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Chapter Text

Erend almost dropped his tankard at Drakka’s words.
The young commander had traveled all the way from Scalding Spear and was still dusty from the road, but stood tall in the middle of the floor, chest out, his hand outstretched to Aloy as if he came wrapped in a Carja silk bow, and Aloy looked at Drakka as though he had grown another head. He wore more paint than clothes, and more swagger yet.

Alva’s eyes were the size of Erend’s fists, Zo had her hand to her mouth and Kotallo leaned into the door frame of his usual work room, nodding as though this shit-eating upstart hadn’t just said the most outrageous thing Erend had ever heard. As if what the little shit had said was somehow reasonable.

“Marry you?” Aloy repeated Drakka’s words, and Erend’s mouth went sour and dry at the same time.
“Yeah!” Drakka said, his arms outstretched as if Aloy was about to throw herself into his arms and thank him and call him a genius. Erend’s fist closed around the handle of his tankard and he lowered his eyes, looking like a Bristleback about to charge, but this bung-headed Tenakth went on unperturbed:

“Think about it, Desert flame,”—That fucking epithet? Really?—“There’s nothing we couldn’t accomplish together!”
Aloy was too stunned to speak, and Erend clenched his fist under the table, using all his might to not flip it across the room.
“I realize you may have other suitors, Aloy, but I am willing to defeat them all to secure your devotion and prove how serious I am.”
A devilish spark ignited in Aloy’s eyes. Not the one Erend delighted in, that meant she was about to blow up something big; the one she saved for Egghead.
“Drakka, you are actually out of your mind,” she scoffed between gritted teeth.
“Commander Drakka is compelling, you must admit,” Kotallo grumbled from his safe distance and the whole room turned his was in disbelief.

Erend felt the color rise to his cheeks, an angry flush, as his teeth ground and his shoulders tensed. It was unbearably hot in here and he had half a mind to take fresh air, but he felt frozen in place wanting to see Aloy’s reaction. He reached for his tankard, trying to slake the ire stirring as this pipsqueak went on.
“Not just compelling, Marshal! This is the most well-suited match I have ever thought up,” Drakka replied without the slightest hint of irony, “Imagine the fighters you and I would breed, Desert Flame.”
His ale turned to piss in his mouth. Aloy in bed with this toothpick? She’d crush him with her legs before he even came close. And even imagining that made Erend’s stomach churn.

Aloy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“And just how come all your brilliant ideas involve fighting one way or another? And why do I keep getting caught in the middle? There aren’t any Thunderjaws outside the base, are there?”
Drakka took no heed of what she mumbled to herself, but gestured to the room.
“I see you have suitors here. I know you have suitors throughout the tribe. I’ll gladly fight them. And when I defeat them, I’ll even fight you just to prove that I am your worthy mate.”
“How romantic,” Aloy bit back.

‘When,’ huh? Erend was outraged on her behalf. This little rust-cog was barely big enough to pick your teeth with.
“I swear on the Ten, Aloy!”
“You make it sound like I have a lover in every settlement from here to Tide’s Reach!”
“... Don’t you?”
”No!”
“All right, but you can’t deny you well could have just that! You’re the Flame of the West!”
That was clearly a new epithet and Aloy stuttered, flustered about the insinuation about her friends, and all the people she’d helped on her mission.
“Drakka, no, the idea is insane—these people are my friends, they’re not—”
“A worthy mate. Unlike me,” Drakka concluded, as though that settled anything, and Aloy groaned.
“I’ll fight you.” The words slipped out of Erend’s mouth before he could stop them. ‘Worthy mate, my ass.’

His blood roiled at the idea that this skinny, squeaky little shit was going to try and claim Aloy from right under him. Not if he and his hammer had anything to say about it. Not after two years of heartache since she had enchanted him back in the Embrace. Erend had sacrificed too much, dealt with too much pain in her absence, left his king and his post (and his bar tab) for her. Now he may not have any claim on her affections, but he wasn’t about to let Aloy fend of this annoying forge-fly without supporting fire. Erend didn’t care if the kid was the Commander of Scalding Spear, or if he were the king of the Claim for that matter.

Aloy clearly wasn’t willing, and this kid wasn’t willing to take no for an answer until someone knocked his ass to the sand. But Erend had no qualms doing just that and putting the issue to rest.
“Erend?!” Aloy gasped reproachfully, “You’re going to humor this… this nonsense?”
Erend’s ears went hot with embarrassment; he hadn’t actually considered that he could win Aloy, not that she’d ever give herself over for some stupid competition. Too late now, though.

