overcast day. It just was. 

And what a reckoning it will be when it finally all comes to a head. 

She hoped she’d be there to see. 

Itamen nudged at the hand she had kept in her lap. The second morning of negotiations having already begun to drag just a little too long without a break in sight. She let her eyes slide to the young prince’s face who was hoping for a second day in a row to surreptitiously steal a glance at the Marshal’s arm. 

Or more precisely, the lack thereof. 

Upon his return from the West, Erend had been quick to regale everyone with tales of his time amongst Aloy’s squad, and Itamen had been his most avid fan. Stories of his battle against the Sons of Prometheus and the thrilling final showdown against Aserra had kept the little one starry-eyed and motivated in his training with Uthid, but none of Erend’s tales had kept a hold on Itamen’s interest like that of the Tenakth Marshal with a machine arm. 

Even Aloy, whom the Prince had nearly pounced on as soon as she’d arrived, had spoken of the power of the arm when asked. But she had smiled then, and Vanasha knew a secret when she saw one. There was something more there than just a simple journey amongst friends as she had explained to the naive child. 

So she did what came naturally to her; she watched. 

Very carefully, but as it turned out, that all fools in love, whether aware or otherwise, were all totally hopeless at keeping it to themselves. 

From Erend to Avad, to the Marshal maybe even now Aloy- everyone else seemed to see the tension between them clearly, yet the four of them were somehow blundering around blind. 

Figures.  

Gently, she nudged Itamen back, nodding approvingly as she felt him shift beside her so that his posture was poised again. She so hated these moments- the times when her ward had to play at being King despite his young age. Yes, it was for the good of the kingdom, and even for the good of his future position as a monarch… but still, he was only a child. 

He deserved at least a little more time to revel in that, didn’t he? Especially considering his time as a hostage in Sunfall. 

She held in her sigh.

He did his best and she was always proud of that effort but she hoped she could at least serve as a mischievous influence and preserve what little fun that could be had for the young prince. She might not be able to fully excuse slouching but stolen glances were harmless enough. 

And speaking of peeping, Vanasha had not at all missed the way her usually very single-minded Nora friend had appeared uncharacteristically distracted by a certain surly Tenakth warrior today. After leaving her cantankerous prey [new friend] in the courtyard last night, she had expected to come into today’s meeting to a man even further undone by his own emotions for the little flame-haired huntress. What she’d gotten in place of that was a weirdly pre-occupied Savior that appeared to be just as hellbent about surreptitiously watching the Marshal as Itamen was. Vanasha tracked the way her friend’s gaze would flick expertly over anytime the man shifted in his seat. It would have been hard to spot had she not been paying attention. 

But Vanasha was always paying attention, it’s what she did, it’s how she lived.  

And it is also how she had come to the decision to pester the surly Marshal at all. Everything hinging on the small behavioral shifts that seemed to be culminating into something very big and very obvious.   

It was the way she'd made exceptions for him, and him alone. Allowing him to call her "Commander" instead of flinching when any of the others referred to her as anything else. Savior, Champion, Anointed- each name hit Aloy with the weight of expectation, yet Commander she allowed. Why? Was it because of her time with the Tenakth or was it because of him? Vanasha didn't know. 

It was the way she tracked him in any space, her eyes unconsciously searching till they found him before allowing herself to move any further. Or the way she watched him leave, always lingering on whatever parting words that they'd shared. Aloy might not have noticed, but Vanasha had seen. 

And what about the wall that didn't seem to exist between the two. Avad might have the privilege of gift-giving and opulence but no matter what he presented to the young huntress, she never stepped beyond the line that she'd drawn for herself. Even with others. Erend had seemed to come closest- his time with Aloy granting him special access to pieces of her that no one else had seen. But with the Marshal, it was something else entirely. 

Not so circumstantial, like the way it had been with Erend. Not an inevitable result of shared experiences. It was almost like it was somehow by design. A choice she was making without even processing that she was making one. She chose to allow herself to be open with him. She chose to share with him. Not because of necessity, or the dire need of situational awareness, but because it was what she wanted. And maybe she really hadn't noticed that this change had developed in her, but Vanasha had. 

Because Vanasha watched. 

Ultimately, she watched because she cared. Aloy was a friend. Someone special and irreplaceable in life- not just her own. And Vanasha believed that she owed her that care. 

If not for Aloy, there would have been no Embassy after the massacre at Barren Light. There would be no Meridian as it stands today under the steady guidance of Avad. There might not have even been Itamen, happy and safe and preparing to continue his brother's legacy of peace. 

A future dominated by Helis could have very well been the present that they all shared and yet they did not and it was all owed to Aloy. 

Her focus shifted to the Marshal, her mind weighing his behavior against Aloy’s. 

Of all the prospects that had presented themselves to the table (at least of those she knew of), he had appeared the most reluctant to voice his desire. 

Avad nearly begged anytime Aloy was within reach, pleading for time and opportunity. 

And Erend was in some ways as overly grateful to be in her company as he was resentful at always trailing behind. Like a coin being tossed in the air, each side turning around and over one another- it was a gamble on where it would land on any given day. 

Both, Vanasha knew, loved Aloy. In their way. 

Avad sought his freedom in a woman who was freer than most but tied by the weight of a duty that reached far beyond their imaginations. 

Erend saw a blazing fire. As beautiful and dangerous as any Oseram forge master could dream of, yet he was frustrated by the ways she so often blazed beyond his control- his skills somehow unworthy or incapable of taming her. 

And Kotallo? What did he see, she wondered. On more than one occasion she had thought she might pry it loose from him, yet the closest she ever came to the truth was in his simple deferment to Aloy. Clearly, he wanted something, and from the looks of the training pole last night he was fighting bitterly to the end about it with himself. Yet, despite all of that, he never asked for anything. 

He didn't chase helplessly after her gaze, didn't seek her out unless to check on her wellbeing, and only extended his hand if asked for. 

Vanasha had heard from a woman within the Tenakth delegation- Dekka, she had called herself- that the Tenakth greatly respected not only strength but one's devotion to a mission. To see something as greater than yourself and pursue it to victory. 

To endure the way that their Ten had endured. 

But from where Vanasha stood, if Aloy was Kotallo's mission then was there even an avenue of enduring that existed that didn't end in self-torture and disappointment? Aloy was always going to choose her duty before anyone else, including herself. It was clear to any who spoke to her for any amount of time that this would always be true. It was why Vanasha hoped that Avad would learn to relinquish his pining for the young woman over the course of this Embassy. 

How he was going to learn that lesson, she really didn't know, but all things in due course, she supposed. 

So what was it then? Was it an over-inflated sense of respect for the Huntress that left the stern man so agonized? Perhaps to some degree, respect had something to do with it, but she suspected that it was not all. 

Which just left her with where she was now- trying to solve for Aloy. The single most important piece of this equation. Whatever it was that she wanted, Vanasha would see it through from her place on the side. Whether it be freedom from the confines of others' one-sided expectations or a kind word of encouragement, Vanasha would be there. 

But how to solve? Be it a lifetime in espionage or some other divine sense of intuition, Vanasha couldn't help but feel that if asked, even Aloy wouldn't have the solution. 

Somewhere in the middle of the room, Avad’s chair scraped against the marble flooring signaling his rise and breaking her out of her analysis.

Looks like the meeting was finally adjourning. The second day of negotiations had officially come to a close. Which was all excellent news to her- the whole thing was at present a major yawn, and Itamen squirming beside her confirmed that she wasn't alone in that sentiment.

She leveled a stare at him, one delicate eyebrow arching in question.  Yes?  Itamen looked sheepish but he pressed his head closer, holding up a hand to hide his mouth from the room as he whispered, "When will I get to see the arm?" 

Hmm, well that could be something. Another opportunity to prod at the man and glean a few answers potentially. But there was certainly no tactful way to ask about a person's missing mechanical appendage. 

Actually, there was certainly no way to tactfully ask after it  as an adult . A child, however...

Pinpointing the Marshal's location in the room, she watched as he stood, preparing to make his exit. 

She maneuvered Itamen so that he was facing in the direction of the Marshal, “Why not ask him yourself?" She replied slyly, and with a small nudge, sent him off towards the stern-looking Tenakth. 

Excitement practically radiated from Itamen’s face as he raced off to catch him. She chuckled at the sight, her heart flooding with warmth as Itamen fearlessly came to stand before the man, one hand lifting to beckon him down till he was nearly eye level. 

And surprisingly, Kotallo obliged, dropping to one knee. He rested the forearm of his remaining arm against the top of his thigh, his head inclining towards the young prince seriously. They painted an entertaining picture together; the Marshal’s fearsome paint and battle-hardened body kneeling pliantly in front of the soft-hearted boy- one deadly serious and the other practically vibrating with enthusiasm. 

But the image was quickly shattered as, "Captain Erend says that you have an arm made of a machine!" came blurting out of Itamen's mouth, unabashedly uninhibited by the propriety of adults. Vanasha had to purse her lips tight to reign in the laughter that threatened to bubble out from her.  Oh, children.  

