Chapter Text
Erend is pretty sure his ass is the colour of bruised freeze rime root by the time his Charger canters through the northern Embrace gates.
The Charger jolts as it leaps over a rock on the path, as it has insisted on doing every half-hour the whole five-day journey from Meridian, and Erend curses volubly.
He directs the Charger stubbornly up the valley, ignoring the cries of surprise from the Nora watchtowers he passes, and feels every pebble of the ascending stone path on his poor backside.
“Forge-blasted machine,” Erend growls under his breath. “Fire and spit–”
He rounds one last bend in the path and looks up the short slope towards the wooden fence and gate; beyond, there is a column of silvery smoke – a freshly-built fire.
Erend spurs the Charger on, teeth gritted, and careens into a yard layered with snow.
The Charger skids to a halt before a merry campfire.
Erend stares.
Kotallo looks up from where he sits on a log by the fire, speared fish in hand. “Erend,” he greets conversationally. If he is surprised at Erend’s sudden appearance, he does not show it. “You are fortunate in your timing. Breakfast is almost ready. Aloy should join us soon.”
Silence, save for the sound of dripping fat as the fish grills against the flames.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Erend growls, sliding off the Charger. Erend’s legs nearly give way as his abused rear shrieks; the corner of Kotallo’s mouth twitches as he observes Erend’s wince.
“I take it the journey was not one of comfort,” Kotallo says, placing the speared fish aside and taking up another.
Erend nearly slaps himself as he taps his Focus with vehemence. “They’re fine,” he says into the group channel. “I’ll tell you more later,” he adds when Alva, Zo and Beta’s shouts battle over each other. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to kick Kotallo’s ass.”
“Is that a challenge to a spar?” Kotallo says, smiling faintly.
“You bet your spiky ass it is,” Erend snarls, stepping closer. “Aloy’s Focus goes offline and she disappears Forge-knows-where, GAIA says you run off after her, then your Focus goes offline too, and then you come back online two days after you leave saying that you’re both okay, then go offline again? And stay offline? With no explanation?”
“I am not aware how that was a problem,” Kotallo says calmly, offering Erend a freshly grilled fish. “I did make sure to convey that we were both well.”
Erend glares at the proffered fish. The scent is mouth-watering after five days of travelling rations. His stomach rumbles audibly.
Kotallo holds his gaze, lips twitching with mirth.
Erend snatches the stick from Kotallo’s hand. “It’s been two weeks,” he hisses through enormous bites. “Did you know there aren’t any Sunwings anywhere in the Sundom? Because I do. I had to override that damn Charger myself and come after you two when you obviously weren’t going to come back anytime soon.” The fish is delicious, fatty and dripping with juice, and Erend tries desperately to hold on to his anger.
There is another stack of grilled fish leaning innocently against the log beside Kotallo. Perhaps Erend can persuade Kotallo to surrender another.
“I apologise if we caused any undue worry,” Kotallo says, taking up the last of the raw fish and holding it over the fire. “In truth, we simply wanted privacy.”
Erend spits a fishbone into the fire, and brandishes the burnt stick like an accusing blade. “Privacy? You can get enough privacy in Meridian, with the damned platoon Marad set up outside Aloy’s house–”
Kotallo’s words catch up with Erend, and he stutters to a stop.
He blinks, and looks at Kotallo properly for the first time since his rushed arrival.
The Tenakth Marshal seems entirely at ease as he sits on the broad log by the fire. His tags glint against his bare chest; he wears long, fur-lined trousers the way the Nora do, and his hair is unbound, leaving his beaded locks pushed back behind his ears. The hand that holds the grilling fish over the flames is painted blue, with white feathers spreading across its back.
Erend notes vaguely that there is a Nora braid in Kotallo’s hair.
“Is that a Nora braid in your hair,” Erend hears himself say. And inkling of something is building in his consciousness. He lowers the stick he had been brandishing.
“Yes,” Kotallo says easily. There are traces of red, blue, and sandy brown in his face paint where Erend could have sworn there was not before.
“You’re wearing Aloy’s colours,” Erend says numbly.
Kotallo smiles, pride and joy suffusing his face. “Yes.”
“You wanted privacy,” Erend says, with something akin to horror.
“Yes,” Kotallo repeats. He shrugs. “But I am not opposed to your arrival. We knew we would eventually have to go.”
Erend leans his hammer against the fallen log and sits heavily beside Kotallo.
Kotallo hands him another grilled fish.
“I need a drink,” Erend says as he brings the fish to his mouth and takes a tasteless bite. “Do you have ale? Wine?”
“Hmm,” Kotallo murmurs. “I believe Aloy mentioned her father had plum wine aging before he passed. We can ask her when she wakes.”
“When she wakes,” Erend mumbles, smearing fish oil clumsily over his beard as he takes another bite. His hand is shaking, and Kotallo appears amused as the stick clacks against Erend’s teeth. “Okay.”
They sit in silence for another few minutes. Erend takes a third fish when it is offered – he never refuses the offer of food or drink when he is stressed, and it gives his hands something to do.
Kotallo, on the other hand, seems content to wait until Aloy should appear.
The winter sun is warm, and the silence is companionable.
A creak of wooden hinges behind Erend.
Erend turns, his mouth full of fish.
He blinks. He does not understand what he is seeing.
A misshapen blob of familiar height steps out onto the porch. It takes Erend a moment to realise the blob is a bundle of blankets, and that its height is similar to a certain red-haired huntress.