He threw Kotallo a look to see if he too would defend Aloy’s honor, but his new friend’s dark eyes merely glittered amusedly over the unfolding drama. Wasn’t he going to step in to keep Aloy out of this pesky chin-wag’s hands?

“The challenge has been met,” Kotallo grumbled and stepped out onto the floor.
“Hang the hell on—” Aloy tried to interfere, but Drakka was already sizing Erend up, and Zo placed a hand on Aloy’s arm, giving her a look to let this play out for the fun of it. Of course Zo was keen on the chance of seeing Erend’s ass touch grass.

Kotallo started to explain the rules of engagement:
“You don’t understand this custom of ours. Tenakth courtship of this sort entails five feats of worthiness; Strength -” Erend smirked at this - “Speed, Smarts, Stamina and Survival. Aloy may not set the challenges, as she could tip the scales of engagement in someone’s favor. I will referee this venture.”
“You’re not a challenger for the Champion’s hand?” Drakka asked, and Kotallo shook his head. “Lucky. You might actually have had a chance at beating me.

“My heart is not mine to give,” he said matter-of-factly, and everyone threw him bewildered looks. Well, that was a surprise to them all.
“Well neither is mine!” Aloy chirped up, “I am not a prize to be won! You two both being boar-headed and this whole affair is a joke!”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve got the punchline right here,” Erend growled, slapping his fist into his palm, and Drakka puffed his chest like a fish in reply. A small, puny fish with a stupid haircut and a bare chin. Oh, so many soft parts ready for his fist.

If the young commander had any qualms about fighting Erend, he had to give the kid credit; he hid it well. Erend had a full head in stature towering over him, and was twice as broad at least. The kid looked wiry and wily, but Erend had known lug-headed lads like him trying to punch him out since before he could grow a mustache—something this lad clearly was a stranger to.

Drakka’s eyes only glittered with mischief and unshaken confidence.
“By the Ten, you’re a big boy, aren’t you, Oseram? You think you’re worthy of Hekarro’s champion, who flies on the Wings of the Ten?”
“Her name… is Aloy.”
Aloy stomped her foot.
“Aloy is standing right here! Erend, don’t entertain this idiocy!”
“Let him try it on, see how he likes the taste of sand,” Erend gave her a grin before turning his scowl back to the current top of his shit list, “It will hardly take a minute.”

“Hold,” Kotallo grumbled, “You may not lay hands on each other until the challenges. Stand down.”
“May I?” Aloy snapped, and Zo hushed her with a barely contained grin.
Kotallo stepped in to formally introduce the combatants.
“Erend Vanguardsman, Captain of Sun-King Avad’s personal guard corps, has met Commander Drakka of Scalding Spear’s challenge.”
“You’re a Carja guard? Oh, this will be fun!” he chortled, “I’m going to fell you like a tree.”
“Maybe when you’ve grown up,” Erend smiled sarcastically and shrugged.

The kid’s eyes widened and he grinned widely, white teeth splitting full lips. Erend couldn't decide which he’d enjoy more; splitting that insolent lip or knocking his teeth down his throat.
“The board is set,” Kotallo said and divided the two men who were nearly nose to nose—well, chest, “Though technically, there may be other contenders for Aloy’s hand yet. We will set the first match in two weeks for the Strength Challenge, and until then, anyone who wishes may enter into the fray.”

“And there’s no way either of you are going to listen to me screaming no about this?”
“None,” came the unison reply.

Chapter Text

Kotallo had managed to collect on some owed favors for the Strength feat, and had been arranging some unholy display at the Arena in the Tenakth Capitol. Neither Drakka nor Erend were allowed to know what it was until the day of, but Erend knew Alva had been called in to figure out some sort of engineered solution to lift gear into place.

When the Tenakth Marshal had revealed the stage for the challenge, Erend had bristled but only inwardly; he'd expected… lifting scrap and running obstacle courses. Playing machine strike to the background noise of Aloy gritting her teeth.
Not arena games with an audience, like the Sun-Ring.

Speaking of Aloy. She hadn’t spoken to Erend since he had accepted Drakka’s challenge, and her silence stung like a burn—and that was still only half as painful as her reproachful looks at him when she thought he couldn’t see.

But Erend was the master of looking at Aloy without her noticing. It was a skill honed over countless nights at the Base, as she either tore through like the East wind… or pacing on bare feet late at night after the others retired to their quarters, stealing morsels from the larder… or wrapped in a bath sheet as she left the shower; her hair slick and dark like amber mead pouring down her back and shoulders.

In her silence, Erend finally learned something that hurt more than her leaving without saying goodbye; her scorn. He sometimes thought he could trace sooty marks where his eyes had tried to burn through the doors to her room, daring it to open of its own accord.