Aloy, who had been halfway out the door abruptly stopped. She didn’t turn but she also didn’t move from her place and Vanasha would be willing to bet a handful of shards that the barest hint of a tilt to her head was all so that she could hear the conversation better.  How interesting.  

What remained of the room's occupants had all gone incredibly silent, but, Kotallo only laughed. The gruffness of it breaking the tension that had suddenly built to a peak and relief swept through the room like a cool summer breeze. 

The burly warrior inclined his head a little closer, and Itamen followed. Drawn into him like a magnet, his eyes wide as Kotallo gently grabbed his hand, and lead it to what remained of his left arm. 

A tiny gasp escaped the Prince, his mouth forming into an ‘O’. 

“This,” Kotallo’s gravelly voice began softly, “is a mark of what I have had to overcome as a warrior. When I lost my arm in the battle at Barren Light, I too felt lost- not just because my arm had been taken from me but because I didn’t know how to see myself as I have always done. How to do things that I had always done  as  I had always done them. Or if I would ever do them again.” His words were patient, but not demeaning, and Itamen nodded his understanding. 

“Sometimes when we are unable to do things in the ways that we want, we rely on tools. The machine arm became one such tool for me, and it was through the help of the Savior that I was able to acquire the knowledge and pieces necessary to create it.” 

Itamen chimed in, “Right! The Savior and Captain Erend told me this story! The Savior says you scaled a cliff with just one arm!!” 

Vanasha glanced at the door, noting the way Aloy had given up any semblance of not being drawn to the conversation unfolding before them. The tiniest dusting of pink had settled on the bridge of her nose and across the high slopes of her cheekbones. Vanasha filed it away for later. 

“Indeed,” He confirmed, and Itamen’s eyes nearly popped out at the affirmation. “But,” Kotallo added, “I was not sure if I could, I only knew that I must. So I climbed and when the time came to fight without two arms- only one, I had the same thought as when I had faced the cliff.” 

“That you must?” Itamen asked solemnly. 

“Yes. That I  must .” Kotallo repeated. 

She had to hand it to him, the guy for all his cantankerous brooding and sometimes violent moping (What did the Old Ones say? RIP training pole?) he had a natural talent for kids. Who would’ve thought? 

Aloy had come up now, stopping to lean herself casually against the wall beside them. A smirk played at the edges of her lips. “And boy did he fight- you should have heard Kotallo in battle!” She dropped her voice in a sad attempt at resembling the Marshal’s, “DIE, FILTHY MACHINE!” She imitated, shaking a raised fist at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t-“ he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “I didn’t say  filthy machine .” 

“Ah, you’re right. You actually said, ‘ die, machine filth ’, my mistake.” Aloy rolled her eyes teasingly, her face alight with mischief as the very tips of Kotallo’s ears which had not been covered by paint flushed red. 

Were they- was Aloy  flirting  with him?  Color her stunned, because honestly, Vanasha could barely believe her eyes. 

The same woman who had so politely and diplomatically turned down the Sun King, was just out here, casually flirting with a Tenakth Marshal in  the Sun King’s Palace.  She really had to give props where they were due, because damn. 

The Marshal cleared his throat again, forcing a serious look back onto his face. He returned his focus to Itamen. 

“What I had learned, was that despite not having both arms, I was still just as capable and still as much of a warrior as I had always been. The machine arm, while valuable, was not a replacement for what I had lost, but instead a tool to use as I choose. So yes, in a sense, I do have a machine arm, young Prince, but what I believe is closer to the truth, is that I have a weapon, and weapons do not always have their place at the table.” And at that, the Marshal winked. 

Itamen’s face was brimming with admiration and Vanasha had a feeling that she would be hearing,  “Weapons do not have their place at the table ” from him for weeks to come. 

She decided to step in, her voice breaking them all out of the little world that they had created between the three of them.  How cute , she thought idly. 

“Speaking of weapons, I believe the Savior promised you a few lessons whenever she returned from her last mission. Isn’t that right, Savior?” Vanasha leveled a gaze at her flame-haired friend, who only quirked a brow in response. She acquiesced anyways. 

“I definitely do remember that, yes. Would you still like to learn to shoot, Itamen?” She asked to which she was met with a resounding and near-immediate “ Yes! ” from the young prince. 

And satisfied with all of the new pieces of information that she’d gained today, Vanasha followed languidly behind the pair. Her feet carrying her silently towards the training ground that she knew they’d inevitably arrive at. 

As she rounded the corner of the door, she caught Avad’s more serious tone. 

“Marshal, may we speak privately a moment?” 

Chapter Text

Of all the places Kotallo had been, from the Lowlands of the West to the smooth and unnatural base of the Zeniths, the Palace of the Sun was among his least favorite. The citizens were "staff," the guards practically decorative, and the halls too immaculate to have possibly been the cradle that birthed an order as horrific as the Raids. 

And amongst all the gilded halls and ornate fencing, draped in silks and a chest plate that had so clearly never seen battle, was Avad. Congenial, welcoming, friendly Avad. Presiding ruler of all the Sundom, and the very heart of Meridian itself. And now, an insistent seeker of Kotallo's time and opinion. 

What was the turn-of-phrase he saw from the Old Ones once?  Thanks, I hate it? 

Avad had stopped in front of a balustrade overlooking the fields below. Its orderly swaths of tall maizeland disturbed only by the lingering veins of crimson left behind by the derangement. He watched as the King stared thoughtfully at it before pulling something small from his pocket. 

He held it out to him, silently urging him to take it. "For you." He said simply, and Kotallo accepted. 

The feel of a worn leather strap and hammered metal was unexpectedly familiar in his hand, his eyes widening at the realization of what he'd just been handed. 

Oh,  he almost breathed out. 

They were Fashav's tags. 

He looked up, making eye contact with the king in front of him for the first time all day. And Avad smiled in kind, satisfied with his reaction. He turned back to peer at the fields below, the space beside him empty. A wordless invitation to join him at the railing yet Kotallo's feet remianed still. 

"Aloy had been the one to ask after the tags." He said after awhile. "If not for her, I don't know that I would ever have understood their significance beyond a token of the deceased. She tried to explain of course, in her own way, but even now I still struggle to envision my cousins life amongst your people." 

The evening sun had already sunk low on the edge of the horizon, and it's red shafts of light cut like knives across the pillars and buildings below. Its dying light wrapping Avad in its final embrace. 

And Avad's eyes slid closed, as he breathed deep in the late evening air. 

"Even as a boy, I had never hoped to inherit the throne- I think many of us in the family dreamt of escape. The tyranny of my father, Jiran and the terror he wrought both inside and outside of the Palace walls was unspeakable. His influence touched us all and whether you were left behind in the city or forced to march out into the west, I think we all held regrets about the damage Jiran had been able wreak." 

Kotallo's thumb felt across the emobossed symbols of Fashav's name and squad. The rough pad of it pushing against the metal surface of his tags as Avad spoke. 

"Yet no matter how much many of us imagined otherwise; what it might have been like to build different lives or to make different choices- in the end we all accepted the roles we'd been dealt. Fashav journeyed west with our military, and I usurped my father, laying claim to a throne I never wanted." 

The sun had mostly set now, and if he moved closer to look, Kotallo knew he would see the tiny flickering lights of the lanterns being lit below. He exhaled quietly to himself, his hands staying busy with the feel of the tags. His own gaze idly moving across the neatly inlaid stones of the overlook they both stood on and in a way he sympathized with the man but he didn't understand the point. This lament over duty versus choice. 

But Avad was not done speaking, and he pulled himself away from the world beneath them to turn to face the Marshal instead. 

"For these past five years, we had always assumed that Fashav was but a prisoner of war amongst the Tenakth. A valuable human resource to be held as collateral if kept alive at all. And despite the countless confirmations of his wellbeing from scouts, we -I-  could not fathom a life that held any quality to it. I know now that it was my own ignorance- all of our ignorance- about the ways of your people that had led us to such a conclusion." He shook his head remorsefully, "You had welcomed Fashav amongst your own, and if what Aloy says is true, he was even someone who was held in great esteem. Perhaps in the end, Fashav's fate was the most unexpected of all. Where we had always imagined his life as a Carja noble, as my cousin, and as a venerated soldier, was it all somehow an inevitiabilty that he would walk as a Tenakth for these five years- I cannot help but wonder." Avad seemed almost to be talking more to himself than to Kotallo by the end of it. His voice trailing off into some distant daydream that he must have played out in his mind in moments when he longed for something beyond his reach. 

Though he knew in some ways that Avad was almost asking if he thought his own future as king might be viably changed, there was something about the phrasing of it that bothered him. Inevitability, fate- those words laid bitterly on his tongue and he resisted the urge to spit. 

His expression remained flat.  

"Fashav was not welcomed so much as he was given respect that he claimed through strength" He said finally. The words were spoken with none of the same friendliness or comfortability that Avad had offered him, but Kotallo felt no need to sugarcoat the reality of his fellow Marshal's life. "It would not be so unfounded for his life to have met its end upon capture during the Raids, yet he was clever and bargained for an oppurtunity to prove his strength in the Kulrut. Given the mutual distrust and general hate that exists between Carja and Tenakth, many could argue that it was always Fashav's  fate  to die the moment he marched west." Kotallo's grip tightened minutely around the tags as he spoke, the impression of symbols that represented Fashav's name offering him comfort. 

