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It wasn’t often that Talanah entertained, but when she did, she went all out. Aloy stood on the balcony above the hall, tankard in hand, and watched her friends celebrate their victory. Below her, the private wing of the Hunter’s Lodge buzzed with laughter and the clatter of dishes, the air thick with roasted boar and spiced wine. Talanah stood at the center of it all, her gold-trimmed armour catching the firelight as she threw her head back in laughter at something Erend had just shouted across the table.
Talanah’s hair had come loose from its usual high ponytail, strands of it clinging to her neck where the heat of the celebration had drawn a faint sheen of sweat. The way she moved - like every step was part of some effortless dance - made it hard to look anywhere else. The noise inside swelled as someone started a raucous drinking song, Talanah’s voice rising above the rest, clear and bright.
"You look like a woman plotting to steal something," came a familiar rasp from behind her. Petra leaned against the balcony rail beside Aloy, her metal-clad fingers tapping absently against the tankard she'd brought with her. "Or like someone trying real hard not to look at someone else." The smirk in her voice was audible even before Aloy turned to see it.
Aloy scoffed, but Petra only clucked her tongue, nudging her shoulder. "You’re going to have to tell her, you know." When Aloy frowned in genuine confusion, Petra rolled her eyes and grabbed her wrist, pressing Aloy’s own calloused fingers against her palm. "By the forge, girl, you’re gonna have to tell her. How you feel." The words landed like a hammer strike.
Below, Talanah had climbed onto the table - some drunken challenge from Erend, no doubt - and was balancing effortlessly on one foot, her arms outstretched, laughing as the room roared around her. The firelight painted her in gold, and for one reckless, breathless second, Aloy imagined what it would feel like to step forward and-
"I don't feel anything," Aloy muttered, tearing her gaze away. The lie tasted sour, sticking to her tongue like stale ale. Petra snorted, took a long swig from her tankard, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Right. And I don't love the sound of a good explosion." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl. "Listen, I've seen you face down a Thunderjaw without blinking. But this-" She jabbed a finger toward Talanah, now swaying dangerously as the table wobbled beneath her, "-this is the thing that scares you?"
Aloy's fingers tightened around her tankard. The truth was, she had faced Thunderjaws, hell, she'd faced HADES, but none of that compared to the way her pulse kicked up when Talanah's laughter rang out, bright and unguarded. Petra sighed, shaking her head. "You're gonna regret it if you wait too long."
Below, Talanah's foot slipped, she flailed, arms windmilling, and before Aloy could think, she was already moving, shoving past Petra towards the stairs. But Talanah caught herself at the last second, grinning as the crowd erupted in cheers. Her eyes locked onto Aloy's through the chaos, crinkling at the corners, and Aloy froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. Petra's chuckle followed her like a ghost. "Yeah. Nothing at all."
She stepped up to Aloy once more, and her voice, when she spoke, was surprisingly gentle. “Listen Aloy, I know, we all know, that this kind of thing is new for you, and difficult. Through no fault of your own, you’re only just starting to learn how to have friends, be around people, navigate your feelings. And I don’t doubt that Talanah will be patient, hell, is being patient with you. But the Sunhawk’s not going to wait forever, you know.”
“We’re friends,” Aloy explained, as calmly as she could in the face of Petra’s almost pitying look. “Yes, we’re good friends and I’m closer to her than most others, but that’s just… we fight well together, and even the silences are nice. That doesn’t mean I have feelings other than friendship for her.”
Instead of arguing, Petra tilted her head towards the door, where a Carja noble - some merchant’s son, or minor lord - was leaning in far too close to Talanah, his fingers lingering on her wrist as he murmured something that made her laugh. Aloy’s grip tightened around the tankard, the metal creaking faintly under her fingers. She forced herself to look away, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat.
“So tell me,” Petra murmured, leaning against the balcony railing beside her, “what happens when she says yes to one of them? When she kisses someone else goodnight, when she rides off into the sunset with someone who wasn’t too afraid to tell her how they felt?” She didn’t say it cruelly. That was the worst part. It was just a question: simple, honest. Like she already knew the answer.
Below, Talanah was laughing again, her hand resting lightly on the noble’s arm as he gestured grandly toward the door. Aloy’s stomach twisted. She didn’t need to imagine it. The thought was already there, sharp as a blade between her ribs: Talanah’s smile turned soft and private for someone else, Talanah’s fingers tangled in someone else’s hair, Talanah’s voice murmuring someone else’s name in the dark.
Petra watched her face, then snorted softly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Your face is all the answer I need.” She took a sip of her drink, thoughtful now. “Tell me: does it feel the same if you picture Erend finding a partner? Some nice Oseram gal swinging her hammer at his side?”