His feelings for her ought to have petered out by now; mellowed into something closer to a very warm friendship rather than the bone-deep yearning he felt for her. But he had been sorely mistaken, and if before there had been time for him to put an anguishing but survivable distance between them, that chance had been long squandered. Erend’s heart was forged to Aloy irrevocably. Where she went, he would follow. If he had to part with her now, it would kill him. Slowly, one drink at a time, but death was certain. That’s why he couldn’t just look on as Drakka made his overtures.

But he couldn’t tell Aloy his own feelings. She had so much on her plate. He couldn’t burden her with this too, something so inconsequential compared to the fate of the world. She didn't have the time, even if she saw him that way.
Or maybe, more crassly, he was just scared of the severing of his lingering hopes. Uncertainty left ample room to hope against all sense.

Varl had known though. Varl had sussed it out back at the Spire, and had it confirmed at Barren Light when they had been convalescing together. Spending so much time in the same healer's tent, they had to find a way to pass the time, and had done so with machine strike and sweet Carja tea. And Varl had been more immediate than Erend in the way he saw through people.

Erend missed Varl more than ever now; he would have found a way to quell Drakka in a way that didn’t somehow become a spectacle for people to bet their shards on. And Aloy who hated when people fussed over her… Fire and spit, he was a stupid bung for agreeing to this shit.

Drakka had taken over Tilda’s old quarters in the base, unwilling to give Erend a chance to “woo” Aloy without himself there to interfere. And every morning, he strode out as naked as the day he'd been born towards the ‘indoor waterfall’ to clean himself, sweaty after his morning exercises.
He had made dead eye contact with Erend, and Erend had given a soft, almost sympathetic smile to Drakka, as if to give his condolences for his meager endowments.

Aloy had moved into Beta’s cellar for the ordeal. She couldn’t bear to have Drakka so close in on her during this whole affair. Drakka only took this as demure feelings on her behalf and preened… like one of those tropical birds Avad had once gifted his stepmother for her birthday. A very stupid bird that was so burdened by its tail feathers that it struggled to fly.

Soon enough, it was time to make their way to the Lowlands and the Arena.
Two nights before the first feat, the Oseram lads sat around Erend’s usual table in the Hidden Ember tavern, lovingly named The Abacus. The following morning, Erend and the rest of the GAIA gang were supposed to travel onwards to the Tenakth Capitol, where Erend was sure Kotallo had spared neither effort nor expense to make use of the Arena where the Tenakth usually hosted their machine sport.

Morlund had awkwardly enquired about the nature of the challenges, but when Erend had explained the rules—what little he knew of them—Morlund shied away. It was clear Morlund had considered entering the fray for Aloy’s hand, but thought better of it. In admitting his disadvantage in the competition, his interest had waned and gone quiet, though not without chagrin.

Erend was surprised; he hadn’t realized that Morlund had been smitten with Aloy too… though he was hardly surprised to hear it. Stemmur had already regaled Erend with the tale of the underground sea monster Aloy had slain to ensure their success in Hidden Ember, and Erend knew first-hand how Aloy had a tendency to tear through people’s lives, upending them entirely, and then rushing onwards to her next adventure… leaving a trail of starry-eyed gratefuls in her wake. Fire and spit, he was one such fool! And he pitied Morlund for suffering the same fate now.

“The Tenakth Marshal passed through on his way to the city. We can’t tell you what the challenge is,” Stemmur had sighed into his tankard, “Kotallo told us in no uncertain terms what fate would befall us at his hand if we told you.”
“We can tell you Kotallo has put some of his best work into planning this,” Abadund muttered as he piled his stacks of shards and made notes in his ledger, “He was grinning."
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Erend sighed. Kotallo of all people grinning, in Erend’s mind he pictured it as almost maniacal, was possibly the worst news he’d ever heard.
“And that far-traveled girl with him, Alva? She’s a real gem in the junk heap,” Morlund nodded, “She’d make a great forgewife.”

The corner of Erend’s mouth twinged sympathetically.
“Hate to break it to you but you’ve got the wrong tools in your kit for her liking. She’s got herself a girl across the sea, Morlund, so you’re shit out of luck there.”
Morlund sighed and necked his beer.
“Figures,” he muttered sullenly into the empty cup, “Petra all over again.”

Erend’s brows furrowed.
“Petra?”
Morlund’s face soured as he squinted into the empty receptacle, unwilling to elaborate.
“They were arranged to be wed back home,” Abadund clarified, “Arranged marriage, their fathers set it up. But Petra swore she’d never suffer a man to be her master and—”
“And Ersa smuggled her into out of the Claim,” Erend filled in, “I helped them get her out.”