"Yet he did not die. Even after securing his opportunity to prove himself, he fought and he  survived . He became Marshal, he walked as one of the tribe, bled with his squad on the batlefield and bore the mark of victory in our ink on his own body. Those actions were not inevitabilities but choices. So if such a thing as fate were true, then Fashav surely would be the measure by which any of us could use to fight it." 

He felt a twinge of achievment at the way Avad's eyes widened at his response, but he pressed on. 

"The Tenakth gave nothing to Fashav, Noble of the Carja that he did not earn through his own strength. It was all by his own hand, and by his own design that he become Fashav, Marshal of the Tenakth. Every outcome was the result of a choice that he made for himself. And to say it was some pre-destined fate that any of that should happen, would be a dishonor to all that he achieved even long after his passing." 

Kotallo spoke plainly, no emotion inching in to give away the tumultuous feeling that seemed to be brewing in the cavity of his chest like a storm. He knew that Avad was only being sincere, seeking a way to connect and perhaps even humanize himself- yet he couldn't help the feeling of unease that lingered. 

A long moment of silence stretched between them. 

And then, Avad responded with, "I see." Breaking it easily. 

A warm hand, came to rest on the edge of Kotallo's shoulder, taking him by surprise, but Avad only smiled, his eyes kind. "It would seem that there is still much for me to learn. Come, let us walk." The king inclined his head towards the direction of a hall that Kotallo knew would lead to the taining yard, and wordlessly followed. 

In the distance his ear picked up on the jubilant shout of a young boy as they approached followed quickly by the familiar thud of an arrow finding its home on a target. The sound of what could only be Itamen's excitement eased some of the tension that had wound its way up through his joints, his remaining hand flexing reflexively. 

Their feet took them closer, stopping just above the courtyard to see Aloy and Itamen placed at the center, with Vanasha standing just off to the side and behind the young prince. 

Itamen's posture was clumsy and a poor imitation of the precise and measured stance with which the huntress slipped into with practiced ease. Beside him he heard Avad chuckle lightly at the arrow that dropped from Itamen's hands as he desperately tried to notch it on his own.  

But Aloy, it would seem, was a patient teacher and her deft hands expertly placed the arrow back against the bow, her hands wrapping around his much smaller ones as she helped him draw it back. They released, and the bow flopped lamely a few feet in front of them, both staring at it in dead silence before erupting in laughter. 

He felt his heart ache. 

"What was it like-" Avad broke him from the scene, drawing his attention to the wistful expression on the king's face, "to travel with Aloy?" He said her name with such comfort, Kotallo thought.  Too much, another part of him added. 

"Erend has told me many tales- even Vanasha and Uthid have fought their own share of battles beside her. I can't help but feel left out, held back by my duties as king from following her into the unknown like the others. Itamen too, is of course in awe of the Savior of Meridian, but how could he not be?"

It felt almost too personal. Like prying into something secret and precious, though he understood the mans curiosity. How many times already had he stopped himself from asking his commander about the nature of her acquiantence with the king. Always choosing instead to leave it- after all, if she wanted him to know she would have told him. 

He would sympathesize in this regard only. 

"It was... an immeasurable honor." His body coursed with all the things left unsaid. Because of course it was more than that, but he barely had time to reflect on it as Avad spoke again, his reply leaving Kotallo cold. 

"One day, in a more peaceful time, where there is no hovering threat and imminent mission, I hope to leave the crown behind and see for myself what it would be like to stand beside her." 

It sounded like a confession. It sounded like something a friend would offer to another, and more importantly it sounded like something that he shouldn't be hearing. He felt his pulse quicken as agitation and something akin to panic began to rear its head. Images of a life where Avad stood beside Aloy flashed before him and he had to fight the urge to grit his teeth as the unsuspecting man rambled on. 

"What wonders the world holds, I can't help but feel like only Aloy knows them all. She is-"

"-a miracle." Kotallo cut him off, finishing the statement, no longer able to hold himself back. He looked at him directly then, his eyes an inky reflection of the storm that had built to its peak inside of him. 

"The things that you want from the Commander, you must discuss with the Commander." 

If Avad were not a king, and had it not been for a lifetime of etiquette being drilled into him, he would have gaped. 

"There are many, Sun King, who like you have felt the pull of the Commander's call. Do you think you are the only one?" 

"-I only meant that-" Avad began, but Kotallo cut him off again. 

"That what? That you might travel with her on some grand adventure to fulfill your own wish for freedom?" He stepped closer, challenging him.  

"The Commander-  Aloy,"  he emphasized her name, drawing it out, "Aloy is  not  free, Sun King.   She is burdened by more than any of us could ever imagine and there is  very little  we can offer her in return to ease that burden-" 

Now it was Avad's turn to cut him off, "I know she is burdened!" 

But Kotallo would have none of it, he wasn't done, "Yet you wait for her to solve the problems of the world so that you can gallivant off with her into the sunset when she is done?"  Utterly ridiculous , he felt his vision narrow. 

" Sun and Shadow -  no! Of course not!  But what more can I do?!" Avad pleaded, "What else can I do but wait?! I ask her what I can do to help, and she doesn't know. I offer her my intentions but she says its not the time? I am only a man, Marshal. Even I have my limits." He looked pitiable then. Less like a king and more like the mere man he claimed to be. Another fool undone by their feelings for the red-haired huntress that trained so unaware in the yard below. 

Truthfully, he didn't know how much more he could take of this before he did something regrettable. All this talk about considering what could be done to help ease Aloy's burdens, and here the two of them were risking peace negotitaions over unrequited feelings for the same woman. He sighed angrily, dragging his hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. If he'd still had his other arm he would've placed it on his hip, alas he had to settle for only half the theatrics he had wanted to indulge in. Everything was frustrating him now. This conversation needed to come to an end. 

Sifting desperately through his mind for a decent enough way out, he came up empty. Fine, then they would settle this now. They would have to if the rest of this Embassy was going to be even minutely passable. No more hidden intentions, he needed to know where Avad stood. 

"As Tenakth, our pledge is our bond. We offer our pledge to our squads, our tribe and the ones whom we choose to stand beside. Every pledge bears the weight of sacrifice, so they are never made easily. But to us, it is the most important bond we can make." He leveled his gaze to Avad's, his face serious. "What can you pledge, Sun King?" 

Kotallo hadn't moved towards him, but Avad still took a small step back. Clearly surprised by his candor. 

"I could offer her my love-" he began meekly, his voice hoarse.  Not good enough , Kotallo thought.  He needed him to understand. 

He pressed on, “Could you, without regret, place your life in the palm of her hands? Because  that  is the risk you take to be close to her. Could you wait for her when the hunt draws long and you had to be left behind? Or could you find her, as Varl once had, and pull her broken body from the wreckage of a mission gone awry? There is nothing safe nor comfortable about the responsibility that Aloy shoulders- she wakes up and has no choice but to calculate the risks she takes by letting others in. How much loss can you expect her to shoulder should she come to care for you? How much can you own as your choice if you were to die completing an errand  that she sent you on?  You say you can offer her love-   many can offer Aloy love . You are not alone in that sentiment, but unlike you, many have understood the burden that this places on her and to speak candidly, Aloy must journey through a world where love  is not enough.  A world where   the line between love and loss are much too thin for her to sit complacent in its shallow pleasantries.  

So if you feel like you can’t be persuaded to give up your greed-  because that is what it is - greed for her time, her attention, her investment, and even to be a placeholder in the pain she might feel someday- then you need to consider what you will sacrifice to be apart of this.” 

“I’ve told her- the crown was never my aspiration- I would happily travel with her-“ 

“I’m talking about real sacrifice, Sun King, not just something you had already planned on relinquishing for yourself. You do Aloy more good as king then you do as her traveling companion. She doesn’t travel for fun- she travels to seek solutions. She travels to find the answer of how to save us all and she is risking her life everyday. Have you seen the scars of her battles? I have, and they are many. Aloy puts everything on the line so that we may continue peacefully so I’ll ask you again, what are you willing to sacrifice?” 

Silence filled the space between them. Louder than any machine cry, it rang hollow through the air. 

It was clear that Avad didn't know. The man only stared at him, slack-jawed and speechless and Kotallo had finally seen enough. He turned on his heel to see himself out, pausing just long enough to answer Avad's final question as he went. 

"What about you, Marshal?" he asked, "What have you pledged?" 

"To be the sharpest point of her spear." 

It was more than he deserved to know, but less than the entire truth and for tonight, it would have to do. This conversation had gotten so far out of hand and he felt only dread for the morning that was sure to follow. Fashav's tags hung limp in his hand, nearly forgotten in the aftermath of the evening. 

And Kotallo... well. 

Kotallo was very tired.

Chapter Text

Something had clearly gone wrong.

This much, was plain to see. 

Undeniably, the emotional field of play often eluded Aloy. She knew this, and largely it was fine, she rarely traveled through such precarious terrain as “interpersonal skills” because she seldom needed to. 

