And so a peculiar tradition was born.

Once in a week, Erend would join Avad for a drink; they would spend the evening talking (or more accurately, complaining) about their respective struggles, and for one brief moment, they would not be the Sun-King and his Captain of the Vanguard, but simply two old comrades exchanging tales, as they had been not so long ago.

Or at least, that's what Avad hoped. More often than not, he would be the one to chatter animatedly, emboldened by the wine, while Erend would sit and stare, eyes glazed over, only giving an occasional grunt to show he was following the conversation. It gave Avad a strange, fluttery feeling to the pit of his stomach. Once upon a time, he'd been the one to listen as his older brother Kadaman lost himself in drunken ramblings. It seemed like a lifetime ago to Avad. Kadaman was dead now, and his ashes were buried next to the remains of the madman who had murdered him, in the royal crypts. And in time Avad would join them, spending his eternal rest alongside the brother he'd failed and the father he'd killed. It was a disquieting, chill-inducing prospect.

The young king never said a word of it, however. After all, the earthly incarnation of the Sun God could not show a weakness as human as fear. Besides, the only person he could have confided in without feeling the sting of shame was also cold in her grave.

Avad twirled his glass of wine, silently musing over this topic as he watched the red liquid swirling within. Sitting across from him, Erend yawned.

"Am I boring you?" Avad said, his tone light despite the dark thoughts currently cloying his brain. "I can shut up, if that's what you want."

"Eh." Erend was idly tracing circles on the table with one finger. He'd brought his own bottle of ale this time, but he had barely touched it. "I just have a headache, is all. I don't mind listening. You need to vent, I get it. I wouldn't wish your job even on my worst enemy."

"Most people would kill to be in my place," Avad said, bemused. The royal court under his father had been especially bloody, with at least one murder happening every month or so.

"Most people are idiots, then," replied Erend. "I've already got enough trouble trying to babysit my guys. I dunno what I'd do if I had an entire tribe looking up to me for guidance."

"I'm learning as I go, so to speak," Avad said. "I was not trained for this position, after all. It was expected of me to join the military. Or the priesthood."

He did need to say that both plans had fallen through even before his father had died. In the years preceding the rebellion, Avad had been a scrawny thing who had been incapable of harming even the most insignificant of creatures. He would have fared better as a priest, but Sun-King Jiran had been incensed at the idea of allowing one of his blood to take such a subservient role. We of the Radiant Line are not meant to become servants, even to the Sun himself, he'd told his son, voice shaking with anger. I won't let you become a further disgrace to my person. The old man had then leaned forward from his throne, baring his teeth. I'd sooner kill you rather than see you on your knees, praying for the unworthy and the weak.

"Oh, yeah. You were the spare son, weren't you?" Erend's voice took Avad out of these unpleasant memories.

The bluntness of the statement struck Avad like the point of an arrow. The king swallowed a mouthful of wine and said, rather acridly, "Yes. I was supposed to stay out of the line of succession unless something happened to my brother or any heir he might have begotten. He was the golden child, while I…" He let out a little noise of irritation and fell silent.

I was the meek scholar who presumed to understand the plight of the slaves serving me, Avad thought. I was the weakling who was powerless to do anything when my father gave my brother to the flames. I was—I am the coward who won his throne while hiding behind the backs of stronger, better people.

"Huh," said Erend, almost as he could read Avad's mind. "I guess we're more alike than I thought, then."

Avad frowned as he took the bottle of fruit wine in hand. "Why?" he said a little forcefully as he tipped the mouth toward his cup. "Because we've both lost a sibling?"

Erend's features twisted in a sneer. "Nah. Because no matter how hard we try, we can't measure up to 'em."

Sometimes, thankfully, the topics they chose were light and inconsequential.

Tonight, Erend had gone on a rant about the impracticality of Carja fashion. The king, drunker than usual, had been unable to mount a suitable argument to defend his people's penchant for feathers and silks. It all had somehow ended with Erend wearing Avad's headdress and preening like a proud rooster, and the latter all but giggling behind his cup of wine.

"Forges of hell, how can you stand wearing this all day?" Erend said, words slightly slurring—mostly due to fatigue rather than the booze, funnily enough. "Don't tell me it's for the purpose of esthetics, either. It's uglier than a Scrapper's backside!"