He didn’t apologize for his part in Morlund’s failed engagement; he opposed arranged marriage as much as the next Oseram outside of the Claim.
Erend himself had left the Claim following Ersa, leaving an unwanted betrothal behind.
So many years later though, surely her father ought to have broken that deal with Erend’s Ealdorman father by now.

“Didn’t realize you were so keen to get married, Morlund?” he went on as he got up to refill everyone’s drinks.
“There’s such a thing as too much good company with these two,” Morlund chuckled and nodded towards his mirthful colleagues, “Now that we’re settled in Hidden Ember, it would be nice to, uh, set some door posts down, you know? Surely you’d understand that, Captain? I mean… If you beat Drakka, the wedding bells will toll for you next, after all.”

Erend paused with the tankard under the tap. Even if he did defeat Drakka, there’s no way Aloy would agree to marry him. She was right; she was no prize to be won.The whole notion was ridiculous. He’d be lucky to survive the hide-tanning she was going to give him when she had stopped sulking.
But maybe she’d finally see how he felt about her.

Marrying Aloy was nothing but a dream; as tangible as chimney smoke. The best Erend could hope for was a drunken dalliance… or a fucking miracle. He had imagined it though. Setting down the first stones around a hearth just for her to rest; his hammer and her spear mounted in triumph above a roaring fire. Setting down wall posts for their lodge. A bed of pelts from her hunts, with her blazing hair spilling over the feather down pillows and her naked form outlined under the furs, every night. Beckoning him to their bed.

Those thoughts were forbidden with other people around. The thought of Aloy, smiling at him invitingly, her bare shoulders, freckled and soft. His big hands pulling the bed clothes down, revealing the secrets her armor guarded, and her fingers clasping at his shirt, dragging him into bed, into her arms. As his wife—

Something splashed onto the toe of Erend’s boot and he realized the tankard was overflowing. With one smooth motion he replaced one full tankard with an empty one in his other hand, setting the full cup down and shaking the foam off his knuckle with a muttered curse, as he tried to stifle the yearnful rise the thought of her body caused him.

He had no hopes to win Aloy’s heart. There were no gods to pray to for such a boon, the skies were empty. Her Focus had shown him that beyond doubt. Her heart was unfettered and free, hardly the type for domestic bliss and dutiful wifery.
It was why he loved her. She burned through him like a fever in his very bones, sharp edges and all. She was noble and fierce and stubborn and funny and fuck, it wasn’t just carnal, how he loved her.

There had been a time when Varl had given Erend a Focus, that he had believed there might be a chance. He had thought that the Focus was the entire chasm between him and her, and that Erend now might have a chance to bridge that chasm and catch up to her; be worthy, her equal.

Instead, GAIA suggested something called dyslexia as Erend’s difficulty with the ancient glyphs. He could read, just not as fast as the others who took to it like fish to water. There was no way Erend would ever catch up to Aloy’s brilliance.
So now here he stood in Hidden Ember, two nights from the first challenge, with the dumb fists he had been dealt in life. Too clumsy to hold her, too dumb to measure up. But he’d die for her all the same. And anyone that tried to square up, would get pummeled into dust.

Aloy sat in the quarters they had been assigned, with her three sisters in spirit around her.
“Zo, I can’t believe you let them go through with this farce,” she scolded her friend who sat on her bed, with her hands between her thighs.
“I’m sorry you fail to see the hilarity in this.”
“Is this some sort of ploy to break yours and Erend’s stalemate? Because there are better ways to do it.”
Zo scoffed.

“And have that Tenakth do my dirty work? Please. Erend will be reduced to boar dung by my hand eventually,” she replied, placing a palm to her belly with a smile, “As soon as this little sprout sees the sun. Look, Aloy, it was going to be this or ‘Man vs Meat’ for Erend. He’s been cooped up for too long. Let him have some fun.”
“Forgive me if I don’t find it amusing to be placed in the betting pool,” Aloy scowled.

Alva chimed in, trying to diffuse the tension:
“Erend is trying to secure your independence. Not to be rude or anything, but this Drakka seems like an absolute nightmare; he’ll never leave you alone unless you play by these courtship rules.”
“He will once I smack him on the ass and remind him who helped him get his job. And Kotallo! Just playing along with the whole thing, building obstacle courses, bringing us all the way to the fucking Arena! Some friend he is!”