Aloy frowned, considering. The image came easily, Erend grinning, arm slung around a woman’s shoulders, both of them laughing over some ridiculous Oseram drinking game. Warmth flickered in her chest, but no ache, no tightness in her throat. Just… quiet happiness for him. “No,” she admitted softly. “It’s not the same.”
“And me?” Petra’s grin was wicked, her metal fingers tapping against her tankard. “Imagine I find some Carja scholar who melts at my war stories, huh? Someone who doesn’t mind the grease stains.” Aloy rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. The idea was absurd - Petra, bent over a scroll with some starry-eyed academic - but the thought of it didn’t twist inside her like before. “See?” Petra said, quieter now. “That’s how you know.”
In the hall, Talanah had finally disentangled herself from the noble’s lingering grasp, swatting him away with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the same practiced, polished sound she used with merchants and diplomats. Aloy knew that laugh. She’d heard the real one, the one that came breathless after a fight or muffled against her shoulder during a dust storm. The difference was like sunlight through clouds.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Aloy admitted at last, the words scraping raw in her throat. She kept her eyes on Talanah, now weaving through the crowd towards the food-laden table, her movements graceful even after three drinks. “It’s not- I don’t have a plan for it.” Petra huffed a laugh, nudging her shoulder. “Nobody does, Flamehair. That’s the messy part.”
Talanah paused, turning as if she’d heard something, then glanced up at the balcony, her gaze locking onto Aloy’s. For a heartbeat, the noise of the feast faded. Talanah’s lips curved, slow and knowing, like she’d caught Aloy mid-thought. Aloy’s breath stuttered. Maybe she had.
"I can’t tell her anything. She couldn’t…," Aloy muttered, tearing her eyes away. "Look at her." Talanah was sunlight and steel, all effortless grace and razor wit - Carja nobility tempered by the wilds. And Aloy? A scrap of a girl raised by the wind and whispers of the dead. "She’s-" She gestured vaguely, frustration knotting her throat. "She’s Talanah. And I’m just…"
Petra snorted, shaking her head. "You really don’t see it, do you?" She jabbed a finger towards the feast hall. "That woman lights up when you walk into a room. Half the time, she’s looking at you like you hung the damn sun." Aloy opened her mouth to argue, but Petra cut her off. "And don’t give me that ‘just friends’ crap. Friends don’t stare like that when they think you’re not looking."
Talanah had started toward the balcony steps, dodging drunken hunters with practiced ease. Aloy’s pulse kicked like a startled strider. "She can’t," she insisted, voice dropping to a hiss. "It’s… it’s Talanah." As if that explained everything. As if the weight of that name wasn’t exactly the problem.
Petra rolled her eyes and drained the last of her ale. "Flamehair, listen to me-" She caught Aloy’s wrist again, squeezing hard enough to ground her. "Regret tastes worse than watered-down Oseram swill. Tell her, or someone else will." With that, she shoved off the railing, clapping Aloy on the shoulder hard enough to stagger her. "Good luck," she murmured, then vanished into the shadows of the lodge, leaving Aloy alone as Talanah reached the top of the stairs.
The Sunhawk’s smile was a slow, dangerous thing, her lips still damp from wine. "Hiding from me?" she teased, stepping close enough that the scent of spiced honey and steel oil curled around Aloy. The noise of the feast below faded to a dull hum beyond Aloy’s hearing.
Aloy swallowed. Talanah’s fingers brushed her wrist, light, questioning, and suddenly, the words were there, crowding her throat. Petra’s warning echoed in her skull: Tell her, or someone else will. The noble’s lingering touch flashed behind her eyes. Her fingers twitched. "Talanah-" she started, just as a crash from below shattered the moment.
Talanah glanced down at the commotion - some hunter had overturned a table, sending tankards rolling - but her expression barely flickered. She turned back to Aloy with an amused quirk of her brow. "You were saying?" The way she said it, low and knowing, made Aloy’s pulse stutter. "I-" Aloy exhaled sharply, frustration warring with the sudden, desperate need to say it. "Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?" Talanah studied her for a heartbeat, then nodded toward a narrow door half-hidden by tapestries.
The storeroom smelled of dried herbs and old leather, the muffled laughter outside suddenly distant. Talanah leaned against a crate, arms crossed. "Alright, out with it." Her tone was light, but her gaze was sharp, the same focus she reserved for tracking machines. Faced with the reality of Talanah, in such close proximity, Aloy's throat tightened. "It's just-" She gestured vaguely, her fingers brushing Talanah's forearm and instantly regretted it. The contact sent heat lancing up her arm, her breath hitching audibly. Talanah's brow furrowed. "Aloy?" Her hand closed gently around Aloy's wrist, thumb tracing the ridge of a scar. "You're shaking."