And despite the entire premise of an Embassy being about social nuance- the delicate dance of give and take, the verbal repartee- she was also well aware that her attendance at such an event was crucial in the same way that Machine Convoys were often accompanied by Watchers. She, herself, being the Watcher in this instance. 

She scouts the path, she secures the way forward, and then she makes room for the others to proceed without much interference. And... just maybe, she may have to remind everyone to play nice lest she need to knock some heads together. While the meetings hadn't exactly been smooth, or altogether wildly fruitful, she still believed that her presence actually wasn't all that necessary. 

Until today. 

A room full of Tenakth and Carja, historic generational enemies and a table occupied by both the young and the old of both. 

The latter raised on stories of bloodshed between the two while the former has since learned to dream of peace through cooperation. And Dekka, the oldest amongst the Tenakth had just made eye contact with Aloy, winking before letting her gaze slide long between Kotallo, his face surly, his arms crossed (a formidable impression of the Bulwark, she had to admit), and then to Avad, clearly tired and tense. 

Did Dekka know something? Or was this simply the humorous commentary of an elder- age providing the privilege of watching the young ones act as such? 

And what of those two? Did the handoff of Fashav’s tags not go well last night? 

That hardly made any sense- even to Aloy. By all accounts it should have been an easy bridge between the two men, and truthfully, the two nations. An opportunity to grieve together over a shared comrade and a fallen family member in combat and blood, what more could there be to tie these two together? A woman? She nearly snorted. 

And yet, here they were. 

Two steps forward and four steps all the way back to that day at Barren Light- Aloy had known it wasn’t going to be easy, everyone knew, but this particular setback seemed rather unnecessary on account of it being completely unexplained.

Or maybe it had been and somehow Aloy was the only one out of the loop, because both Dekka and Vanasha seemed perfectly at ease despite the thick tension hanging over the table.   

She had seen them both in her peripheral during Itamen's archery lesson yesterday evening, but hadn't worried about it. Both women's postures had remained comfortable from what she could tell, and they were friendly all throughout the remaining lesson. 

Though she had seen the meaningful glances they had both sent to Kotallo and Avad on the terrace above, but why wouldn't they have- they both acted as confidants and advisors to the two respectively. 

Aloy felt a migraine begin to form in the center of her forehead. 

Something just wasn't clicking, but the tension in the room was stiflingly oppressive and she couldn't bring herself to take too much more of it. 

She wondered how not a single one of the Carja noblemen, weak-kneed and tender-armed hadn't simply dropped dead from it all.  

Her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose before falling heavy against the table- the sudden *thud* of it snapping several of the Carja's spines up straight while a handful of the Tenakths party saw them reach instinctively for their weapons. She waved loosely, a halfhearted signal for them to relax.  

Clearly, it was time for a break. 

But to her surprise, Avad did not move to dismiss the party, and Kotallo too, continued to sit in silent defiance. 

What the hell was this- Oh, Aloy would be having a word. Her eyes flashed over to Vanasha, who motioned for the room to disperse, and amongst the shuffling bodies, she guided Itamen along safely. 

She left with a breezy and mischievous “Happy hunting,” that tickled Aloy's ear. 

Now in a nearly empty room, only the three of them remained.  

In one corner, sat Avad. A man known by all of Meridian and even by those far beyond the edges of the Sundom, to walk with all the dignity and high-ground of a peace-seeking king. And then there was Kotallo, a person who she personally knew to walk with the pride and reputation of a nation of duty-bound warriors. His sincere devotion to the cause of unification of the Clan Lands was known by many, if not all of the Tenakth. 

By all accounts, these two should be well above this sort of childish display, yet Aloy found herself staring pointedly at two petulantly sulking men.  

She crossed her arms, expectant-  the silence reigned.

Gazing pointedly at one, and then the other, her displeasure mounting- surely one of them would break.

Neither did.  

“Okay” , her ire was rising now ,“so this is how it’s going to be.”  

Untying the sheath that held Fashav’s dagger, she placed it unceremoniously between the two. 

The heaviness of it, hitting the table and resounding through the room- somehow felt heavier in the still and both men flinched. 

“Whatever it is you need to resolve, I suggest you do so now. There’s precious little time left of this Embassy and even fewer solutions have been made. But if you want to prioritize whatever this, ” - and she gestured roughly between them-, “ is then go ahead. Just know you’ve chosen to waste everyone’s time here, and more importantly, you’ve done even less to honor His sacrifice.” 

And then she left. Irritable and for reasons she couldn’t place, a little bit hurt. 

In the swirling wake of her unruly hair and the scrape of her heavy armor, she would miss the crestfallen face of Avad, and the slow closing of eyes as Kotallo felt each retreating step like a hammer slamming mercilessly against his chest. 

On this day, mistakes have been made. 

———————

“Did you give them some well-deserved knocks?” Dekka's voice was laced with easy humor, snapping Aloy from her thoughts. 

Casually leaned against a wall, the composed figure of the woman seemed comfortable somehow. As if they hadn't both just experienced the same morning. 

There had always been a sort of soft buzzy quality to Dekka’s voice that would often remind Aloy of the comforting static behind old radio transmissions.

She had felt it in their first meetings, and wondered if it was the reason she was so quickly endeared to her. It felt familiar in a way, perhaps after years of listening to playback recordings from datapoints, it carried with it a kind of nostalgia. It was a sound that without needing volume could somehow find its way through any clamorous din to hum softly against the ear. A low tone that thrummed through the heart, and it sapped the heat of her anger from her in an instant. 

She was left only with a lingering, hollow frustration so she made a face, “I don’t know.” Aloy started, “Maybe.” She tried again, and then finally, her thoughts a jumbled wad, “… I probably should have hit something… or someone, or both- I don’t know.” 

The words petered out weakly and she found herself equally unconvinced by them. 

What should she have done? She wondered. What could she have done? Was there even a right response? A right answer?  

In matters of diplomacy, should she have tried to be more... diplomatic ? 

It wasn't like she was completely foreign to the way that people in positions of power would speak. All in roundabout ways- playing with words and trading masks to achieve a goal. But it was exhausting. 

And Aloy had always found it to be messy and confusing. A waste of the precious hours and minutes it felt like they all barely had with the threat of so many imminent dangers and certainly with Nemesis hanging over them.

Aloy only knew how to be- how to breathe, how to step one foot in front of the next, and those things didn’t require something as finicky as diplomacy. 

Moving through and forward was only a matter of strength and determination- you do because you must. And if you don't all that you know is the thing you risk losing. 

Too much often felt at stake to play in the land of political subtleties and subterfuge. 

Despite that, it was not that she didn’t know that there was a time and place for such things- that there was a time to survive like she always had, and that there was a time to tread carefully in ways she did not always know- but it was hard. 

Instinct over logic- a battle that seemed to become more convoluted and complex the longer she lingered in the walls of such cities like Meridian. 

Were these the types of things she should have always known and been made to understand? Or was this- like so many other matters of connecting- something she would have learned elsewhere? And if so, then from whom? Her absent and resistant tribe? The faded holo-memories of Elisabet? Or the patched-together allegories which so often came in the guise of hunting lessons from Rost?  

Even with the last two, Rost was an outcast, and Elisabet was socially inept enough to miss the fact that her.. what did the Old Ones call it? A situationship? That her... that would come back to haunt her genetic clones a thousand years later. So who could really have helped her on this front? 

The bitter and hateful whispers of "motherless girl" played in the back of her mind. 

Her insufficiencies swelled in her mouth, the sludge of it catching in her throat- her hand raising to sit heavy against the base of her neck as if poised to trap it there. A physical effort to keep herself from swallowing it all. 

And then Dekka was in front of her, and perhaps it was the wisdom of her years, but when her hand reached out to Aloy, she felt herself tether back to the world through her weathered palm. Aloy's careening mind losing its momentum and she could breathe. What a blessing it was to be such a person to have been able to accrue something so precious as age. To see years of battle, of fallen comrades and unforgiving terrains, and to emerge through it all just to guide the young, again and again and again.  

No one deserved the mantle of Chaplain more than Dekka. 

When she finally spoke, she did so firmly and with conviction. “Even amongst the most noble of pursuits, we are inundated by our humanness. It is why, so often our good intentions can be undone by the truth of our unfortunate impact. Even when doing good work, can we experience our own shortcomings." 

Her smile, her hand, her entire countenance radiated warmth and if the Carja believed in a burning sun, ablaze high in the noonday sky then Dekka was a steady evening. As glowing amber and sure as a sun that lay itself upon the horizon. 

How was it possible for kindness to be such a balm? For such easy acceptance and understanding to guide the flow of her unsteady breath. For even the smallest shred of what might mimic maternal care- even as Aloy knew it was simply Dekka's way, to pry loose the tight constriction of her throat. 

“You have done your best,” she reaffirmed, “And we all know that your presence here is as a symbol of the work that's already been done. Defeating Regalla, securing the next generation of Marshals, defeating the Mad Sun King, and combatting the derangement- your shoulders are heavy enough.” 

Her words were kind. So so kind, but how could Aloy not let herself doubt? 

Had she really? 

Had she really done her best? 