“Erend will beat Drakka fair and square, and you know he would never make you do anything you don’t want to,” Zo soothed, “I wouldn’t worry.”
“Come on, Aloy, tell me you don’t want to see that bung beaten to a pulp,” Beta chimed in, trying to be part of the conversation, and Aloy shot her a look.
“‘Bung? Beaten to a pulp?’ You’ve been listening to Erend again haven’t you? I told you not to take after him, he’s a potty mouth.”
“I literally heard you curse with every step here, Aloy. And I saw how you two held each other at—at—”

Beta’s voice trailed off. She avoided the subject of the Isle of Spires; the memory still fresh. Aloy knew she still mourned Tilda’s death, despite herself. Aloy wished she could kill Tilda with her bare hands, over and again, for the way she groomed Beta. Alva’s arm came around their youngest member for solace, but she spoke Aloy’s way:

“Look, the first feat is Strength, right? There’s no way Erend will lose that one!”
“Right,” Aloy conceded, her mind’s eye flashing with the memory of Erend’s hammer raised high as he brought down an entire mountain wall with one blow. It had been glorious and as she recalled it, she bit her lip to keep from grinning.
But she also remembered watching his ribs yield when hit by that Bristleback in the Daunt, and her joy soured.
If anything happened to Erend, she’d never forgive herself. And she was so angry with him for just butting in and putting himself in a problem that wasn’t his.
Why would he do that? Stubborn, wayward Oseram bastard—

“Erend has this one in the bag. But what about Speed? Stamina?” she pressed on.
“You’ve never tried Erend out for his stamina?” Zo grinned, her own soft grin that showed less teeth and more raised eyebrows and innuendo.
”Zo!” Aloy gasped, her cheeks flushing, “Erend is my oldest friend!”
This only hitched Zo’s brow higher.
“And in all that time, you two haven’t once—”
”No! I mean—I helped find his dead sister, and then there were the plots against Meridian, and then I came out here!”
Zo tutted and sighed.
“You two have a long way to go. He was willing to jump in front of this arrow for you. Give him credit.”
“I wish he wouldn’t. That doesn’t have the best track record.”

Zo’s eyes turned dark with sorrow, and Aloy put her hands on her friend’s knees as an apology, and Zo clasped them, clearly in composure.
“It’s a stupid game, Aloy. I doubt Drakka would bank on the win, even if he could beat Erend.”
“... I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I have faith in Erend even if you don’t. And talk to him, will you? It’s been almost a fortnight, watching his sad baby rabbit eyes following you around. I think his heart will break before the challenge even starts. He did this for you, Aloy. This vine is tender. He’s going to need encouragement.”

“Hear hear,” the Diviner chimed in, and Aloy shot her a reproachful look, which Alva met evenly, “You may be mad all you want, Aloy, but unless you want a Tenakth wedding—do Tenakth even get married? Anyway—you better start limbering Erend up so he can beat this Commander Drakka, because those other challenges sound like he is in way over his head.”

Aloy had fought by both their sides; she knew them both as fighters.
Drakka was fast, and would probably win the feat of Speed, but he was also bold to the cusp of foolishness, and liked to show off when he ought to barrel down. The opportunity to be flashy in the Arena could be a pitfall for his vanity.

And Erend was… a force of nature. But he wasn’t as fast as Drakka, not by a longshot. He had stamina to climb sheer mountain sides, but Drakka would have him beat on speed there too. Survival was… impossible to say. Drakka had grown up in the barren sea of sands, stringing up machine carcasses and fighting for every mouthful of water. He flourished in scarcity. Erend though? Aloy honestly had no idea. She’d never been to the Claim. But the Oseram were well-fed and iron-wrought. What was the last feat? Smarts? She couldn’t recall.

That one had Aloy truly worried. Erend was very sharp and he had beaten her at Strike enough times, but he always beat himself up, feeling somehow lesser because he struggled with glyphs. He thought it made him dumber than the others somehow, when that was patently false. Aloy had looked into what GAIA hypothesized that made Erend fall behind on his Focus training. No matter how many times she told him, he refused to believe he was anything other than some meathead.

Aloy bit her lip and crossed her arms. The past twelve days had a blur of seething anger and sneaking up on machines only to pound them to the ground with her spear.
“It’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?” Beta chirped, with a soft look in her eyes.
“Yeah, very domestic,” Aloy muttered, and Alva scoffed.
“Yeah, Aloy, your life is so hard with two gorgeous men fighting for your love in a series of tests of physical feat. Are you really so divorced from fun that you can’t see the entertainment value here? Come on!”

Erend strode out into the arena, lent graciously for the event by Chief Hekarro, who sat presiding over the games with Kotallo by his side. The pews were full of cheering Tenakth in every color of dye under the sun.
They had set the challenge for the early morning so it hadn’t gotten swelteringly hot just yet, the night’s chill lingered pleasantly in the air. Erend was grateful for the high walls mostly blocking out the sharp sunlight, and the screens mounted up top to be deployed for blessed shadow.