The blanket-blob moves down the porch steps; a squeak emanates from it as it reaches the snowy ground, and Erend glimpses bare feet curling pink in the snow as the blob approaches.
Kotallo brushes past Erend, moving towards the blanket-blob with a smile.
The blob reaches Kotallo. Kotallo curls his arm around the bundle-like creature and pulls it closer; a happy hum sounds from within the blanket as it rises on tiptoes.
Erend watches long enough to note the bare arm that extends from the blob to pull Kotallo’s jaw closer, and the lock of fiery hair that escapes from the blanket as Kotallo willingly bends his head.
Kotallo’s face disappears into the folds of the blanket. The bare arm that extends from the blanket wraps around the back of Kotallo’s neck; the hand that slides into his hair is is painted blue with white feathers to match Kotallo’s that Erend had seen earlier.
Erend realises what he is staring at, and leaps to his feet, face afire.
The words tumble up out of him despite his best efforts. “Fire and spit!” he wheezes.
A shriek. The blanket stumbles back from Kotallo. Kotallo catches the hand that slips from his neck, steadying it; he presses his lips comfortingly to its knuckles as the blanket-bundle turns to Erend, one wide green eye visible through a small opening at its top.
It. Her. Aloy.
Erend slaps both hands over his face, so forcefully he almost punches himself. “My eyes,” he moans. “My Forge-damned eyes–”
He hears Kotallo murmur something, voice muffled in cloth, and then there is the rapid patter of bare feet and the cabin door slams shut again.
Erend peeks out from between his fingers. Kotallo is quite alone before the cabin, looking back at Erend with an amused expression.
“Kotallo,” Erend groans. “I’m going back west. Don’t wait for me. You’ll never see me again.”
“Why?” Kotallo says, smiling more plainly now. “As I recall, we had a sparring match to settle.”
“Never mind that,” Erend groans into his hands. “I can never look Aloy in the face again.”
“You could not possibly have seen anything,” Kotallo points out, crossing to the fire and sitting again.
“That’s not the point,” Erend grunts, turning and collapsing heavily into his seat.
“Hmm,” Kotallo hums. “The reserve of other tribes when it comes to matched pairs never ceases to confound me.”
“Mmhm,” Erend says bleakly. “You do realise you owe me something like ten drinks now.”
“I will be glad to take up that challenge,” Kotallo says. “Just so as I might speak to my pledged. It is her father’s wine, after all.”
His pledged. Erend bends his head over his knees and puts his face in his hands.
“You eloped,” he moans. “You eloped and got hitched without me.”
“I am unfamiliar with the term,” Kotallo says curiously. “What is the meaning of elo–”
“No,” Erend says shortly. “We are not having this conversation.”
“If you wish,” Kotallo says.
“I want another fish.”
A steaming fish on a stick extends under his nose. Erend swipes at it and begins eating with gusto.
Some part of him is frighteningly close to tears.
He had thought he would be present one day at Ersa’s wedding, and though Varl and Zo had never gotten properly married, Erend had thought that at least, in Aloy and Kotallo’s case–
“You are upset,” Kotallo says calmly. “Because we did not invite you?”
“I don’t know,” Erend sniffs, pretending that the stinging in his eyes is solely due to the smoke from the fire. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
“Thank you,” Kotallo says.
Erend scrubs a greasy hand across his nose. “She’s my best friend,” he says. “Hurt her and I will kill you.”
“I wager she could defend herself,” Kotallo says. “But I understand. And thank you.”
“I’m serious,” Erend sniffs.
“Of course.”
“I will take my hammer to your head.”
“As only to be expected.”
“Hammer and tongs,” Erend mutters, blinking at the sunny sky. “Should I– should I congratulate you?”
Kotallo stands to add another log to the fire. “You may,” he says, with such quiet pride that Erend is momentarily stunned.
“Well,” Erend grunts. “Congratulations, then.”
“Thank you,” Kotallo says earnestly. “It is much appreciated. Especially from you.”
Erend flushes. He makes to speak again, but the cabin door creaks again behind him and he stiffens.
He does not dare to look.
But Aloy, when she appears, seems unchanged – dressed in plain leathers as she had been when Erend first saw her, what seems a lifetime ago, the night before the Proving. Her hair is unbound, whispering over her shoulders and framing her crimson cheeks. There are traces of grey-blue and white face paint on her cheeks.
“Erend,” she greets, voice small. She flushes further when Kotallo brushes her hair behind her ear and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Both her and Kotallo’s temples are bare; their Focuses are nowhere to be seen.
“Aloy,” Erend says, stupidly. “Uh. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Aloy mumbles, sitting across the fire. Kotallo hands her a fish as he goes to sit by her, and she hides her face in her breakfast.
It does not escape Erend’s notice that Kotallo makes sure Aloy takes her first bite before he reaches for his own portion.
For a while, there is no sound save for quiet chewing and the crackle of the fire.
“So. Um,” Aloy mutters. “Is everything all right in Meridian? Is everyone okay?”
“Oh,” Erend says. “Yeah. I mean. We were all a little worried, but GAIA didn’t seem concerned. And Meridian’s fine. Which reminds me, Kotallo,” he says, turning to the Tenakth Marshal, “Most of Meridian’s quite…fond of you now.”
“Fond?” Kotallo says, raising his eyebrows.
“Word got out of your kindness to the soldier that attacked you,” Erend says, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “And Marad spun a story that the Spire opened on the day you were attacked because the Sun wasn’t happy about it.”
He is rewarded with both Aloy and Kotallo’s incredulous stares.
“Really,” Aloy says.