Aloy jerked back as if burned, her shoulder hitting a shelf with a thud that sent jars rattling. Talanah's eyes widened, not offended, but startled, her lips parting on some unspoken question. The silence between them stretched taut, charged like the air before a storm.
"That Carja lord-" Aloy forced out, voice too sharp, fingers flexing at her sides like she was grasping for a weapon that wasn't there. "He looked weak. You could do better." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, petty and childish. Talanah blinked, then snorted, shaking her head. "I know. That's why I sent him packing." Her grin was lazy, but her fingers lingered where they'd touched Aloy's wrist.
"That's-" Aloy swallowed hard, heat crawling up her neck. "Not why we're in here." She gestured wildly at the cramped storeroom, at the gap between them where Talanah's breath warmed the air. "I didn't… I don't care who you-" Talanah raised her brow curiously at Aloy. “Then please tell me,” she smiled, “Why are we in here?"
The words burst out of Aloy like an arrow loosed too soon: "I don’t know how Carja courtship works." The moment they left her lips, she wanted to claw them back. Talanah stilled, her fingers tensing. "Courtship?" she echoed, her head tilting in that predatory way that made Aloy's pulse stutter. "Has someone... proposed it to you?"
Aloy watched the way Talanah's jaw tightened, the way her fingers flexed against the leather strap of her belt - not angry, but something sharper, hungrier. The realisation hit her like a well-placed spear: Talanah minded. "I don’t think so," Aloy answered, her throat dry. "But I might… ah… The knowledge might be useful to me soon."
Talanah’s expression flickered again - confusion, dismay, and then something forcibly neutral. "Ah," she said smoothly, fingers tightening briefly on her belt before she folded her arms, leaning back against a stack of crates. "Well. Carja courtship isn’t... uniform." Her voice was careful now, the way she spoke when explaining the finer points of diplomacy to impatient Thrushes. "Most people skip elaborate rituals these days. But there are traditions."
Aloy nodded, pulse hammering in her throat. Talanah exhaled through her nose, gaze drifting to the ceiling as she recited, "The most common one still observed is the Offering of the First Hunt." Her lips quirked at Aloy’s raised brow. "If you intend to court someone, you present them with the trophy of your first successful hunt together, cleaned, polished, wrapped in silk. Ideally something impressive. A Sawtooth’s fang, or..." She trailed off, then added wryly, "I once received a Scrapper’s eye in a velvet pouch. Charming."
A beat of silence. Talanah’s voice softened. "Aloy. Who-" She stopped herself, jaw working. "If you’re asking about this, then someone has..." She swallowed hard. "Someone has caught your interest?" The question landed between them like a lit fuse.
Aloy’s fingers twitched. She could lie, say it was some passing curiosity, some hypothetical. But Talanah’s eyes were dark in the lamplight, her breath uneven, and the word tumbled out before she could stop it. "Yes." Talanah flinched as if struck. Her entire demeanour shifted, and the Sunhawk turned abruptly toward the door, her voice strained. "We should… the others will wonder where we’ve gone." Her hand hovered over the latch, but didn’t touch it. "Tomorrow. I’ll... I’ll find you tomorrow. Explain what you need to know. With proper texts. Diagrams." A forced laugh. "Carja courting rituals are absurdly detailed-"
Aloy watched on, dumbfounded at this turn of events. Just before Talanah disappeared through the door, understanding hit and she almost shouted “Does Redmaw count?” Talanah froze in the doorway. Aloy leaned forward, caught her wrist, gently pulling Talanah back to face her. The pulse beneath Aloy’s fingers raced like a startled machine. "It’s you," Aloy whispered, blushing furiously. The words scorched her throat. "It’s always been you."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Talanah’s hands found Aloy’s face, calloused palms framing her jaw, thumbs brushing the freckles dusting her cheeks. "You bunghead," she breathed, voice thick. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me?" Aloy didn’t answer - couldn’t - because Talanah’s mouth was on hers, warm and tasting of spiced honey and wine. The kiss was hesitant at first, a question asked in the press of lips, then answered as Aloy melted into it, fingers twisting in the fabric of Talanah’s sash. The storeroom’s dust and herbs faded beneath the scent of steel oil and sun-warmed skin, Talanah’s breath hitching as Aloy’s hands tentatively slid up her back.
They broke apart only when the shelf behind them rattled - Aloy’s elbow had knocked a jar askew - and Talanah laughed against her mouth, the sound vibrating between them. "We’re going to be found in a pantry," she murmured, forehead pressed to Aloy’s. "The Sunhawk and the Saviour of Meridian, buried under sacks of grain." Aloy tightened her grip, pulling Talanah back in. "Worth it," she muttered, and Talanah’s answering grin was the last thing she saw before her world narrowed to the slide of lips and the hitch of shared breath.