Erend hadn’t been this close to tropical climate in almost a year, when he had left Meridian to transport Studious Vuadis to the Embassy. It almost made him homesick for Meridian’s humid heat and spice-scented air.

This must have been very similar to what Ersa had seen in the Sun-Ring. He hoped his sister’s spirit stood by his side today, or at least that whatever spark that made her uncowering also had passed to him. He was going to need it to keep his cool with the gaze of this crowd and their roar.

This was Drakka’s home turf, his folk. Oseram were as welcome here as Carja—that is to say, not at all. He was safe here by the grace of Aloy and her standing with the Tenakth. Were he any other, he’d be ground under the foot of some rugged metal monster, if not killed before he stepped foot in the Tenakth Capitol.

He hadn’t donned his Oseram ringlocks in favor of mobility, but had brought them and kept them nearby along with his hammer. Instead he strode in, in his Vanguard stripes, watching Drakka’s painted chest flushed where sweat had done away with his ornamentations.
Erend got the impression his opponent had done some light exercise to bring some blood into his muscles and appear bigger than he really was, and that thought made him smirk.
Let the kid work himself tired. May his hands tremble and his grip slip.

He threw the crowd a glance. All Tenakth, he guessed mainly from Scalding Spear and Arrowhand, come to see their commander’s play for the Champion. Speaking of.
There she sat, up high, not far from the Tenakth chief. Her red hair glinted like copper in the bright morning light where she was, with Beta by her side, her hair tied under a bandana and with face paint to obscure their similarity.

He knew Aloy was very protective of Beta, and didn’t want her little sister in the public eye until she was ready for it. Especially not when there was talk of courting. Beta was barely sixteen—old enough for the unscrupulous—and she had the right face to draw people’s attention, whether wanted or not.
But knowing Beta’s taste in holos, there was no way she was missing this, no matter the risk.

Aloy looked good, but her brow was knitted and she squinted against the sun. She wore Oseram garb and it made Erend choke with emotion. Was she trying to signal support for him? Or merely wearing something that covered her now that so many eyes were on her?
All the same. It was nice to see one familiar attire in this sea of painted skin.
He was glad he hadn’t drunk since he was with Morlund and crew.

Alva and Zo covered the sisters’ sides and if anyone so much as looked Aloy’s way, they were met with a scowl that would have made Erend cower.
So he averted his eyes. Aloy hadn’t spoken to him in two full weeks today, and even looking at her now made the bottom of his belly ache.
For your freedom, bright spark. And my peace of mind. Because if he wins you, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive letting you go.

His attention was soon diverted as he took in their challenge.
A grand, round arena was lined by a wooden palisade, which had been erected all around them, with a line through the middle. Erend couldn’t see what was behind it, but he heard the rattling of steel against the wooden posts as the machine ran by, dragging itself against the barrier. A hollow, chattering sound. Like a giant child dragging a stick across a fence.

Well. He had talked loudly and brazenly about how he’d win at Man vs Meat after all. This was his comeuppance. Erend threw Drakka a glance, but his opponent had done away with his glittering smiles and instead knotted his brow deeply.
Chief Hekarro stood, a wall of a man donned in bright yellow and a deep, regal blue, and with his hands he quelled the roar of the crowd.
“Welcome all!” he called, and Erend was surprised at the depth and velvet cadence of the chief. If Erend survived this, Avad would be interested to hear Erend’s impressions.
The audience whistled and stomped their feet in reply, a brief cacophony of noise before Hekarro continued:

“Our Champion has had their hand asked for in marriage! And here her suitors stand! Ready to fight in feats worthy of the Ten! Her suitors are our very own Commander Drakka of Scalding Spear!”—at this, the crowd howled their support for their own—“And the contender is Captain Erend of the Oseram, prized fighter for the Carja Sun-King!”
The boo was humbling when it came from all directions at once, and despite himself, Erend’s courage trembled in his belly. But he had been hardened on the road to reconciliation for Avad, before he even met Aloy. Everywhere he had followed the Sun-Priest Irid, people had booed at the very whisper of “Carja King.” Erend stood tall, breathed deep in his chest, his hands folded in front of him and he met the jeering unfazed.
He had many times the past fortnight regretted not just squashing Drakka at the Base, but none as intently as right now. He swallowed and looked to Aloy again. The only person who mattered.
For her.
“Let the Feat Of Strength… BEGIN!”

The ballista up top on the walls fired one single shot; a tethered projectile that leapt across the palisade that parted Drakka and Erend from their foe, and they heard a metallic roar and the ground shook as whatever was back there reared on its hind legs in revolt.
By the Forge, the creature must be huge!
Erend sent a quick prayer into the ether, begging for anything but another Bristleback to crack his ribs.