“Yeah,” Erend shrugs. “I’m not gonna argue. It works.”
Kotallo tilts his head, but seems to accept this as yet another peculiarity of the Carja.
“I’m sorry we didn’t stay in contact much,” Aloy says quietly. She flushes again. “We–”
“Wanted privacy, I know,” Erend says, looking purposefully into the fire instead of meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I get it. You deserve it. You’ve been working yourself into the ground.”
“As I have been telling her,” Kotallo says, an almost impish grin on his features. Aloy nudges him, scowling, and he smiles indulgently as he bends his head to kiss her, catching her hand in his.
Strangely, Erend finds the sight does not bring him as much discomfort as it did previously. Perhaps it is because of the bright joy on both Aloy and Kotallo’s faces as they break apart.
“So, uh,” Erend says. “What else have you been up to?”
He immediately regrets the question. Aloy’s face turns the colour of the crimson valley-grasses as her eyes slide to Kotallo, and Kotallo simply tilts his head at her, smiling as he tightens his hold on her hand.
For a moment, Erend wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, but Aloy clears her throat and straightens.
“I’ve visited a few old friends,” she says. “Looked into how the valley is recovering. It’s been…nice. I told the Matriarchs about Nemesis, but I don’t think they’re gonna be very much help.”
“Did you…” Erend swallows. “Did you find Varl’s mother?”
“Yes,” Aloy says, sobering.
Kotallo seems to sense her mood without need to look; he places his breakfast aside to draw her to his side. Aloy tilts her head into his shoulder, and Erend is suddenly reminded of his own, long-dead parents – the ease and warmth with which they expressed their love for each other.
He blinks away sudden tears, and finds himself having to swallow past the lump in his throat.
“How did she take it?” he ventures.
“As well as could be hoped, I guess,” Aloy says. “Sona said Varl died as a Brave only could. There was a moment…she said she was no longer a mother. But I told her about Zo and the baby, and she smiled.”
“Sona smiled,” Erend says, surprised. From the little he had seen of the Nora war-chief before the Battle of Meridian, she had seemed Varl’s opposite; it seemed she would not smile even if one held a blade to her throat.
“Yes,” Aloy says, smiling ruefully. “She said it would be her honour to be a grandmother, and that she would be willing to leave the Sacred Lands to help Zo with the child if Zo agreed.”
“Whoah,” Erend whistles.
“Yeah,” Aloy says, her smile widening. “I’m glad. Varl would have been so happy to see them getting along.”
For a while, there is nothing but the sound of the fire, and the warm morning sunlight overhead.
Kotallo murmurs something about checking the traps in the nearby woods, and presses a lingering kiss to Aloy’s lips before rising.
Aloy watches him go, an almost dazed smile on her face.
Erend looks at her, and feels a swell of something warm in his stomach.
“Aloy,” he says softly. “Are you happy?”
Aloy startles; she looks at him, her unbound hair fluttering in the breeze. Erend sees her thoughts flickering behind her gaze.
She blushes again, but she smiles. “Yes,” she says. “I’m – I think I’ve never been so happy.”
Ersa had used to smile like that, before the Red Raids took their parents, before she returned from Meridian changed and scarred.
Erend nods. He blinks away the moisture in his eyes.
“Uh,” he says. “I don’t know if this will make you uncomfortable, and I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, because you’re one of my closest friends and I really can’t think of–”
“Erend,” Aloy laughs. “Just say it.”
“Can I hug you?” Erend says, voice small. “Please?”
Aloy steps over to him, pulls him to his feet, and wraps her arms around him.
Erend folds his gauntleted arms around her, and when she does not object, drops his face onto her shoulder.
He sniffs.
“Are you crying?” Aloy says, with some concern.
“Maybe,” Erend mumbles. “I’m very happy for you.”
“Thanks,” Aloy laughs.
“I’m also very, very angry at you two for running away and getting married,” Erend chokes. “You owe me a barrel of ale.”
“Rost had some wine he stowed away a few years ago,” Aloy says, patting his head consolingly. “I’ll see where it is.”
“Kotallo said that,” Erend sniffs. He feels Aloy laugh silently against his shoulder.
“Is there anything else I can do to make this up to you?” Aloy says, still giggling.
“I want a Sunwing,” Erend mumbles. “And I want more of that fish. What in the Forge did Kotallo even put on those? He never cooked as well as that at the Base–”
“I think we can arrange that,” Aloy laughs as she steps back. “You’re our friend, Erend. Kotallo and I are grateful for you.
“He’d better treat you right,” Erend croaks, scrubbing at his eyes.
“He will,” Aloy says, her expression growing soft. “He does.”
“Good,” Erend mumbles. Then, because he is growing rapidly embarrassed, “I’m gonna go help Kotallo with those traps.”
“Okay,” Aloy says, smiling at him.
Erend turns to go, swinging his hammer up on his shoulders, and finds, as he tramps through the western gate and towards the woods, he is wonderfully, contentedly happy.
(:~:)
They turn west with the rising sun.
Aloy had said her farewells to Teb, Sona, Teersa and others the day before; Teb gifted her a new scarf, Sona handed over a few gifts she wished Aloy to bring to Zo, and Teersa–
Well.
“You’ve found yourself quite the man, Aloy,” Teersa had said as she gestured to where Kotallo stood a little uncomfortably in a circle of curious young Nora. “Hmm. Makes me feel young again.”
“Teersa,” Aloy hissed, and blushed, drawing a laugh out of the High Matriarch.