"It's expected of me," Avad replied between snickers. "But to tell the truth, I'd sooner chuck it out of an open window."

"Where it would probably kill any poor bastard who'd be unlucky enough to pass below," Erend said. "Thing's pointy. And surprisingly heavy."

Avad laughed again. "Then, I'll keep it safe with me, where it can't harm a soul. Perhaps I should ask for a new crown to be made. Something more practical, something less… ostentatious."

"Heh. Something Oseram, you mean."

"Perhaps. The idea has some merit. After all, many Oseram live in the Sundown now. I am their king as well, as ludicrous it may sound to many in my court."

Erend stopped pacing, slumping down in his chair once more. "I dunno. Sounds like a plan to breed more resentment from all the blue-blooded parasites hanging around you. A Carja king, wearing an Oseram-styled crown." He smirked. "It'd be as ridiculous as a Vanguardsman wearing Carja silks."

Avad made a strange face, almost as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing. "I've seen an Oseram warrior in Carja silks. Many times, in fact."

Erend was about to deliver a snarky retort when the realization dawned on him. He stared at Avad, mouth opening with indignation and horror. "N-No way! You put my sister in a dress? For what, your own sick pleasure?!"

"No, no!" protested Avad. "She… well, it was something she wanted. I think she tried to keep it from you and the rest of the Vanguard so you would not laugh at her. So you would not think her weak for indulging in her feminine side."

Such a tidbit of information would have been amusing to know a lifetime ago. Now, Erend found he had nothing to say. Another thing to add to the little pile of secrets Ersa kept from stupid ol' me, the bitter thought came unbidden.

"But I always thought she was as lovely in Carja silks as in Oseram steel," Avad added. "Of course, she never believed me whenever I told her so."

A dazed little look softened the king's features; he was probably losing himself in pleasant reminiscences. Erend rubbed the bridge of his nose, groaning. How had he never connected the dots before Ersa's death? In hindsight, it was all so very obvious. When Ersa had welcomed a disheveled and weary-looking Avad in their hometown in the Claim, the Carja prince had kept staring at Erend's sister like she'd hung the damn moon in the sky. After being crowned, Avad had learned to better control his face (the king was damned good at cards, Erend was disgusted to admit), but there had been enough times where he'd let his guard down and allowed his true feelings to peek through.

Erend snorted, re-adjusting the elaborate crown on his head in a manner he supposed was dignified. "Girls are always prettier in Oseram steel."

"…or in Nora garb?" Avad supplied.

"What's that s'pose to mean?" Erend said, giving the king a mock scowl. Still, soon afterward, he managed a laugh. "We're pathetic, the pair of us."

"Ersa would be laughing at us," Avad mused. "And so would Aloy, I think."

It was the opening Erend had been looking for. Yes, it would be much easier to talk about Aloy than think of the ghost standing alongside them right now. "Yeah, her too. You should have seen her when we first met. I pretty much said to her face I could take her in a fight because of my armor. She looked at me like I'd said the sun rose at night."

"Oh, Erend." Avad smiled, shaking his head. "You poor fool…"

"Yep." Erend looked at the inside of his mug; he was a bit surprised by how full it still was. "I said she was out of luck, to be stuck living in the middle of nowhere. I can't believe she didn't slug me right there. I know I would have, in her place."

"And to think I had sent you there to act as my personal representative! Erend, what would your sister have said?"

Erend's grin turned ugly. He knew it was childish, but all he could hear in Avad's soft reproach was how he failed to follow Ersa's example. "I dunno. Can't ask her now, can I?"

Avad looked like Erend had just punched him in the gut. The king averted his eyes, seemingly at a loss for words. For a moment, Erend itched to leave his seat and get away as far as he could from anything that could remind him of his sister—and in particular, from the poor man currently sitting across from him. But something told him it would not lessen the pain of the gaping wound that had been left when Ersa had been torn from his life. It would not make his hands stop from shaking or his stomach from being so queasy. So instead Erend stayed put, pushing the mug away from him.

"Let's find another subject, then," Avad said. "We could discuss the differences between our two cultures, for example."