The rope that tethered the unknown machine fell slack into the sand, as thick as an arm.
Whatever the goals were, the method was evident; pull the machine by the rope.
Erend, not wanting to let the pipsqueak upstage him here, raised his hands over his head and tugged his shirt off.
“Let’s make it even, shall we?” he nodded to Drakka, just before the wooden barrier exploded in a haze of splinters and red eyes turned on them.

To Erend’s great dismay, he had gotten his wish; it was most decidedly not a Bristleback.

A Behemoth.
Aloy’s face went cold as her blood pooled in her feet. Kotallo and Hekarro or whoever were in charge of supplying the machines, couldn’t have known about Ersa’s legendary fight in the Sun-Ring. But Aloy knew this would be meaningful for Erend; to meet the same metal monster that had almost bested his sister during the Red Raids.

She had watched Erend pull his shirt off rather than don his armor— you stupid, foolhardy Oseram bastard—and the sight of Erend’s bare skin made her gape openly.
His shoulders were drawn in thick black Oseram lines and circles, looking like schematics for some sort of gear wheel and spokes. She had known him for two years and it had never occurred to her that Erend might have tattoos.

He was… breathtaking. So tall and broad with his strength rippling through his skin; from here the hair on his chest—so rare among the Tenakth and Carja—from this distance looked like a dark haze, a triangle that beckoned her eyes further down his form.
He even stood out for his lack of paint; a blank canvas amongst every color of the rainbow made flesh.

Aloy swallowed around the lump in her throat, which must have been her heart trying to jump from its place. This is what Erend had been hiding behind all his ring-locked, armor plated leathers? How had it never occurred to her that Erend was… beautiful?
The next moment, the ballista fired at the Behemoth, already red-eyed and agitated in its pen, and skewered it with the rope with which Drakka or Erend were supposed to tug it into a pit with spikes.

The pit had been included as the end goal, but there were weapon caches strewn through the Arena; this feat must be won through the strength of their arms and their tenacity—and ability to dash out of the way of the Behemoth’s trampling feet, but the Tenatkh were no fools; there must be something down there for the men to defend themselves. Kotallo had mentioned spike throwers.

There were posts hammered deep into the ground where one could anchor the rope to use for leverage, dragging the Behemoth to its demise. Aloy found herself biting her nails, forgetting all about Erend’s silhouette far below in the sand, as she watched him and Drakka dash for the rope between themselves and the machine.
Drakka flew like a thrown glove when Erend’s mass met his frame. With a flick of the wrist, the rope was wrapped around his arm and he was dashing to and fro, tempting the Behemoth to make a lunge.
It didn’t take long for Drakka to regain his feet and dash for a spike thrower nearby, but the Behemoth reared on its back legs with a deafening sound, the crackle of electricity in the air, and Drakka’s body fell spasming to the ground.

Aloy got to her feet and clung to the railing, trying to see what became of Erend in the blast. Thanks to his grip on the rope, he hadn’t been flung away like his foe in the blast, but he had sunken to his knee and struggled to get back up.
From here, Aloy could see him looking around, taking in his surroundings for something he could use.

She could hear Erend taunting the machine, and when the machine made a leap for him, he made a dash towards the machine, falling to his knees and sliding under the great steel beast, and when he regained his feet, he burrowed his feet into the sand and pulled the rope that now tangled around the Behemoth’s legs.

Brilliant, Erend! Take out its legs from under it! And you think you’re so thickheaded, you beautiful brute!
Aloy found herself pumping her fist and then she heard Zo and Alva’s excited screams from behind her, and Beta’s little hand grabbed Aloy anxiously by the shoulder.

Drakka let a spike fly and it missed by a hair, whirling towards Erend, and Aloy’s breath caught in her throat again. But Erend extended one long, muscular arm and caught the spike by the shaft, twirling in and planting it into the Behemoth’s vulnerable undercarriage before letting go of the tether and throwing himself out of the blast radius when the spike tip blew.

The Behemoth roared and its legs kicked in vain trying to shed the rope, squirming closer to Erend before finding purchase in the sand and rising on its front haunches, growling menacingly at the Oseram captain.

Drakka made use of the fact that the Behemoth took no notice of him, and went for the rope Erend had surrendered, making his way around the edge of the pit and anchoring it around a post. The commander tugged for dear life and the Behemoth’s feet gave way again with the squeal of reluctant steel, and the beast squirmed and bucked, dragging Drakka with it until eventually he had to clasp the post to stop himself from being dragged into the spiked pit himself, and the crowd let out a whooshing sound of worry and Drakka stumbled.
The rope slipped away, falling into the pit.