“Careful, now,” Teersa had whispered conspiratorially. “He worships the very ground you walk on. An excellent trait in any Nora man, let alone an outlander. Keep an eye on him or any number of young women will want him for themselves.”
Aloy had bristled. “He’s pledged himself to me,” she said shortly. “I trust him.”
“I know you do,” Teersa said, laughing. “It warms my heart to see you loved, child.”
Aloy blinked, but Teersa had already moved away, still cackling to herself.
Kotallo had met her gaze over the murmuring crowd, and smiled; and Aloy had found herself going weak at the knees.
Now, with a Sunwing under them and his arm secure around her, the wind in their hair, Aloy is content. Kotallo’s heartbeat is a slow, steady drum at her back.
Erend is cursing up a storm on Kotallo’s old Sunwing a little behind them, and Aloy feels Kotallo lean further into her, dipping his head so his lips brush her left ear.
“Do you think Erend will be displeased if we left him behind?” he murmurs, voice full of mischief.
“He’ll manage,” Aloy whispers, and feels Kotallo’s arm tighten happily around her.
“Erend!” Aloy calls over her shoulder. “Kotallo and I are going to look at that cloud formation ahead!” she points at a towering column of pink-brushed clouds far above and ahead of them.
“Sure!” Erend shouts, sounding faintly green. “I’ll, uh– I’ll catch up with you later!”
Aloy barely waits for his reply before directing her Sunwing into a steep climb; they catch a thermal, the wind rising into a roar around them, and Aloy hears Kotallo breathe a wondering laugh in her ear as they spear through the clouds and crest above a white-brushed sea.
It is colder up here, but Aloy does not mind; she sets the coordinates for Meridian in the Sunwing’s processor, and turns in her seat to snuggle up to Kotallo’s chestplate. He tucks the rich blue cloth of his fur-lined cloak about her.
“How long do you think it’ll be before Erend figures out why we left him behind?” Aloy says, digging her cold nose into Kotallo’s neck. “Hmm. You’re warm.”
Kotallo, to his credit, does not react to Aloy’s chilled nose meeting his neck, save to kiss her temple. “I think it no concern of his,” he says amusedly. “Should it be anyone’s concern that I wish to spend time with you?”
Aloy cranes her head back to look at him; at the golden sunlight over his Nora braid, the sky blue of the tie in his hair.
Her colours.
She leans forward to whisper in his ear.
“Have I ever told you how handsome you look in blue?”
Kotallo’s arm tightens about her. “My armour is blue,” he says amusedly as he presses a kiss to her brow. He smiles down at her, hers in every way possible.
“Not my blue,” Aloy says, running a hand across his jaw.
“My mistake,” Kotallo whispers, turning his head to kiss her palm. “I would paint myself in blue if were to your liking.”
“I like you as you are,” Aloy says, and pulls him down to kiss him properly.
“As do I, you,” Kotallo murmurs, returning her kiss.
They drift happily westwards beneath the unbroken sky, content, until the sun dips from its zenith, and the fair songs of Meridian drift up towards them from below the sea of clouds.
(:~:)
Aloy finds herself a little apprehensive as the Sunwing descends into the garden of Fahir’s home. Kotallo had spoken effusively of Fahir’s kindness, and Aloy herself had seen Fahir’s compassion when Kotallo had been poisoned, but part of her still instinctively treats such effusive kindness with suspicion.
But Fahir only offers them both a genuine smile as he emerges from the garden entrance.
“Welcome back,” he says. “You are both welcome to stay as long or as short a time as you wish.”
“Thank you,” Kotallo says. To Aloy’s surprise, he steps forward after dismounting the Sunwing and embraces Fahir lightly – a gesture that Fahir returns.
“You look well,” Fahir says, clasping Kotallo’s shoulder.
Kotallo turns back to Aloy, and takes a few steps to lead her before Fahir.
“I wish to tell you that Aloy and I– that is we– we are pledged.” Kotallo looks as though he might burst with pride as he says it; Aloy feels her heart soften with fondness as she looks up at him.
Fahir’s smile turns to one of delight.
“Pledged?” he says. “Married, in Tenakth terms?”
“Yes,” Kotallo says, and Aloy flushes.
For a moment she is fearful that Fahir will embrace her as he did Kotallo, but he only bows deeply to her, as if she deserves great respect. “Congratulations,” he says. “I am most happy for you both. Come. You must be tired from your travels. I will show you to your chambers.”
To Aloy’s surprise, Fahir does not show them to the chamber Kotallo occupied when he was ill; he leads them up a set of sandstone steps, and into what is plainly the family wing.
Aloy glances up at Kotallo; he shakes his head, looking as bemused as she is.
Fahir opens a set of double doors into a sunlit suite; gauzy white curtains whisper before a wide balcony leading to a breathtaking view of the Jewel below.
“This was to be Fashav and his chosen wife’s suite, should he have married,” Fahir says. “I am glad to see it used at last. I knew my son well; I think it unlikely these rooms would have seen any use even should he have returned from the west. He was always more in love with words and diplomacy than he was in finding a partner.”
Aloy looks about; there is not a speck of dust on any of the gleaming surfaces; even the silk cushions of the couches gleam in the sunlight.
“You couldn’t have known when we would have come back,” she says. “You didn’t even know if we would come back.”
Fahir looks to Kotallo. Something unreadable passes between them; something Aloy only glimpses.
“I keep all the rooms of my children clean and ready for them,” Fahir says quietly. “It matters not that they return in two weeks or two decades.”
Aloy remembers, suddenly, returning home every night after a hard day’s training, to find the messy furs and blankets of her bed tidied, the fire stoked, and supper waiting, even if Rost himself was out hunting.
