Work Text:
The door slammed closed, the light fixtures on either side of it shaking slightly with the force of the impact, leaving the two in a dead silence.
It was strange. Alarak didn’t feel satisfied with this outcome; he had expected her to stay, to defend herself as she had each and every other time he had attempted an argument. He had found her fascinating to toy with, but this time, the look on her face had made him feel… He scowled.
“What are you even hoping to achieve here?” Artanis frowned, confused more than angry; he still hadn’t gained a spine, clearly. “You cannot keep fighting with her this way.”
“I do not expect you to understand, Artanis. That phase-smith continues to be a thorn in my side, and I will continue to assert my authority; she cannot expect that I will simply bend to her whims.”
“That is not what she is trying to do; that is not what either of us are trying to do.”
He knew that, but something deep in his gut stirred. If he didn’t make them explain their reasoning, didn’t put up a fight to be sure that they knew exactly what they were forcing him into, how could they possibly do anything useful?
“Yes, of course, my mistake. That is why she constantly feels the need to bleat orders.” He snorted. “It is a miracle she is even alive.”
The Templar stepped close, eyes suddenly blazing with fury. A smug little sliver of satisfaction snaked down his spine as they locked eyes and he waited for his quaint little threat. Artanis looked… Interesting this way. He had always thought so.
“If you do anything to hurt her, Alarak, then this alliance will be finished before you can even utter a word in your defense, do you understand me?”
The Highlord tilted his head and feigned a concerned expression. “Oh, as though I would lay a finger on her; such a tiny slip of a thing is not worth my time or energy. I am insulted that you would voice such an accusation.” He shrugged, lifting both palms towards the ceiling. “I was merely pointing out that should she have behaved like that on Slayn, she would have been gutted and put on display before she could even utter an apology.”
“This is not Slayn—”
“Of course not. I was simply under the impression that she would have more sense than to constantly disrespect me.”
Artanis sighed, a long, drawn out sound as his shoulders sagged. “Giving the opinion that she was asked for is not disrespect; if you cannot handle hearing what she has to say, then leave. You came here for help, Alarak, but if you are not happy with what we are trying to offer you, then you will have to search elsewhere. Nobody is trying to ‘order’ you to do anything, and if Ri’kara is pushing back against your behaviour, it is because you are in the wrong. I trust that judgement; she has been fair thus far, even defended you to me on occasion.”
What? His eyes narrowed.
“She has asked me to give you some grace with regards to your outbursts; she has likely experienced this sort of thing elsewhere.” He shook his head. “Though… It is grace that I am tempted to rescind after today.”
Just for a moment, Alarak felt himself hesitate, another twinge of guilt squashed quickly as he frowned and dismissively waved a hand. “… As though I need coddling—”
“No. You don’t; coddling is not the same as the sympathy she has for you. Honestly, it is more than she should.” The Templar shrugged. “We have limits. If today was anything to go by, you are reaching yours. If you want her respect, you should respect her.”
Alarak scoffed, rolling his eyes. “She is far from my equal, Artanis. I should already have her respect, and she could not hope to earn mine—”
“And that is where the problem lies.” The disappointment etched across his face was deep and tired. “Fix this, or we are done here.”
“I suppose you wish for me to ask what I am required to do to ‘fix this’? As though I care.”
That felt odd to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind, that new voice spoke softly. He did care somewhat; he would prefer not to have her storm out, at the very least. It felt as though part of him were cracking apart under the strain of realising that he did not want to make her truly angry.
“No.” Artanis shook his head. “Figure it out, and don’t come back until you do, even if that means I do not see you again.”
Before he could retort, the Hierarch left the same way that the phase-smith had, though he closed the door with much less force than she. It didn’t make it any better.
You took this too far.
That voice spoke up and he growled, rubbing his temples. So what if he had? She should be able to handle this sort of thing; she should be strong enough to fight him if she truly thought what she was spouting was worth it.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, idly tapping his claws against the glass-topped table. “And now this ultimatum…”
There was a moment where he thought of how it would look if he went back to the fleet empty handed. Something tightened in his chest, a memory of the fear that had gripped him as he heard the slight movement in his bedchamber, the flurry of blades as he gutted another would-be assassin.