Erend passed both hands on his face, groaning again. "Oh boy. Really? That's what you want to talk about over a pint?"

"Of course." The king appeared genuinely puzzled by Erend's lacking enthusiasm. "Deep in my heart I am still but a scholar who is eager to learn more about the world. Let's start with you. Is there anything about my people that you find odd or amusing, my friend?"

"Only one thing? I could draw a whole list, y'know…" Erend then continued, scrunching up his face in genuine bewilderment, "First off, you people have the weirdest hair. Why do your women wear it so long? Why d'you always have those absurd headdresses? And what about facial hair, huh? Why can't anyone grow a mustache worth a damn?"

"Oh, it's true!" said Avad. "I had never realized before, but you Oseram all wear your hair short, even the women."

"Of course! S'more practical that way. Wouldn't want your hair to catch fire while you're working at the forge, right?"

"Indeed. Although I do take offense on your last point. At least my face doesn't look like the rear end of some unfortunate beast..."

"What?!" Erend tugged on his whiskers, grinning ferociously. "Oh, now that was below the belt. You can't say that kind of things about a man's facial hair, you just can't!"

The king poured himself more fruit wine, eyes glistening with good humor. "Let's just agree to disagree. I would never have the patience to trim my beard in the Oseram manner."

"Truce accepted," Erend said. "So, it's your turn, then? To ask about Oseram culture or whatever?"

"Why, yes! I could spend a whole day just asking you questions."

Erend slouched in his chair, the headdress now a little crooked on his skull. "Great," he mumbled. "Like, what kind of questions?"

Avad emptied his cup, before asking with a tad too much enthusiasm. "Well, many kinds! For one, what sort of religious beliefs do the Oseram have? How did your peculiar structure of power come to be? What about patronyms? What—"

"Patro-what?" Erend interrupted him. He had barely touched his drink, but he could feel a headache rearing its ugly mug.

"Family names," Avad explained. "Only the members of some select families have patronyms in Carja culture. These few make up the bulk of the nobility in Meridian."

"Oh, that." Erend waved a hand around. "It's easy. People call you by your dad's name or by your profession. Outside of the Claim, we mostly use the latter. When you live away from your clan, it's not so important who's the son of who."

"Is that why you go by Erend Vanguardsman instead of Erend Viksson?"

A sour, nasty taste seemed to fill Erend's mouth. "Yeah. Among other things."

The morning he and Ersa had left their village to join a band of freebooters, Erend's sister had gone right in the heart of town, loudly declaiming to anyone who would listen that she would renounce Vik Erlendursson as her father unless the latter could beat her in a fair fight. She'd picked the perfect day to pull her stunt; their father, more hungover than usual after a particularly disastrous binge the prior evening, had stumbled out of the family home, shrieking that he would split her head open. Under the eyes of everyone in the clan, Ersa had knocked their old man into the dirt before he could even blink. She'd been scarcely twenty then, and Erend had been a kid of sixteen, with the barest of fuzz on his chin.

"Mhm," was Avad's somber reply. "I bet Ersa didn't want to be called Viksdaughter either..."

Stop bringing her up! Erend almost wanted to scream. Instead, he only said, "Yeah."

"What about clan names?" Avad said, in a clear bid to change topics.

The attempt was so blatant it managed to draw out a snicker from Erend. "We got those, but we don't tell 'em to outsiders. Sorry, rules are rules."

"That's odd," Avad replied, frowning. "I wasn't aware of such a custom."

Erend scoffed. "For a guy who deals in politics all day, you sure are naïve. Nah, Your Luminosity, I was just pulling your leg."

Avad's face split into a wide grin. Erend could only stare at him and blink, unsure of what could have brought such a sudden change in the king's demeanor. His gaze then flicked over to the mug in his hands. Erend's frown eased slightly as he realized what must have been the truth. Guy was drunk off his ass, it was evident.

As on cue, Avad began to laugh softly, for no apparent reason. Erend shook his head, chuckling as well. Oh, well. At least the king was a funny drunk. Still, a strange sense of foreboding crept up to Erend as he left the king's table, leaving him unusually worried as he took off to his home later that night.