Of course she always wondered these things. When the path grew long and machines scurried away somewhere to rest, Even Aloy found the silence of those moments a daunting thing. When she stopped to really think about it, most of these things only happened by the coincidence of that they aligned with her own goals, her own missions. 

And knowing that, when she considered those moments, the idea of what was "enough", and what was her "best", never felt mutually exclusive and that worried her.  

Because knowing that, accepting that, meant that "enough" would always fall just short of what was really needed, and "her best", could just as easily amount to "not enough."

Doing "enough" to complete their mission, but if she were being honest, her "best" would entail no world-ending cataclysm to have to perpetually worry about. 

Aloy remained very still, her eyes focused only on some small detail of the older woman’s face paint. 

A ferocious motif that belied the tenderness of age.  

Dekka had years. Something Aloy did not quite have yet, but also- something she felt desperately unsure if she would ever have. What she did have, was knowledge. So. Much. Knowledge- and most of it felt a burden. Do years hold up against the onslaught of knowing? Was experience truly enough to pacify such anxiety? Dekka was so assured, while Aloy felt a wild swirl of knowing and not knowing.

There is so much at stake.” Her eyes moved from a speck of paint, blue and flaking to meet Dekka's eyes, “So many are counting on this to go well- so many counting on the food, and the opportunities, the chance for the betterment of communities and the promise of a future without bloodshed between people." She could feel herself becoming impassioned with each word, her emotions rising once again, "And it can go well, we just- “ her breathing hitched then and Dekka interjected smoothly. 

“We just need only to be human.”  She finished for her. 

The hand on her arm gave a little squeeze, “It will be fine.” A soft smile, her eyes crinkling ever so, “Our Marshal has his advisors, and so too does the Sun King. And in the face of such human struggles, full of human solutions, we must also make room to be led through by those as human as us. So trust, Aloy, we shall see it done. As your mission is the mission of all, and we have pledged ourselves to that cause.” 

Dekka gave one final, assuring squeeze, before bowing her head softly and heading off in the direction of the meeting room. 

And, Aloy, spying the fluttering ends of Vanasha’s robes rounding a nearby corner, prayed that she shared such sentiments as well. 

She lingered a moment longer, letting the the warm air of a desert afternoon wash over her. 

It would be fine. 

It will be fine, she thought again. 

She exhaled deeply through her nose, feeling her lungs compress as she pushed it all out and away. 

And just as her world began to finally reorient, the innocuous bleep of her focus warned her of an incoming call.

Of course it would be Sylens. 

Chapter Text

In a landscape that rarely saw rain nor clouds, the midday sun was a merciless thing.

Shadows that cut sharply, slicing indiscriminately across and through all that lay in its path. Colors that began the day with depth becoming tired and flat, the life seemingly sapped away beneath scorching beams.

The pleasant heat of morning transforming into something unrelenting.

And at the absolute peak of its rise the sun beats ceaselessly down from above as though an indomitable and unforgiving presence born to expose all that walk below to the face of Heaven’s judgement.

All are made equal in the blinding white light of it- kings become men, men become bodies, and bodies all alike are bared against the earth as simple ants. Toiling endlessly against their own insignificance in the unflinching gaze of the Sun.

Really, truly crazy stuff.

Vanasha had heard plenty of such sermoning in her lifetime, and certainly her childhood was rife with it given her own fathers’ penchant for religious fanaticism. And while he wielded his eloquence and political standing as a Sun-Priest to weave complex narratives under the pretense of religious morality, at the heart of it was a simple lesson.

In order to grasp something that is difficult or complex, you must first be able to understand what it is when stripped down to its most base form.

All things that may seem mired in mystery operate on the foundation of a simple reality, and all things that are simple, may give way to realities manifold.

In his case- what was [needlessly] complex was his interpretation of the Sun to a man who may or may not be a proxy of God.

And in his relationship as a man, a human and a servant of such a divine being how could he ever deign to question the actions or choices of God?

That would make him -to put it plainly- bad.

Because to question the Mad Sun King, would be to question God, which is in fact questioning the Sun! It was unthinkable, and how could he allow himself to be compromised by such a moral failing as to not have unwavering faith and devotion?

No matter the atrocities, no matter the cost- this was God’s will. The complex and unknowable divine design of the Sun, all of which being far too great for the mind of a mere human. 

What a conundrum, right?

It wasn't. Hidden in the weeds of all the religious exposition is thus: A god transcends humanity.

That's like, literally their whole deal. 

That’s why it’s God, clearly and thoroughly delineated from the culpability of flesh. Why would something as omnipotent and enduring as the Sun, crave or indulge or even, really care about anything in the same way a human would?

It wouldn’t. Because it can’t. It’s the sun.

And also, how could anyone trust the words of a God being delivered through the mouth of a man???? 

Like make it make sense. 

But we, as little people, all awash in our people-ness just can’t help ourselves but behave as people do. The Mad Sun King, being just as human as the rest was no exception, God’s proxy be damned for all it amounted to was a title and thousands of lost lives.

So Vanasha learned this lesson well. It served her in her life as a spy- kept her alive, kept Itamen and Nassadi safe.

In all things complex exists an equal measure of astounding simplicity- and even further still to that end, that something that exists in such an obvious way may actually be more complex than first thought.

Yet some things really were as simple as they appeared. Take for instance, the two men sat across from each other in this now otherwise empty room.

For all the labyrinthine circumstances that have led them to this table, the actual and only reason why they, themselves, were both even there had currently just walked out of the room, pissed.

And if you looked at the two of them, you might see something that appeared to be complex, but was also easily understood as something… well… not.

For example, if you wash away the arduously long diatribe of how Avad bore the mantle of king to a nation that has yet to really find its footing after many long years under a theocratic regime run roughshod via deranged leadership and religious sycophants- a son to said despot and ultimate usurper of,  alongside being the brother to who he believed should truly be king on account of having never desired the throne in the first place. Etcetera and etcetera. You get the picture.

Underneath all of that storied history and undoubtedly very complex progression of events, Avad was simply… a man.

Then, there's Kotallo. Taking his presence here into account- wouldn’t his involvement also imply its own level of convolution? Sure- if you looked at the tangled web of his own life. Certainly there could have been no straight path from the Sky Clan to the shining city of Meridian and that’s not accounting for whatever life he lived that pre-dates his knowing of the Nora huntress. He of his own making, had formed bonds with Fashav - a shared thread between himself and Avad. He emerged from the perilous trials of the Kulrut in order to receive the esteemed rank of Marshal amongst a notoriously fierce people, and he even served alongside the infamous and formidable Hekarro- so surely Kotallos’ years were just as equally multitudinous as Avad.

Or anyones for that matter.

What was simple, however, was exactly what made Avad simple. He was a man.

And if there was one thing- one enduringly and painfully singular truth that Vanasha had come to fully understand in her lifetime, it was that men, were in fact, simple.

Not so much dumb, though their choices may beg the question on occasion. They were… how should she say- they were intuitive creatures.

Driven by instinct, and instinctively prompted by their emotion.

Again, there it was- the artful dance between complex and simple.

Instinct was simple. Emotions, complex.

Greed was complex- hunger was simple. 

You could take any ambiguous emotion and if you dug deep enough, you would find a single root- hunger. 

Hunger being the base experience of all creatures of flesh and blood- though Aloy has called it something like bio... biotech-biology. Something like that. Anyways.

Hunger teaches you to live- when you're a baby, hunger teaches you to cry.  

And as you get older, hunger teaches you to hunt. 

So just as much as we know that to hunger is to be driven to eat, to hunt and to achieve; hunger becomes more nuanced with each new feat. Evolving and adapting just as much as we do. 

Hunger becomes desire and desire likes to masquerade behind different faces making you think it's complex.

It's not desire, it's a "goal."

It's not desire, it's "ambition."

It's not desire, it's "hope."

But really, it's not desire- it's hunger, plain and simple.

And these two before her were starving.  

Long before re-entering the meeting room, she had already registered Dekka's presence, and she paused to make eye contact.

Tilting her head towards Avad, she wordlessly asked,“Wanna swap?”  

And the fierce looking woman nodded, a knowing glint in her eye.

Perfect. Easy.  

The Chaplain, or Dekka as she had been granted the leave to call her- she was a person of complexity. A person who had deftly taken her by surprise while hiding in plain sight. Vanasha had relegated her down to a simple judgement and was then summarily and gracefully proven wrong. It had made her immediately fond of the older woman.

Yet, that was something to dwell on later, for now she needed to deal with Kotallo. He was currently less like a Tenakth Marshal and more like a devastated lump of tattoos.

She placed herself by the table, her back to Avad, and leaned casually against its edge.

Kotallo sighed heavily. Such drama. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She placed one finger against the hard machine plate on his forehead and then pushed lightly. “Will you sit here and mope till the sun sets?” It was an obvious provocation, met by another heavy sigh. So she tried again, tapping annoyingly this time against the plate, “Come on,” she said, stretching the words, “it’s honestly not as bad as you think. You’re being dramatic.”