This new feeling of strange guilt was correct; he had taken it too far. If he continued to be difficult, continued to jab, if he left… There would be no hope that he would survive or hold his position. He did not want to have to fake his death; it was the coward’s way out, of course, but the possibility was always there in the back of his mind. A last resort that he did not wish to take.
You do not have the luxury of continuing to test them both. Do not be a fool; you know that this was more than enough.
With another growl, he slammed his fist against the table and swept from the room to go and find her.
Eryga ushered Ri’kara towards the round bench that wrapped itself around the circumference of a small gold table underneath the leaves of a large tree. He sat her down, and sat himself opposite, pulling several incense sticks from the sash in his robes and putting them down between them.
“I have not seen you in a good while, Ri’kara. How are you faring?”
He was gently tiptoeing around the state that he had found her in, crying with the weight and frustration of the prior conversation with her irritatingly difficult and abrasive new assignment. She shifted a little in her seat, wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks and composing herself.
“I have been alright, thank you. Waking up earlier than usual, though it is not anything I am not used to.”
“Good… And your new work. How do you find it so far?”
She sighed. “I suppose it is fine…”
“You are not convincing anyone, my child. I found you almost inconsolable, after all.” He smiled softly, chuckling as he absorbed his incense. “You may as well tell me.”
“It has been insufferable.” She rubbed her face with her free hand. “I knew to be prepared for him to be dismissive of me, to be difficult, but he is just… He is a petulant child. The Hierarch has allowed me to stand up for myself where necessary, and in retaliation he starts jabbing harder.”
“As Tal’darim are want to do.”
“Not all of us, just… I suppose it is not for no reason. I don’t know, there was a phase-smith rebellion on Slayn, and he is still sore about it so of course he’s going to take it out on me as if I orchestrated the whole thing.”
He shrugged. “From what you have told me, perhaps you would have.”
“I would have! All the Tal’darim on that useless chain of theirs deserve to be knocked down a peg or two by my people, and I am glad they got under his and the Highlord’s skin so much. There’s a reason there’s not many like me that came to Aiur; I would have been trapped down there as well if not for my friends, and I would have wanted to get out. He can be sore about it for all I care, but I don’t deserve whatever this is.”
“I am sorry. Had I known this assignment would be such a handful…”
“No, it’s not your fault. I don’t think you could have known without experiencing someone like that first hand.”
“You can always put in your resignation; I do not believe that the Hierarch would blame you.”
Ri’kara sighed again softly, resting her chin on her hand and watching the incense stick slowly burn. “… I don’t know.”
The former Judicator leaned forward slightly, tilting his head and giving her that look he always did when he wanted her to elaborate.
“I… see something in him. I feel like he is jabbing because he needs to reassure himself that this is right; the Highlord must have similar reservations and a lot of pressure on him… On top of that, he might not want to admit it, but I see the same symptoms as the newer arrivals. If he’s feeling all these new emotions, I want to be able to help that, but I can’t because he’s being such a proud bastard about it, and I am tired. I would love to put in my notice tomorrow and tell him to fuck off, but I can’t because I care and I want to apply myself to something bigger than me, and I want to make things as easy as possible for both of us to do that.”
It took a lot of willpower not to let her voice raise as frustration took her, not even caring about her mentor’s slightly disapproving look as she slipped back into her familiar dialect. It was cathartic to at least vent to someone that she didn’t have to tiptoe around all the time.
Eryga moved to say something, only to blink, suddenly looking past her with slightly widened eyes.
“Hm?” She tilted her head at the Khalai, whose face shifted from mildly surprised to amused as he stifled a laugh and gestured behind her.
For a moment, Ri’kara froze, eyes widened as her hearts dropped through the floor. She could barely bring her voice above a whisper. “How long has he been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
“… Long enough.”
Carefully, she turned, dipping her incense into the tall vase full of water to extinguish it. “… Ambassador? You could have summoned me—”
He glanced at her companion and waved a hand dismissively. “I was sent to find you.”
“I suppose I should take my leave?” Eryga looked between the two Tal’darim.
“Y-you don’t have to, we can go—”
“No, it is fine; I have somewhere else I need to be. And the both of you clearly need to have a conversation.” The old Protoss pulled himself from his seat, retrieving his cane and bowing his head towards Alarak. “Ambassador.”