Abruptly, she understands why Kotallo looks to Fahir with such respect.
“Thank you,” Kotallo says, his voice thick with emotion, and Fahir nods.
Fahir turns to Aloy. “Please do not be pressured by this,” he says. “Kotallo was Fashav’s brother in all but blood. I might be naught but an aging widower, but I would be honoured if you permitted me to treat you as a daughter, or at least a daughter-in-law. There is no obligation. You are free to come and go as you wish.”
Aloy looks in Fahir’s kind brown eyes, and is reminded of Fashav’s gentle honesty.
She finds that she likes him.
“Thank you,” Aloy says. “I think we will stay a while.”
Fahir nods, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Aloy is reminded of Hekarro and Rost.
“I will leave you to rest,” Fahir says, as servants enter behind him with Aloy and Kotallo’s gear. “Supper is in an hour.”
The servants tuck away their belongings efficiently; in no time at all Aloy and Kotallo find themselves alone in the great, brass-walled chamber, with tasteful fittings of white and gold.
“We could wash up before supper,” Aloy says, absent-mindedly running her hand down the soft sheets of the feather bed, so different from the fur-covered straw pallet of the cabin on the northern edge of the Embrace.
“We could,” Kotallo says.
They look at each other.
Aloy reaches past Kotallo to lock the door.
They are late for supper, but Fahir makes no mention of it save to smile, and introduce Aloy to his gathered family.
(:~:)
The next day dawns bright and clear.
Kotallo and Avad’s discussions are scheduled in the afternoon; Aloy mentions needing to visit the Hunters’ Lodge to upgrade her gear, so Kotallo finds himself with a few hours to spare.
He asks Fahir for directions, and demurs when the older man offers to accompany him. This is something he must do alone.
He pulls Fashav’s old winter cloak over his face and steps out into the street while the sun is still low in the sky; his guards trail him unobtrusively as he makes his way through the market as Fahir had instructed, down the great metal platforms to the Royal Maizelands, and across the fields to the towering mesa of the Alight.
The climb would have been hard for him two months ago, but his ribs have long since healed.
At its peak Kotallo gives the Spire no second glance; he pauses to admire the statue of Aloy, fierce and shining in the sun, then moves into one of the low stone buildings that ring the mesa edge.
Fashav’s grave is nothing like Kotallo imagined.
He had thought it would be lined with gold and brass and draped in silk, in all the pomp and pageantry that Fashav had hated; but the grave is hewn of smooth sandstone, warm in a square of sunlight that pours in from a glass skylight above, and the Carja glyphs etched into its surface are simple and strong.
Here lies FASHAV
Son of FAHIR
Cousin to His Radiance the Sun-King AVAD
General, Son, Brother, and Friend.
"West, west I go, to where the Sun goes to rest."
Kotallo kneels before the grave. From his belt pouch he removes two objects; a leather string with two metal tags, and small clay pot from which emerges a cluster of laurel leaves and delicate white flowers.
Kotallo is glad the surviving Tenakth of the Embassy had thought to gather Fashav’s tags before the Carja got to him; it would have torn at Kotallo’s heart if Fashav’s tags were discarded as the rest of his armour was.
He hooks Fashav’s tags over the rightmost corner of the gravestone; the metal glints in the sunlight, clean and bright.
The laurels Kotallo places before the gravestone and slightly to his left; where Fashav’s right hand would have been if he had knelt opposite Kotallo.
“Hello, old friend,” Kotallo murmurs. “It is good to see you.”
The stone remains silent, but the breeze that filters through the door to the chamber is unexpectedly warm; Kotallo can almost imagine Fashav’s teasing.
What’s with the maudlin face, brother?
Kotallo takes a slow breath. “I have decided to take up your legacy,” he says quietly. “I will serve to bridge our people. I hope I will not disappoint you.”
“I do not think you will,” a new voice says.
Kotallo twists in place, one hand flying to the blade at his belt.
“No, no, do not rise on my account,” Avad says as he enters the chamber, entourage in tow. He gestures at Kotallo to remain seated as he turns to his guards. “Wait outside, please.”
“That is not necessary,” Kotallo says, standing as Avad’s guards filter out. “I will take my leave.”
“No, please,” Avad says. There is something of regret in his voice. “I have had much time to reflect these past weeks. We…parted badly, the last time we met. I wish to apologise.”
Kotallo raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You do?”
“Yes,” Avad says, looking contrite. “I treated Aloy poorly. From what she has told me I know you deserve her far more than I do.”
“I do not think anyone deserves her,” Kotallo says. “But she has chosen me, by some unlooked-for blessing of the Ten, and there is not a day that passes where I am not grateful for it.”
“Marad tells me,” Avad says quietly, “that you and Aloy were married a fortnight ago.”
“Yes,” Kotallo says. He hears the challenge in his own voice. He does not regret it.
But Avad only closes his eyes briefly, and nods once. “Congratulations,” he says. “May the Sun shine on your union.”
“…Thank you,” Kotallo replies. There is nothing else he can say.
A new, tentative peace hangs between them, awkward and unfinished, like the young green leaves of the laurels before the grave.
Avad gestures at Fashav’s grave. “I can see you had the same idea I did this morning. I too wished to seek my cousin’s wisdom before this afternoon’s deliberation.”
Kotallo nods, opting to remain silent. He allows Avad to move past him to light a few candles with a taper from a nearby brazier.
“Please, join me,” Avad says, kneeling to one side of Fashav’s grave.