On the last tap a burly hand shot out, grabbing her finger and ending its reign of terror. “Shouldn’t you be talking to someone else?” His words were gruff, though undermined by the slightest tinge of pouting. What a big scary warrior, she couldn't help the sarcasm that infiltrated her mind but she at least resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Men in love were often so pitiful, she thought.

“No I don’t think so, I’m pretty sure I’m talking to the right person.” He relinquished his grasp of her hand, freeing up his own to drag roughly down his face. “Fine.” He said resigned, “What do you want then?”

Ah! Gotcha.

“Let’s go hunting.” She said lightly, and then she was moving swiftly. Away from her perch at the table, and away from the stuffy meeting room beaten down by the punishing heat of the midday sun. Never stopping to confirm if the surly man would follow because she didn't have to.

And as she left, she threw one last look to Dekka, and inclined her head in thanks.

Avad would be in good hands.

Chapter Text

There was something about the feel of a spear that could set Kotallo’s mind at ease.

Not so much that it lessoned his worries, but that it swept through the mind in tandem with the world. A moving meditation if you will. The natural tug that came from the inertia of a swing, and the subsequent force of it that inevitably pulled against the worn skin of his palm.

Concentration and focus could be found in the tell-tale grooves of the grain which traveled across the length of his weapon as though a wooden river, pressing into his hand urging him forward with each methodical movement.

It was instinct. It was training. It was blessedly familiar territory.

Much needed familiar territory he admitted silently, and infinitely better than the training pole that only stood to receive his abuse.

In the meeting room when Vanasha had left, he had followed. As to the why, he did not fully know. Maybe it was the building heat in the room as the noon sun bared down against its walls. The stuffy air and heavy armor he so often donned now chafing incessantly against the fraying edges of his mind. Or, it could be, that he had begun to see the tiresome woman as a friend. Loathe that he was to admit such a thing out loud. And it certainly wasn’t improbable that in the face of a morning which had gone about as awry as it likely could have- he dare not tempt even more strife by lingering in such a place.

The vibes were, in fact, bad.

Granted, Kotallo was well aware that he had been just as much at fault for wasting the morning as the Sun King who had sat across from him. But after Aloy’s reprimanding, he would have taken any escape and Vanasha had offered.

Meanwhile there was Avad, who had arrived to the table bearing the same countenance as a kicked dog. No doubt the residual consequence of their not-so-great discussion the night before.

And quite frankly, it was annoying. He couldn't tolerate it. He didn’t want to.

Sitting there and being forced to overlook the diminished stature of such a great man was uncomfortable. It grated on his nerves.

Pathetic and desperate. That’s what he looked like, and Kotallo had grit his teeth at the sight of it. Everyone knew that both of those things were in essence the least respectable versions of vulnerable and earnest.

And they brought the likes of men who sat at the peaks of nations and who held immeasurable reputation to their knees. Making fools of them all.

It felt a little too personal, if he were being honest.

Before he had left, he looked to Dekka one last time- he might be fleeing yet another undesirable situation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t afford his comrade the courtesy she was due. She merely waved him off. Her hand shoo’d him towards the door, as she silently gave her blessing to his escape.

Not an escape, he decided. A tactical retreat.

He seemed to be making a habit of those lately.

And now he was here- well he was somewhere.

Vanasha had led them well past the castle walls, carving a path down through the Royal Maizelands that lay below the luminous spires of the upper city. Further still, she led him south and the well-paved roads eventually gave way to dirt trails that wound their way through the lower village of Meridian.

They passed a small field of grazing Chargers, and soon found themselves crossing into the dense foliage of jungle that banked the furthest edges of the township.

Throughout their trek, Vanasha remained silent, only addressing locals as they passed- waving to them in familiar pleasantries. But she never paused to check if he was with her.

He supposed she wouldn’t need to. And whether he came along or not, her choices would have remained the same.

It wasn’t until they had trudged well into the heady embrace of the Jungle that Vanasha slowed her pace. The noonday sun had since ceded its overbearing throne atop the sky, and as it made its way down the horizon persistent beams cut through dense pockets of growth. She stopped, her back still turned to him, and instead a slim hand raised slightly into the air, signaling him to pause.

She pointed to a nearly indistinct glow within the brush.

There, buried amongst the fern and trailing ivy, laid ever so cleverly near the base of a large tree: a red light.

Stalkers.

He nearly rolled his eyes at the obviousness of it.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied with just any simple prey- Vanasha was not the kind to do things in halves and while he felt the irony of what effectively amounted to Stalker on Stalker violence, there was also gratitude. In all the unfamiliarity and discomfort of being a warrior acting in place of a politician- this was exactly the sort of thing he understood.

As a warrior, if his mind was a mess, he trained. He exerted himself. He beat the living shit out of something- typically a machine. Though the fighting pits were not out of the question. He felt his body awaken at the promise of an exhilarating fight.

He exhaled deep through his nose and his mind cleared. By the Ten, he had needed this.

Only a little ways ahead of him, Vanasha motioned to four different locations, each one laden with one or two signal flares. Stalkers were known for their individualist habits as predators however that didn’t stop them from moving in small packs from time to time either. Factor in their unique camouflaging abilities and it was essentially nearly impossible to know what you were facing till you found yourself staring down the muzzle of a dart gun.

He wondered idly if they would be dealing with one Stalker today, or three. 

Always hard to say, but if you were going to hunt, he supposed, you may as well be prepared to hunt.

He tightened his grip against the shaft of his spear, moving to stagger the weight of his feet in order to prepare for whatever came next. Just as he sank into position, Vanasha lunged forward. Moving fluidly across the clearing and then up to the base of the tree she had signaled to only moments before. In a single motion she snatched up the flare, purposefully igniting the signal and it screamed as the small projectile embedded within rocketed to the sky, leaving only a trail of white smoke in its wake.

Like clockwork, from deep within the canopy, there came the distinctive chattering laugh of a Stalker.

Everything seemed to slow as Vanasha sank into the shadows, shooting him a quick finger gun as she disappeared.

So that’s how it was then. He wasn’t surprised, though he wasn’t exactly pleased either.

However there was no time to grumble as the shimmering veil of a camouflaged machine shifted into view. The mirage-like distortion reflecting and refracting the light around it in the most unsettling way. Only the sound of its metallic joints compressing and releasing to give it away as it slunk from the jungle’s depths, no doubt preparing to pounce.

He lifted his spear just as the machine leapt, the air filling with the whoosh of its servomotors. Positioning the spear along the length of his arm, he deftly stepped to the side of what he hoped was a straight-on attack before propelling his weapon forward. Angling through his shoulders in order to slam it into its body.

There was a sickening crunch as the metal tip of the spear and the metal body of the machine connected, puncturing through its outer shell.

The Stalker staggered from the impact, its cloaking ability failing it briefly and its lumbering visage flickered before him.

His arm raised again, poised to strike. He would attack this time in quick succession, hoping to knock it down but Vanasha struck instead. Like a shadow, she materialized beside the machine, her arm like a scorpion, snapping forward and striking at the dart gun affixed to the top of the machine, knocking it clean off in a calculated move.

He couldn’t help it, an elated “Well done!” burst forth.

Vanasha quirked an amused brow at him while backing off, leaving to him to follow up in the wake of her success. He surged forward, brandishing his spear in a tidal wave of force as adrenaline coursed through him.

The Stalker was sparking now. With flecks of electricity leaping from its sinewy wires as proof of the accumulated damage of their combined attacks.

Attempting to create distance and give itself a chance to reassess, it sprang backwards.

But Vanasha was already there- relentlessly prodding. Again and again, her agile strikes eliminating the chance to regroup altogether. Rushing in and then out, mercilessly she herded the machine back in front of him as he readied another blow.

He felt so free, so alive in this moment. Snapping the spear forward, the point of it cracked against the hull of its chassis like lightening. The Stalker whipped its head to him, its maw agape now aimed at his only arm- clearly singling out the offending appendage. Yet there was Vanasha, once more with her blade flashing as it sailed through the dappled light of the jungle. Skillfully she picked apart the machines’ focus. Quick, successive attacks rained down on its side.

They had it pinned now, and its body hunched defensively between them.

He suspected that if there had been any additional Stalkers nearby, they would have shown themselves long ago. The cries and clamor of a distressed machine were impossible to miss.

It was his mistake that he let his gaze drift from the machine, attempting to take quick stock of the clearing just to be sure.

Sensing that it was indeed cornered, the Stalker thrashed wildly. Its razor-sharp claws sliced indiscriminately through the air in an effort to break free of them. And with his vision split between the berserk machine, and the general area now obfuscated by its chaos he found himself stumbling backwards as an errant claw swiped at him.

His second mistake, was in forgetting that these damnable things had a tail, and a rather long one at that and it whipped viciously towards him. Before he could fully recover from dodging the claw, he reeled back but he was too slow and the very edge of it slapped across his face. The cold metal splitting the skin of his cheek cleanly.

Immediately, blood began to well and he felt it pool beneath his eye before sliding down the length of jaw and down his neck. The cut stung in the open air as it mixed with his sweat and face paint. Dammit, rookie mistake.

From the other side of the clearing he heard Vanasha shout to him, “Look alive!” whilst maneuvering around the flailing beast.