Alarak hesitated before bowing deeply in the way that he had been forced to, only straightening when Eryga had begun to shuffle away. It was only once he had gone completely out of sight that he seated himself opposite her, somehow unable to look her in the eye.
The ensuing silence was tense, awkward. Ri’kara shuffled in her seat again and quickly lit another incense stick, offering it to him carefully. He eyed it briefly before picking it out from between her fingers.
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you to come and find me.” She said carefully, lighting another stick for herself and taking in his cagey demeanour. “I suppose you’re here to tell me I’m dismissed—”
“No.”
She blinked, sitting up a little straighter so she could look at him better. He wasn’t just cagey, he was… He looked guilty. She didn’t dare say a word.
“Artanis expects me to apologise.”
Oh.
There was still nothing she could think to say. For a moment, it felt like she had managed to get a bird to land on her arm and take some seed from her hand; it was probably better to let him talk.
“… I have not treated you with the respect that he believes you deserve.”
“I guess you haven’t.”
He scoffed. “Of course I haven’t. You are a phase-smith. As though I am used to treating your kind with respect.”
“‘My kind’.” She sighed. “I’m not saying I didn’t expect this, but I am surprised at how long I’ve been willing to put up with it.”
“I heard.” He took in more of the sweet-smelling smoke and sighed in turn.
“I suppose you’re sitting with me, at least. It’s a start.”
Another scoff, a slight roll of his eyes. It was odd that he didn’t dispute it. His next sentence was even stranger; “I am loathe to admit that you are correct.”
Correct? Ri’kara blinked. “… About what?”
“If I do not pick apart your so-called ‘solutions’, how would I ever know that you have given them thought? If you do not possess the conviction, then I will not value your opinion, as little as I value it regardless.”
“… You could dismiss me at any time, you know. If you didn’t value what I had to say at least a little, I’m sure I wouldn’t be here.”
It was frustrating, all this tiptoeing around just swallowing his pride; he didn’t even object to that either. The phase-smith scowled slightly and counted in her head, trying to keep herself calm as he let the silence fold out between them. She didn’t want to allow it.
“Could you at least stop reminding me how little I matter every five seconds and just take me at my word? You can ask questions! I’m sure there are a million things that you don’t understand about Tal’darim like me because you’re some big shot warrior who got lucky, but… I can’t. I can’t keep fighting like this. I just want to help.”
“I do not need pity.”
“It isn’t pity! I don’t pity you; you don’t deserve it. I am sympathetic, though. I can understand how different this all is. You… asked for help. You asked—”
“As though I have a choice.”
“That’s… It’s still huge. You just have to let us. I don’t care what you think of me; I’m used to disgust and all that, but I care about the fact that you’re too stubborn and prickly.”
“… Artanis has decided that I am required to fix this is or leave.” He leant back against the bench and shook his head. “Regrettably, I cannot leave; I know what awaits me if I do. Therefore I must at the very least take your… suggestions into consideration.”
“I don’t just want ‘consideration’.”
“I know.” Alarak snapped, and then, surprisingly, tried to slightly soften his expression. “I happen to enjoy our little back and forth; I find it entertaining. I will, however, refrain from twisting the knife if I must. It was not my intention to have enraged you in such a manner.”
Ri’kara tilted her head, for a moment unable to think as all of her annoyance and frustration melted away. She leant back in the bench seat as he had and finally let out a soft, incredulous laugh.
“You… Enjoy it when we argue? Really?”
“Tch. Perhaps. You put up more of a fight than the Templar; for such a small thing, you at least have a spine.”
She shrugged, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “It’s exhausting for me, you know.”
“As I said; I will refrain from twisting the knife.” He rolled his eyes in turn. “I do so hate to repeat myself, Ri’kara.”
“You know what? Fine. That’s as good an apology and explanation as I’ll get from you, I suppose.”
“So I will not be receiving your very crudely signed resignation?”
“… No.” Embarrassment turned her crest and face lilac again. She let out another soft laugh. “That wasn’t meant for you to hear.”
The Highlord stood, putting the used incense into the same jar and waving a hand dismissively. “Obviously. I suggest you have better awareness of your surroundings in the future. This planet has clearly made you soft.”
She decided to ignore that jab; better to be soft than whatever he was. “… When am I expected?”
