"And what shall I tell the Sun King?" The messager before Hekarro asked. The poor lad was called Conover, and he'd been 'promoted' to messager when the usual runner had been killed by a strange Bristleback infestation in the Daunt. He was apparently the fastest they had available at Barren Light, and Hekarro almost felt bad giving him the response he was about to; a lone Carja in Tenakth territory was a danger magnet these days, though not as much as a group of them, between blight, Apex Machines, and Regalla, and anyone who made such a journey was deserving of more than bad news to give to his superiors.
But alas, Hekarro had no choice, as much as he regretted it.
"Tell your Sun King that as long as Regalla mows down both our tribes with machines, and terrorizes every road with bow and blade, I cannot condone further embassies." The youthful face looks dangerously close to pouting for a split second before the soldier regained his composure. It was one of those little moments that brought to his attention humans were all the same, no matter the place of their birth... something he'd seen and embraced, used, even, to unite the clans all those years ago. Something he had hoped to use again to daringly forge peace with the Carja.
"And should he ask what aside from Regalla's death might progress peace and salvage what what she broke? Is there any way to defy her will that might satisfy both our peoples and be executed safely? Any way to continue the exchanges with significant meaning?" The runner pressed, obviously reticent to return with no possible good news.
"Unless he is willing to stride into the Grove himself," Hekarro said in jest, "through the dangers I dare not send an easily-spotted party through and back again with objects of value on their sleds, I cannot continue our exchanges. I would, however, have you tell him that when machines riders no longer lie in wait along those roads, I propose a mutual exchange of knowledge instead of herbs and people."
"And is there more you would have me relay?" The young man asked, in the polite Carja way of saying 'if that is all, may I leave?'
"I would pass him my condolences." Hekarro stated, clipping the bitterness rising in his chest off before it could reach his voice. "For Marshall Fashav is a grave loss to me and mine. I would tell him that his kin did not fail to build a bridge across the border, but since that bridge is grief for his death, I shall not step upon it as a means to peace between us. It is a personal bridge, not a diplomatic one, and any bridge built by death is unsuitable for soothing centuries of death."
"Very well." Conover did that odd little bow Carja did when faced with someone of higher status than they. "By your leave, I shall set out in the morning."
"Then go." He dismissed him, and Hekarro let himself heave a sigh once the young soldier was gone. Things had been going well; they were growing spices and medical herbs that weren't native to the region, incidents at the border were down, and incidents ending in dead Osaram were even down, thanks to the peace by association they earned(it helped that some Osaram were technically Sundom citizens, thereby making killing any of them a possible act of war). The benefits of the herbs alone had proven the advantage of exchanges with the Carja to what he'd thought were the last of the naysayers.
He'd been looking forward to acquiring true knowledge through Fashav's work. Tenakth had glyphs, but didn't write their stories on anything but their skin. How much of their history was lost because of this? How many great names had been lost because word of mouth alone had failed to retain them? Tenakth wrote only in battle plans on rough parchment or leather, they didn't venture into making paper or scrolls, experiment with their architecture, or build distilleries(though that was mostly because they could get it too easily from the Utaru, who in being masters of plant life had also become masters of mead).
Carja wrote things. A lot. And preserved those writings well. Only a fool would deny it had given them advantages his own people didn't have. If the Chaplains could record their wisdom, for even one generation, it would be a boon. Tenakth were not ambitious builders, but Carja were masters of architecture, and access to even a few of their engineering techniques could be life-changing to some villages; Fashav used to tell him of a great system of aqueducts and plumbing that brought water through the mesa Meridian was built on, of towering elevators used to ferry goods between the city and the village.
If such an aqueduct system could be built for say, the Desert Clan, however ambitious such an undertaking would be, or even Tide's Reach, who lived next to only salt water, it would minimize or even halt the thirst related deaths they had too many of, particularly at the hight of summer.
And now, thanks to Regalla, those plans had been dashed. His Marshals and a dozen others were dead, not including the Carja soldiers who'd been killed as well. Fashav skewered and ripped across the ground a mere stones-throw away from the land of his birth. For all he'd acclimated well to his duties, none could miss the way he looked eastwards. Towards the Sundom, towards Meridian and the kin who thought him dead.
He couldn't help but feel he had failed all those dead men and women. He should have killed Regalla, but old fondness had stayed his blade, and now others had paid the price. He considered this visit to be the only good news he's heard in a week, since the survivors had returned. It meant that Fashav's death and the attack overall hadn't totally ruined any chance at peace.
"Cheif Hekarro!" Dekka bustled into the throne room loudly, interrupting his brooding. "It's Kotallo; they say the fever has broken."
Well, perhaps today was a day for good news. "Have they made up their minds about whether he'll live?"
"They seem to have." She shook her head. "Stubborn, that one."
"Indeed." Stubborn, but he wasn't certain Kotallo would be thanking his healers. By their customs, he would have to prove he could still fight and win against a machine, but Hekarro would have to dismiss him from that Rite temporarily if he wanted to keep the peace. Kotallo was the last Marshal, a defiant shred of authority that still had use despite its tattered appearance, and he couldn't afford to risk losing him, not until the next Kulrut was completed.
Until then, Hekarro could only wait. Wait to continue talks with the Carja, wait for Kotallo to heal, wait for Regalla's next move.
Little did he know, Sun King Avad was too much like his cousin is one respect:
Even a jest could be taken as a challenge.
I'm not gonna lie, this is kinda what I hoped the DLC to be like. The idea of Aloy facing Rost's past wouldn't leave me alone, but neither would the hope that the DLC would be a rom-com treasure hunt with the bestest royal boy. Not sure how often this will update or if I'll ever really finish it, but the plot bunny wouldn't go back in it's hole, and inspiration struck me at two AM, so here we are.
Much like Avad will be doing, I'm just going to YOLO it.
This takes place in the same AU as What If: Responsibility or Calling, and Reconstruction and Combustion. It will contain references to events in those fics, but may or may not be necessary reading.
Fare Thee Well!