He could only grunt back to her, too busy rolling to the side as he dodged another brutal swipe of the Stalker’s tail, it slammed down against where he had been and in the frenzy his spear had been wrenched free from his hand. It lay at the edge of the clearing, just out of reach.

Kotallo grimaced. Shit.

Was it worth it to go for his weapon, or should he simply take the machine on, using his body like he had once before. Unbidden, thoughts of Barren Light filled his mind. Flashing him back to the moment an enraged Bristleback had come clamping down on his body. The knotted bundle of scar tissue and mottled remains of his left arm burned at the memory.

No, he’d rather not do that again.

Waiting for an opening, he rushed to his weapon, rolling past another frenzied attack as the Stalker lurched at him, hurling itself across the clearing and crashing into the brush. In spite of all that it was clearly starting to tire. Its core processors undoubtedly losing their ability to power it through another round of violent thrashing.

Kotallo’s gaze met Vanasha’s and she gave a sharp nod.

Carefully, they closed in. With measured steps they crept ever closer.

The machine was wary of them, swinging its head from one to the other. Who would be the first to act? Who amongst the three would break?

The air became still, thick with anticipation. The humidity and the heat of their exertions wafted off of them. And as the tensions mounted, the sounds of the world became distant. Swallowed by the ringing silence and then- Vanasha pounced, and the Stalker erupted into one last riotous effort against its impending demise. She plunged her blade deep into the machine’s lens, the whole of it sinking up to the hilt and as she did so, Kotallo drove his spear straight through to its core.

The Stalker gave a violent shudder before finally collapsing to the ground.

The hunt had ended. Only the steam and the sparks remained to tell of it.

And all at once, the adrenaline drained from him. He released his tight grip on the spear that now jutted from the center cavity of the dead machine. Absently, he lifted his hand to his face. The tips of his fingers grazed across the length of the wound that now marred it. His cheek throbbed angrily in response and he let out a weary sigh knowing he’d need to find salve for it.

He wondered if Aloy would notice, and then shook himself. Quit it.

“So,” Vanasha’s casual tone sliced through the heavy atmosphere, unceremoniously dragging him into the present. “do you feel better?”

By the Ten this woman just couldn't help herself, he thought exasperated.

Yet the answer that remained in the face of Vanasha's knowing look, surprised him. Because yes, he did.

He did feel better, actually.

Chapter Text

By the Ten, Kotallo was tired.

Whatever residual adrenaline he had relied on to carry him through from the fight had already long run itself dry, and he found himself staring wearily at Vanasha’s back as she lead their way back to the Sun Palace.

Admittedly, they had traveled much further into the jungle than he initially realized. His heavy footsteps carried him forward despite the growing fatigue in his body- no doubt a combined result of his sleepless nights since arriving to this frustrating place.

He supposed it was always like that though- the journey towards something always seeming so much shorter than the return. Perhaps it was the excitement of the unknown- or the anticipation of some new destination. It always seemed as though that what often awaited you at the end of your going was always something a little unknowable as opposed to the very heavy knowing that came with returning.

Much like traveling lightly only to return with twice as much baggage as you had set off with. Which,is exactly what had they had done this afternoon. Arriving only with weapons in hand and now returning with all the machine parts they could strip from their prey. He rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen them up from underneath the heavy satchel that now found itself slung across his back.

The dense foliage of the jungle had begun to thin ahead of him, and he heaved a tired sigh.

Some kind of bathing would be in order as soon as they got back and then.. well.. he didn’t know yet. Would he go out in search of Aloy? Would she be expecting him to do so? And if he found her, what then- he hardly knew where to begin explaining his own childish behavior.

Well.. more so that he didn’t know how to.

In more recent days he had felt himself journey far from the safe space of what he knew to be the truth of himself. The unshakeable core of “Duty.” When first she had appeared, it was as no more than a potential threat and hindrance to the greater plan of Hekarro’s Vision, but how quickly that deviated from all realms of expectations.

His initial perception of her being shattered so quickly and so easily, and what should have remained as simple admiration and respect for a capable and accomplished warrior had since morphed into its own untamable machine of a beast.

Could he dare to look such a thing in the face and name it?

He felt desperate to avoid it- but it was becoming impossible.

No, it wasn’t becoming anything- it was impossible. He could no longer ignore such a thing just as much as he could pretend losing an arm hadn't changed his life.

But so what if he gave it a name and acknowledged the truth- the reality of their circumstance didn’t change just by accepting. He wanted something he could not have and did not deserve to impede upon. Yet still, there was a gnawing pit in his chest that could not be sated. Not when he watched others so carelessly approach Aloy without so much as a sliver of such heavy consideration. They simply wanted, and then acted upon such simple and easy wanting, and it drove him mad with frustration.

They did not know the truth of waiting- of choosing to abide by her choices and to hope for her return.

The corners of his mouth turned down in a deep frown as the seemingly endless nights of waiting for Aloy’s return to the base camp filled his mind. His heart clenched at the memories. The underlying tension and anxiety that filled the seconds while they all searched for distraction. And they had all found something- of course they did- they had to. Strategy and games of Strike, digging through old archives collected and preserved by Aloy and GAIA. But he had seen that he wasn’t alone in watching the gentle support and companionship that Varl and Zo were able to confide in each other. And he had seen that he wasn’t alone in the envy.

The time in which they weren’t doing much, other than anxiously awaiting Aloy felt so long. But then she’d return and he’d watch her make the rounds- taking the time to check in with them each, and she’d arrive to his quarters and it was all he could do to hold himself in line. This time he could offer something- a tidbit he had learned, a piece of history from the Old Ones, or simply that he was there- by the Ten, he was there and he was ready for anything she needed. But she never stayed long and he would find himself waiting once more.

And so the cycle repeated, and to keep himself from going mad through it all he told himself that waiting was the mission. He would use his time strategically and he’d be ready as soon as he was needed again- be it to Aloy or the Clan Lands, he would succeed at using this time well.

Erend kept him company, and he often sparred with Zo. GAIA filled his focus with helpful selections from the hundreds of stored data points on things he would inquire after. He would be useful. He would be useful and he would wait.

Looking back on it, the desperation was already so palpable.

Vanasha obviously knew, but Hekarro and Dekka? He thought back to all their knowing glances and sly smiles and he wanted to groan. Of course. Yes, they obviously knew as well. And Avad?

By the Ten, he must know. He wasn’t being surly just for the sake of being called on his childish desires, he was being surly because he had been called out by someone with the exact same desires as he did and for the same woman no less.

At that, he did let out an audible groan and Vanasha chuckled, “It’s not that bad, we’re not far now.” But she didn’t look back, and for that he was thankful. He didn’t feel like explaining himself in this context, it was better to let her think he was whining about the trek.

Back then, at least he had the archives to distract him. Through the wondrous tool of the Focus he had poured himself into the information, seeking anything that could be of aid. After all, it was true that information- but more importantly, wisdom, was scarce in the Clan Lands. Those who often carried such precious troves rarely lived long enough to share any of it. And if they did manage to pass any of it on, there was no guarantee that those who had been privileged enough to receive it would live much longer themselves.

The feudal days of the west were as volatile as they were bloody and it wasn’t so unheard of that an entire clan might be wiped out in an evening. But things were changing, their future was changing. 

So he dug into the archives with a near single-mindedness. Determined to return to the clan with anything he could to aid their pursuit of the future, but of course it wasn’t altogether altruistic. He knew now that what he really wanted was to pass the time till the next return. The next conversation, the next touch point with his Commander. Not Hekarro, but Aloy.

He thought of the time where Aloy had asked him if he had a minute to spare- likely in lieu of some tired greeting, instead she had approached him with something that hinted at purpose and in his excitement he had offered back, “as many as you need.” Of all the things he could have said instead he’s pledging to give her as much of his time as she may ever deign to need or want. Kotallo, you fool, you could have said, “of course.”

It truly is incredible how blind one can be to their own self.

On a particularly long night, where he had felt himself pacing the length of the place, waiting for any sign of the next return, GAIA had offered to share a joke from the Old Ones with him, “What came first: the chicken or the egg?” she had proffered, but he felt the question was self-defeating by design. How could there be one without the other? GAIA sat silent, as if perhaps he would offer the answer himself, that he'd know instinctively the way all humans do the answer to certain universal truths, but he had nothing. “Is there a correct answer?” he had asked instead.

There was a measured silence, and then, “It would seem that there is a scientific response as well as a socially contrived metaphor inherent within. Would you find either funny?”

He snorted a little at that, “Do all jokes of the Old Ones have science at the end of them?” and she had replied, “Not according to my data.”

GAIA always gave her responses with patience but a definitive layer of matter-of-factness colored her dialogue. As if she was neither here nor there but sort of everywhere in the catalogue of human knowledge, and he often felt enveloped by the spaciousness of her presence. Offering something like humor to him to ease his anxiety felt so inherently human of her, and he had wondered if that were Aloy’s influence or the remnant echoes of containing an archive of human life.

Thankful to GAIA he chose to express his gratitude by asking for the answer of her choice, “Which do you find more entertaining?” he asked after awhile.