“Dawn as always.” He very slightly tilted his head towards her and walked off towards the spire that housed the Judicators.
Ri’kara slumped, passing a hand over her crest and chuckling in disbelief.
What a shitty apology.
Rolling her eyes, she discarded her own incense and stood, stretching and walking in the opposite direction to her prickly companion.
At least he tried. It’s a start.
In the centre of Aiur’s capitol, most of the buildings had been repaired in the years that she had been travelling fringe worlds with her friends. The sweeping gold spires glittered in the afternoon sun, tiny silhouettes of drones hovering around their walls to keep them maintained.
Below, at ground level, there were several sections of both open and walled gardens like the one that she had been sat in with Eryga and Alarak; they were meant for communal use, though at this time of day there weren’t many Protoss around. Ri’kara liked that, moving between the domes without fear of running into someone who had not seen her thanks to her height.
Further out, as she followed the path to the residential districts, the spires were more run-down, ruins marked off with shielding to prevent anyone but the armour-clad phase-smiths from entering. They moved between precariously balanced beams and supports with a graceful ease, and something in her chest stirred.
If only I hadn’t been born a Tal’darim…
Tearing her eyes away, she kept going.
Around the central hub of sorts, they had put districts in place, or so she had been told, to house the four distinct groups of Protoss when they had all finally landed back on Aiur. The Tal’darim district was the furthest away, and though she could take the tram system that moved often between each section, she found that she liked to walk. The planet was green, sunny, and pleasant; at dawn, she got to watch the sun rise as she travelled to start her duties for the day.
One could spot Ri’kara’s district from a mile away; it stuck out oddly, houses pieced together with the dark metal and brass of Tal’darim structures between the usual gold and white of Khalai. Tal’darim bickered and fought in the street, and she carefully made herself as small and invisible as she could; the usual way of things, especially as she had noticed a few of them watching her lately, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
It was a relief when she finally ducked through the diamond-shaped door of her own little house, the metal shifting closed with a soft squeal as it locked itself. She’d have to fix that later.
The tiny little living room was round with a low table in the middle surrounded with a few cushions for her to kneel against. Metal scraps, old, degraded tools, and inky parchment was scattered across the floor around it.
She muttered to herself, gathering up the scraps first and putting them in a pile on the bottom shelf of a bookcase shaped with the curve of the wall.
The parchment was mostly cut from blank scrolls she had been given for little sketches of what she might do with the scraps. That all went into a pile on the second shelf, along with the spare scrolls that had uncoiled themselves across the length of the floor.
The ink she left on the table with her old tools; she couldn’t reach much higher on the shelves anyway, not without the stool she had made for herself.
With a soft sigh, she moved to an archway hidden by a curtain made of red crystal beads and pieces of metal. Here was the little bedroom; the jingling of the bead curtain was designed to wake her should there be an intruder, but lately she hadn’t been waking up so easily.
The bed was an actual bed, with a mattress and sheets and pillows; soft and inviting compared to the metal slab and ratty blanket she had been given to sleep with on Slayn. There was even a washroom, separated by another sliding, diamond-shaped door.
Carefully, she undressed, stepping through it and beginning to fill the deep bath that was inset into the floor. The water was actually warm. She remembered the first time she had tried it, how two centuries of hard labour had suddenly unwound from her screaming muscles, how clean she had felt for the first time in her life. Even after years here, it was still almost surreal.
Once it was filled up enough, she stepped down and sunk into the water, sitting on a bench that jutted out a little, so she wasn’t completely submerged.
“Something seemed to have stuck, at least.” She sighed, eyes half-closing. “The Hierarch must have really scared him this time…”
Taking a glass bottle full of a blue liquid, she poured some on her hand and began to wash herself, continuing to talk to nothing.
“Good. He deserves to be scared; whatever he’s waiting for if he goes back now can hang over his head for as long as it takes for him to be more receptive.”
The way he sat with her, the slight but noticeable bow of his head before he left, the almost vulnerable admission that he did have something looming over him back on Slayn, that he actually enjoyed their bickering, even if it was at her expense… It was more than she had been given in the whole time that she had been working with him.
She sighed again, rinsing herself off and sitting back against the bath’s wall, letting out a wry chuckle.
“I should storm out more often.”