Kotallo briefly debates with himself, then settles beside Avad, a respectful distance between them.
“Did you bring these?” Avad asks, indicating Fashav’s tags. “These…tags?”
“Yes,” Kotallo says. “Every Tenakth wears tags to identify them. They are a mark of struggle. Of honour. When a soldier falls, the tags are borne back to their family.” He swallows past the pain of the memory. “Fashav was as a brother to me. He had no closer among our people; when he fell, his tags were given to me.”
“Oh,” Avad says. His eyes glimmer with sudden moisture. “I see.” His chest rises and falls in a breath. “And these?” he indicates the laurels.
“Laurels of peace,” Kotallo says quietly. “Fashav’s great deeds as a warrior were marked on his left side. He always said he wished to have laurels of peace etched on his right before he died.”
Avad breathes a pained sigh. “What I would give to see his dream fulfilled.” He meets Kotallo’s eyes again. “You wish to work for peace in his stead.”
“Yes,” Kotallo says, lifting his chin in challenge as he holds Avad’s gaze.
For a moment, all is silent.
Then Avad looks up at the sunlight drifting through the sunlight, and smiles wryly; he suddenly looks very little like a king, kneeling in the dirt before the grave, with the sunlight upon his face.
“Did Aloy ever tell you I was never supposed to be Sun-King?” he says conversationally.
Kotallo frowns. “I know you had an elder brother.”
“Yes,” Avad says with fond reminiscence. “Kadaman. Twice the politician I am, twice as brave, twice as kind. When my father had Kadaman executed in the Sun Ring, I ran.” He shakes his head. “I knew I would return to take back the Sundom from the mad clutches of my father, but part of me was terrified. I was never raised to be Sun-King, but the task fell to me.”
Kotallo finds himself looking at Avad with a new light.
Perhaps the Carja Sun-King is less of a pompous ass than Kotallo initially thought.
Avad’s smile turns chagrined. “Yes, I know. I admit I was not my best self when you first came east. I have no excuse. But I meant what I said a moment ago. I do not think you will disappoint Fashav.”
Kotallo looks to Fashav’s sunlit grave, and back to the Sun-King. He knows what Fashav would have said in this moment.
“You do seem to be acting more like a king and less like a jilted lover now,” Kotallo says calmly. “Perhaps we can be hopeful this afternoon’s deliberations will bear some fruit.”
Avad’s eyebrows rise, but he only laughs lightly, instead of ordering in his guards as Kotallo thought he might. “You sound like Fashav.”
“It is what he would have said,” Kotallo says.
“I do not question that,” Avad says. “We have both lost a friend in him. But perhaps in time we can be friends.” He holds out his hand to Kotallo.
Kotallo looks at Avad’s ringed and ornamented hand.
He can almost hear Fashav in his head.
Come now, you are brothers, Fashav had once said to two quarrelling Lowland warriors. End your quarrel, clasp wrists, and have a drink.
“Very well.” Kotallo clasps Avad’s wrist in a warrior’s hold. He tightens his grip, and sees Avad hide a wince; but the Sun-King sets his jaw and tightens his grasp on Kotallo’s wrist, as well.
To Avad’s credit, he only lets go when Kotallo does, despite the obvious pain Kotallo’s fingers are exerting on Avad’s wrist.
“I shall see you at deliberations this afternoon,” Avad says, rising. He is holding his right hand carefully, and Kotallo hides a smile.
“Your Radiance,” Kotallo says evenly as he rises.
“Marshal Kotallo,” Avad acknowledges, and takes his leave.
The sun shines little brighter on Fashav’s gravestone; the sun must almost be at its zenith.
“Goodbye, old friend,” Kotallo says, reaching out to touch the warm sandstone. “Rest with the Ten. And thank you.”
The laurels drink in the luminance, and turn their blossoms up towards the sun.
(:~:)
With the newfound accord between Kotallo and Avad, deliberations take much less time than expected; in a matter of three days, all is settled and put in writing.
Kotallo signs his name in careful, practiced glyphs beside Avad’s, and it is done.
Agreements for food and water from the east and machine parts from the west; Carja scholars will be sent to teach glyphs to the Tenakth, and Carja soldiers may go west try their luck at Tenakth training, should they wish it.
It makes Kotallo’s heart twist to think of it all.
The children of the Desert Clan will never go without water again; there will be ample food for the young families of the Sky Clan even in winters, and the Lowlands will have something to gain from the deadly machines that prowl the marshlands.
Surprisingly, the first Carja soldier to put his name down to go west is the young soldier who had poisoned Kotallo.
“He is wise enough now to understand a little of the meaning of peace,” Fahir says when Kotallo had looked surpised at the news. “Attempting to take your life did not bring his father back. You showed him kindness he did not expect. And who knows? If he familiarises himself with your ways as Fashav did, perhaps he will see how similar we all are.”
Kotallo feels something fragile and warm flutter in his chest; something a little like hope. “I hope so,” he says.
Fahir clasps his shoulder.
But the sun slips towards one horizon to rise again on another, and soon two Sunwings rise above the fluttering kites of Meridian and turn west.
Across the Daybrink, shining like a silver mirror far below; past Sunfall, the Citadel tall and proud; down the Daunt to good food and friends in Chainscrape at close of day. Onwards past the Cinnabar Sands under the morning sun; Plainsong as the sun reaches its zenith, where Zo welcomes them, her stomach so full now it stretches at her fibre skirt.
There is much food and laughter and song; Zo congratulates Aloy and Kotallo both, pressing woven crowns into their hair as per Utaru wedding custom.