He thought he heard her hum thoughtfully- another human quality-, “I find the metaphor most interesting, as it is used to express the scenario of infinite regress. 'Which' as opposed to 'what' is the true cause and effect of a situation where neither can be clearly determined. Though perhaps I am biased by my experience of working alongside Aloy as the question can be posed about the unique culmination of our individual and combined circumstance.”

“I see.” Was all he could seem to leave her with, but GAIA’s answer lingered with him for the rest of the night.

Without Aloy would there have been GAIA as they knew her now? Without Elisabet would there have been GAIA at all? And without GAIA would Aloy have come to be?

During his studies, he had discovered fragments of what looked to be like some kind of popular work of fiction. GAIA had explained that the Old Ones often found comfort and entertainment in such things. But the texts contained tales of a cycle of imminent destruction not so unlike what the Ancients had experienced before them. A journey, a destruction, and a rebirth marked by some kind of important return.

Not to compare Aloy or GAIA to the key figures of this fiction but the fates and origins were not so dissimilar. If not, quite lonely. Full of destruction, unmaking, and re-making. Shouldering the weight of a tremendous unknown while relying on an omniscient knowing all at once. An arduous journey across dangerous lands, and a collection of like-minded individuals to unite towards a cause. If the stories indeed were to bear such parallel pathways, would any of them continue forward knowing what might await Aloy at the end of it? Would they be okay leaning on her to such a degree while knowing that there may be the possibility of making her, much like Elisabet, into a martyr?

Would they even have a say in the matter? Or was this a decision only Aloy, herself, could make?

He doubted that the thought of it had not crossed her own mind, at least once.

A future that was neither impossible nor improbable and it filled his being with dread.

Later, he would ask GAIA to explain this idea of “infinite regress.”

What he learned was this: in order for an argument to be made under the conditions of infinite regress they needed to meet a few parameters. First, there needs to be a plausible case for something to infinitely regress. I.e. “the chicken or the egg?”. Secondly, the nature of this infinitely looping cycle, needs to be inherently vicious. It can be vicious in the sense that it is by design contradicting itself by its physical impossibility, (again, see chicken, see egg), but it can also express such a nature in the sense that the solution fails to solve the problem for the very thing it was designed to solve. GAIA had been patient with him, carefully relaying things in new ways to help him understand such unfamiliar ideas and broad concepts. She had waxed on about adjacent things like “foundationalism,” and “Coherentism” though he found most of it incoherent, but what really struck him were the two living and breathing examples before him.

The vicious cycle of Elisabet, to GAIA, to Aloy, contrasted by the vicious cycle of Elisabet, to Tilda to Beta.

And the lack of recursive punctuation in either contrasting example. It was gut-wrenching in a way. 

Yet somehow, in spite of all this, Aloy journeyed. She continued to push forward into that uncertain dawn. Would this one be the last? He always felt the question linger in the air around her whenever he caught her gazing towards the horizon alone. A sight that often evoked hope in others, yet her gaze lingered long and pensive upon the new day.

And his own, pulled helplessly towards the back of her. Cast in her shadow, his eyes had made their home on the righthand corner of her battered shoulder. She didn’t need him. He knew. But he would be there.

She would journey on and he would wait for her return. Just as she had asked him to.

Unbidden, his hand flexed at his own resolve.

The ground around his feet was warm, pulling him from his mind as the heat that had collected through the day had now begun to release up and around them while the cool evening air crept in, the contrast causing small bumps to rise across the surface of his skin.

Up ahead, Vanasha had hurried forward after finally emerging from the jungle. He spotted what was likely a palace servant waiting for them at the borderline of the township, and Vanasha strode purposefully to meet them.

However, Kotallo kept his own pace. He’d arrive soon enough as it were.

His mind idly wandered back to “the chicken or the egg..” could this even be considered a joke?

After everything he had learned in the process of GAIA sharing this with him, he sincerely doubted there was anything but irony to be found in it. Perhaps the Old Ones simply had a different sense of humor- their lifestyles certainly seemed more complex and convoluted than anything they experienced today. It stood to reason that might also affect their approach to entertainment?

He was a simple man, a game of Strike would suffice.

Vanasha finished speaking with the palace servant, and he watched as they hurried away, no doubt in a rush to return back to the palace and make their report.

Life certainly was funny. Were they all simply always in a state of going and returning? In small mundane ways all interspersed within a greater scheme of one great big “Journey and Return”?

Maybe the chicken and the egg joke was more an ironic observation of the lived experience?

It seemed possible but he knew better now.

Unexpectedly, he found himself broaching the subject first, “Is everything alright?”

Vanasha quirked a brow at him, but he ignored it.

“Seems like your Commander needs to meet with you.” She shifted her weight to cock one hip to the side before gesturing in the direction of the palace, “Something urgent will be taking her away apparently.”

Ah, another going, it would seem.

There was something about her tone that felt like it was attempting to be kind. Maybe it was a kind of consideration, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it as that. Because then he’d have to accept it for what it was, which was that laden beneath all her carefully crafted sass, were the smallest traces of pity.

He didn’t want her pity. Though he couldn’t say that he didn’t understand how he must look to her. Ragged from his battle with the Stalker- it was an easy scapegoat for the weariness in his bones at the idea of facing the vicious truth of another long wait. Another long returning for a Commander who must always inevitably go.

He let his eyes drift closed and on an exhale he accepted this fate. “I see.” Was all he said on the matter.

Kotallo felt her staring. Observing. No doubt everything that had remained unsaid was loud enough in his silence. But she moved on quickly, a quiet step forward and then another. Her movements signaling their own return to the palace, and maybe it was childish but he felt some kind of satisfaction that for once, it was Aloy who awaited him.

Though he knew it was simply to leave again.   

They passed through a now empty field, the grazing Chargers having long since found a new place to rest under the gentle moon. The village too, now quiet as the days activities wound down to a close. Shops shuttered their windows and wagons and vendors now sat beneath protective tarps. In the cool air of night, the crickets sang and the mysterious glow of fireflies danced within the waving reeds and grass.

It was Vanasha’s turn to break the silence now, “You should say something.” She lobbed the statement out like it was obvious.

Because it was, but he didn’t have to agree.

“Something.” The smug retort had slipped out before he could catch himself, but Vanasha snorted in reply. “Nice one,” she shrugged, “I’m almost proud, but you know what I meant.”

Vanasha didn’t look at him during this exchange. She only fixed her gaze to the front, carrying herself forward with one well-placed foot in front of the other.

Did she know that if she had looked at him he might’ve built his walls higher? She must have- it was her job to read people after all. Just as easily she left plenty of room for him to refuse again, but he was tired now. And he would be remiss in continuing to disregard the favor she had done him today by continuing his childish obstinance on the matter. So he mulled it over, wondering how much to give away.

He opened his mouth to begin, the air catching in his throat as he cut himself off, “I-.” no not that, that was too much.

He tried again. “I…” there was a thoughtful pause as he sifted through the words, “know her mission is heavy.” The statement hung between them, heavy in the air as if to punctuate his point. Sure this was a vague thing, but after all it was the truth. It was always the truth.

Aloy’s mission was heavy. The “heavy enough” of it all didn’t need to be said. It was big enough to fill the fields and valleys and every corner and corridor of the Sun Palace a hundred times over. And at the end of it all, it was all he could say to justify his endless self-torment.

There was a long pause after. Maybe it was her turn to sift through her words- and he wondered what sort of well-placed jab she might offer in return. The crunch of the hard-packed dirt gave way again to the dusty thud of a cobbled road, finally, she shrugged. “And?”

That was it? No additional retort? He had to admit he was confused. “What do you mean, and?”

She shrugged again as if repeating the gesture would make him understand. “Look, I get that you want to fall on the sword- or spear- of being the one to consider her situation the most, but do you think that Aloy is better for not knowing you care for her? I don’t know everything-” she gestured wildly around the sky, “but I do know that Aloy has had a path forged FOR her and while she does what she can to choose for herself when and where she can, the last thing she wants is others to limit her opportunities to keep doing so. So don’t you think, you should let her make a choice?” Vanasha stopped then, turning to look at him with crossed arms and what seemed like a permanently raised brow.

He could only stare at her stunned.

“Just give her a chance. Let her choose what she’s ready to carry or not carry. Don’t assume for her when she hasn’t asked you to.”

Kotallo felt himself stuck- unsure of what to say, his mind tried and failed again to formulate any appropriate response, his mouth opening and then closing, before opening again, “I…”

“You..” She waved at him to continue.

“I…” he tried again, “She-”

Vanasha gave an exasperated wail, “Look,” she jabbed a finger into his chest, “you think way too much, so I’m going to say this in the simplest way I can. If you refuse to act, you can only accept whatever loss comes of it.” Her finger jabbed at him again, “Understood?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Great! Then let’s get back because I need a bath and a break from dense men.” And with that she turned on her heel and made for the castle in long strides, with Kotallo just barely keeping pace.

He was coming to a conclusion, one that he had never truly considered but maybe, would need to run by Zo the next time they were able to speak.

Kotallo, thought to himself, that maybe, just maybe, he might be a bit dense.