Drakka wasn’t strong enough to pull the Behemoth down. Not unless it was weakened further first. And had dragged enough of the tether rope out of the pit to finish the job.
Erend had made a dash for a weapons stack and pulled out a spike thrower of his own, but Aloy couldn’t see from here what the spikes were tipped with until Erend grasped them by the handful, tossed the thrower aside, and plunged the tips into the Behemoth’s eye socket.

Sparks flew and the machine let out a roar that sent Beta covering her ears and Aloy braced her shoulders against the noise, but refused to take her eyes off the fight.
A white, glittering cloud formed over the Behemoth’s head and spread a white sheen like frost across the reinforced armor plates.

The Behemoth retaliated by headbutting Erend so he went flying into a flimsy wooden cover which collapsed under his weight, and Aloy nearly screamed his name as the machine finally regained its feet and moved to trample Erend where he lay.
Aloy could only see red light from one side of its face; Erend must have blown out one of its eyes. This was good; it could only see from one side now.

What was Drakka doing? Was he just going to let Erend get stomped to death?
No, Drakka was dashing around the edge of the pit for another weapon and finally, the machine noticed him as its only eye was directed right at him, and it changed course.
At the very last moment, Drakka flung himself out of the way of the rocks that were sent flying in its wake, and the Behemoth’s massive body slammed its side into the stone wall and shook the entire side of the Arena under Aloy and the others.

As the stone shuddered and went still, the bottom of Aloy’s stomach seemed to fall through the ground. That strength was what her Erend was facing.
She ought to have talked him out of this two weeks ago. Instead she had sulked and ignored him. All for something as stupid as protecting her honor or whatever.

Aloy was halfway over the railing when she felt hands clasping her by the shoulders, pulling her back.
She wasn’t allowed to interfere. And if the watchers up by the ballistas thought the situation below was getting out of control, they would fire a killing blow at the rampaging machine.
But what if they were too late?

Erend watched as the Behemoth slammed into the stone wall, leaving a cracked outline of itself in the stone, and felt the color drain from his face.
The right side of his chest burned from the chillwater he had been sprayed with as he took the Behemoth’s eye out, but he could still move his arm without much trouble.
Where his skin was cold and raw, the humid air that came into contact with the freeze felt like a burn.
In its dash to trample Drakka, the rope tether had been dragged back out of the pit, but it wasn’t Erend who was closest to it. He still had more spikes in his hand; by some miracle he had neither dropped them nor skewered himself with them as he was sent flying through the wooden cover.
He reached to tap his Focus before he remembered it wasn’t there—Kotallo had taken it off him before he went into the Arena.

Erend was going to have to use his useless noggin and try to remember if he’d ever scanned a Behemoth with his Focus, to remember which parts the device had indicated as vulnerable. The… forceloaders? The power cell just behind?
How the blazes was he supposed to target something so small?
He threw a moment’s glance at the colors on the spikes in his hand. A Nora blue one stood out and Erend clasped it with his free hand as he barreled towards the monster.
Its blind side was turned his way, and it was trying to pummel Drakka into the ground like a Plowhorn, but Drakka pressed the nose down with all he was worth lest he get trampled to a pulp by steel hooves.

The shock spike pierced what Erend thought was the power cell and he knew he only had a few seconds to get out of dodge before it blew out and knocked the machine on its ass. But when the monster bucked from the impact, Erend grabbed Drakka by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him out of the way before jumping himself, falling across Drakka’s torso.
Drakka remained on the ground, groaning from Erend’s weight collapsing on top of him, but Erend, shaking from adrenaline, stumbled to his feet and somehow grabbed the rope as it slithered through the sand, flicked it across a pole and with one foot on that pole to brace, he wrapped the rope several loops around his arms and put his whole weight into the pull.

The Behemoth, limp from the electric shock, tried with twitching movements to pull on its tether, but Erend ground his teeth so he thought they must crack, and nearly pulled his arms out their sockets, dragging the metal beast towards the pit. The shock finally wore off and the machine put its haunches into the yielding sand to counter Erend’s pull, but then one hoof went over the edge… then the other…
The machine howled in defiance and Erend screamed too, trying to wring some semblance of strength out of what remained of his body, and with one gargantuan effort, the monster flinched forward that one last inch required for its weight to work against it, and squealing it tumbled into the pit, and was pierced through. Its lights flickered out and the machine went permanently limp.

The moment Erend’s body could finally unclench, he thought he had gone deaf.
He fell to the sand, feeling like he had torn every fiber of his being getting the fucking beast into the hole, panting like a forgebellows.
This looked a lot easier on Man vs Meat.
Then the roar of the crowd rose like a storm, and blackness fell across his eyes.