When Aloy brings out the gifts Sona had sent for Zo, Zo presses a hand to her mouth, moved; from her lively discussion with Aloy, Kotallo is sure Sona will be quite welcome in a few weeks when the baby arrives.
They spend the night in Plainsong, Aloy’s head resting soft on Kotallo’s shoulder, her hair like a warm waterfall over his chest.
When the sun rises they say their farewells to Zo, and fly on to the Base.
Beta and Alva are there to meet them; Beta manages to say half a word of congratulations before Alva flings her arms around Aloy and Kotallo and shrieks her delight in their ears.
“Oh my goodness you’re married I’m so excited tell me everything–”
“Alva,” Aloy says pointedly, though she smiles as Alva hugs her even tighter.
Kotallo pulls Aloy aside and kisses her brow, much to Beta’s embarrassment and Alva’s delighted squealing.
“Go on,” Kotallo says softly. “There is something I must do.”
Something about his tone must have given him away; Aloy looks at him sharply. But she does not question him; she only pecks his cheek and whispers for him to be careful.
Kotallo watches Beta and Alva herd her away, Erend trailing after them.
Then he steadies himself, and goes to seek out Sylens.
“Marshal,” Sylens acknowledges as Kotallo steps into the server room. “I see you have returned.” He looks at Kotallo’s painted hand. “And pledged, I see. Congratulations.” The word somehow sounds like an insult.
“You know why I am here,” Kotallo says as he steps closer, quiet menace to seep into every word. “You know what you have done.”
Sylens looks unaffected. “I can sense that reasoning with you would be even less effective than reasoning with your wife. Or pledged, I supposed you would call her. Get this over wi–”
Whatever Sylens had been about to say next is lost as Kotallo seizes Sylens by throat and smashes him into the wall.
Kotallo releases Sylens the moment Sylens’ skull makes contact with polymer; he does not know what cowardly tricks Sylens might have on him, and will not risk injury when there is Aloy to think of.
“I assume Aloy made a threat upon your life should you attempt to use me against her,” Kotallo says as Sylens coughs into an elbow. “I will make another offer. Cause her pain as you did again and I will ensure your life does not end quickly. You will die, yes. But you will die wishing your life ended sooner.”
For once, Sylens’ unflappable mask seems to have cracked; Kotallo glimpses fury in Sylens’ eyes as he staggers to his feet.
“You all need me,” Sylens says cuttingly.
“I would not be so sure,” Kotallo says evenly. “I am not as practiced in the ways of the Old Ones as you are, but Aloy has proved you wrong many times. I trust her with my life.”
“Then you are a fool,” Sylens says. “You might die at any moment and leave her to break worse than she did before.”
“I have decided to live for my people and for her,” Kotallo says, and thinks of Fahir, and a steady hand on his shoulder. “Though I should not expect you to understand. You have no people, and care for none except yourself.”
He leaves before Sylens can speak another word; he finds Aloy alone in the workshop, and gathers her up in a tight embrace, stopping her questions with an intent kiss.
Aloy kisses him in return, softly, her metal-dusted hands pressing against his shoulders as he draws back. “Are you okay?” she murmurs.
Kotallo nods. He is loathe to let her go; already he can feel the fury of his conversation with Sylens soothed by Aloy’s presence.
“Do you need help with anything?” Aloy says.
Kotallo smiles. He runs a thumb over her cheekbone. “Help me move my gear from my sleeping quarters to yours,” he says.
Aloy smiles up at him, radiant, and leads him out the door by the hand.
(:~:)
Kotallo raises his hand in acknowledgement of the guards’ greeting as the Sunwing lands before the entrance to the Memorial Grove, and realises his error when both guards immediately break into wide grins.
He had forgotten the new colours in Aloy’s and his hair, and the painted wings on their hands that bind them together.
One of the guards wolf-whistles as Kotallo and Aloy pass; Kotallo glares at him severely, but the guard only smiles wider as his compatriot hands him what looks suspiciously like a bag of shards.
“By the Ten,” Ivvira says as they approach. “I didn’t think you’d have the guts, Kotallo. Is that why you were gone so long?” She smiles slyly.
“Ivvira,” Kotallo says resignedly, as Aloy flushes beside him. “Please.”
“Oh, it’s only fair,” Ivvira grins, swinging her spear over one shoulder. “You should ask the Chief for some time away, you know. He grants newly pledged couples a week in the wilderness.”
“Ivvira,” Kotallo repeats, as she laughs in his face. There is a gathering crowd now, shouting congratulations and teasing jibes alike.
Ivvira turns to Aloy. “How did you manage to get this one pledged to you, Champion? He’s shyer than a newborn peccary–”
“Actually,” Aloy says suddenly, grinning, “I asked him.”
Laughter explodes around them. Kotallo meets Aloy’s gaze, startled, and she nudges his arm with her shoulder, an impish smile on her face.
Kotallo’s heart suddenly thunders for another reason altogether. He tightens his hold on her hand.
“Dekka!” Ivvira calls, as the Chaplain approaches. “I owe you shards!”
“Aloy, Kotallo,” Dekka says warmly. “Welcome back.” She turns to Ivvira. “I did say she would be the one to ask first. Pay up, young one.”
Aloy laughs. The sound bursts across Kotallo’s consciousness like sunlight; he smiles down at her, heart full.
It is a strange, beautiful thing, to love. Kotallo had once thought that he could not love her any more than he already did; but each day he finds his love for her only growing, unceasing, like the great Sentinels of the lowland forests that spear towards the sky.
Aloy looks back at him. He sees that same wonder in her eyes, and knows with utter certainty that her love for him sees that same growth day by day.
(:~:)
“You have done well,” Hekarro says with satisfaction when Kotallo has finished his report. Aloy has gone to see to her gear in the Arena; Kotallo is alone with his Chief.
“Thank you,” Kotallo says. The praise of his Chief means as much to him as it always has. “If…if I might be permitted to make a request.”
Hekarro tilts his head at him. “But of course. I daresay you have earned it.”
Kotallo takes a breath. “I would like to remain Envoy to Meridian.”
“You wish to remain as my voice to the Carja Sun-King?” Hekarro says. “Permanently?”
“Yes,” Kotallo says. “As Fashav once wished to.”
“It will mean long months away from the Grove,” Hekarro warns. “You will forever belong to both Tenakth and Carja.”
The Bulwark had been his home for almost two decades; the Grove has been his home for five years and a little more.
But he has many homes now – one at the Grove, one in the Base, two in Meridian, one on the northern lip of a far-off eastern valley.
All with Aloy.
He can go anywhere, accomplish anything, if he remains by her side.
“Yes,” Kotallo repeats, more firmly. “It is what I wish.”
Hekarro smiles.
“Then I will gladly accept your service,” he says. “I will be sorry to lose my best Marshal. But I suppose I have already lost you once to your pledged.”
Kotallo feels heat crawl up his neck. “Thank you.” He pauses. “And thank you. For…not listening to me when I begged for an honourable death.”
Hekarro barks a low, rumbling laugh. “You are welcome, my friend,” he says. “I have seen enough in my years to know what it is to seek another half of your soul and find yourself wanting. I am glad you are both content at last.” He rises from his throne and moves to place a hand on Kotallo’s shoulder. “And now I am reminded to tell you – you have my leave to go rest. Come back in seven days.”
“My Chief?” he says, feeling his cheeks heat under his face paint.
Hekarro is already halfway across the chamber. “Seven days,” he repeats, smiling knowingly. “I will be sorely disappointed in you if I see you back before then. Go.”
Kotallo opens his mouth, But Hekarro disappears down the steps, and Kotallo is left standing alone in the empty audience chamber, slack-jawed.
Then he breathes a laugh, and goes to find Aloy.
(:~:)
The westward sea is deep blue limned with scarlet and gold in the light of the sunset.
Aloy pauses in scouring out the remains of their supper, setting the bowls aside in favour of standing to watch the setting sun. The waves bite soothingly at her ankles. Two Sunwings circle high above, a duet of wings and wind currents.
In the sound of the waves, she does not notice Kotallo’s approach until he is already there; she laughs as his arm comes up around her from behind and he presses a ticklish kiss into her neck, where her under-armour does not reach.
“Kotallo!” she laughs.
“Aloy,” he teases, the word muffled against her ear. “Hmm. Where will we go next?”
Aloy thinks a moment, swaying with Kotallo there in the surf. His breath against the shell of her ear is very distracting.
“Eventually, northeast,” she says. “To the Banuk. But that can wait until winter has passed.”
“And now?” Kotallo whispers, nuzzling his nose into the angle of her jaw.
“Wherever we like,” Aloy murmurs, and yelps as Kotallo leans more of his weight into her.
Her feet slide in the foaming surf. “I’m going to fall,” she warns breathlessly.
Kotallo’s only response is to lean into her further, his face buried in her jaw as his laugh rumbles through her, and Aloy shouts as they overbalance together into the salty waves.
Cool, clear water; the sound of the gulls above muted by the shifting sand. Aloy feels bubbles brush against her lips that do not come from her breath as Kotallo’s lips find hers. She laughs as she returns his kiss, a starburst of bubbles against both their cheeks.
They surface for air, Aloy’s arms around Kotallo’s neck and his arm tight around her waist.
She looks up at him as he is silhouetted against the setting sun; the Nora braid in his hair dark blue with seawater, his brown eyes shining, a smile stretching the scar at his lips; the curve of his nose, the line of his brow, the stretch of his tattoos across his chest–
Oh, she thinks, as her hand settles against his cheek.
“I love you,” she says, and somehow means it more than the last time she said it; she is suddenly sure it will mean more every time she says it again. “I love you so much.”
Kotallo’s gaze softens. He leans his cheek into her hand. There is memory in his eyes; perhaps he remembers another moment on another shore where he felt the same when he looked at her in the sunset, much like now.
“And I, you,” he whispers.
Aloy rises on her tiptoes to kiss him, tasting salt.
“We need to bank the fire,” she says reluctantly as she draws back.
Kotallo pulls her in close again. “We have time,” he murmurs in her ear.
Aloy tilts her head to kiss his jaw. “Yes, we do,” she whispers.
The ochre light of sunset falls over the sands of the beach, over two Focuses set on a rock by the fire; over two bedrolls laid side-by-side, with a spear and a blade crossed in the sand beside them; over two sets of over-armour, one Tenakth, one Nora.
The sun slips over the horizon, and stars bud in the velvet skies; one, brighter than the rest, burns more fiercely each night as it draws closer to Earth.
Aloy and Kotallo both know of it; but they hold each other close as evening deepens to night, and are content.
Whatever comes, they will face it together.
There is no greater
Joy under the Sun
Than when my lover's
Shadow and mine become one.
- An excerpt from Compassionate Hardiv's final collection of poems, When The Sun And I Were Young
End
Fanart of this happy ending by han-ban-bam on tumblr